When I'm gone, look for me in the East

Review by Booklist Review

Chulun, a Buddhist monk, nearly loses his life when buried alive in the Gobi Desert by a swirling sandstorm, only to be rescued by his identical twin, Mun, who has abandoned the faith to which Chulun has dedicated himself. But readers reach this pivotal episode only after journeying many miles with Chulun, as he, with Mun's assistance, seeks to find in Mongolia's stark terrain a tulka--the reincarnation of an enlightened teacher who can guide Buddhists through a perplexing time. Evincing the same dazzling talents that won high critical praise for We Ride upon Sticks (2020), Barry vastly expands readers' horizons, both geographical and metaphysical, as she chronicles Chulun's trials in performing his arduous spiritual task. Through Mun's eyes, we see Khentii's arid grasslands, Khousgal's lakeside forests; through his ears, we hear the enchanting music of Mongolia's morin khuur. But 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, the spiritual precepts the protagonist has learned from his grandfather, investing otherwise-vapid experiences with profound meaning. Though the narrative focuses on Mongolian Buddhism, readers learn how Buddhists everywhere have suffered as Chinese communists have persecuted the faith rooted in Tibet. An imaginative tour de force.

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

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.)

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

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Review by Library Journal Review

A young monk named Chuluun has been handed a daunting task: He must find the reincarnation of a legendary lama within the great sweep of Mongolia, trudging from the sere Gobi Desert to the ancient capital ruled by Chinggis Khan. Along the way, he seeks help from his identical twin, Mun, who was once seen as a reincarnation himself but has since abandoned the monastic life. They're not actually together in this quest, but they can hear each other's thoughts. From the author of the multi-best-booked We Ride Upon Sticks, an Alex Award winner.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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Review by Kirkus Book Review

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. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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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. Excerpted from When I'm Gone, Look for Me in the East: A Novel by Quan Barry All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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