The Ninja Daughter

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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WHAT'S THE NINJA DAUGHTER ABOUT?
Lily Wong's nickname is Dumpling, and like that food, there's a lot hidden underneath the surface.

For starters, there's the fact that she trained extensively in martial arts—more than her parents realized—growing up. Then there's the fact that she (in her mind, at least) let her sister down the night that her sister was sexually assaulted and murdered. Which fuels the last hidden part of her life—she uses her guilt and need for vengeance to fuel her utilization of those martial arts skills to be a kunoichi—a female ninja—to help women and children who are the victims of abuse while she hunts for her sister's killer. Her parents only know she does IT work from home.

When the book opens she's trying to help a Ukrainian immigrant woman and her son get away from her abusive husband (who brags about his criminal connections), but that's not going too well. To distract her self from the lack of success there, she takes up the cause of a waitress who'd been attacked in her home by a customer. The judge tossed the case based on insufficient evidence following weeks of the waitress being victim shamed through the media (traditional and social).

Lily decides that this waitress needs a big sister to look out for her and appoints herself to fill that role. She does this by doing what she can to keep Mia safe and then to investigate the guy she pressed charges against. This leads her into a murky world of government contracts, real estate, organized crime, and murder.

YOU KNOW WHO LILY REMINDS ME OF?
Part of it's the city of L.A., part of it's the female action-hero vibe, the one woman against the world kind of thing. Part of it is ineffable. But I couldn't help but think of Cas Russell (of Zero Sum Game and Null Set) and Teagan Frost (of The Girl Who Could Move Sht with Her Mind) as I read this book.

Sure, Lily's more grounded than either of them, she has no real powers other than those that are the result of years of training and practice. Theoretically, everything that Lily does in this book Tori Eldridge is (or at least was at one point) capable of doing herself—and a lot of what Cas and Teagan do are purely the stuff of fiction. Still, I'm probably going to lump the three of them together in my mind for some time to come.

The biggest difference between them is that Lily knows just who she is and where she comes from—her family is strong, affectionate (in their way), and supportive. She may have friends to augment that core support, but they're not everything she has. This makes her a bit more stable and capable of dealing with challenges that come than the others.

(and, yeah, I thought of Lydia Chin and her mother every time Lily and her Ma interacted, but that's a whole other can of worms).

THE FOOD
There's food all over this book. Lily's father owns and runs a Chinese restaurant in Chinatown. The woman that runs the shelter she works with cooks amazing sounding soul food. The meals she eats with her family and on her own sound amazing. Spenser and Elvis Cole may know their way around a kitchen, but Lily Wong knows her way around some fantastic restaurants in L.A. She's so far ahead of the game than Kinsey Milhone's lousy sandwiches and Hungarian food that it's hard to believe they're in the same genre.

Do not read this book if you're peckish. Keep yourself fed well, or you're going to be snacking far too much.

LILY'S HERITAGE
It's that family makes Lily who she is. In these three hundred pages, we hear more about Lily's grandparents and parents than I'm used to hearing about a protagonist's family over several books. Particularly when we're talking about an action hero.

Eldridge has given Lily the same heritage that she has—a Norwegian father from North Dakota and a Chinese mother. So Eldridge knows the special kind of alchemy that the mixture of the two cultures produces.

THE IMPORTANT WORD IN THE TITLE
Obviously, it's Ninja that draws your attention and is the memorable takeaway, but as you can tell, it's Daughter that colors the whole book. It's Lily's interactions with her parents, her application of the way they raised her and still care for her, the way she draws on what they teach and tell her that defines her and proves to be the key to figuring out what's going on in the book.

SO, WHAT DID I THINK ABOUT THE NINJA DAUGHTER?
If you want to ignore the deeper stuff and enjoy a book about a determined young woman out for vengeance (presumptive and by proxy, as it often is) on the streets of Los Angeles, this book will do the trick.

If you want a rounded, complex, female character trying to figure out how to deal with personal guilt, and trauma while helping out women and children by any means necessary, this book will do the trick, too. The idea that she may be starting to figure out a way past the guilt and move into healing and happiness makes that all the better.

* Sure, I realize that within the first fifty pages of the sequel, all that can go away. The important thing is that it was there

You could make the case that Philip Marlowe was Chandler's attempt at telling the story of a knight errant in early-twentieth-century L.A. Lily's in the same vein—just a little more modern (and, ironically enough, using an older kind of warrior). Eldridge's L.A. has slightly nicer mean streets, but they're just as deadly and are in just as much need for a hero. I hope we get to see her at work for quite some time.