From School Library Journal
The unnamed heroine in this touching fiction is plagued with uncertainty. She is a Chinese American woman struggling to earn a doctorate in chemistry when her white boyfriend proposes marriage. Contemplating the notion of matrimony after witnessing her own parents' bitter union, fearing failure in the lab, and growing increasingly depressed, she has a destructive breakdown. As she tries to resurface, she questions everything, and science offers the answers. This brief yet potent debut asks profound questions with an altogether unique voice. Imagine a blend of Chris from Mark Haddon's The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time and Lydia from Celeste Ng's Everything I Never Told You, and you may begin to know the protagonist. Wang addresses, in sparse staccato prose, a wide range of topics—romance, friendship, mental illness, dogs, science, and Chinese American culture across generations—with quirky scientific anecdotes that serve as tangential diversions. VERDICT This funny and unforgettable book will appeal to thoughtful teens who like humor with a serious undercurrent.—Tara Kehoe, formerly at the New Jersey State Library Talking Book and Braille Center, Trenton
Review
“Chemistry starts as a charming confection and then proceeds to add on layers of emotional depth and complexity with every page. It is to Wang’s great credit that she manages to infuse such seriousness with so much light. I loved this novel.” —Ann Patchett
“The most assured novel about indecisiveness you’ll ever read . . . The title Chemistry also, of course, alludes to love. But in Chinese the word for ‘chemistry’ translates to ‘the study of change.’ The novel is equally about the narrator’s slow self-transformation and her relationship with [her boyfriend] Eric. Both have arrived at a catalytic moment: ‘the indecision each reaction faces before committing to its path’ . . . Chemistry is narrated in a continual present tense, which, in conjunction with Wang’s marvelous sense of timing and short, spare sections, can make the novel feel like a stand-up routine. Personal crises are interrupted, to great effect, with deadpan observations about crystal structures and the beaching patterns of whales. The spacing arrives like beats for applause . . . Despite its humor, Chemistry is an emotionally devastating novel about being young today and working to the point of incapacity without knowing what you should really be doing and when you can stop. I finished the book and, after wiping myself off the floor, turned back to an early passage when the narrator asks her dog, ‘What do you want from me? You must want something.’ It doesn’t.” —Jamie Fisher, The Washington Post
"A novel about an intelligent woman trying to find her place in the world. It has only the smallest pinches of action but generous measures of humor and emotion. The moody but endearing narrative voice is reminiscent of Jenny Offill's Dept. of Speculation and Catherine Lacey's Nobody is Ever Missing. Fans of those novels will find a lot to enjoy here . . . Moments of tenderness are repeatedly juxtaposed with moments of misery . . . The [narrator] tells us there is a phrase for family love in Chinese that in translation means 'I hurt for you.' This love, rather than romantic love, feels like the true subject of the book. Chemistry will appeal to anyone asking themselves, How do I create the sort of family I want without rejecting the family I have?" —Rowan Hisayo Buchanan, The New York Times Book Review
“Beguiling . . . with wry observation and witty distraction . . . A funny, idiosyncratic story of a young woman with big brains, big family baggage and a wonderfully fresh voice sorting out a world of science, language, dogs, counseling therapy, a BFF and her baby, SAT tutoring, Boston weather, cases of wine, TV cooking shows--and piecing together the right chemistry in her life . . . Wang’s narrator spices her daily ups and downs with a little bit of science here, a Chinese language oddity there, shrink-talk and a running stream of observations about parents and child- and dog-rearing . . . Wang has an astute feel for the deep, scary uncertainties of a young, talented woman trying to shake off a demanding family and a derailed career and relationship. Chemistry is full of surprises--its many digressions congealing to yield an impressive literary blend.” --Bruce Jacobs, Shelf Awareness
"One of the year’s most winningly original debuts . . . Nearly every page is marked by some kind of breezy scientific anecdote or aside—pithy, casually brilliant ruminations on everything from meiosis and mitochondria to what makes rockets fly. That it’s all so accessible and organic to the story is one of the book’s most consistent pleasures. So is the texture and tone of Wang’s language, a voice so fresh and intimate and mordantly funny that she feels less like fiction than a friend you’ve known forever—even if she hasn’t met you yet. Grade: A" —Leah Greenblatt, Entertainment Weekly
“Outstanding . . . Unfolding in brief chapters studded with observations about her childhood and scientific facts, Chemistry may be the funniest novel ever written about living with depression.” —Kim Hubbard, People, “The Best New Books”
