Library Journal - Audio
06/01/2022
In Mongolia, Buddhist monk Chuluun is sent to look for a reincarnation of a great lama, a spiritual teacher who may have been born anywhere in the country's landscape. Chuluun and his identical twin Mun travel together on this quest, and they are able to think and see with one mind. But the two are a bit estranged; Mun has renounced his vows and departed from the monastic life, which makes Chuluun question his commitment. Their trip takes them all over Mongolia. Barry is a poet, and her way with words resonates throughout this novel, written entirely in present tense as a nod to the Buddhist teaching to live in the present moment. Narrator David Lee Huynh performs a convincing Chuluun, focusing on a calm and reassuring tone that conveys the monk's acceptance of his situation, even during moments of distress and confusion. VERDICT This complete departure from Barry's (We Ride Upon Sticks) earlier work gives listeners reasons to become fans.—Christa Van Herreweghe
Publishers Weekly
11/15/2021
Barry (We Ride upon Sticks) returns with the uneven story of a novice Buddhist monk’s search for an enlightened teacher believed to be reincarnated. Chuluun, 23, hasn’t seen his twin brother Mun for more than a year, ever since Mun renounced his vows at the monastery where they grew up. But after he retains Mun as his driver, the brothers set out across the vastness of Mongolia to look for the child among the Reindeer People of the north, the eagle hunters of the Altai Mountains, and the herders of the Gobi Desert. Along the way, Chuluun struggles with his decision over his final vows and tries to reconnect with Mun. It’s complicated, as the brothers can read each other’s thoughts, and Chuluun keeps Mun’s reason for leaving the monastery a secret until the end. Barry drops in occasional Mongolian words without defining them, which immerses the reader into the setting, but can take some getting used to. The pacing of the quest, meanwhile, is inconsistent, with bits of action here and there (including a dramatic sandstorm) among the digressions on Buddhist philosophy, but Barry brings a great deal of empathy and nuance to the brothers’ attempts to reckon with their spirituality. It’s a mixed bag, but much of this will resonate. Agent: Jennifer Lyons, Jennifer Lyons Literary. (Feb.)
From the Publisher
A MOST ANTICIPATED BOOK OF THE YEAR: Time, Bustle, PopSugar, Literary Hub, Essence
"Mesmerizing and delicate . . . a dazzling achievement . . . The rhythms are more like prayer than prose, and the puzzlelike plot yields revelations in unassuming sentences that a skimming eye could easily miss . . . The novel brims with formal peculiarities seemingly designed to cultivate alertness—and they do . . . There are sweet and surprising echoes of Dickens throughout . . . If you’re thinking that this adds up to the world’s weirdest logline—'A Buddhist sentimental education with stylistic innovation . . .'—you’re not wrong. The unlikeliness of the novel is exactly its magic." —Molly Young, The New York Times
"[An] engrossing new novel. . . and although it’s a sharp departure from We Ride Upon Sticks . . . its unconventional storytelling and fantastical elements will appeal to fans of Barry’s other books. Barry showcases the diversity of cultures and traditions within Mongolia and . . . challenges stereotypes of Buddhist monks that readers may carry . . . At its heart, When I’m Gone, Look for Me in the East asks questions fundamental to the human experience that will resonate regardless of the reader’s familiarity with Mongolia, and it’s bound to be beloved by book clubs.” —Serena Puang, Boston Globe
"Utterly original, a unique immersion in history, philosophy, religion, the nature of time, and the clash of old and new happening all over our world . . . An award-winning poet, Barry shapes transparent, simple language into images that are lyrical and haunting . . . When I’m Gone, Look for Me in the East is a story of much magic and many miracles—a startling, yet gentle, book." —Sally Shivnan, Washington Independent Review of Books
"Faith and brotherhood are at the heart of Quan Barry's compelling new novel." —PopSugar
"A wholly original, enlightening read." —Angela Haupt, TIME
