The Let Them Theory by Mel Robbins

★★★

The Let Them Theory boils down to: "Stop wasting your time, energy, and happiness trying to control things you can't control - like other people's opinions, moods, or actions - and, instead, focus on the one thing you can control: you." (p. 17-18)

This idea in itself is nothing new and has been packaged and re-packaged already; the author herself quotes Greek philosopher Epictetus: "It's not what happens to you, but how you react to it that matters." (p. 56) But what Mel Robbins offers is the phrase "Let Them", which can be used as a mantra and allows you to "reclaim your power by choosing how you respond" (p. 39), and the follow-up phrase "Let Me", with which you can "unleash your strength by focusing on your response." (p. 40)

The thing is, it's not like Mel Robbins coined the phrase "Let Them" - though she claims to have "discovered" the theory of it. (p. 30) In fact, I learned from other reviews that the phrase first went viral on social media in 2022 thanks to a poem written by Cassie Phillips and a photo of her "Let Them" tattoo. Mel Robbins does not mention Cassie Phillips in this book at all, but if she truly "spent the last two years researching the Let Them Theory" (p. 30), then unless she is a really inadequate researcher - which would undermine parts of the book (more on that later) - surely she would have come across references to Cassie Phillips and her viral poem "Let Them" as well as her follow-up poem "Let Me". Giving Mel Robbins the benefit of the doubt, it's not totally impossible to believe that two people could have independently built personal philosophies out of the phrases "Let Them" and "Let Me", but if so, at the very least, Robbins should have credited Phillips with being the first in the age of social media to show how instantly resonant the idea of "Let Them" is.

All that said, this book does offer good advice, and the author validates the emotions and thoughts that are common when feeling anxious, annoyed, excluded, or rejected. She also discusses the many factors that go into deciding what course of action to pursue in the "Let Me" part of the system. The book provides practical advice on implementing the strategy - like how at first you may have to literally repeat "Let Them" over and over until it sinks in (p. 36) - and it has pithy nuggets of wisdom, e.g., "emotions are like waves. They rise, they fall." (p. 125) I like that sometimes the tone is less gentle and more blunt, perhaps giving the reader a much-needed kick in the pants.

I really like "Let Them" as a powerful tool for managing emotions, but the book as an explainer felt repetitive. There were plenty of "I really did need to hear that!" type of statements, e.g., "When you let the world around you impact your emotional state and peace of mind, you become a prisoner to these external forces" (p. 56); and "anytime you try to control something that you can't, it just makes you feel more out of control and powerless" (p. 137) - but that same sentiment was re-worded and re-phrased again and again, ad nauseam.

Also, it seemed to me that Robbins sometimes oversimplified things. When discussing the impact of stress in our lives, she wrote: "If you're having trouble focusing, feeling happy, or taking care of yourself, the reason is stress." (p. 59) I mean, yes, it could be stress, but maybe you might have undiagnosed depression, anxiety, or ADHD? Of course, this book is about managing your relationships with other people, and Chapters 16 and 17 do provide really good advice on how to handle other people who are struggling with their own problems, which may include mental health issues, and how best to help them. Still, just a small section on how to figure out if your own unhappiness is due to "just stress" or when to seek help from a therapist, psychologist, or psychiatrist would have been valuable. (This omission became especially jarring later in the book when the author revealed that she herself has ADHD. (p. 275))

Similarly, Chapters 18 and 19 discussed using "Let Them" in relationships of love. The author reassures the reader that "the greatest love of your life is ahead of you" (p. 249), but seems to focus only on romantic love. I'm not fond of the idea that everyone needs or should be in a romantic relationship. What if you're aromantic? What if you enjoy your independence and don't want a partner? Again, Robbins offers some genuinely great dating advice and very solid, compassionate suggestions on how to deal with a breakup - there's even a notably candid section called "They Don't Like You. Wake Up." (p. 256) - but a few words about being confident in yourself and not needing a romantic partner to feel complete, or how one's "greatest love" could be a love of friendship or family, would have been nice. (She briefly talks about being single temporarily if you need to figure yourself out before getting into another relationship, but the implication is that being in a relationship is still the ultimate goal. (p. 263))