“Wang’s heroine, a young Chinese-American woman who is emotionally and professionally adrift, feels crushed by the expectations of her demanding parents, and by the pressures of her prestigious Boston university and her competitive male-dominated field, synthetic organic chemistry. She is also deeply ambivalent about marriage and committing to a career in synthetic organic chemistry. Chemistry is a sort of anti-coming-of-age story: Instead of figuring out how to be an adult, the narrator learns to live with uncertainty and indecision . . . In a deadpan voice, Wang drops in arcane chemistry trivia and captures the quirky, cutthroat subculture of science graduate students.” —Alexandra Alter, The New York Times
“What happens when you get a degree in chemistry from Harvard, but feel a competing pull to the world of narrative? You write a novel about this combustible state: Chemistry is a funny, wise debut about the heartache of uncertainty and the struggle to please others while forging one’s own path.” Nando Pelusi, Ph.D., Psychology Today
“A spiky, sparkling slip of a novel . . . with a singular take on love, lab science, and existential crises.” —Leah Greenblatt, Entertainment Weekly “10 Best Books of the Year So Far”
“A genuine piece of literature: wise, humorous, and moving.” —Ha Jin
“With its limpid style, comic verve, and sensitive examination of love, need, and aspiration, this exquisitely soul-searching novel is sure to be one of the most outstanding debuts of the year.” —Sigrid Nunez
“Weike Wang’s voice is indelible—hypnotic, mesmerizing, and strange in the best possible way. In Chemistry she creates a fully realized portrait of a brilliant mind in crisis, illuminating a corner of the human experience that’s woefully underexplored. By the last page I was devastated, transported, and craving more.” —Emily Gould, author of Friendship
“How do we learn to love if we haven’t been taught? That question seems to be the nucleus of Chemistry. Wang challenges the conventions of the marriage plot: the story begins with a proposal, falls into an alienating existential crisis, and ends in the morally ambiguous territory of self-actualization. The force of the novel is the narrator’s perfectly-executed voice, unflinching and painfully self-aware as she deconstructs her life—disastrously, bravely—to see if there is anything at the bottom she can hold on to.” —Stephanie Danler, author of Sweetbitter
“Chemistry (appropriately enough) explodes the stereotype of the model minority. Wang’s voice is a revelation—by turns deadpan and despairing, wry and wrenching, but always and precisely true.” —Peter Ho Davies, author of The Welsh Girl and The Fortunes
“Chemistry is a sly and infectious book. I read it quickly, galloping through the pages, marveling at the insight and the charm of this narrator as she uses her scientific impulses to explore the world around her and, ultimately, herself.” —Cristina Henríquez, author of The Book of Unknown Americans
“A rebellious debut: a wry, subtle, deeply attuned examination of love, immigration, family, and chemistry in all its forms. With its dark wit, probing self-examinations, and profound meditations on science and the soul, this is a novel for fellow seekers.” —Sarah Gerard, author of Binary Star and Sunshine State
“Science is an excellent lens for Weike Wang’s look at a young woman’s wonderfully skewed experience of love, ambition, loyalty, and, of course, chemistry. The pressure to excel, as applied by immigrant parents, comes up against basic questions of self-discovery: ‘Find me the thing that I can make the greatest impact in and I will do that thing,’ says the chemistry whiz who has gone off course. This very appealing narrator is funny and original, and the novel is filled with compelling information from the world of chemistry as well as gems such as Einstein’s thoughts on love, communicated to his daughter. In a word, this debut is: elemental.” —Amy Hempel
“Chemistry casts a rare spell, some alchemic mixture all its own. Though her ingredients are familiar—being young, uncertain, and estranged—Weike Wang gives them to us anew; her wry, off-beat vision demands that we look again, as if for the very first time.” —Casey Schwartz, author of In the Mind Fields
“A clipped, funny, painfully honest narrative voice lights up Wang’s debut about a Chinese-American graduate student who finds the scientific method inadequate for understanding her parents, her boyfriend, or herself . . . Wang [has a] gift for perspective.” —Publishers Weekly
“If you loved both the brains and the heart of Jenny Offill’s short yet emotionally epic novel Dept. of Speculation, Chemistry will be your next favorite read. Wang’s eloquent debut is full of short vignettes on the nature of love and overbearing families and academic failures and complicated relationships, all told through the lens of science. Chemistry proves to be a useful metaphorical tool for describing the messy moments in life for which no perfect formula exists.” —Maris Kreizman, Vulture Spring Preview 2017
“Endearing…Equal parts intense and funny…The narrator’s voice—distinctive and appealing—makes this novel at once moving and amusing, never predictable. A wry, unique, touching tale of the limits of parental and partnership pressure.” —Kirkus
