I understand where you are coming from, a properly edited book should have the correct units, appropriate grammar and vocabulary usage and such to qualify as being a quality polished product/book. And you do allude to the fact that a book is not a widget, that the editorial process should not destroy the author's voice, and produce an anonymous staid commercial copy.

The slip-ups are certainly there (a photo of pauline's father standing in front of a stately building in bangkok is mislabeled as the american embassy when it is actually the palace compound adjacent to the Grand Palace of Thailand).

Yet, even with these flaws, the prose works precisely due to its authenticity. By reading Pauline's prose I can hear her voice, her struggles through the Australian education system as an immigrant, her struggle to find her voice as writer. This book works for me, wouldn't have it any other way.

Just to clarify – I didn't necessarily mean improvise by making up a similar ingredient (though that's fine too if you happen to know how). In the example cited, we have:

* red curry powder ('Ayam' brand)
* crabmeat paste with soya bean oil ('Pork Wan' brand)

If the Ayam brand is not available, why not try another red curry powder? Or even a green curry powder – yum! That's all I meant.

By the way, if people don't have Asian grocers near them, they will probably have a hard time finding many popular brands as, not surprisingly, that's where most Asians shop.

I think I'll contact the publishers too about the lack of glossary, as I find it a little frustrating too!

Cheers and thanks again for the detailed review.

Your critique is interesting and very thoughtful. I do agree it's important that an editor promotes correct and consistent spelling/grammar, as long as it's not at the expense of smooth and clear communication. Poorly placed commas annoy me, as it can make for clumsy sentences or can completely change meaning. Criticism about split infinitives and sentences starting with "And" generally leave me cold.

Changes in literary style also don't bother me as long as they're done with finesse. (In fact, they can be refreshing.) I gather from this critique that the changes are rather jarring. That is unlikely to stop me from buying the book however.

It's a beautiful book, with a beautiful heart. The substance and intention mean more to me than the fact that it is not a finely finished product. Perhaps it moves me because I come from a similar background. I treasure and abhor many things that make up the Vietnamese character, culture and history – but I would not wish to deny them. (I admit it would be disturbing, though, if she had included graphic images of the Vietnamese wars.)

The only thing that I truly wish was in the book is that glossary of ingredients you suggested, including their Vietnamese equivalent. There are many ingredients that I and others only know by their Vietnamese name or vice versa.

My mother has her favourite brands, such as Ayam, (who doesn't?) so I'd be very surprised if this is commercial product placement. Using particular brands helps you get the closest possible taste to what someone creates, but if you can't find them – improvise! The intention is not to limit but to share. Cooking is about the joys of sharing and experimentation, not about rigidly sticking to rules.

There are certainly cultural issues in the type of narrative for Secrets of the Red Lantern, as you point out. For the broad readership which the book is aimed at, I think that can present some problems, but in the end my stronger reservation is also that the narrative doesn't really convincingly use the food theme as the canvas for the story. Anyway, look forward to your impressions after you've looked at it more.

On reading your review – as much as it annoys me to read poorly written work – I believe I may buy both books, Andreas' for the recipes and Pauline's for the story.

My reasoning is thus, I have a strong connection with Vietnam. I was initially raised in Hong Kong by an ethnic Chinese grandmother who spent part of her childhood in Danang. Then as a child, my family assisted many Vietnamese refugees at the Springvale Migrant Hostel in Melbourne. I heard a great many sad stories of trauma, of families deliberately broken up, stripped of assets, 're-educated' and re-settled, of torture and barbarism. I also witnessed first hand the shameful racism in Australia towards the refugees.

This year after my Grandmother's death, I went to Vietnam and discovered a bond I had not anticipated. I was in awe of the generosity, humour and optimism of the people who had endured such immense horror and hardship and was blessed that, in private, they were candid about their experiences. They endured when many of us would have wished we were dead.

For most Asians, food is a major preoccupation. The Oriental ethos is quite lateral in its presentation so the overlap of multiple concepts would be considered natural. The notion of separating the suffering and family tales from food is a Western concept whereby everything is politely and neatly niched in order not to challenge and provoke. Within that framework a cookbook should be just that, but to understand the Vietnamese culture is to swallow the pain along with the food.