Finally, as a covid-informed person, I found one early excerpt particularly interesting. Robbins described flying on a plane and being seated directly in front of someone "coughing as if it were his last day on earth" and how she "could not afford to` get sick." (p. 58) She tried asking the man to cover his mouth when coughing, but of course, the whole point of this book is that you can't control other people's actions, and indeed the man "proceeded to cough openly." (p. 58) Her "Let Me" solution was to "cover my nose and mouth with my scarf." (p. 64) Given that the covid pandemic put airborne viruses and mask efficacy front and center, it is not at all difficult to do a quick online search to learn that a scarf is no substitute for a mask if the goal is to prevent the spread of illness. At best, a scarf can filter out large droplets from someone coughing directly in your face, but if she truly wanted to protect her health - and not just have a false sense of security - she should have used an N95 or KN95 or KF94 mask, which filters out tiny airborne viruses that can travel through and hang in the air any time a person exhales. For me, the lack of any scientific rigor in this one example put the quality of research that went into the rest of the book into question.

Water Mirror Echo: Bruce Lee and the Making of Asian America by Jeff Chang

★★★★★

I find it amusing that this is the second book in a row that I've read with a title following the format "[List of Words]: [Famous Chinese Person] and the Making of [Asian Thing]", but that is neither here nor there. (The previous book being Chop Fry Watch Learn: Fu Pei-Mei and the Making of Modern Chinese Food.)

At times, the writing in Water Mirror Echo felt lofty, but then, Bruce Lee is a lofty subject. From our modern-day perspective, Bruce Lee is first and foremost a legend, and so it makes sense to start there, using his stardom as the foundation upon which we can start to get to know him in a way that "returns him to a human scale." (p. 6)

This is my first biography of Bruce Lee, and even without having read any others, it's clear Water Mirror Echo is a definitive source. This book is not just an accounting of Bruce Lee's life or Bruce Lee's teachings; it additionally places Bruce Lee into the context of Asian America, examining how he "navigated fascination and revulsion with 'the Oriental,' a corpus of distorted images that limited Asian American opportunity and mobility." (p. 5) The greater context provided for Bruce Lee's fight with Wong Jack Man was especially interesting (Ch. 22-23), as was the background on the racism of Hollywood and the common use of yellowface at the time when Bruce Lee came onto the scene. (Ch. 24-26) Bruce Lee had to fight for his own visibility and for the respectful representation of gung fu on screen, and in doing so helped bring visibility and validation to Asian America, a community just beginning to define itself towards the end of his life and around the time of his death. (p. 6)

All that said, of course the book starts at the beginning, and the early chapters quickly drew me in with a full, fascinating account of Bruce Lee's childhood growing up in Hong Kong, including important political and cultural context. Bruce Lee lived a life of opposing yet complementary existences - like the yin-yang symbol he adopted for the logo of his Jun Fan Gung Fu Institute - and we follow his evolution from child movie star and teen cha-cha heartthrob / street thug in Hong Kong to philosophical college student / local gung fu teacher in Seattle and Oakland to martial arts star / struggling Hollywood actor in Los Angeles. Even when his path came full circle and he achieved kung fu movie star fame in Hong Kong, his constant travels back and forth across the Pacific meant he had "to remember which side of the ocean I'm on, and whether I'm the superstar or the exotic Oriental support player." (p. 353)

When Bruce Lee finally landed a starring role in a film co-produced by a Hollywood studio - Enter the Dragon - he agonized over the script and the way Asians were portrayed; the American studio executives and writers offered up Orientalism and cared only about western audiences, but Bruce was acutely sensitive to how scenes would play out for Asian audiences. A representative from the co-production company in Hong Kong observed that Bruce "had to deal with the audiences who would be criticizing him and scrutinizing him. And so the weight was on him." (p. 405-408) Even on set, he was a bridge; while the American director and producers "yelled and cursed" (p. 409) at the Chinese crew, Bruce embodied gentle authority: "He took time to recognize the carpenters and plasterers. He ate with the crew members, stuntmen, and extras. He made sure that they received the same kind of box meal as him." (p. 410)

I especially appreciated that Jeff Chang rounded out Bruce's story by also giving us complex, fleshed-out portraits of those who profoundly influenced him and those he profoundly influenced, e.g., his father, Ruby Chow -- his primary guardian after he arrived in the U.S., who, I learned, was also writer Frank Chin's godmother! (p. 86) -- Amy Sanbo (his college girlfriend), and many, many fellow martial artists and students, including Kareem Abdul-Jabbar.

