Chapter 39 ('Chapter 1') — Summary and Analysis

⚠️ Spoiler Warning: This guide contains detailed spoilers for the entire novel. Proceed only if you've finished reading or are comfortable knowing the plot.

Summary

The chapter opens in San Francisco in the year 2030, with an unnamed elderly Chinese woman reflecting on her own dying and the meaning of her life. She addresses her estranged daughter, Lily, directly in her thoughts, explaining that before becoming a mother she had discerned a purpose: to change how life could be, to make the unjust just, and to right what began wrong. She insists that being Lily’s mother was always her other great work, carried out hand in hand with her scientific ambition.

The previous night, the longing to hear Lily’s voice had become unbearable, so she called from one of the city’s remaining pay phones. Two drunk men in flaking synthetic leather jackets approached, shouting in Cantonese and calling her “grandmother,” but they soon lost interest and staggered away. When Lily answered, the narrator wanted to apologize, to explain her many reasons for failing her daughter, and to insist on the goodness of her intentions. She reflects that in America, a farmer’s daughter could become a scientist, and parents were supposed to hide their disappointment in their children—but she was a poor actress. She admits that as an American child and a Chinese mother, their difficulty communicating always seemed insurmountable, and she regrets it every day. Lily’s only response was to mutter “Fuck you” before hanging up. The narrator observes that when Lily is angry, she reminds her of herself.

That morning, the old women of San Francisco are already awake, lifting the lids of aqua-colored bins in search of usable cans and bottles. The narrator stops a young mother pushing a stroller who is about to throw a glass bottle into the trash, and asks politely, “May I have that?” The woman looks stunned—startled by the narrator’s command of English—and hands over the bottle before hurrying away. The narrator wonders what makes the woman uncomfortable: her age, her apparent poverty, or the fear that she might one day become like her. She reflects on how strollers have grown more complicated over the years, made of harder plastic and cushioned to oblivion, and concludes that the complicated strollers are not for the babies but for the parents themselves, who believe they are making decisions when in actuality they control nothing. She recalls pushing Lily around the harbor in the nicest stroller they could afford, lined with plaid flannel, even though Lily was born in June and the flannel was unnecessary. She loved that Lily came in June, after May.

The narrator then recalls Lily’s birth in harrowing detail. The umbilical cord was wrapped tightly around Lily’s neck, and a nurse removed it. For a moment, Lily did not breathe—it was as though she took one look at the world and decided against it—before she opened her mouth and wailed. While the nurses fussed over the baby, the narrator hemorrhaged, losing more blood than she thought a human could contain. It soaked through the hospital sheets and the doctor’s gown, and she could see the concern plain on the doctor’s face that they might both die, mother and child, and how it would ruin his day. She reflects that life always seemed too short, but now, alone, life seems far too long.

The narrative shifts to the present. The narrator describes Lily’s son, Nick, who wears a fleece sweater, jeans, and a black backpack—a uniform like all the other young people in the city. Usually he is alone, but on this day a young woman accompanies him: a coworker named Jess, who wears the same backpack with the same bright blue company logo. They walk straight to the candy aisle, where Nick proposes, “Nerds for nerds?” and makes his preferences less known so that she might express hers. At the cash register, he insists, “I got this, Jess,” and taps his card against the reader.

For the past month, every weekday at noon, the narrator has made her way from Chinatown to a drugstore near the Montgomery BART station, where the downtown high-rises loom sleekly. She follows Nick, and she may as well be invisible. No one asks what she is doing with her shopping basket, which she fills with items and then returns to their shelves. She recognizes the employees—the Thai woman with the clipped, boyish haircut; the shy Black man in smudged, round glasses—but not once has anyone said “Ma’am” or asked if she can be helped. She reflects that it hardly matters what an old woman is up to, whereas eyes follow Nick, as if it is easier to affix one’s attention to the young and beautiful. People once looked at her the way they look at him, with open and interested faces.

She has learned certain facts about him. The biotechnology startup where he works occupies four of the topmost floors of a nearby high-rise. Every day she walks past the building, whose windows mirror the sky and confound the birds, so that dead thrushes and sparrows collect at its base. On occasion Nick calls Lily from work, saying, “Hi, Mom. Nothing much,” and the narrator gathers what he says into an abstract and incomplete picture of her daughter’s life.

