Beautiful Country Read online

  At first, I act like she doesn’t exist. I try to kick dirt over her in my mind again. But it is too late: she has been unearthed.

  It comes to me clearest in the first seconds of every morning. Upon opening my eyes, I forget who I am and how I’ve come to chase this life. And then I see her in the corner of my bedroom, still scared, still starving. I look past her and out the window, my mind roaming beyond the Hudson River and into Jersey City, through the door of the condominium unit where Ma Ma and Ba Ba now live, apparently free and safe, but really behind bars wrought from trauma. And then I slide forward in time and see myself many decades older, hair gray and skin loose, behind those same bars myself, the little girl still cowering next to me.

  I repeat the judge’s words. It has become a daily morning practice, but this time, after almost a year, I feel the lies slip away through the weave of my mantra. My muscles lose a tightness I did not know they have been carrying, and against the backdrop of my truths I am at long last free to admit: I am tired. I am so very tired of running and hiding, but I have done it for so long, I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know how to do anything else. It is all I am: defining myself against illegality while stitching it into my veins.

  The judge’s words are my blanket nest, and in its snug embrace I rediscover a safety I knew once, long, long ago.

  I turn back to the window and see for the first time the little girl cast aglow against the light of the waking sun. And then I try something new. I look that wise little girl in the eyes and reach my hand out for hers.

  The Wang family in Brooklyn, 1994

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  It takes a certain level of foolishness to build your first book around your deepest childhood traumas. It also requires luck and support. I have the good fortune of possessing all three.

  First and foremost, thank you to the members of the undocumented community, and in particular, the Dreamers and DACA recipients. To those whose stories I know and those whose stories I’ve yet to hear: your courage and resilience are my inspiration, and I look forward to continuing to learn from you. I am now privileged beyond belief, but I will stand with you for as long as you will have me.

  I am forever indebted to my one true home, New York City and my beloved Chinatown. Had we arrived anywhere else in America, I don’t know that I would have received anything approaching the access to public resources that the city afforded me. I owe so much to the New York Public Library, where I first discovered the books that shaped my dreams. And I am grateful for the subway system, which exposed me to so many sides of the city I otherwise never would have seen. I am thankful even for the train delays, as they created the conditions that enabled me to write the first draft of this book on my daily commute.

  Thank you also to the great people of Canada and of Toronto, Ontario, who took us in and gave us refuge when we had nowhere else to turn. Your generosity was our lifeline, and I am proud to call myself Canadian as well as American and Chinese.

  I have been blessed with incredible teachers. To Ms. Poon, Ms. Rothman, Mr. Berenstein, Gregory Frost, and most of all, Betsy Bolton: it may have been many years since we last spoke, but I carry your indelible influence with me every day I dare to call myself a writer. Thank you also to Michele Filgate, in whose workshop I wrote the first words of this book, and whose early encouragement emboldened me to keep going. And I am forever grateful to the inimitable Hillary Frey, for understanding this book when I barely knew what it was, and for holding my hands as I took my first shaky steps into the publishing world.

  Thank you also to fellow authors Stephanie Scott and Roseann Lake, each of whom generously shared her guidance on publishing a debut. I promise to pay it forward.

  Without Ryan Muir’s photography brilliance (and Cecilia Galliani’s assistance), I would look like a nervous frog in all of my author photos.

  To my agent Andrianna Yeatts, who took a chance on a manuscript from a nobody, who always seems to know exactly what I mean and how to make it sound better, and who has read this book more times in more iterations than anyone else: I could not have entrusted my life dream to a more gifted, dedicated, or capable partner, and I am so incredibly lucky to be on this ride with you. And thank you to Karolina Sutton and Josie Freedman, the titans of industry I’m also lucky to call my agents, as well as to Sophie Baker for representing this project in foreign markets. My deep gratitude also goes to John De Laney, a lawyer of the first order, for his wise counsel and zealous advocacy.

  To my editors, Margo Shickmanter and Mary Mount, who saw my vision and believed in it so very deeply: I will never get over how fortunate I have been to bring my first book into the world under your astute guidance. A very special thank-you goes to Doubleday publisher, Bill Thomas, for showing so much faith in this project from the very beginning; talented publicists and marketers Todd Doughty, Elena Hershey, Lauren Weber, Lindsay Mandel, Jane Gentle, and Rose Poole, for tirelessly championing this book in what feels like every corner of the Earth; and gifted artist Linda Huang for designing a better jacket than I ever could have fathomed. Thank you also to everyone who gave me a literary home at Doubleday (in particular, Michael Goldsmith, Ana Espinoza, Erin Merlo, Daniela Ayuso, Amy Edelman, Peggy Samedi, Pei Koay, Yuki Hirose, and Dan Novack) and Viking UK (especially Karishma Jobanputra, Julia Connolly, Leah Boulton, Samantha Fanaken, Guy Lloyd, Kyla Dean, Tineke Mollemans, and Ruth Johnstone). You have magicked my pipe dream into reality, and I will forever be pinching myself.

