I picked up *The Joy Luck Club* expecting another immigrant story—but what I got was a mirror. Amy Tan doesn’t just write about Chinese-American mothers and daughters; she unravels the universal knots of love, sacrifice, and missed connections that tangle every family.

The mahjong table structure is genius. Four mothers, four daughters, their stories clicking together like tiles. One moment I’m laughing at Waverly’s mom bragging about her chess-champion daughter to strangers in the market (we’ve all been that kid cringing in the background), the next I’m gutted by Lindo Jong’s childhood marriage trauma. Tan makes you feel the weight of what these women carried from China—not just in their suitcases, but in their silences.

As an ABC (American-Born Chinese), I saw my own fights with Mom leap off the page. That scene where Jing-mei realizes her mother’s criticism was really fear? Yeah, I had to put the book down and call home. Tan captures how we mock our parents’ accents but later crave their untranslated proverbs.

Small warning: The shifting narrators confused me until I used the character list (thank you, paperback appendix!). And skip the movie until after reading—the book’s layered storytelling deserves your undivided attention first.

Thirty years later, this still isn’t just a ‘great Asian-American novel.’ It’s a masterclass on how heritage shapes us, even when we rebel against it. Keep tissues handy for June’s trip to China—you’ll need them when she finally understands what ‘swan feathers’ really meant.