One day, in the hair aisle, the narrator finds herself short of breath. She leans back, and the pressure of her body sends boxes of hair dye thudding to the linoleum floor. Suddenly Nick is there, bent before her, concerned. He needs a haircut; his blond hair is getting long at the sides. He asks, “Are you okay?” She says nothing, letting him think she cannot speak English. He stares at her longer than he should, then helps her pick up the boxes, which are named after nuts: macadamia, almond, chestnut. He is so close to her, and she knows what he must see: her hair thinned and white as cotton, his eyes blue like the bay, his eyelashes thick and curled like a baby’s. She nods and smiles to indicate she is okay, and he goes on his way, though before he leaves, he turns around to look at her one last time.

Nick does not appear at the drugstore the next day, or the next. For a week, he does not show up at his usual time. The narrator worries she has lost him, and considers that now that he has seen her face, she will have to observe from farther away—unless he has already forgotten the old woman in the hair aisle.

Another week passes. The narrator steps outside with her cart to collect items before the trash truck comes. On her own recycling bin, she notices an unfamiliar bottle perched on the lid, with something folded inside. She pinches it out with her fingers: a photo she has not seen in decades, showing a lake, a willow, and Ping beside her. She turns around, and Nick is watching her, leaned against the wall, arms folded. He gestures to the photo and asks, “Is that you?” Not politely, not rudely—and even as he asks, he already knows.

“Follow me,” she says. They make the slow ascent up three painful flights of stairs to her apartment, with Nick staying close behind her, worried she might fall. Her apartment is an embarrassment, smelling of plastic and cooked turnips. She gestures for him to sit at her Formica kitchen table and clears the paper advertisements that her roommate, Betty, has circled in Sharpie. Betty is on the couch, asleep in front of a redecorating show. The narrator brews tea for them: a deep brown pu-erh, earth colored. The teacup appears miniature before Nick, who hunches over like one of the bears from “Goldilocks.” She reflects that he is as improbable as a bear here: this blond, blue-eyed, all-American boy beside her.

Nick drinks the tea in one hot pull, the same way Charles did. The narrator takes small, measured sips. Nick’s hands remind her of Charles’s too, though in reality they cannot. She acknowledges that all of us see what we’d like.

“So you’re the mad scientist,” Nick says flatly, without anger, curiously. The resemblance to his father is striking, but she can also see something of Lily in his movements—learned, maybe. The look he wears demands to know: What on earth have you done, and why have you done it?

The narrator has never spoken of her past to anyone. A part of her wonders whether she will melt upon speaking it. But she needs him to understand. Perhaps, then, he will be able to reach Lily.

Key Events

• The narrator calls her estranged daughter Lily from a pay phone; Lily curses her and hangs up.

• The narrator collects bottles and cans in San Francisco, and a young mother gives her a bottle after being startled by her English.

• The narrator recalls Lily’s birth, when the umbilical cord was wrapped around the baby’s neck and the narrator hemorrhaged.

• The narrator observes her grandson Nick at a drugstore near the Montgomery BART station for a month, noting his routine and his coworker Jess.

• The narrator drops boxes of hair dye in the drugstore, and Nick helps her pick them up.

• Nick disappears from the drugstore for two weeks.

• Nick leaves an old photo of the narrator with Ping on her recycling bin, and when she finds it, he asks if it is her.

• Nick follows the narrator to her apartment, where her roommate Betty sleeps, and they share tea.

• Nick calls the narrator “the mad scientist” and asks what she has done.

Character Development

The Narrator (May): This chapter reveals the narrator’s deep regret and her lifelong struggle to balance her scientific ambition with motherhood. She is acutely aware of her failures as a mother, admitting that she hid her disappointment without success and that she could have tried harder to communicate with Lily. Her physical decline—her thinning white hair, her shortness of breath, her painful climb up three flights of stairs—mirrors her emotional vulnerability. She has spent a month observing Nick from a distance, too afraid to approach him directly, but when he finds her, she takes the risk of inviting him into her home and preparing to tell him her story. Her decision to speak, despite never having spoken of her past to anyone, marks a significant shift from passive observation to active engagement.