  To everyone in the publishing industry committed to amplifying the voices of authors from marginalized backgrounds—and particularly Margo Shickmanter, Bill Thomas, Todd Doughty, Elena Hershey, and everyone at Doubleday: thank you. Progress would be impossible without heroes like you.

  To my therapists (yes, it takes more than one!), Julia Werman Zwerin and Thomas Neuschul: thank you for helping me process and understand my childhood, work through the anxiety that came with sharing it with the world, and most of all, reclaim my life from its jaws.

  I am grateful to Judy Zhou Yi, Bonnie Doyle, Toby Xinghua Wu, and Sarry Zheng, for their ad hoc Chinese consultations. Thank you also to my former writing group (Isa Chandra Moskowitz, Kathryn Jergovich, Jessica Slattery, Taryn Rothstein, Anita Anburajan, and most of all, Edwin Poché) for the priceless support that got me past the impossible stage of starting a first book. Deepest gratitude to the early readers of my full manuscript—Laurie and Eric Camiel, June Lee, Sonja Belau, Yana Mazin, Amy Seife, and Melanie Spaulding—for their feedback, and to dear Rebecca Weintraub and Jeremy Edelman for cheering me on at every step. To Emma Thomasch and Christopher Donahue-Wait: I would not have made it through this process sane without each of you and your professional insight and generous friendship. Thank you.

  I first began to think about this project during the difficult year during and after the divorce of my first marriage. That time, and the act of embarking on this project, was made all the easier with the love and support of my friend and sister in spirit, Emma Grunberg.

  It seems odd to leave out my rescue dogs, Salty and Peppers, even though they cannot read, because they have supplied so much emotional support throughout the time it took to write this book. Salty and Peppers were each rescued just hours away from being euthanized, and they have taught me as much about life as any human being. So in their honor, I thank all the animal rescue and shelter workers, and in particular Debbie Rhone of Peninsula Unwanted Pets. Thank you for all that you do, and for teaching me that it’s never too late for a second chance at life.

  Judge Morgan Christen: it is among the most distinct privileges of my life to call you my mentor and dear friend. Thank you for affirming my faith in justice; for helping me see the power in my truth; for giving me the security to tell it; and for keeping me from deleting it all as soon as I had it down on paper.

  Thank you to Barbara and Jay Gottlieb, my rocks of stability, my font of enthus
iasm. I don’t know how you manage to read every draft and show up to every event, but I struck the in-laws lottery with you.

  I would not be who I am without Lao Lao and Lao Ye; my late Ye Ye, Nai Nai, and Da Da; as well as all of my aunts, uncles, and cousins. They have taught me the true meaning of courage and family, and their love kept me afloat throughout so many years of loneliness.

  To Marc (who has read every word of every portion of this book except, much to his chagrin, this paragraph), my number one reader, editor, cheerleader; my personal stand-up comedian; my partner in law and life—by your side, I am in hiding no more. My decisions are not always the easiest to support, yet you somehow manage to do it time and again. Even after a newlywed year in a global pandemic, my heart still dances at the sight of you, and every day is still a slumber party with my very best friend. I am the luckiest person in the world to be spending my life growing, laughing, lawyering, crying, and yes, even arguing, with you.

  And finally, to Ba Ba, my model of resilience and determination, with whom I share my gross sense of humor and my tenacious love for this beautiful country, and to Ma Ma, who loves me so fiercely and who gave me the tools so early to create any life I dared to dream for myself: When you had nothing, you somehow managed to give me everything. For that alchemy, no thank-you can ever be enough.

  About the Author

  Qian Julie Wang is a graduate of Yale Law School and Swarthmore College. Formerly a commercial litigator, she is now managing partner of Gottlieb & Wang LLP, a firm dedicated to advocating for education and civil rights. Her writing has appeared in major publications such as The New York Times and The Washington Post. She lives in Brooklyn with her husband and their two rescue dogs, Salty and Peppers.

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