When I'm Gone, Look for Me in the East: A Novel

by Quan Barry

Overview

From the acclaimed author of We Ride Upon Sticks comes a luminous novel that moves across a windswept Mongolia, as estranged twin brothers make a journey of duty, conflict, and renewed understanding.
 
"A dazzling achievement...The rhythms are more like prayer than prose, and the puzzlelike plot yields revelations." —The New York Times

Tasked with finding the reincarnation of a great lama—a spiritual teacher who may have been born anywhere in the vast Mongolian landscape—the young monk Chuluun sets out with his identical twin, Mun, who has rejected the monastic life they once shared. Their relationship will be tested on this journey through their homeland as each possesses the ability to hear the other’s thoughts.

Proving once again that she is a writer of immense range and imagination, Quan Barry carries us across a terrain as unforgiving as it is beautiful and culturally varied, from the western Altai mountains to the eerie starkness of the Gobi Desert to the ancient capital of Chinggis Khaan. As their country stretches before them, questions of faith—along with more earthly matters of love and brotherhood—haunt the twins.

Are our lives our own, or do we belong to something larger? When I’m Gone, Look for Me in the East is a stunningly far-flung examination of our individual struggle to retain our convictions and discover meaning in a fast-changing world, as well as a meditation on accepting what simply is.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9780525565444
Publisher:	Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Publication date:	01/17/2023
Pages:	320
Sales rank:	389,263
Product dimensions:	5.10(w) x 7.90(h) x 0.70(d)

About the Author

Born in Saigon and raised in Massachusetts, QUAN BARRY is the author of the novels She Weeps Each Time You’re Born and We Ride Upon Sticks (winner of the 2020 ALA Alex Award) and four books of poetry, including Water Puppets (winner of the AWP Donald Hall Prize for Poetry and a PEN Open Book finalist). Barry’s first play, The Mytilenean Debate, premieres in the spring of 2022. She is the Lorraine Hansberry Professor of English at the University of Wisconsin–Madison.

Read an Excerpt

Listen Without Distraction
 
Outside the post office in Bor-Urt, a handful of men clump around a pool table, its felt top sun-ravaged and mangy, the men’s faces weathered from living in a world without trees. When I step outside they stare, each man a finger in a fist, and the one slumped in the ratty camping chair at the head of the table is the thumb. I glance at the digital watch the Rinpoche hands me last night, its plastic band already cracked, the thing used. I know it is a necessity, that I must have it for the places I am to journey to in my search that must not fail. Nevertheless I feel like one of the wild horses foreign researchers shoot down with arrow guns, the animal succumbing so that the researcher can fix the radio collar around its neck, the collar eventually becoming a part of the body. After just a few hours in the July light, the skin around my wrist is already somewhat paler than the rest of me, though like the planets and the summer sun, nothing is permanent.
 
It is ten in the morning. The main road through Bor-Urt periodically billows with dust as a breeze blows through town. The men stare at me and then look away. Someone spits in the dirt. Hidden in the folds of my robe there is a bag filled with more tögrög than they can earn in six months or even a year if the winter is harsh. Normally they would be out on the grasslands, out watching their flocks or herding them in for one of the two daily milkings, but today they drive the many kilometers into Bor-Urt on their motorbikes to bring their wives in to do the shopping. The men huddle idly around the table as men often do as they wait for women. Men with time on their hands, looking to establish their status among their kind.
 
I step out of the post office, and their faces fall. I am not what they want. I am a novice of the Yatuugiin Gol monastery, a monk who lives in the shadow of the sleeping volcano. As it is mid-morning, the mail truck I am to ride to Ulaanbaatar on the first stage of my journey is not scheduled to arrive for hours. Thirteen hundred years ago Shantideva tells us the only source of happiness in the universe is the cherishing of the other. Silently I approach the table and nod.
 
Brother, booms the one enthroned in the camping chair. He is sitting with his legs spread wide, a toothpick in his fingers as he works at his teeth. Something in the lackadaisical arrangement of his limbs reminds me of Mun, Mun’s long black hair often loose like a horse’s mane. I only play for money, the man says.
 
A good policy, I say. I lay ₮2,000 on the table.
 
Ten minutes later and I can tell the others do not know who to root for—the one who sits outside the post office each day looking to deprive the local herdsmen of their money or me, a young monk from Yatuu Gol in his simple red robe. My body wavers like a flame in the summer heat. On the faded table the balls roll and crack like stars.

Editorial Reviews

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

From the Publisher

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.)

Publishers Weekly

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

Library Journal - Audio

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

Library Journal

★ 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.

Kirkus Reviews