Draft:Charlie Chan is Dead: An Anthology of Contemporary Asian American Fiction

Charlie Chan is Dead: An Anthology of Contemporary Asian American Fiction is a 1993 fiction anthology featuring works written by forty-eight largely Asian American authors. It was edited by writer and multimedia performance artist Jessica Hagedorn and featured a preface from Elaine H. Kim, then a professor in Ethnic Studies and Asian American Studies at the University of California, Berkeley.

As the first anthology of Asian American fiction by a commercial publisher in the United States, it is considered by critics to be a notable work in Asian American literary history.

Preface
Kim traces the history of race and racism in the United States, specifically the creation and separation of "race-based communities" which have been respectively defined by their proximity and possible threat to the dominant culture. With regard to the Asian American community, such proximity has been repeatedly bifurcated in a contradicting manner. On one hand, Asian Americans have been depicted as model minorities, or marginalized people who have shown socioeconomic and assimilatory success in spite of difficult circumstances. On the other hand, Asian Americans have also been depicted as forever foreigners, or marginalized people who will always remain as such on the margins of society due to their inherent alienation from the dominant culture. Any attempt to locate a middle space between the two, or carve out a third space delimited by mainstream expectations, is immediately cast off as "racist, un-American, even anti-American."

Kim then revisits her own attempts to define Asian American literature, which has been a historically difficult and even contentious definition to broach. She has been motivated to do so as a result of her own literary education, as well as the general education of those seeking to study literature in the United States, in which "Asian American identity and literature" were "excluded from or distorted in the established texts." Regarding their distortions, she identifies the ways that "official and mass literary culture in the United States perpetuated grotesque representations of Asian Americans as alien Others, whether as sinister villains, dragon ladies, brute hordes, helpless heathens, comical servants, loyal sidekicks, Suzy Wongs, or wily asexual detectives." Her motivation, thus, is to "insist that these were not 'our realities.'"

Kim articulates Asian American literature as having components of "protest and exile," "place and displacement," and "psychic and physical 'home'" amidst the lack of "home" or an urgent desire to return to one ("homecoming," Kim asserts). She also mentions the more restrictive definitions of "Asian American" and its literature, critiquing the narrowly defined and divisive notion of "Asian American" which was sharply demarcated from "Asian," privileged matters of race over matters of gender and class, ignored sexuality, and established a hierarchy of authenticity. Such definition of "Asian American," as well as its ensuing literature, made for a canonical body of work which Kim considers to be lacking "subtleties, hybridities, paradoxes, and layers."

Kim then addresses the present state of Asian American literature alongside the unprecedented vastness and diversity of Asian Americans at the time of writing in the nineties. In her view, Asian American communities are more populous, abundant with different lifestyles, and blurred in their distinctions to the other race-based communities surrounding them. While she still sees much to be desired with regard to the treatment of Asian Americans and other minorities in the United States, she sees an opportunity resulting from the so-called death of Charlie Chan, the Orientalist archetype which largely homogenized Asian Americans, their personalities, their family values, and more. In the wake of Charlie Chan, Kim asserts, is a chance to depict "human beings with rich and complex pasts and brave, often flamboyant dreams of the future." Kim thus greets the anthology as a celebration of "many ways of being Asian American today, when the question need no longer be 'either/or.'"

Introduction
Hagedorn discusses the origins and meaning of Charlie Chan, a "fake 'Asian' pop icon—known for his obsequious manner, fractured English, and dainty walk. Absurdly cryptic, pseudo-Confucian sayings rolled off his tongue." She identifies his creation in 1925, by a white man named Earl Derr Biggers, and locates him alongside other racist stereotypes such as Fu Manchu, Stepin Fetchit, Sambo, Aunt Jemima, and more. She talks about growing up primarily watching films and seeing yellowface and blackface and encountering such racist stereotypes on screen. By the end of the twentieth century, Hagedorn asserts, racist stereotypes have evolved to become more subtle, such as the "greedy, clever Japanese Businessman, ready to buy up New York City and all the Van Goghs in the world" or "Miss Saigon, the contemporary version of Madame Butterfly—tragic victim/whore of wartorn Vietnam, eternally longing for the white boy soldier who has abandoned her and her son."

Hagedorn then traces her journey through literature while growing up in the Philippines, having read Western classics along the likes of Edgar Allan Poe,Miguel de Cervantes, and the Bible. In the United States, she recalls, she learned about the "difficult history and contributions of Asian Americans in this country" which included spates of hate crimes, discriminatory laws regarding racial segregation and interracial marriage, and more. In high school, she read more of the Western canon, such as Herman Melville and Fyodor Dostoevsky, with little to no consideration of authors of color like John Okada or Richard Wright. At the same time, Hagedorn bore witness to the sit-in movement and the Third World Liberation Front, which made her question the place of Asian Americans in contemporary struggles for freedom.

