A certain figurative language about Hollywood has been circulating through human discourse since cinema first entered the world. “Hollywood magic,” for instance, refers to special effects or related techniques employed to illustrate desires and fears across the “silver screen.” This fantastical imagery occludes the malevolence behind the curtain, the industry itself, which receives metaphorical treatment as well, as, for example, when the media discusses “lupine” or “predatory” studio executives, and so we might imagine them being lycanthropes, beasts wearing human disguises. What emerges is a superficial fairy realm with underlying traps for unwary aspirants seeking a piece of the dream.

Nghi Vo amplifies her themes by transforming magic from symbolic language into something that exists. She brings readers into a Pre-Code Hollywood where movie stars truly burn brightly once achieving greatness, earning their places in the actual sky.  Those lupine studio executives?  Yes, werewolves (or something similar) stalk lots and sets, hunting contracted actors and sacrificing them to hellish entities to maintain their power.  Nghi’s Hollywood reads like a poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, a vision true until the paint begins chipping off.  Vo never defines a system for her magic, content to leave it as an accepted facet of her narrative, like the magical realism found in works by Toni Morrison, Isabel Allende, and Gabriel García Márquez.

We witness this otherworld Hollywood through the eyes of Luli Wei, an ambitious young woman desiring her place among the greats.  Luli’s no ingénue, however.  She clearly demands, “No maids, no funny talking, no fainting flowers.”  She won’t succumb to Chinese stereotypes and would rather play the monster than the maid. She’s also queer, and readers see how career-minded professionals hid their identities and relationships, fearing that discovery would ruin them forever. That, unfortunately, all too directly mirrors our Hollywood.

Whether Vo intends it, Luli loosely reflects Anna May Wong, a pioneer who defied Asian stereotypes and eventually left for Europe when pressures became too strong. Beneath the magic, Pre-Code Hollywood is negotiation, exploitation, and marginalization. Nonetheless, Luli perseveres, finally scoring a recurring role as the Siren, a creature set against Captain Nemo in a series of films calling to mind old-time serials or the Universal Monsters franchise.

Interestingly, Luli never reveals her birth name, and she only refers to herself as Luli Wei after stealing this from her sister, which makes sense.  I couldn’t imagine calling Joan Crawford “Lucille” or “Ms. Lesueur,” or Judy Garland “Frances” or “Ms. Gumm.”  Luli comes into being when she’s accepted into the studio and partially succumbs to the glamour, the point at which she renames herself.  When she signs that contract with that newly stolen name, that’s where her story starts. She names herself, though, rejecting names the studio head suggests.  She’ll play the game, but as much as possible she’ll do so her way.

Siren Queen is about more than Hollywood. It’s about racism and homophobia both within the glitter and beyond.  Imagine how many stars married to cover up their LGBTQ+ truths, and look how many white actors played yellow-face characters while perpetrating the stereotypes that Luli Wei and our very own Anna May Wong strove to avoid.  I adore Myrna Loy and Boris Karloff, but I can’t watch The Mask of Fu Manchu without squirming.  Does Luli Wei meet a happy ending?  Does she self-actualize and achieve sustainable happiness unlike many from Filmland?  We could spend several classroom sessions discussing the possibilities.  I will say, however, that throughout Luli never entirely surrenders.

No doubt, Vo will enjoy a long, successful writing career. After finishing Siren Queen, I immediately picked up her first novel, The Chosen and the Beautiful, a magical retelling of The Great Gatsby.  Jordan Baker’s the narrator, not Nick Carraway, and Vo switches her into a Vietnamese woman who’s queer — and it works.  I’ll be pre-ordering offerings from this author for the rest of my days.  She’s just that good.