“Beguiling . . . wry and witty . . . A funny, idiosyncratic story of a young woman with big brains, big family baggage and a wonderfully fresh voice sorting out a world of science, language, dogs, counseling therapy, a BFF and her baby, SAT tutoring, Boston weather, cases of wine, TV cooking shows—and piecing together the right chemistry in her life . . . Wang’s narrator spices her daily ups and downs with a little bit of science here, a Chinese language oddity there, shrink-talk and a running stream of observations about parents and child- and dog-rearing . . . But her coping and sorting is not just about being clever—Wang has an astute feel for the deep, scary uncertainties of a young, talented woman trying to shake off a demanding family and a derailed career and relationship . . . Chemistry is full of surprises—its many digressions congealing to yield an impressive literary blend.” —Bruce Jacobs, Shelf Awareness
“There is the chemistry of elements and the chemistry of love. Wang’s first person narrator swings between the two [in a] story that unfolds as a collage of memories and musings. What matters is the narrator’s refreshing openness to her world and her shunning of readymade answers. Complicating detours that arise from culture and race provide depth and density. But throughout, it’s her personal struggles that impel her curiosity about the ways past influences impact present choices. One way or another, we’ve all been there.”—Dan Dervin, The Fredericksburg Free-Lance Star
“A graduate student in chemistry at a rigorous Boston-area university, the sharp, self-aware narrator of this engaging work is having doubts about her career aspirations and her boyfriend. Named a ‘Most Anticipated Novel of 2017’ by Entertainment Weekly, the Millions, and Bustle, and they were right.” —Library Journal
“In this debut novel, a graduate student in chemistry learns the meaning of explosive when the rigors of the hard sciences clash with the chronic instability of the heart. A traditional family, a can’t-miss fiancé, and a research project in meltdown provide sufficient catalyst to launch the protagonist off in search of that which cannot be cooked up in the lab.” —The Millions, “Most Anticipated of 2017”
“Wang’s novel depicts a smart woman confronting an unplanned roadblock in her carefully engineered path, then feeling her way toward a terrifying unknown . . . The work has [a] quiet, unassuming power, as the narrator’s clinical approach and outsider eye infuses the story of her mental breakdown with both wry humor and pathos . . . A capably crafted, thoughtful novel.” —Claire Fallon, Huffington Post
“A poignant tale of self-discovery that anyone who’s ever felt a little lost will relate to.” —Jarry Lee, BuzzFeed, “22 Incredible New Books You Need to Read This Summer”
“It’s a laugh-out loud marvel. But that doesn’t mean it’s not intense—and that wry intensity is underscored by Wang’s writing style, a kind of staccato on the page. Wang’s spare prose makes all of her emotions—both happy and sad—pack all the more punch. Sprinkled throughout are tidbits about chemistry that double as metaphors for all sorts of human emotions—I loved them and I’m definitely not a science girl. Seeing the world through the lens of chemistry is novel, if only as a reminder that the messiness of life follows no particular formula.”—Leigh Haber, Book of the Month Club
“With her academic career unraveling and an unanswered proposal from her boyfriend looming, Wang’s narrator-- a young, female scientist—throws comfort and predictability to the wind, finally daring to ask herself what she really wants out of life.” —E. Ce Miller, Bustle, “15 New Authors You’re Going to Be Obsessed With This Year”
“A longstanding complaint I’ve had with so-called literary fiction is that it too rarely invents mathematicians, or scientists, perhaps because most writers know little about either field. (Delightful exceptions: Catherine Chung’s A Forgotten Country, Yoko Ogawa’s The Housekeeper and the Professor, Jeanette Winterson’s Gut Symmetries.) Chemistry looks like a worthy addition to the line-up.” —R.O. Kwon, Electric Lit “34 Books by Women of Color to Read This Year”
About the Author
WEIKE WANG is a graduate of Harvard University, where she earned her undergraduate degree in chemistry and her doctorate in public health. She received her MFA from Boston University. Her fiction has been published in or is forthcoming from Alaska Quarterly Review, Glimmer Train, The Journal, Ploughshares, Redivider, and SmokeLong Quarterly. She is a 2017 “5 Under 35” honoree of the National Book Foundation.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Part I
The boy asks the girl a question. It is a question of marriage. Ask me again tomorrow, she says, and he says, That’s not how this works.
Diamond is no longer the hardest mineral known to man. New Scientist reports that lonsdaleite is. Lonsdaleite is 58 percent harder than diamond and forms only when meteorites smash themselves into Earth.
•••
The lab mate says to make a list of pros and cons.
Write it all down, prove it to yourself.
She then nods sympathetically and pats me on the arm.