Hagedorn recalls her start as a writer, having been inspired by the works of resistance written and orated by artists like Amiri Baraka (then LeRoi Jones) and Nikki Giovanni. She continued to read from writers who worked and published at the margins, hoping to be provoked and questioned on the nature of race and racism, as well as many Asian American authors also working in the same moment, such as Nellie Wong, Genny Lim, and members of the Kearny Street Workshop. Slowly but surely, Hagedorn and her peers created literary spaces for marginalized writers and nurtured a budding readership.

Hagedorn finally pays homage to Aiiieeeee! An Anthology of Asian-American Writers, an anthology published in 1974—edited by Frank Chin, Jeffery Paul Chan, Lawson Fusao Inada, and Shawn Wong—which was "an absolute breakthrough for Asian Americans" and "gave us visibility and credibility as creators of our own specific literature." She also mentions The Big Aiiieeeee!, the sequel anthology which featured more authors of various genres and ethnicities, as well as The Colors of Heaven, edited by Trevor Carolan, which anthologized works from authors on the Pacific Rim. Hagedorn then concludes by proudly presenting Charlie Chan is Dead: An Anthology of Contemporary Asian American Fiction as "the first anthology of Asian American fiction by a commercial publisher in this country" and briefly goes over some of the pieces featured inside.

Charlie Chan
The anthology's title refers to the historic caricature Charlie Chan, a Honolulu detective written in a series of mystery novels by Earl Derr Biggers, after which dozens of Hollywood films in his likeness were made. While Charlie Chan allegedly offered an alternative to existing Fu Manchu and other Yellow Peril stereotypes, many scholars say that he, still a creation of the white gaze, only ended up establishing and reinstating other stereotypes against Asian Americans. In particular, Kim criticizes his "yellowface asexual bulk, his fortune-cookie English," while Hagedorn considers him both demeaning for similar reasons but also, as the creation of a white man, inherently unrepresentative of actual Asian American experience. In The New Yorker, Jill Lepore wrote: "Charlie Chan is also one of the most hated characters in American popular culture. In the nineteen-eighties and nineties, distinguished American writers, including Frank Chin and Gish Jen, argued for laying Chan to rest, a yellow Uncle Tom, best buried."

Reception
Many literary critics and scholars consider the anthology to be a seminal work of Asian American literature, often naming it alongside other important bodies of text like Aiiieeeee! An Anthology of Asian-American Writers. For The Strategist, in New York Magazine, Christine Bacareza Balance stated that the anthology arrived at a historical moment when "people were starting to understand that there is a thing called Asian American literature," which ultimately provided an opportunity to "push that idea and bring a lot of new writers into the scene."

Kirkus Reviews lauded it as "A generous and varied sampling: 48 authors writing in a variety of styles, 22 selections previously unpublished and many others published only overseas or by journals or small presses—a substantial, often engrossing volume at a bargain price," though opined as well that it was "surely needing an update soon to include Vietnamese and other Southeast Asian-American voices."

Philip F. C. Williams, for the Association of Asian Studies, found difficulty with the anthology's execution. He notes the disparity of respresentation among the Asian diaspora, namely that "'Asian' in this anthology would more accurately be termed 'East Asian.'" Furthermore, he points out that the anthology's organization—merely alphabetical—could be hard for readers: "However, the arrangement of the book’s material leaves something to be desired, for Hagedorn has grouped the anthology’s stories neither into any recognizable historical or literary framework, nor along national or ethnic lines."

In a brief review, Publishers Weekly found the range of stories to be interesting, yet the stories themselves generally "seem to lack a cohering premise."

Sven Birkerts, writing for The New York Times, critiqued the anthology's definition and curation of Asian American literature as too broad, claiming, "To begin with, there are just too many different kinds of inclusions ... 'Asian American' has here become a term so hospitable that half the world's population can squeeze in under its banner. Generous and catholic, yes—but the mix is also jarring and too eclectic." Birkets goes on to say that Hagedorn "has made some ill-advised decisions" for the authors she chose, namely that "First-rate work by authors like Joy Kogawa, David Wong Louie, Jose Garcia Villa, John Yau and Jocelyn Lieu must sit side by side with a number of less than distinguished stories from the post-modernist grab bag."

In a letter to the editor for The New York Times, Hagedorn responded to Birkets' review, stating that he was unnecessarily and unqualifiedly harsh on the matter of curation: "What exactly are his criteria for categorizing someone as Asian American? Since this is the first anthology of its kind, is this really the time to be narrow? ... Is Mr. Birkerts an immigration official or a literary critic? Should we all send in our passports and green cards for verification? I don't worry about Mr. Birkerts's own ethnicity, nor do I expect every writer to be to his taste. What I hope from any reviewer of "Charlie Chan Is Dead" is that he or she treat seriously the form and substance of our literature."