The Paper Menagerie Review
In the short story “The Paper Menagerie” by Ken Liu, Jack, the protagonist and narrator, describes his life in suburban Connecticut, living alongside his American father and Chinese immigrant mother. Originally chosen from a human trafficking catalog based in Hong Kong, Jack’s mother stands out in the sea of traditional American families; consequently, Jack suffers continuous bullying from his peers beginning in elementary school, due to his Asian background. Their mother-son relationship only becomes more strained as Jack progresses into high school; even in her last moments on the hospital bed, Jack’s mind wanders toward “resumes, transcripts, and strategically constructed interview schedules” (Liu 35). Nevertheless, as he matures, Jack finds a heartfelt letter left by his mother—only then does he appreciate and feel regret toward his childhood ignorance. In her work about trauma and pain, American literary critic Parul Sehgal describes the trauma plot—what she believes to be a drawback to modern writing.
Moreover, the first half of “The Paper Menagerie” fits Sehgal’s description of a “trauma plot”: by focusing only on the bullying throughout Jack’s early life, his traumatic background became a “totalizing identity”, one that “trump[ed] all other identities” and defined Jack’s life. Sehgal argues that the stereotypical trauma plot “flattens, distorts, [and] reduces character to symptom”; nevertheless, the short story remains impactful and emotional for readers. Such a conflict leads to the question: if Sehgal argues that basic trauma plots about overused subjects diminish the narrative’s quality, how does Liu’s “The Paper Menagerie” remain impactful and powerful, even when the story follows all the classic components of a stereotypical “trauma plot”?
Indeed, the first half of “The Paper Menagerie” almost exactly fits Sehgal’s description of a trauma narrative. In modern writing, Sehgal believes that “trauma has become synonymous with backstory”, and that “characters are now created in order to be dispatched into the past, to truffle for trauma” (9). Regardless of the character’s building, growth, or past experience, Sehgal argues that the brief moments of pain that humans inevitably experience surpass all, becoming a standalone symbol for the character’s development and future. Jack’s early life embodies exactly this. Initially an innocent mixed-race child, Jack meets Mark during one of his playdates: an ignorant white boy his age, who torments him for his mother’s hand-crafted origami toys. At the moment, Mark’s actions are clear. He remarks that the laohu (tiger in Chinese) “doesn’t look like a tiger at all”, suggests that Jack’s mom “makes toys for [him] from the trash”, and, in a boiling point of frustration, crumples Jack’s toy, calling it “stupid cheap Chinese garbage” (Liu 31). Because children are known to speak directly what they believe, Liu’s choice of incorporating dialogue in the scene makes Mark’s intention explicit: readers know exactly what Mark thinks when he torments Jack. Furthermore, as the only childhood scene extended across 3 pages, Liu seemingly highlights this specific interaction as a pivotal moment in Jack’s upbringing. Beyond small flashes of conversations in school and at home, readers see the rest of Jack’s childhood only in bits and pieces, as if the 20-minute connection between Mark and Jack defined his whole adolescence.
As Jack progresses into high school, he begins to reject social interaction, matching how trauma-impacted characters tend to stereotypically shun themselves inwards. However, Sara Ahmed—an Australian writer and scholar known for her exploration of pain—proposes a different theory, arguing that pain is an intrinsically social feeling. Ahmed comments that even when pain is only felt by one person, it is never only limited to the recipient of the pain (29); rather, others emphasize and embrace the pain alongside the hurt. Intrinsically, however, the teasing Jack faces at school from Mark—described as one of the most popular students—severs his connections with others his age. The isolation he experiences thus contrasts Ahmed’s claim of how pain can connect. Likewise, the self-hatred that he eventually develops projects onto his interactions with his family, seeping into a similar hatred toward his family and Chinese roots. Consequently, before Jack’s mother succumbs to illness, the prevalent bullying that Jack experiences serves to isolate himself from both his family and friends: two of the closest bonds that any teenage boy should have.
Ahmed goes on to describe pain as a shared moment of bonding, remarking that pain “does not cut off the body in the present, but attaches this body to the world of other bodies” (28). In contrast, the pain that Jack’s mother feels does almost the exact opposite. Before Jack’s rejection of his culture, Jack’s mother saw Jack as her connection to her homeland in China, hoping that they could “remake a small piece of everything that [she] loved and lost” (Liu 42). Her English illiteracy isolated her from the rest of Connecticut, and as a result, she relied on Jack to communicate with America. Nevertheless, Jack’s trauma ultimately breaks this bond, indirectly causing Jack’s mother’s pain—she ultimately reflects that she felt like she “was losing everything all over again” (Liu 42). Jack’s mother moves from meaningful connection to complete isolation, effectively “cutting off her body” from the rest of the world. As a result, the initial pain in “The Paper Menagerie” contradicts Ahmed’s argument of pain as a connector, yet reinforces the notion of the short story as a trauma plot; the mutually shared pain between Jack and his mother heightens the trauma that Jack ultimately takes with him, into teenagehood and beyond.
