Vancouver-based writer, Eddy Boudel Tan, lives with his partner in a “book-filled apartment” in the West End. His own latest literary work, The Tiger and the Cosmonaut (Penguin Random House Canada), comes out on April 29th.

In anticipation of the imminent release of Boudel Tan’s third novel, we posed a list of questions to him – about his book, of course, but also about (surprise, surprise) food, which plays a not-insignificant role both in The Tiger and the Cosmonaut and the author’s personal life. As you’ll soon find out, it was a topic that he was more than enthusiastic to chat about. Dig into Boudel Tan’s recent Q&A with Scout below:

First of all, for readers not familiar with you and/or your upcoming book, please give us the rundown.

The Tiger and the Cosmonaut follows three estranged adult siblings who are forced to reunite in their isolated hometown when their father has gone missing – he’s later found wandering the woods, confused and clutching a pair of scissors, seemingly trapped in the memory of their family’s most tragic night. It’s a story about loss, and rage, and altered memory, and how society exploits the fears and insecurities of immigrant families. This book is special to me. I hope lots of people read it.

Besides writing, what keeps you busy?

Apart from writing, I spend my time running on the seawall, hosting dinner parties, experiencing art, giving standing ovations, finding hidden gems, singing (poorly), dancing (poorly), losing myself in nature, discovering new places near and far, marching for climate action and social justice, and drinking coffee on the deck with my husband.

Also, I’m often asked how I stay so in-the-know with Vancouver’s electrifying and ever-evolving culinary scene. Everyone reading this already knows the answer.

Now that your third novel is about to be released, have you set into a book-writing rhythm or routine? What does a “typical” day of writing look like for you, when you have an idea for a book or story in mind? Or, does a “typical” work day not exist?

Sometimes I wish it were a steady rhythm, but it tends to be more like turning a switch on or off. I can dither for months, letting ideas tumble around in my brain – but when a story sticks, away I go. I know an idea is worth pursuing when I become obsessed with it. All I want to do is write, if only to see where it takes me. The characters speak to me, and I’m soaked in the story’s atmosphere. A good writing session typically occurs in the morning and involves coffee, as well as listening to a soundtrack of songs that I associate with the story before and between bouts of writing. Staring at the wall is also an essential part of my process, letting me work out kinks or knots. My husband has become used to stumbling on me while I’m in this entranced state, and he knows I consider this to be “writing.”

Although I haven’t read your previous novels, what I’ve gleaned from their synopses makes me think that, although different plot-wise, they explore similar themes as The Tiger and the Cosmonaut: loss, disappearance, mystery, secrets, regret, blame, rage, systemic racism and/or homophobia, patriarchal systems, oppression…Why are you drawn to these topics in particular? And how has writing about them brought you closer, perhaps, to understanding something about yourself and/or the world around you?

I like to play with tension – between the past and the present, what’s true and what’s false or distorted, hope and despair, our inner and outer realities – then I explore how my characters react to this tension.

The concept of power shows itself in much of my work. Do we let rigged systems decide who is and isn’t given power? Or do we claim, seize, and fight for it? Is the latter a noble pursuit or simply smashing what’s already broken? Does it bring us any closer to justice or equality? As a gay Chinese Canadian whose grandparents were refugees, these topics are never far beneath my consciousness. We’re all living in an unjust world, and I’m fascinated by how people think, feel, and behave within it. We laugh and cry, win and lose, help and hurt one another. I try to capture this expansiveness in my writing.

“Every meal is a mood. I love a tense dinner table scene, and it’s no accident that one appears in each of my novels.”

In general, what triggers an idea and how does it appear to you (for example: as a full-blown story, including plot, characters, conflict and resolution/conclusion; or as something less formulated that reveals itself to you as you go)? And what was the catalyst and/or motivation for The Tiger and the Cosmonaut, in particular? How did it all come together?

I tend to start with a character’s desires and fears. So much of who we are as humans, what propels us, comes down to what we want and fear. I’m interested in how these are shaped by external forces outside our control.

My parents immigrated to Canada when they were a young couple. I think I might have taken for granted everything they sacrificed for me and my brothers to come here to give us a freer, more prosperous life: the language, people, traditions, and sense of belonging in their birth country. When I started this book, I felt as if I were running out of time to make up for these sacrifices. I had a newfound hunger for their stories, to learn about what it was like for them to resettle in a bewildering new country like Canada. Something that has stuck with me is my mom’s story of shopping for a winter coat for the first time – she’d never needed one before.

And so I wrote this book to honour families like mine, but I wanted it to be different from other stories about the immigrant experience. The Tiger and the Cosmonaut examines how society exploits the fears and insecurities of immigrants, and what happens when one family confronts how they’ve been manipulated over the years and decide they’ve had enough. It’s a story about Asian rage, loss, and redemption.

