Yangsze Choo's third novel, The Fox Wife, is just as steeped in Chinese folklore as her previous works (The Night Tiger; The Ghost Bride), this time with a focus on the tantalizing stories related to foxes, which were often worshiped at dedicated village shrines in China. Two tandem searches ramp up the level of suspense: in the winter of 1908 in Manchuria, in northeast China, a detective investigates a series of unexplained deaths; at the same time, a fox-woman masquerading as a servant plots vengeance against the man who murdered her child.

The book opens with this enticing line: "Perhaps you know this story: Late one evening, a beautiful woman comes knocking on an unsuspecting scholar's door." But it's soon clear that the narrator is no ordinary woman. Snow, a fox in the guise of a human, is as dangerous as she is alluring, and she is intent on having revenge on Bektu Nikan, a Manchurian photographer and hunter who killed her daughter.

Snow tracks Bektu Nikan's movement to the port city of Dalian. There she finds work as a maid, dubbed "Ah San" ("number three"), a generic name that indicates the contempt in which society holds the serving class. The family of her elderly mistress lives in the shadow of a curse: the oldest son always dies young. Bohai, Elder Mistress's grandson, is the second son and replacement heir. Now 23 and a student of Western medicine in Japan, Bohai is at home and so sickly that his family worry the curse will take him, too. Elder Mistress insists on accompanying him back to Japan to ensure his safety. Bektu is known to be in Japan, so when Snow goes along on the journey, she can continue her pursuit.

Choo raises the stakes with another search that's going on in parallel. When a courtesan's frozen corpse is found in an alley in Mukden, 63-year-old Bao Gong is called in to investigate. Bao suspects, from the description, that the man last seen with the dead woman was actually a fox. Bao has a special curiosity about fox tales, having grown up visiting a fox god's shrine with his nanny, and he collects cases that seem to involve fox mischief. Bao isn't your average detective. Not only is he significantly older than most in the profession, he also has two uncanny traits: an unfailing ability to tell when people are lying, and a mysteriously faint shadow. Both foxes and ghosts are considered "people with no shadows." Choo leaves what that might indicate about Bao as a lingering question.

Chapters about Bao's investigation, told in the third person, alternate with Snow's first-person narration, creating momentum. The book emulates the format of ancient Chinese literature by including commentary in the margins, and Choo peppers the text with intriguing facts about Chinese indigenous religion and its associated legends. "Foxes, people say, are wicked women," Snow informs readers. Could foxes be deities in disguise? In human form, they are as likely to be sinister tricksters as benevolent helpers. Snow says, "I exist as either a small canid with thick fur, pointed ears, and neat black feet, or a young woman. Neither are safe forms in a world run by men."

Snow is an unabashedly feminist narrator. While acknowledging the patriarchal norms of that time, Choo expands the sphere of women simply by granting attention to servants, foreigners, a medium, concubines, and the elderly--women looked down on by society. For instance, Tagtaa, a Mongolian concubine's daughter and Bao's childhood friend and crush, becomes a key character. Tagtaa is one of the rare women whose feet were not bound; Snow stands out for the same reason.

Along with Snow, Choo features two more foxes-in-disguise: Shirakawa or Shiro ("white"), who befriends--or perhaps bewitches--Bohai; and Snow's mate, Kurosaki or Kuro ("black"). Snow must feign unfamiliarity with both, although foxes recognize each other; most people perceive something unusual about them as well. Shiro is brazen in his troublemaking, whereas Snow tries to avoid notice. In an especially wonderful scene, Shiro visits the apothecary and tells increasingly gruesome fox tales over dinner. Snow is furious; "The first rule of foxes is that you don't talk about foxes." As Ah San, she eventually throws a tureen of red bean soup at Shiro to silence him.

Bao's suspicions start to focus on Snow, and their two story lines move ever closer together by way of one final murder investigation and a revelation about a character's past. As the plot's pace quickens, suspense mounts. The multilayered details of everyday life in early 20th-century China and the evocative metaphors ("Snow had fallen on her like a layer of rice flour") make for vivid, realistic scene-setting. Choo contrasts that air of realism with delicious hints of the supernatural. From the start, the author employs a playful, knowing tone that turns readers into co-conspirators. She issues a coy invitation to root for the foxes. The novel closes with a wink: "But if you're at least a little fond of foxes and don't consider us a plague or nuisance, leave out an offering of fried tofu. Who knows, we may come and visit you one fine summer evening." Fans of Lisa See and of Téa Obreht's The Tiger's Wife will fall in love with the historical magic and mystery. --Rebecca Foster

(photo: James Cham)

Yangsze Choo's previous novels are The Ghost Bride and The Night Tiger, a Reese's Book Club selection. Like those bestsellers, her third novel, The Fox Wife (to be published by Holt on February 13, 2024), is the story of a mother seeking vengeance that brings Chinese folklore to life in magical ways.

Where did your fascination with foxes come from?