The lab mate is a solver of hard problems. Her desk is next to mine but is neater and more result-producing.
Big deal, she says of her many, many publications and doesn’t take herself too seriously, is busy but not that busy, talks about things other than chemistry.
I find her outlook refreshing, yet strange. If I were that accomplished, I would casually bring up my published papers in conversation. Have you read so-and-so? Because it is quite worth your time. The tables alone are beautiful and well formatted.
I have only one paper out. The tables are in fact very beautiful, all clear and double-spaced line borders. All succinct and informative titles.
Somewhere I read that the average number of readers for a scientific paper is 0.6.
So I make the list. The pros are extensive.
Eric cooks dinner. Eric cooks great dinners. Eric hands me the toothbrush with toothpaste on it and sometimes even sticks it in my mouth. Eric takes out the trash, the recycling; waters all our plants because I can’t seem to remember that they’re living things. These leaves feel crunchy, he said after the week that he was gone.
He goes that week to California for a conference with other young and established chemists.
Also Eric drives me to lab when it’s too rainy to bike. Boston sees a great deal of rain. Sometimes the rain comes down horizontal and hits the face.
Also Eric walks the dog. We have a dog. Eric got him for me.
I realize that I don’t have any cons. I knew this going in.
It is a half-list, I tell the lab mate the next day, and she offers to buy me a cookie.
In lab, there are two boxes filled with argon. It is where I do highly sensitive chemistry, the kind that can never see air. Once air is let in, the chemicals catch fire. It is also where I wish to put my head on days of nothing going right.
On those days, I add the wrong amount of catalyst. Or I add the wrong catalyst.
Catalysts make reactions go faster. They lower activation energy, which is the indecision each reaction faces before committing to its path.
What use is this work in the long run? I ask myself in the room when I am alone. The solvent room officially, but I have renamed it the Fortress of Solitude.
Eric is no longer in this lab. He graduated last year and is now in another lab. A chemistry PhD takes at least five years to complete. We met when I was in my first and he was in his second.
Now I walk around our apartment and trip over his stuff: big black drum bags and steel pots and carboys with brown liquid fermenting inside. Eric plays the drums and brews beer. One con is how much space these two hobbies take up, but this is outweighed by the drums that I like to hear and the beer that I like to drink.
My pro list grows at an exponential rate.
•••
We had talked about marriage before. Can you see yourself settling down, having kids? Can you see yourself starting a family? I didn’t say no, but I didn’t say yes. We had these talks casually. Each time, he thought if actually proposed to, I would say something different.
At least now all my cards are on the table, he says. But please don’t take too long to decide.
•••
It has been the summer of unbearable heat. At the Home Depot, we go up and down aisles looking for a fan. Our last fan broke yesterday and next week it is supposed to be hotter. Then next month, a hurricane.
When Eric sees the hurricane report, he wonders if the people who wrote it are just screwing with us.
Why would they do that? I ask.
Because it’s funny.
Oh, right. Then a minute later, I laugh.
Patience is Eric’s greatest virtue. He will wait in longer lines than I will and think nothing of it. He will smile, while holding a heavy fan, at the older woman in front of him who has brought a tall stack of lampshades and at the moment of payment is having second thoughts. She asks the clerk for his opinion. She asks Eric. Do I need the magenta? Me, she doesn’t bother with, because I am the one with the furiously tapping foot. The woman considers some more, turning each lampshade in her hands, but in the end purchases nothing.
I tell Eric in the car that if I were to reimagine Hell, it would be no different from the line we were just in. Except the woman would never decide on a lampshade and the line would never move.
Can you imagine? I say. A worse punishment than pushing that thing up the hill.
A boulder, Eric says.
I realize what a hypocrite I’m being, to make him wait for an answer and then dwell on a twenty-five-minute line.
Once home, Eric sets the fan up and the dog goes crazy.
•••
Two years ago, Eric and I moved in together. We do not have a dog but we are thinking about it. What kind? Eric asks. Big? Small? I don’t have a preference. How about just adorable?
When he first brings him home, I hear the tail, long and bushy, thumping against the couch. A forty-five-pound goldendoodle. Incredibly adorable. When he runs, his ears flop. If we never groomed him, his hair would keep growing and he would look like a blond bear.
The blond bear loves people and this is good. But then we discover that he is afraid of everything else: the hair dryer, an empty box, the fan.
•••
Bad tempers run in my family. It is the dominant allele, like black hair. Eric has red hair. Our friends have asked if there is any way our babies will turn out to be gingers. Gingers are dying out, and our friends are concerned about Eric’s beautiful locks.