Nick: Though Nick appears only briefly, his actions reveal his curiosity and his willingness to bridge the gap. He helps the narrator pick up the hair dye boxes, stares at her longer than he should, and later leaves the photo on her bin as an invitation. He follows her to her apartment, drinks her tea, and asks directly, “So you’re the mad scientist?” His tone is flat and curious, without anger, suggesting that he is more interested in understanding than in judging. His resemblance to his father Charles and his learned movements from Lily make him a living link between the narrator’s past and her present.

Lily (offstage): Lily’s anger is palpable even though she appears only through the phone call and Nick’s brief mentions of her. Her curse and immediate hang-up demonstrate the depth of the estrangement, and the narrator’s observation that Lily reminds her of herself suggests a cycle of stubbornness and pride that has kept them apart for years.

Themes, Symbols, or Motifs

Mother-Daughter Estrangement and Regret: The central theme of the chapter is the narrator’s regret over her failed relationship with Lily. She reflects that they have spent more years apart than together, and she wants to apologize but cannot find the words. Her observation that “when you are angry, you remind me of myself” suggests that their estrangement is rooted in their similarities as much as their differences.

Aging, Mortality, and the Body: The narrator is acutely aware of her own dying. She reflects that life always seemed too short, but now, alone, life seems far too long. Her physical decline—her thinning hair, her shortness of breath, her painful climb up the stairs—is described in vivid detail, and she wonders whether any organ of her body could, at any moment, cease. Her body is a collection of cells that are less able to divide and multiply, a scientific framing that ties her mortality to her former career.

Immigrant Experience and Communication Barriers: The narrator reflects on the promises of America—that a farmer’s daughter could become a scientist, that parents hid their disappointment in their children—but she admits that as an American child and a Chinese mother, their difficulty communicating would always be insurmountable. The young mother at the start of the chapter is startled by the narrator’s command of English, highlighting the assumptions people make about elderly immigrant women.

Surveillance and Observation: The narrator has spent a month following Nick, filling her shopping basket with items she then returns to the shelves, invisible to the employees and customers. Her observation is a form of love and longing, a way to stay connected to a family that has shut her out. The motif of invisibility—no one asks if she can be helped—underscores her social erasure.

The Past Resurfacing and the Photo as Catalyst: The old photo of the narrator with Ping, left on her recycling bin by Nick, serves as a catalyst for their meeting. The photo represents a past she has never spoken of, and Nick’s discovery of it forces her to confront that past and decide whether to share it.

Tea Ritual: The brewing and sharing of pu-erh tea creates a moment of intimacy and cultural continuity. Nick drinks it in one hot pull, the same way Charles did, while the narrator takes small, measured sips. The tea ritual bridges the generational and cultural gap between them, even as the narrator acknowledges that she sees what she’d like in Nick’s resemblance to his father.

Why This Chapter Matters

This chapter serves as the opening of the novel’s final section, shifting the narrative to the year 2030 and to the voice of the narrator—May—who has been absent from the story for many years. It establishes the stakes for the remainder of the book: May is dying, and she wants to reach her estranged daughter Lily before it is too late. Her decision to tell Nick her story, despite never having spoken of her past to anyone, sets up the central confession that will likely dominate the chapters to come. The chapter also introduces Nick as a character in his own right, a young man who is curious enough to seek out his grandmother and ask the question that has haunted her: “What on earth have you done, and why have you done it?” The chapter’s themes of regret, aging, and the immigrant experience deepen our understanding of May’s motivations and the sacrifices she made in the name of her scientific ambition.

Study Questions and Answers

1. Why does the narrator call Lily from a pay phone, and what does Lily’s response reveal about their relationship?

The narrator calls because the longing to hear Lily’s voice has become unbearable. She wants to apologize, to explain her reasons for failing Lily, and to insist on the goodness of her intentions. Lily’s response—“Fuck you”—before hanging up reveals the depth of the estrangement and the anger Lily still carries. The narrator’s observation that Lily reminds her of herself suggests that their conflict is rooted in their shared stubbornness and pride.

2. What does the narrator’s observation of Nick at the drugstore reveal about her motivations and her feelings of invisibility?

The narrator has been following Nick for a month, observing him at lunchtime near the Montgomery BART station. Her observation is a way to stay connected to a family that has shut her out, and it reveals her longing to know her grandson. Her invisibility—no one asks what she is doing, no one says “Ma’am”—underscores her social erasure as an elderly, apparently poor woman. She reflects that people once looked at her the way they look at Nick, with open and interested faces, highlighting the loss ofher