Growing up, I read a lot of traditional stories about foxes. In Chinese, Japanese, and Korean folklore, the fox is a shapeshifter that assumes the form of a seductive woman or man. In most Asian stories about foxes, a beautiful woman comes knocking on the door of a scholar and tempts him with a night of passion. Of course, there's a price to be paid for this, and that is the realization that he has been tricked by a creature.

These "histories" tend to be told from a patriarchal point of view, and contain both the desire to be seduced as well as the inbuilt censure of "good women don't go roaming around at night." Thus, such a woman, no matter how attractive she is, must be either a fox or a ghost. The other interesting thing is that in these tales, the non-human is "tamed" by being taken either as a wife or a concubine by the scholar.

I've always been intrigued by the idea of a beast that masquerades as a person. It raises lots of questions about what makes someone human--as well as the darker impulses that lurk within all of us. Yet we also ascribe innocence and authenticity to animals as well. This tension between the human and the other lies at the heart of The Fox Wife.

In the U.K., foxes have moved into suburban and urban areas and are sometimes considered nuisances. Did you have such modern stereotypes in mind when exploring legends about their mischievousness?

Foxes are captivating creatures, though as you mentioned, they're also regarded as pests by humans. From Asia to Europe, the fox in folk tales is always described as clever and resourceful, which suggests it must be a universal trait. They also seem to be quite purposeful in their actions. When I was writing the characters in this novel, I tried to keep that unpredictable beast nature in mind. Snow, for example, doesn't quite think like a human, and neither do the male foxes. They're bold, yet frivolous and easily distracted. You can view their actions as either callous or straightforwardly pure.

In all three of your novels, Malaysian and Chinese folklore plays a major role. How did you develop a knowledge and love of these stories? You mention your mother's proficiency in Chinese literature in the acknowledgments, for instance.

I've always loved folktales, and borrowed loads of anthologies from the library when I was young, as well as listening in when my grandparents and their friends told ghost stories. I also studied Chinese in high school and university, but the most useful course I took was literary Chinese. Chinese is difficult to learn because there's so much memorization. I can't think of any other language where people routinely forget how to write Chinese written characters, or say things like "Oh, what's this word again?" Literary Chinese is different from spoken Chinese in that it uses an elegant, abbreviated form with older words.

When I was writing this novel, I thought that a creature like a fox that can live for hundreds of years and fool a scholar must surely be well read. So I put in quite a few quotes from classical scholars, as well as snippets of poems and history. I also really appreciated my mother's degree in Chinese literature, because I could call her up at odd hours with lots of questions. Names are especially important for Chinese, since each name is composed by choosing certain words or characters. For all three of my novels, whenever I've named a character, I've run the names by my mum to make sure they made sense.

Bao is almost a stand-in for the reader, discovering the power of foxes as he investigates disappearances. Did you set out to write a detective novel? What made Bao the right character to guide us through?

I write my novels without an outline (an unfortunate habit) so as the story unfolds, it's also a surprise to me. I had a vague idea that there might be some murders involved, but I wasn't planning on having a detective until I started writing chapter two and suddenly, Bao appeared. I could almost see what he looked like, as he was walking around, poking into other people's business. He felt very real to me--his personality and history flowed quickly, and I think having his point of view helps move the story along swiftly, because you can jump to different events, which is a bit harder when you have only one narrative arc. He's a good foil for Snow, a mysterious woman he suspects of being a shape-shifting fox. She's playfully disruptive, while he possesses a certain doggedness.

Between them, the two protagonists are very concerned with truth and justice. How have you complicated the notions of good and evil here?

Traditionally, foxes in Asia exist in a gray area between darkness and light. Once worshiped as emissaries of the harvest gods, the fox is also reviled as a demon said to suck the qi, or life force, out of humans. This dichotomy has always struck me as intriguing, and when I was researching this, I read many purported historical encounters with them, which often report puzzling and contradictory behavior.

Foxes, it seems, are as varied as humans and come in all shades of morality. When I began writing this novel, the voice of [Snow] simply took over and had lots of opinions on everything from appraising antique wine cups to burning down people's houses. She also tries very hard to be good, which raises the question of what is "good" to a non-human creature? The more we delve into the world of the foxes, and how they feel about being persecuted and exorcized by humans, the more complicated matters become.

Are you at work on another book?

I'm working on my fourth novel now, about children who might be changelings. Like The Fox Wife, it's set in Northern China, near the Korean border. This past summer, I traveled to South Korea to research ginseng plants. It was particularly interesting to observe the mountains, as well as the trees and the local vegetation.

Do you have any writing rituals that you rely on?

A nice hot mug of tea, with condensed milk! I feel like I can't start my day properly without it, and in between I must confess that I also eat a lot of dark chocolate to "inspire" me. I don't have any particular writing setup: my desk is actually a coffee table. I lived in Japan during my childhood, so I got used to sitting on the floor, and it's really helpful to be able to roll around when one is stumped by a plot twist! --Rebecca Foster