Pick a Colour by Souvankham ThammavongsaMy rating: 4 of 5 stars
Souvankham Thammavongsa is a brilliant short-story writer, and her recent novel, Pick a Colour reads more like a series of interconnected short stories rather than a novel. I found that a bit frustrating; it made it harder for me to become engrossed in the story than I would have with a more traditional novel structure. That said, the surprises and cynical humour of the book kept me reading.
It is told from the perspective of an immigrant nail salon owner who — surprise #1 — used to be a boxer. She is reflecting on her life, while staff and clients come and go and the day drags on. I struggled to assign a numerical rating to the novel because it hits hard at one of my personal quirks: I feel profoundly uncomfortable with personal services such as manicures and pedicures. On those rare occassions when I’ve let myself be peer pressured into having my nails done, I feel squeamish up on that salon throne, and can’t stop wondering how these immigrant women (many of whom have been trafficked, apparently) feel about handling our yucky feet while we either natter at them or ignore them while perusing our phones. I wonder what they are discussing with each other in Vietnamese, a language I don’t even come close to understanding.
Well, Thammavongsa’s book confirms my worst fears. In her story, they have their own ongoing speculations and sarcastic commentaries about our lives running while they pretend to be oh-so-friendly and caring. Yikes! She also pokes at us in other ways. Confident that the overlords don’t really look at the women providing the service, the salon owner economizes on name tags by calling all her emplyees Susan. She figures, correctly, that to the clients the “girls” all look alike, so if they want to book an appointment with “Susan”, anyone will do. She’s also convinced that she has to tell clients to “pick a colour” twice; otherwise we either won’t hear or won’t have adjusted to the accent well enough to catch the instruction the first time. Ouch.
If it’s this bad for the folks who deal with our nails, I don’t even want to think about those who remove intimate body hair. (And that, my Darling Daughter, should you happen to read this review, is why I won’t wear skimpy bathing suit bottoms.)
I think this Giller Prize-winner is worth reading, but be prepared for a slow pace. I’d be curious to know how readers who don’t have my nail salon hang-up would react to the book. Comments, anyone?
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