Book written by Julia & Brad Riew

Book Hangover

I feel that often, and not only with books. Dramaturgy does this to me as well, how many times have I returned to certain films or dramas, especially when they resonate with a particular state of mind or need, drawing me back like an old friend who knows the shape of my silences?

Writing, at its core, is often a solitary journey. A single writer weaving their story, holding it close until it’s ready to be shared, thread by fragile thread. Yet some extraordinary duos remind us that writing can be a dialogue, a dance, even a shared act of joy, two voices harmonizing across the quiet spaces of creation. I’ve written before about the Hong sisters, their scripts a tapestry of wit and heart. And here, with The Last Tiger, it is a sister-brother team who invite us into a brand-new land while also honouring their grandparents’ story and memory, letting those echoes breathe anew through folklore and fire.

At the heart of it, this is a powerful tale, layered with metaphors for a nation that has endured subjugation again and again, yet whose people have remained true to themselves, to their culture, and to their folklore, roots deep enough to weather any storm. It’s a story both tender and fierce: romance with real stakes that tugs at the seams of the soul, symbolism that lingers like mist over mountains (magic, tigers, class, colonization), and a richly constructed world that resonates with echoes of real historical trauma. As one voice in the tale murmurs, “If we forget who we are, then we can be controlled… Let’s make them remember,” a quiet call that hums through every shadowed corner.

It is not to be missed. And in its wake, I wonder: what tale from your own lineage still stirs the embers of memory, urging you to remember not just for yourself, but for all that came before?

Image: Personal Archive 2025