Portrait of a Thief by Grace D. Li
“She knew as well as he did — maybe better — what it was like to want more from the world than you were meant to have, to know that wanting wasn’t always enough.”
From early on in Portrait of a Thief (2022), American author Grace D. Li captures the idealism of her college-age protagonists, as well as how precarious this idealism this can be when faced with conflicts arising from societal pressures and their Chinese diaspora identities. This unique perspective shapes the novel’s fascinating exploration of imperialism and the ownership of historical artefacts, inspired by real-life events of Chinese art disappearing from Western museums.
We first meet Will Chen, a Harvard student in Art History, being unfairly questioned by a detective following a theft from the Sackler Museum in Boston. Upon later receiving an invitation from the corporation that undertook the heist, Will gathers four young Chinese Americans: Alex Huang, a software engineer who he once dated; his sister Irene Chen, a public policy major; Irene’s roommate Lily Wu, a race car driver; and his friend Daniel Liang, a pre-medical student. In Beijing, the five of them are offered a reward of $50 million if they steal five Chinese bronze sculptures from museums in countries across the Western world.
But why would any of them agree to this? And how could they possibly carry it out without being caught and ruining their entire futures? Li shows us the answers to these questions in a nuanced and multidimensional way.
Firstly, the novel considers the power structures which must be broken down in order to resist Western colonialism. Back in 2018, I’d read about the real events depicted in the novel, of Chinese art thefts from Western museums. Amongst the thefts were the bronze heads of the Chinese zodiac, which had originally belonged to the Old Summer Palace in Beijing, until British and French soldiers looted and burned the place in 1860.
In the opening scene, the detective regards Will with suspicion and speaks to him as if he is out of place – erasing his Chinese-American identity as someone who was born and raised in the United States. This small injustice sets the scene for the wider imperialist injustice involving the stolen Chinese artefacts at the centre of the story. Will’s sister Irene studies Chinese politics, but this heist similarly takes her far beyond what she had understood of the dynamics between China and the West. Both are grappling with these wider power structures as they relate to their heritage.
I’ve similarly wondered about how complex histories of China and the West relate to me, in the present. There’s a sense of illegitimacy arising out of these questions — if you’ve grown up in the West, shouldn’t you stick to commentating on issues which you have a more immediate connection with, rather than another country’s? — but Will and Irene were resonant reflections of my own desire for an informed understanding.
“The country of so much of her childhood, of her father’s stories, was not the same one she was in now. And yet she studied Chinese politics and Will studied Chinese art, both of them reaching for the country their parents had left behind.”
At the start, it appears that Will is the only one concerned with the historical injustice of the stolen art. The remainder of the crew’s concerns are dominated by the uncertainties regarding their futures, which motivate them to participate in the heist. I was reminded of my own early university years, and how the limitless possibilities ahead of me coalesced into specific pathways and difficult choices over time. Out of the characters, I found Alex Huang particularly compelling in this respect. Alex had been studying at MIT, but dropped out to take a job offer in Silicon Valley because she wanted security for her family — in spite of them never asking this of her, and in spite of the desires for her career she would have to bury as a result.
For first-generation migrants, it takes imagining a better life to journey across chasms into a new country. This idealism extends beyond individualistic goals, to envisioning the opportunities for one’s children and all they might subsequently achieve. It’s a challenging legacy for their children which then complicates one’s usual choices around studies and career paths, as it does for Alex. As the reader, we’re keenly aware that it’s not too late for Alex to reverse her path — but she must decide whether another future is worth pursuing.
“Silicon Valley, her job, the people who counted on her – sometimes it felt like an anchor, reminding her who she was, who she was meant to be. Other times she only felt the weight of it, threatening to drag her under.”
Throughout Portrait of a Thief, the portrayal of diaspora experiences is a deeply nuanced one. The ensemble cast serves as a microcosm of the variety of relationships that the Chinese diaspora can have with their cultural identities. Lily Wu has no family in China, but nevertheless feels she is missing a core understanding of the country of her heritage. Daniel Liang had migrated to America with his father, and reluctantly given up his Chinese citizenship — a decision tinged with grief. Each of the characters’ back stories, as they were slowly revealed, prompted me to reflect on how identity changes over time and context. The book was powerful precisely because I could identify with all of the characters in some way, and was so immersed in the questions they faced.
The story concluded in a surprising manner that resolved the conflicts of ownership relating to the Chinese art involved. I initially wondered whether it was too convenient, but ultimately admired the way everything was woven together. There’s a moment at his graduation from Harvard when Will feels like he’s in a dream — fitting, considering there was always something surreal about the premise of a group of college age Chinese American students undertaking the heist. The book ultimately suggests that idealism is worth holding on to for each of the characters, as well as on a larger scale in terms of historical injustices.
As readers, we never question that maintaining the characters’ dreams for their individual futures, of wanting the best outcomes for their lives and careers, is worth it in spite of the conflicts they face with family and societal limitations. Is it really so much of a leap that idealism in terms of righting colonial wrongs is also possible, that the foundations of artistic institutions can change? Portrait of a Thief left me feeling hopeful, and I’d recommend it to anyone who is on the verge of change in life, has grappled with the scale of their aspirations, and is interested in examining the contemporary impacts of Western imperialism from a diaspora perspective.
Wendy Chen is a writer and reviewer based in Sydney, Australia. Her short fiction has appeared in the anthology Meet Me at the Intersection (Fremantle Press, 2018), and she is a contributor to the science fiction and fantasy website Tor.com. You can find more of her book recommendations on Instagram @writteninwonder_