I enjoyed this book immensely, but towards the end, when the narrative reached the 1970s, just as Bruce Lee was beginning his ascent to international stardom, I found myself picking up the book with a heavy heart, and reading slowly with apprehension. I knew what was coming, and the anticipation of tragedy and grief gave poignancy to everything.

Random note: I read this book so carefully that a singular discrepancy stood out to me. On page 101, Takauki "Taky" Kimura is "sixteen years Bruce's senior", a detail repeated on page 102 where it clearly says "Takauki Kimura was born in 1924." But then later, on page 144, James Yimm Lee is reported to have been born in 1920, "the same year as Ruby Chow and Taky Kimura."

A comment on formatting: The book has many short chapters with many section breaks, making it super readable for someone like me who tends to read in short intervals. Also, I appreciated the photos printed in-line with the text. (Having to flip back and forth to a collection of photos in the middle of a book is a pet peeve of mine.)

Finally, a note to self: On pages 167-168, in a letter to Linda, there's an excerpt of a writing by 19th century Unitarian minister William Henry Channing called "My Symphony" which I love and will strive to adopt as my own life philosophy: "To live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion, to be worthy, not respectable, and wealthy, not rich; to study hard, think quietly, talk gently, act frankly; to bear all cheerfully, do all bravely, await occasions, hurry never."

Chop Fry Watch Learn: Fu Pei-Mei and the Making of Modern Chinese Food by Michelle T. King

★★★★★

The back flap of the book's dust jacket says Fu Pei-mei's cookbooks "have become beloved emblems of cultural memory, passed from parent to child, wherever diasporic Chinese have landed." Indeed, like the author, I am of that particular slice of Asian America that can characterize myself as "Chinese American by way of Taiwan" (p. xxii), and I remember my immigrant mom having all 3 cookbooks, though only the first in the series was heavily used, with stains and handwritten notes. Consequently, I went into this book - a book that shines a light on the food-centered nostalgia of my childhood - feeling pre-disposed to adore it. (Thanks to my niece for recognizing my potential interest and gifting me this book!)

Michelle T. King offers up Chop Fry Watch Learn as a "history of Chinese food as seen through Fu Pei-mei's life and career... in all its global, gendered, political, and technological dimensions... [reflecting] multiple generations of families, connected across oceans by an abiding love of Chinese food." (p. xxi)

I especially appreciated the thread of discourse describing and explaining the use of the label "Taiwanese", which has evolved over the decades and has noticeably shifted in my own lifetime and experiences. (p. 15-16, 191) Equally fascinating to me was Fu Pe-mei's influence in worldwide gastrodiplomacy on behalf of the Republic of China, distinct from the People's Republic of China, a delicate, complex, and nuanced effort that continues today with those wishing to promote Taiwan and Taiwanese food as distinct from China and Chinese food. (p. 150-153, 186-187, 193) (Indeed, I was reminded of a recent trip to Taiwan when we had a delicious banquet-style dinner of what I would have called "Chinese" dishes but what the restaurant advertised as "Mandarin".) The author doesn't shy away from exploring current, less flattering, even scornful public perception of Fu Pei-mei, as seen in her examination of a TV series based on Fu's life that was not well received by those who thought it "only reinforced the hierarchical legacy of mainlander-Taiwanese relations." (p. 182)

I enjoyed the "East vs. West" contrast between Fu Pei-mei's general philosophy of cooking as "an act of energetic devotion to the family" (p. 28) and that of her contemporary Julia Child, who wrote that her book Mastering the Art of French Cooking was for those "who can be unconcerned on occasion with... children's meals, the parent-chauffeur-den mother syndrome or anything else which might interfere with the enjoyment of producing something wonderful to eat." (p. 29)

I loved this book for its presentation of modern Taiwanese history as seen through the lens of cooking - including Fu Pei-mei's TV shows, cookbooks, cooking classes, and their relevance to overseas Chinese home cooks and immigrant communities - and especially for its personal connection to my own family history, allowing me to see familiar dishes and even my own mother in a larger context. I'm inspired to break out those cookbooks and learn a new dish or two.