asianamlitfans | A Review of Laura Lee’s A History of Scars (Atria, 2021) (Reply)

Written by Stephen Hong Sohn
Edited by Uttara Rangarajan

I’ve been on a bit of a creative nonfictional kick lately, and I think it’s because I’m trying to balance all of my high fantasy reading with something that’s a little bit more grounded in explicit social contexts. This time around I’m reviewing Laura Lee’s A History of Scars (Atria, 2021), which is a debut memoir that concerns mental health, caretaking, and the balance one needs to survive in a complicated home environment. The text brings to mind what separates a memoir from a book of essays. After having read a good number of each, I am beginning to see that books marketed as essays are a little bit more wide-ranging, staying away from the central life or recollections of the author. Other than that, the differentiation is really a matter of degree and intensity. But I digress, so let’s get to that marketing description: “In this stunning debut, Laura Lee weaves unforgettable and eye-opening essays on a variety of taboo topics. In ‘History of Scars’ and ‘Aluminum’s Erosions,’ Laura dives head-first into heavier themes revolving around intimacy, sexuality, trauma, mental illness, and the passage of time. In “Poetry of the World,” Laura shifts and addresses the grief she feels by being geographically distant from her mother whom, after being diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s, is relocated to a nursing home in Korea. Through the vivid imagery of mountain climbing, cooking, studying writing, and growing up Korean American, Lee explores the legacy of trauma on a young queer child of immigrants as she reconciles the disparate pieces of existence that make her whole. By tapping into her own personal, emotional, and psychological struggles in these powerful and relatable essays, Lee encourages all of us to not be afraid to face our own hardships and inner truths.”

This memoir was at times pretty gut-wrenching, and I am beginning to see that such stories are perhaps the foundation of many creative nonfictions. There is perhaps a writing “cure” or at least therapy at work here, with Lee exploring the vulnerable childhood she had under the hands of a physically and emotionally abusive father. These dynamics are soon complicated by the fact that Lee is beginning to take care of her mother, who is eventually diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s. For many years though, Lee has no idea, and because Lee’s father is expelled from the home at some point, Lee, as the only one who is still around, is eventually expected to take care of her mother, whether or not she wants to. Lee has two older siblings, but the home dynamics make it clear that they need to get out of there as soon as possible. Lee’s relationship with her middle sister is complicated because that sister ends up emulating some of the propulsive anger modeled by their father. Lee struggles to keep herself afloat in this world. It is climbing that she turns to for a form of escape, where the presence of mind required to move up a sheer rock face is the kind that becomes meditative and constitutive. The memoir also explores how Lee is eventually diagnosed with schizophrenia, which she astutely notes cannot be solely understood as a biologically-activated mental disorder. Lee considers how impactful her difficult upbringing would have been and how it likely was involved in the development of schizophrenia. What also anchors this text is Lee’s enduring relationship with a Pakistani woman. In this respect, Lee’s memoir is one of the few that considers the queer Asian American experience from the women’s perspective. Though the memoir ends with Lee’s struggle with the day-to-day experiences of a woman afflicted by mental health issues, it is more than apparent that Lee turns to writing as a way to help document her complicated life journey and to find some level of empowerment, however provisional, that exists on the page. Readers will also be incredibly buoyed by Lee’s glorious prose.

Buy the Book Here