However, their separation does not last forever. On a lazy afternoon, a shark documentary reminds Jack of his mother’s origami creations; upon taking them out, he finds a handwritten note describing his mother’s life story and her appreciation for him. In the moment, Jack’s trauma and pain changes from a sense of shame to a notion of guilt; only here does Ahmed’s theory of the contingency of pain become true. Ahmed comments that empathy is when humans try to experience the pain of others, but inevitably feel something different (30); she argues that what truly forms a connection isn’t a shared pain among individuals, but the intention to try to understand the pain that others feel, even when truly understanding is impossible. In “The Paper Menagerie”, both Jack and his mother inflicted different versions of pain on each other: Jack was hurt through his mother’s Chinese background, while his mother was hurt by Jack’s abandonment of his Chinese heritage. Consequently, extending Ahmed’s theory into the story, Jack posthumously forms an emotional connection with his mother by attempting to understand his mother’s pain—even if he cannot fully comprehend it. Nevertheless, the connection that Jack forms between his mother lacks mutuality. His deceased mother will never be able to attempt to understand Jack’s pain, just as Jack sought to explore hers. Because of their separation, the letter—in forgoing face-to-face connection—was how Jack’s mother expressed her pains; in comparison, Jack never had a way to express his suffering to his mother. As a result, the one-sided nature of Jack’s relationship with his mother is inherently questionable. Regardless, the growth and evolution of Jack’s trauma brings a new dimension to the traditional “trauma plot” that he initially embodied; only after his trauma develops is he able to connect with his mother and understand her struggles. Thus, it is the growth within the trauma plot that enhances the story and makes it interesting to read.
Yet even after forming a bond with his mother, Jack, in contrast, still ends the story by himself. After having a Chinese tourist translate his mother’s writing, Jack sits alone, only accompanied by his paper laohu and the spirit of his mother. Nevertheless, his solitary state at the end of the story is intrinsically different from his loneliness during his childhood. Initially self-conscious and shameful, Jack is now instead peaceful and reflective. Similarly, his trauma also alters; by recognizing his mother’s trauma, he is able to better understand and come to terms with his own. The difference is also highlighted by the actions of his paper animal. As a child, the animals “moved with her life” (Liu 27), yet eventually faded after her death; Liu subtly references his toddler happiness by narrating that Jack walked back home as “[laohu] purred” (Liu 43), indicating both an appreciation of his childhood and a reunification between Jack and his mother. As Ocean Vuong, an immigrant writer familiar with the struggles of feeling alienated, commentates in an NPR interview, “grief is perhaps the last and final translation of love” (Mosley). Vuong’s thoughts encapsulate how Jack finds growth in pain: through the grief that Jack feels, he is finally, fully able to appreciate his mother’s existence, even after she passed. However, the stereotypical trauma plot that Sehgal describes—one that is overused, all-encompassing, and flattening—is what sets up this moment of growth. Thus, Jack’s basic background remains integral to the story.
Nevertheless, another reason why trauma plots fail to convey authenticity is, to Sehgal, because of their predictability. Sehgal continues her exploration of the trauma plot by remarking that trauma plots force readers to “forget about the pleasures of not knowing” and abandon the mysterious nature of texts that serve to lure readers in. Matching Sehgal’s claim, the remainder of Jack’s described childhood becomes, to readers, predictable and obvious. As outside pressure from peers and lingering trauma heightens, his relationship with his mother becomes even more strained, to the point where he ignores their conversations, denies touch, and acts indifferent to her attempts of bonding. Such a reaction is anticipated; as a bullied teenager filled with self-hatred and disgust, Jack’s response almost exactly fits the “bullied child” blueprint that appears in trauma plots. Just as Sehgal describes, the overuse of the “trauma plot” stereotype initially takes away from the suspense that readers engage with, while simultaneously flattening Jack’s identity to center around his childhood trauma.
However, the mystery lies not in Jack’s background, but instead, his future. Sehgal comments that “the trauma plot does not direct our curiosity toward the future”, but instead focuses our attention “back into the past”. In contrast, the conclusion displays Jack walking home while carrying laohu in his arm, symbolizing a sense of reunification with his mother and coming to terms with his Chinese heritage. Nevertheless, readers only see the inciting incident and the beginning of his journey of growth; how Jack’s life will truly change is left to our imagination. Thus, without a clear-cut ending, readers in “The Paper Menagerie” are left looking forward, wondering how Jack will continue beyond the story. Liu’s intentional choice of leaving Jack’s future ambiguous counteracts the simplicity and predictability of Jack’s backstory, bringing in the mystery that, in the eyes of Sehgal, traditional trauma plots lack.
Thus, although “The Paper Menagerie” seems to match the boring and all-encompassing stereotype of a trauma plot, it is only with the existence of Jack’s generic backstory that we are able to see his growth and development. Liu incorporates Ahmed’s theory of the contingency of pain to push back against Sehgal’s argument of the staticity of trauma plots, suggesting that they are effective when showing the growth of the character’s pain—subsequently providing a sense of mystery for the character’s future. Such evolution is exactly what makes stories like “The Paper Menagerie” interesting to read. Jack’s maturity is a direct result of how his trauma transformed, going from shame to guilt, yet also from self-loathing to self-acceptance. In Jack, readers find a clear example in support of trauma plots, against the surplus of negative criticism they receive: the basic background often serves as a launching point for further development, where characters ultimately differentiate themselves through their different reactions to that trauma. In the end, trauma plots may be basic, but they do not have to be soulless.
Written by Jonathan Wang
Works Cited
Ahmed, Sara. “The Contingency of Pain.” The Cultural Politics of Emotion, Edinburgh University Press, 2004, pp. 29–51.
Liu, Ken. The Paper Menagerie and Other Stories. Saga Press, 2016.
Mosley, Tonya. “Poet Ocean Vuong Sifts through the Aftershock of Grief in ‘Time Is a Mother’.” NPR, 5 Apr. 2022,
Sehgal, Parul. “The Case Against the Trauma Plot.” The New Yorker, 27 Dec. 2021. https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2022/01/03/the-case-against-the-trauma-plot