"Spiritual and emotional. . . . When I’m Gone, Look for Me in the East is a journey worth taking. The writing is simple but powerful, like a proverb. Many small observations will stop readers in their tracks to contemplate the myriad meanings. . . . It’s what you would expect from a novel starring a young Buddhist monk: a peaceful and edifying story that can be endlessly mined for deeper meaning." —Olive Fellows, The Rumpus
"A dreamlike and lyrical journey steeped in the tenets of Tibetan Buddhism." —Kirkus Reviews (starred revew)
“An imaginative tour de force . . . Evincing the same dazzling talents that won high critical praise for We Ride upon Sticks, Barry vastly expands readers’ horizons, both geographical and metaphysical . . . Readers’ most transformative experience comes by reflecting—through Chulun’s thoughts, strangely tangled with Mun’s—on the Four Noble Buddhist Truths and the Eight-Fold Path. . .Though the narrative focuses on Mongolian Buddhism, readers learn how Buddhists everywhere have suffered as Chinese communists have persecuted the faith rooted in Tibet.” —Bryce Christensen, Booklist (starred review)
"The expansive imagination of Massachusetts-raised Quan Barry knows no bounds . . . Barry explores large questions about Buddhist philosophy and faith in general while painting a lush portrait of the Mongolian terrain." —Katherine Ouelette, WBUR
"This novel couldn’t be any more different from Quan Barry’s deliciously irreverent 2020 novel We Ride Upon Sticks—except that it is similarly excellent, and similarly immersive, a full-throated plunge into a very specific, fascinating world." —Emily Temple, Literary Hub
Library Journal
04/02/2022
Acclaimed novelist/poet Barry follows up her latest work of fiction, We Ride Upon Sticks, by transporting readers to a lush and windswept Mongolia. The novel opens as Chuluun, a Mongolian monk, reunites with his identical twin brother Mun in the busy capital of Ulaanbaatar. Mun was once a monk known as the "Redeemer Who Sounds the Conch in the Darkness" but has since renounced his vows owing to a familiarity with women, as his brother explains. Tasked with finding the reincarnation of a revered spiritual leader, they set off on a two-week journey with two companions. The rich narrative looks at Chuluun's life as a Mongolian monk while providing insights into the country's various cultures. While the depth and breadth of some of these passages can get a bit unwieldy, what shines here is the distinctive and enduring bond between the two brothers despite the different directions their lives have taken. VERDICT This probing personal portrait leads Barry to a larger story that will appeal especially to readers who appreciate being swept into richly realized landscapes and cultures.—Shirley Quan
Kirkus Reviews
★ 2022-01-26
Twin brothers embark on a quest across Mongolia to find a reincarnated Buddhist teacher.
Chuluun is a Buddhist monk preparing to take his final vows. But first, he's sent to help find the reincarnation of a great spiritual teacher called the One for Whom the Sky Never Darkens. Chuluun travels to the city of Ulaanbaatar and enlists his estranged twin brother, Mun, to drive the little group of searchers across Mongolia to speak to children who might potentially be the lost “Precious One.” Mun’s relationship with Chuluun is strained, as Mun has renounced his own vows and deserted the monks. Mun himself is a reincarnated Precious One, called the Redeemer Who Sounds the Conch in the Darkness, a role he found stifling. Mun and Chuluun can hear each other’s thoughts and access each other’s minds, an ability that complicates their thorny relationship, especially as it allows Mun to know that Chuluun is having his own doubts about continuing on as a monk. Barry is a poetic writer even in her fiction, and readers looking for a more straightforward story might be put off by the imagery-heavy narration. But others who tolerate a bit of confusion toward the beginning will be rewarded with elegiac passages on faith and doubt. “What I am always learning in my twenty-three years on earth: there is suffering. And sometimes at the end of it all a door opens. A hand appears on the surface of the water, reaches down to pull you up.”
A dreamlike and lyrical journey steeped in the tenets of Tibetan Buddhism.
