Vanessa Yu's Magical Paris Tea Shop
(Sprache: Englisch)
From the critically acclaimed author of Natalie Tan s Book of Luck and Fortune comes a new delightful novel about exploring all the magical possibilities of life in the most extraordinary city of all: Paris.
Vanessa Yu never wanted...
Vanessa Yu never wanted...
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From the critically acclaimed author of Natalie Tan s Book of Luck and Fortune comes a new delightful novel about exploring all the magical possibilities of life in the most extraordinary city of all: Paris.Vanessa Yu never wanted to see people's fortunes or misfortunes in tealeaves.
Ever since she can remember, Vanessa has been able to see people's fortunes at the bottom of their teacups. To avoid blurting out their fortunes, she converts to coffee, but somehow fortunes escape and find a way to complicate her life and the ones of those around her. To add to this plight, her romance life is so nonexistent that her parents enlist the services of a matchmaking expert from Shanghai.
After her matchmaking appointment, Vanessa sees death for the first time. She decides that she can't truly live until she can find a way to get rid of her uncanny abilities. When her eccentric Aunt Evelyn shows up with a tempting offer to whisk her away, Vanessa says au revoir to California and bonjour to Paris. There, Vanessa learns more about herself and the root of her gifts and realizes one thing to be true: knowing one's destiny isn't a curse, but being unable to change it is.
Lese-Probe zu „Vanessa Yu's Magical Paris Tea Shop “
OneI predicted the future on my third birthday. My aunts had been drinking their tea, and Ma had left her cup on the small table beside the sofa. As any curious child would, I imitated the habits of the older women: my two small hands cradled the ceramic of the handleless cup, fingertips not quite encompassing its circumference. I took a sip. As I gazed at the tea leaves floating at the bottom, my vision blurred and my mouth filled with the bitter taste of chewing on a grapefruit rind.
"The Hofstras are moving. Jeff doesn't love Rachel anymore."
I fell to the floor in tears, feeling the force of a sadness I could not comprehend. My aunts rushed over to me as Ma held me in her arms. There were whispers in Mandarin and Hokkien, but I heard only the name of my aunt-Evelyn-repeated.
Any possibility of a life of my choosing was extinguished like the candles on my birthday cake.
Every prediction had a taste. The family's new business venture was savory: a bite of roasted pork belly. A family squabble was bitterness: the dregs of a stale, cold cup of tea. A joyous fortune like Auntie Ning's pregnancy and baby girl was sweet: the sticky center of deep-fried sesame balls.
My last happy prediction was four months ago, for my cousin Cynthia's nuptials, which now brought my aunt, uncle, and me to Williams Sonoma to browse through her wedding registry. Three weeks ago, I bought an abstract, mixed-media painting for my cousin at one of my favorite galleries. We had decided it would be perfect in her dining room above the low, minimalistic, bleached birch buffet table she loved. Today, I was tagging along to help my aunt and uncle with their purchases.
Walls of pristine metal cookware gleamed alongside shiny new appliances aligned on golden wooden shelving. None were of any interest to me. I only stepped
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into this store to buy gifts for others. My preferred merchants peddled paintings, not pots and pans.
Auntie Faye tapped my arm. "I don't understand why she needs so much cookware. The girl doesn't cook."
"Maybe it's aspirational," I suggested. "I mean, you can't fault her for wanting to learn eventually."
Cynthia and I were both inept in the kitchen; we overcompensated with a library of takeout menus to the best restaurants: digital copies for convenience, paper preserved as trophies.
Although I had predicted this wedding, and I loved my cousin, I felt uneasy. With Cynthia married, I would become the oldest unwed cousin. Being single meant the focus of the attention was on you at every gathering and function. There was nowhere to hide from the probing questions. My cousin Chester described it as "being naked and vulnerable, and none of your relatives will give you a fig leaf." The joke was tailored to my tastes, and I appreciated it.
Uncle Michael examined a set of pastel Le Creuset ramekins. They shifted in their box with a slight ceramic clink as he lifted them to eye level. "I think these are mostly for Edwin. He can bake a decent Sacher torte. Cynthia invited me over last week to show off her soon-to-be husband's skills."
In his midfifties, dashing, and sharp, Uncle Michael was always my favorite. Like all my aunts and uncles, he appeared at least a decade younger. I always likened him to a Chinese Gregory Peck circa Roman Holiday. A lead user experience designer at a large financial corporation in Fresno, he lived three hours away and I never got to see him enough.
"Vanessa," my aunt began, "now that Cynthia is getting married, you should think about-"
My uncle jabbed my aunt in the ribs.
"Michael!" Auntie Faye held her stomach, feigning injury.
"This is about Cynthia, not about Vanessa."
A dimin
Auntie Faye tapped my arm. "I don't understand why she needs so much cookware. The girl doesn't cook."
"Maybe it's aspirational," I suggested. "I mean, you can't fault her for wanting to learn eventually."
Cynthia and I were both inept in the kitchen; we overcompensated with a library of takeout menus to the best restaurants: digital copies for convenience, paper preserved as trophies.
Although I had predicted this wedding, and I loved my cousin, I felt uneasy. With Cynthia married, I would become the oldest unwed cousin. Being single meant the focus of the attention was on you at every gathering and function. There was nowhere to hide from the probing questions. My cousin Chester described it as "being naked and vulnerable, and none of your relatives will give you a fig leaf." The joke was tailored to my tastes, and I appreciated it.
Uncle Michael examined a set of pastel Le Creuset ramekins. They shifted in their box with a slight ceramic clink as he lifted them to eye level. "I think these are mostly for Edwin. He can bake a decent Sacher torte. Cynthia invited me over last week to show off her soon-to-be husband's skills."
In his midfifties, dashing, and sharp, Uncle Michael was always my favorite. Like all my aunts and uncles, he appeared at least a decade younger. I always likened him to a Chinese Gregory Peck circa Roman Holiday. A lead user experience designer at a large financial corporation in Fresno, he lived three hours away and I never got to see him enough.
"Vanessa," my aunt began, "now that Cynthia is getting married, you should think about-"
My uncle jabbed my aunt in the ribs.
"Michael!" Auntie Faye held her stomach, feigning injury.
"This is about Cynthia, not about Vanessa."
A dimin
... weniger
Autoren-Porträt von Roselle Lim
Roselle Lim is a Filipino Chinese writer who came to Canada from the Philippines as a young teen and learned English by watching wrestling shows on television. She has a degree in humanities and history from York University.
Bibliographische Angaben
- Autor: Roselle Lim
- 2020, 320 Seiten, Maße: 13,5 x 20,3 cm, Kartoniert (TB), Englisch
- Verlag: Berkley
- ISBN-10: 1984803271
- ISBN-13: 9781984803276
- Erscheinungsdatum: 14.08.2020
Sprache:
Englisch
Pressezitat
"...similar to the sweet fabulist-romcom style of Lim s debut, this new book follows a young woman s culinary and magical adventures." BookRiotLim follows Natalie Tan s Book of Luck and Fortune with another picturesque fabulist rom-com . Lim flexes her descriptive powers . The eccentric and lovably meddlesome Yu family are a constant delight . the characters sparkle, the magic successfully enchants, and Lim skewers the anti-Asian racism the Yus face in France with pointed and timely commentary. This feast for the senses will especially appeal to hopeless romantics. Publishers Weekly
"If you re searching for a summer dose of whimsy, look no further." Shondaland
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