I say, Unless Mendel was completely wrong about genetics, our babies will have my hair.
But our friends can still dream. An Asian baby with red hair. One friend says, You could write a Science paper on that and then apply for academic jobs and then get tenure.
Eric is already looking for academic jobs. He wants to teach at a college that primarily serves undergrads.
Because they are the future, he says. Eager to learn, energetic, and happy, more or less, as compared with grad students. With undergrads, I can make a real difference.
I don’t say this but I think it: You are the only person I know who talks like that. So enthusiastically and benefit-of-the-doubt-giving.
But the colleges he’s interested in are not in Boston. They are in places like Oberlin, Ohio.
I am certain that Eric will get the job. His career path is very straight, like that of an arrow to its target. If I were to draw my path out, it would look like a gas particle flying around in space.
The lab mate often echoes the wisdom of many chemists before her. You must love chemistry even when it is not working. You must love chemistry unconditionally.
The friends who ask about the red-haired babies are the ones recently married or the ones recently married with a dog. Whenever we have them over for dinner, like tonight, they think we are trying to tell them that we are engaged.
News? they say.
Not yet, I reply, but here, have some freshly grated Parmesan cheese instead.
Behind my back, I know they are less kind. They ask each other, It’s been four years, hasn’t it? They joke, She is only with him for his money.
It is common knowledge now that graduate students make close to nothing and that there are more PhD scientists in this country than there are jobs for them.
When Eric first decides to do a PhD, it is in high school. He takes a chemistry class and excels. This is in western Maryland, in a town with many steepled churches but no Starbucks. Every other year we drive three hours from the DC airport, through a gap in the Appalachian Mountains, and arrive at a picturesque place where Eric seems to know everyone. He waves to the man across the horseshoe bar, his former band teacher. He waves to the woman at the post office, the mother of a high school friend. The diner with the horseshoe bar is called Niners. There is always farmland for sale and working mills.
Sometimes I wonder why he left a place where every ice-cream shop is called a creamery to work seventy-hour weeks in lab. He credits the chemistry teacher, who asked him often, What are you going to do afterward? And don’t just say stick around.
•••
A belief among Chinese mothers is that children pick their own traits in the womb. The smart ones work diligently to pick the better traits. The dumb ones get easily flustered and fall asleep. For their laziness, they are then dealt the worse traits.
Or perhaps this is just a belief of my own mother.
Had you chosen better, you would have not ended up with your father’s terrible temper or my poor vision.
I don’t want to believe this but it has become so ingrained. Compared with mine, Eric’s temper is nonexistent.
Thursday, trash day. We pick the wrong streets to go down and drive for miles behind a garbage truck. It is a one-way road. It is also a one-lane road. But not once does he sigh or complain. He puts on jazz music instead. Listen to this, he says. But all I hear is the going and stopping of the truck, the picking up and dumping of trash, the clanking of metal bins. So frustrated am I after one song that I lean over and press the horn for him. Then out the window, I shout at the truck, Excuse me, do you mind?
•••
The PhD advisor visits my desk, sits down, brings his hands together, and asks, Where do you see your project going in five years?
Five years? I say in disbelief. I would hope to be graduated by then and in the real world with a job.
I see, he says. Perhaps then it is time to start a new project, one that is more within your capabilities.
He leaves me to it.
The desire to throw something at his head never goes away. Depending on what he says, it is either the computer or the desk.
I sketch out possible projects. Alchemy, for one. If I could achieve that today, I could graduate tomorrow.
A guy in lab strongly believes that women do not belong in science. He’s said that women lack the balls to actually do science.
Which isn’t wrong. We do lack balls.
But if he had said that to me at the start of grad school, I would have punched him. Coming in, I think myself the best at chemistry. In high school, I win a national award for it. I say, cockily, at orientation, Yes, that was me, only to realize that everyone else had won it as well, at some point, in addition to awards I have never won.
The lab guy is still around. He works with the lab mate. If all goes well, they will have another paper next year and then they will graduate.
Women lack the balls to do science, he still says. With the exception of your lab mate. She has three.
Later I ask Eric, How many balls do you think I have?
It is poor timing. We have just gotten into bed and started to kiss.
Uh, none? he says, and the kissing is over. I was hoping he would have said something along the lines of three and a half.
•••
A Chinese proverb: Outside of sky there is sky, outside of people there are people.
It is the idea of infinity and also that there will always be someone better than you.
Eric says the proverb reminds him of a story from Indian philosophy.
Three hundred years ago, the world was believed to be a flat plate that rested on an elephant that rested on a turtle. Below that turtle was another turtle and below that turtle was another one. It was turtles all the way down.