Superstition plays a significant role in The Tiger and the Cosmonaut – in fact, it seems to be a pillar of the town of Wilhelm, where the Whistler’s Night is an annual celebration built around folklore. Is there anything you’re superstitious about?

I’m not a superstitious person, but I do believe in supernatural and inexplicable forces in the universe. It’d be terribly arrogant for humankind to think we have it all figured out. I also believe in karma. There’s something both logical and spiritual about how we get what we put into the world.

The title of your new novel refers to the costumes that the Han twins dressed up as children, as part of the aforementioned holiday ritual, which involves an element of masquerade. What’s your best childhood costume? (Or adult one, if you didn’t dress up as a kid?)

My younger brother and I alternated between only two costumes growing up: a clown and Charlie Chaplin. I don’t think I was a fan of either. Halloween was a new concept for my parents, and they did their best. This might explain why I now have an aversion to clowns, and it definitely explains why I made such a big deal of costume parties and Halloween throughout much of my twenties and thirties. There are so many costumes to choose from, but sexy pizza delivery boy comes to mind.

In addition to your new novel, a short story of yours, “Lorenzo and the Last Fig”, was included in the recently published collection of food-themed fiction, Devouring Tomorrow (Dundurn Press). Add to that no shortage of food-related scenes in The Tiger and the Cosmonaut (there’s one at the beginning of the very first chapter!), and it’s clear to me that you must enjoy eating and thinking about food. On that note, I’d like to ask you some food-related questions…Here goes:

Building a menu is a kind of “storytelling” in of itself. With that in mind, please describe to me your life in four (or more!) dishes – bonus for drink pairings!

Some of the most emotionally charged, pivotal and revealing scenes in your new novel involve food (the birthday diner scene, and the family dinner where Casper’s parents finally reveal the truth about why they immigrated to Canada, for instance). Was this an intentional choice, on your part, to have food and dining together as a family be a recurring theme during climactic moments in the story?

Yes! So many of life’s most memorable moments, good and bad, happen around the table. We can learn so much about a family by how they have dinner together: the food they eat, the tableware they use, what they talk about. Every meal is a mood. I love a tense dinner table scene, and it’s no accident that one appears in each of my novels.

What was the last memorable meal (positive or not-so-positive) that you had gathered around a table with loved ones?

Dining together is an important and frequent ritual with my friends and family; they’re always memorable, usually positive. My husband and I are skilled dinner party hosts. One meal that comes to mind as being truly special happened two summers ago. My husband’s parents, who live in France, visited Vancouver for the first time. Since they’d never met my parents, we arranged to have them over at our place for dinner. We were nervous because my in-laws don’t speak English and my parents don’t speak French, and they’re also very different people, personality-wise. They hit it off almost immediately, and we had a lovely, chaotic time, translating multiple threads of conversations (and my father-in-law’s constant, at times crude, jokes) while dining on homemade French cuisine. Now, they still keep in touch by sending each other gifts for Christmas and Lunar New Year.

What about the last special dinner out you enjoyed? Where did you go and what was the occasion?

A close friend and I went to Bravo. My third visit; it’s become one of my fave spots. We sat at the bar and had such a fun time, dining on exquisite dishes like smoked sablefish and taglionini with Humboldt squid bolognese while oversharing with Danny, the smoothest bartender we’ve met in ages. He kept the drinks flowing, including more than one miscellaneous shot, and it was closing time before we knew it.

What’s your all-time favourite Vancouver restaurant?

This question is almost impossible to answer without specifying the occasion or mood, but my official answer would have to be AnnaLena. I’ve been dining there since they opened and they’ve never served a meal that didn’t impress me. I think it’s also distinctly Vancouver, with its Pacific Rim flavours and elegant yet decidedly unstuffy atmosphere. Plus, the house bread is what dreams are made of.

Suyo is also near the top of the list, perhaps one of the most inventive and memorable spots in the city. But when I just want a good, unfussy, satisfying meal, my go-to spot is Red Umbrella Cafe in the West End – their Mediterranean omellette and sourdough are next level.

A significant scene in the book involves a childhood birthday celebrated at a local diner, when we are told that the protagonist’s favourite cake is Black Forest. What’s your favourite kind of cake?

I love Black Forest cake – so deliciously retro – but my absolute favourite is the ultimate chocolate ganache cake at Breka. Nothing fancy or fussy. It’s not too rich, not too sweet. Plus, it’s vegan. I eat a slice almost weekly.

How about your best birthday cake?

Family birthdays always come with the same Chinese-style fruit cake, which are like chiffon cakes loaded with the airiest whipped cream. For my last birthday, we had a version with taro paste from Maxim’s Bakery, a twist I highly approve of.

Your favourite roadside diner and diner food?

This may not be an acceptable answer since it doesn’t have vinyl banquettes or laminated menus or much of what people associate with diners, but I’ll always make a pitstop at the Gumboot Cafe in Roberts Creek whenever I’m on the Sunshine Coast. Favourite diner food is easy: pie.

