You've Changed

January 31, 2022
In this arresting debut, War reflects on her dual lives spent in the U.S. and Myanmar to cleverly explore notions of home and identity. Born and raised in Myanmar in the 1990s, War attended an international school and, from a young age, straddled differing cultures and clashing expectations—a reality that only intensified when she moved to the states for college. In sparkling essays suffused with cutting humor, she recounts her experiences as a “young, female Myanmar writer”—which she wryly claims is her “unique selling point” and also her biggest obstacle: “The chances that a publisher would want to publish two ‘Myanmar books’... in one year devastatingly slim.” In “A Me by Any Other Name,” she offers a historical and cultural explanation of the four names she goes by, while the beguiling “Laundry Load” delves into the Myanmar concept of “hpone”—which refers to “innate” powers men contain that can be “sapped” if their clothes come into contact with a woman’s. Elsewhere, a long-distance relationship that ended because War and her boyfriend “couldn’t get our paperwork in order” serves as a sharp critique of the absurdities of immigration laws that “hinge entirely on a wider societal belief in... imaginary lines in the earth.” This is intoxicating.

Starred review from February 15, 2022
In this debut essay collection, a writer from Myanmar explores topics ranging from baking to laundry through the lenses of race and immigration. In two of the essays, War--who was born and raised in Yangon and now lives there after graduate work in England--relates the history of her relationship with her legal name, Moe Thet War, and her nickname, Pyae Pyae. Specifically, she recounts how Westerners, including her boyfriend, "Toothpick," mispronounce her name and how she unknowingly began to mispronounce it herself. Writing about baking, War frankly discusses how the societal expectation that she should cook Myanmar food--which she doesn't--complicates her positive and intuitive relationship with baking, which the author associates with White culture. "My top two bak-ing recipe sites...are run by beaming white women who ob-viously also own KitchenAid mixers and who have bak-ing in their blood," she writes. In an essay on laundry, the author vividly describes her complex feelings about washing her clothes alongside her boyfriend's clothes; she cites a belief in Myanmar of a "mystical power that men supposedly possess that is believed to be sapped if men's clothes come in contact with women's." Exploring Myanmar's obsession with rice, War reveals her struggle with years of being fat-shamed. The author's voice balances humor and insight, and her views on race and identity are well reasoned, vulnerable, and unique. Particularly brilliant is her candid discussion of her conflicted feelings about writing about her heritage, which, at times, feels like a trap. "As a young teen artist whose Brownness seemed to follow me around like a second shadow," she writes, "being the Myanmar writer who voluntarily wrote a novel set in Myanmar and featuring Myanmar characters seemed to me like an act of self-sabotage." Like much of the book, this observation is intelligent, thought-provoking, poignant, and a delight to read. A refreshingly honest, original exploration of personal identity and a culture that may be unfamiliar to American readers.

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Starred review from April 1, 2022
She has two names, Moe Thet War and Pyae Pyae (pronounced "puh-yay, puh-yay"). Both were carefully chosen by her parents. As a Myanmar-born, U.S.- and British-educated, Myanmar-returned resident with a perfect American accent, Pyae Pyae unabashedly explores her "liminality . . . the place that I'd been occupying my whole life." Once the "lone mythical Myanmar unicorn in every writing space I attended," she claims her own expanse in this vivacious debut nonfiction collection showcasing wise-beyond-her-years insight (she's 25 in her first essay), biting impatience, and plenty of unfiltered humor. She deftly skewers gender inequity, defying the Myanmar concept of hpone--"an innate, mystical power that men supposedly possess"--in "Laundry Load," challenging body-shaming in "Htamin sar chin tae" (Do you want to eat rice?), and rejecting the pressures to choose motherhood in "good, Myanmar, girl." English fluency and nonwhite identity get brilliantly dissected in "Unique Selling Point," "Tongue Twisters," and "Myanglish." In other essays, learning to swim proves lifesaving, especially in being able to ask for help, she documents the demise of her almost-seven-year relationship with her white lover, dubbed "Toothpick,"" and she exposes racism in the professional culinary industry. How sweet publication proves to be: "I did not think young girls who had names like mine were allowed to call themselves writers." Hers is a well-earned moniker indeed.

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