Emerging Writers Series: Yen-Rong Wong
“It's not so much about who gets to write about these topics as much as who will publish writing on these topics, and whose experiences get to be heard, seen and believed. In that sense, it has been really lovely to have been so supported on this journey, and I hope it maybe brings a moment of catharsis for readers who need it.”
Yen-Rong Wong will be familiar to many. Her fresh-voiced essays and arts criticism have been published widely, often deftly exploring contemporary Australian-Asian experiences.
In her first book - Me, Her, Us (2023) - Yen-Rong delivers a collection of essays that explores the intricacies of navigating sex and relationships as a young Chinese-presenting woman in a Western society.
I was delighted to be able to catch up with Yen-Rong about her new collection, the complexities of writing about those close to us, the role of non-fiction writing about sex in Australian literature and oh so much more!
Let’s start with learning a little more about your writing career and your debut essay collection Me, Her, Us?
I think deep down, I’ve always been a writer - I wrote my first story when I was around 3 or 4 (it was, ostensibly, a Hello Kitty fanfiction), and continued writing throughout school as a form of escapism. It wasn’t until I wrote a piece in response to Lionel Shriver’s opening night speech at the Brisbane Writers’ Festival that I was introduced to the wonderful world of creative nonfiction. I’ve been doing that ever since, with a little detour into magazine publishing.
The seeds of this book were sown a long time ago; I’d been hyper aware of the absence of Asian women’s voices in discussions around sex in the wider Australian landscape. I don’t think I ever thought that my story was “special” in any way, but I saw that nothing was changing, so I decided to take things into my own hands. It spiraled a bit after that (in a good way!) - I won the Young Writers’ and Publishers’ Award in 2020, the Glendower in 2022, and now I have a physical book out in the big wide world.
I’ve also recently embraced the world of arts criticism and all the perks that come with that!
Me, Her, Us is a truly no-holds-barred exploration of your sexual and personal experiences that breaks down a lot of traditional boundaries around ‘who’ gets to write about these topics. How cathartic was it for you to strip away these layers and get it down on the page?
The catharsis in the book comes more from my ability to be free to speak my truth to my parents about my childhood. There are so many things I couldn’t, can’t, and probably won’t ever be able to tell them out loud, and I suppose the book is a way to not only say those things, but also to digest this and come to terms with it.
Part of my (chaotic) writing process means I read what I write over and over and over again in the service of trying to write the next few lines, and being able to see it out on the page as something real and tangible had a big effect on me.
I also think it’s not so much about who gets to write about these topics as much as who will publish writing on these topics, and whose experiences get to be heard, seen and believed. In that sense, it has been really lovely to have been so supported on this journey, and I hope it maybe brings a moment of catharsis for readers who need it.
There is often a question mark in memoirs and non-fiction about who we write about, why and how much we share from one perspective. Your writing is deeply vulnerable and revealing; I’m curious about your thoughts on the ethics of this and whether your family has read it and their reactions?
I wrote this book for me; it’s an act of speaking back and out to my parents, so I haven’t told them about it! I’m not wilfully keeping it from them, as in, if they see it and decide to read it I’m okay with that, but I’m not at pains to point out that I’ve written this book that’s partially about them.
This is a long-winded way to say I don’t know if they’ve read it and to be very honest, I don’t care if they do. My sister, on the other hand, has been super supportive and lovely throughout the entire process. She’s read the parts where she’s mentioned and okayed it all – that was really important to me, that I don’t speak over her experiences of her childhood, even though we shared much of it.
In deeply personal books, I think people can conflate vulnerability with openness, that is, there’s an expectation to be open about everything because we’ve already talked about things that are seen to be more “subversive”. I think there’s an interesting conversation to be had around performativity and vulnerability, especially when it comes to writers of colour – how much of this we are expected to do to be seen and heard.
What was it like to win the Glendower Award for an Emerging Queensland Writer, and how has this supported your writing outside of having your book published?
Awards are always such a luck of the draw, and I’m even more aware of that now I’ve been on judging panels. I didn’t expect to win, so I was shocked, but then relieved and apprehensive. I was relieved because I knew the award came with a publishing contract but also apprehensive because I knew so little about what would come next.
The publishing world can be intimidating, and in winning the Glendower I felt like I was unofficially inducted into a group of former winners (I’ve now dubbed us the Glendower babes, much to Siang Lu’s chagrin). They’ve all been extremely supportive and generous with their time and advice, and I hope I can continue that for future winners.
We’re starting to see more works from diverse authors exploring themes of sexuality and challenging gender norms - A Lonely Girl is a Dangerous Thing by Jessie Tu is one such book that springs to mind. What role do you think fiction and non-fiction have to play in challenging the ways we think about sex, especially in a culturally diverse society?
Australia is a relatively conservative society, so I think we’re still in the early stages of unwrapping the role sex plays in our society and how we react to it.
I think it’s important right now simply in terms of representation – hearing non-white voices and having non-white bodies on the page will hopefully challenge conceptions of who has sex and how and why.
I sometimes struggle with the idea of “showing we’re just like them!” to in some way “prove” our humanity – but in work like mine all I can do is stay true to my experiences and hope that it resonates with audiences and is a springboard for other work.
I’m curious about your own bookshelves and any writers who have had a big impact or influence on your craft. Who are you reading that we should know about?
In terms of impact and influence, Shu-Ling Chua (Echoes), Alexander Chee (How to Write an Autobiographical Novel), Durga Chew-Bose (Too Much and Not the Mood), Teju Cole, Ocean Vuong (On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous).
Right now I’m all about reading slightly weird and/or funny fiction. I just finished Natural Beauty (Ling Ling Huang), and now I’m onto How to Kidnap the Rich (Rahul Raina). I’ve also just come back from the OzAsia Festival, where I picked up some books by Malaysian writers Shih-Li Kow and Wan Phing Lim that I’m excited to get into.
And lastly, what’s next for you on your writing journey? Are you working on anything at the moment you can tell us a bit about, or where can readers find you next?
In the spirit of slightly weird fiction, I’m trying my hand at a very weird novel. There are a couple of essay collections ruminating in the back of my head as well, so we’ll see which side wins out!
Yen-Rong Wong is an arts critic and award-winning writer working between Yugambeh and Jagera and Turrbal lands. She won the Glendower Award for an Emerging Queensland Writer in 2022, and the Queensland Premier’s Young Publishers and Writers Award in 2020. She has been a Wheeler Centre Hot Desk fellow and writer-in-residence at the Katharine Susannah Prichard Writers’ Centre. She is a frequent contributor to The Saturday Paper as a theatre critic, and her work has appeared in many print and online publications, including The Guardian, Sydney Review of Books, Meanjin, and Griffith Review. Me, Her, Us is her debut book of non-fiction.
Elaine Chennatt is a writer, educator and psychology student currently residing in nipaluna. She has a special interest in bibliotherapy (how we use literature to make sense of our lives) and is endlessly curious about the creative philosophies of others. She lives with her husband and two bossy dachshunds on the not-so-sunny side of the river (IYKYK). Find her online at wordswithelaine.com