Back in his childhood home, the smell of biscuit rolls trigger Casper’s nostalgia, “their buttery scent taking me back to a time when I’d devour these rolls until I felt sick and was covered in crumbs.” What’s your most powerful, nostalgic food? And where does it transport you to in time and place?

For a good chunk of my childhood, every birthday was celebrated at Romano’s Macaroni Grill in the West End’s Gabriola Mansion. I felt so grownup going there, with its valet parking and opulent interiors. Servers would step into the room and start singing classical Italian opera – we need more of this in restaurants! I’d stuff myself on focaccia before my meal arrived, soaking it in olive oil and balsamic vinegar – “Italian butter” as we learned to call it.

As an adult, I lived across the street from the mansion for some time, when it sat empty and dilapidated. I’d stare at it through the window and remember all the fun nights my family had there, feeling proud of the fact that I’d fulfilled my younger self’s dream of moving to the West End and blue because such an important part of my childhood was left to decay. Now, it’s been remodelled as condos.

“Authors from marginalized communities still face systemic barriers that many of our peers do not, but I believe there’s been progress made in expanding opportunities for them and recognizing the value of their work. The cascading effects lead to diverse authors who feel more confident and compelled to reflect themselves on the page.”

Okay, now let’s get serious: Maybe I’m off base saying this, but it seems to me like there has been an outpouring of stories by and about children of the diaspora – especially queer ones – of late, including their search for identity and experiences of otherness (usually in memoir). Perhaps this can be chalked up to a new generation or wave of writers finding their voices and having them amplified? Any thoughts or insights on this?

I can only comment based on my experiences and observations. There has always been a need for these stories, but I think the conditions required for them to flourish didn’t quite exist until recent years. Publishers have realized there’s pent-up demand, hunger even, and so they’re publishing books they might not have 10 or 15 years ago, reflecting a wider spectrum of people and their lived experiences. Authors from marginalized communities still face systemic barriers that many of our peers do not, but I believe there’s been progress made in expanding opportunities for them and recognizing the value of their work. The cascading effects lead to diverse authors who feel more confident and compelled to reflect themselves on the page.

Seeing oneself represented in art and media is important. I remember watching the trailer for Crazy Rich Asians for the first time, and it moved me so much and so unexpectedly I was teary-eyed. It was my first time seeing Asian people in the leading roles of a Hollywood blockbuster permitted to be sexy, attractive, cool, rather than just quirky side characters. And that was only seven years ago! If that movie wasn’t a success, we may not have Everything Everywhere All At Once or Beef or Squid Game or Michelle Yeoh in virtually every new release. Nothing is secure or guaranteed, so please support diverse art and artists.

In your Acknowledgement for The Tiger and the Cosmonaut, you mention your own struggle with identity, and draw parallels between yourself and your protagonist. What compelled you to hone in on these personal-political topics, and specifically in the form of fiction, versus memoir, for instance?

Casper and I are very different people, just to be clear. Much of what I share with Casper, I think I share with many second-generation Canadians whose parents arrived from elsewhere. There’s this sense of otherness, of being caught between cultures, of not fully belonging in either. There’s also a feeling of duty, sometimes accompanied by guilt, to succeed and to fulfill our parents’ expectations in order to make their sacrifices worthwhile. I wanted to portray this experience in a way that lent contextual insight into the characters and their lives, rather than centre it in the story. This is the beauty of fiction: subjects and themes can add depth and richness to the story without being its driving force. I hope readers find this book both entertaining and enlightening without being didactic.

Are there any other writers exploring these themes – peers and/or mentors, past and/or present – who have made a significant impact on you personally and/or professionally? Who are they and how did they influence you?

I was moved by Danny Ramadan’s stunning memoir Crooked Teeth, as well as Kevin Chong’s brilliant novel The Double Life of Benson Yu. They’re both masterful writers, and they also happen to be Vancouverites.

Lastly, there are a lot of topical issues and “conversation starters” touched on in The Tiger and the Cosmonaut. If you had to hone in on one to frame and lead a post-reading discussion of the book around, what would it be and why? What other sorts of questions, conversations, takeaways and/or impressions do you hope to inspire in readers of The Tiger and the Cosmonaut?

One of the novel’s themes is the darker reality beneath progressive facades. So many places and spaces and people pride themselves in being inclusive and progressive, similar to how the fictional town of Wilhelm flaunts its rainbow sidewalk and egalitarian norms. The truth is more complicated and less flattering in Wilhelm, as it is for many communities. If there’s one thing I want readers to ponder, it’s how to look past the virtue-signalling to discern the truth. Actions speak louder than words.

To hear Boudel Tan speak in-person, head to the Central Library this Wednesday, April 30th, when he will be in conversation with fellow Vancouver author (and Scout interviewee!), Jen Sookfong Lee. The event is free to attend, but registration is required. Do that here.