Tracey Lien on ‘All That’s Left Unsaid’
Tracey Lien’s debut novel All That’s Left Unsaid (HQ Fiction, September) blends a murder-mystery with a ‘raw and honest’ exploration of the Vietnamese-Australian experience in the late 90s. Reviewer Anthea Yang, who calls the novel ‘an arresting debut’, spoke to the author.
Set in the Sydney suburb of Cabramatta, All That’s Left Unsaid delves into the effects of war, colonialism and intergenerational trauma against the backdrop of the heroin epidemic of the 1990s. What made you decide to set the novel in this period, and how much of the story was drawn from your own experiences growing up in South Western Sydney?
There’s a lot of tension inherently built into making the 1990s the time and Cabramatta the place: by 1996, Cabramatta had become the heroin capital of Australia; it had a noticeable Indochinese refugee population; it had an all-white police force; it was often making headlines for all the wrong reasons; and, if you go back and read the news clippings from the time, there seemed to be a real sense of hopelessness about the place.
But I also grew up in the Cabramatta area and, while I was a very young and relatively sheltered kid during that time, I recall it being a warm, bustling, vibrant community. These contradictions gave me so much to work with and were conducive to exploring issues I care about such as race, belonging, and home.
The book alternates between protagonist Ky’s close third-person point of view and a variety of other characters. How did you decide on this structure?
I wanted to challenge the idea that any community can be a monolith. We often hear of racial and ethnic groups talked about in this way—how are suburban Asian Australians going to vote? How do white farmers in rural Australia feel about a certain issue? It’s reductive and obscures the fact that we’re just like everyone else—we’re just as smart and funny and stubborn and petty and goofy and generous and capable of failure as anyone else.
So, with this novel, I chose a structure that could show just how different the members of a community can be. Here is a collection of people who live in the same town, speak the same language, are in the same socioeconomic class, were displaced by the same war, witnessed the same murder. And yet, their responses, motivations, and individual stories are wildly different.
Ky and Minnie are two very different people who have taken different paths in their lives. Ky, feeling pressured by obligation and filial piety, fits into the ‘model minority’ stereotype, while Minnie rejects it completely. Can you walk us through the process of how you created these characters?
I love stories about the complexity of female friendship. Few relationships are ever as intense—the stakes feel so high, you expect so much of each other, and there can be love and hate in seemingly equal measure. While I didn’t model Ky or Minnie on anyone I know, there’s truth to their emotions. They feel things that I have felt, they push each other the way I have pushed (and have been pushed), and their divergence is inspired by some of my own friendships.
The murder-mystery aspect of the novel really captivates the reader. What kind of research did you do for it?
Even though this is a work of fiction, it was important to me that the story felt believable, so I tried to get the details right. This meant developing an understanding of the population at the time, delving into the types of crimes that were committed, learning about the gang initiation pipeline, how drugs were packaged and sold, conducting interviews when it made sense to, and being mindful of anachronisms.
I also studied the works of authors whose books have hooked me with a mystery—authors like Jane Harper, Gillian Flynn, Trent Dalton, Liz Moore and Celeste Ng—with the hope that their examples would guide me toward writing a propulsive novel.
Anti-Asian hate crimes have increased over the past few years, exposing the subtle and silent ways Asian communities often experience racism in Western countries. Is there a connection between macro and micro forms of racism, and how did this influence your exploration of racism in All That’s Left Unsaid?
During the wave of anti-Asian violence at the start of the pandemic, a lot of people seemed surprised by the fact that Asians (the quiet, hardworking, successful minorities!) were being targeted. But I don’t think it was surprising to anyone of Asian descent. Because while most of us haven’t experienced overt, racially motivated physical violence, we have experienced a lifetime of dehumanising treatment which, when taken to its natural conclusion, results in violence.
All That’s Left Unsaid attempts to render those seemingly minor acts of dehumanisation as just that—they’re not just jokes, they’re not ‘harmless’ mistakes. There are real consequences to this kind of carelessness.
What was the last book you read and loved?
The Netanyahus by Joshua Cohen (Fitzcarraldo). The writing and characters are engrossing, hilarious, and delightful. It’s one of those books that makes me so happy that other people write.
Read Anthea Yang’s review of All That’s Left Unsaid here.
