Lyn Liao Butler’s latest novel, The Fourth Daughter, serves as both a deeply personal family saga and a powerful exploration of Taiwan’s troubled political history. Through the interwoven stories of Yi-ping Wang and her granddaughter Liv Kuo, Butler crafts a narrative that resonates with anyone who has ever felt disconnected from their cultural heritage or struggled to find their identity after trauma.
A Tale of Two Traumas
The novel unfolds through dual timelines, masterfully balancing contemporary Manhattan with 1960s Taiwan under martial law. Chef Liv Kuo, once a rising culinary star at restaurant 852, has become a prisoner in her own apartment after witnessing a deadly shooting that claimed her colleague Cat’s life and left her with debilitating panic attacks. Butler’s portrayal of PTSD feels raw and authentic, never romanticizing mental health struggles or offering easy solutions.
Meanwhile, Yi-ping Wang (Ah-Ma) carries the weight of a different kind of trauma—the forced separation from her fourth daughter, Yili, taken by her KMT husband in 1961 when the child was barely a toddler. Butler’s research into Taiwan’s martial law period shines through in these sections, painting a vivid picture of a society where women had little agency and political affiliations could mean life or death.
The parallel between grandmother and granddaughter becomes clear: both are trapped by circumstances beyond their control, both struggling to find the strength to move forward.
The Weight of Superstition and Cultural Expectations
Butler explores the cultural significance of numbers and superstitions with remarkable nuance. The title itself references the Taiwanese belief that the number four is unlucky because it sounds like the word for “death.” Yi-ping’s fourth daughter becomes a burden to her husband, Po-wei, who blames all the family’s misfortunes on her birth.
The author doesn’t shy away from the harsh realities of women’s lives in 1960s Taiwan, where:
- Wives were expected to produce sons
- Daughters could be given away without mothers’ consent
- Political affiliations determined social standing
- Marriage was often more about family alliances than love
These cultural elements never feel forced or explanatory—they emerge naturally through character interactions and internal monologues.
Food as Cultural Memory and Healing
Perhaps the novel’s greatest strength lies in Butler’s use of food as both narrative device and emotional catalyst. The recipes that Yi-ping shares with Liv become more than mere instructions—they’re cultural DNA, passed down through generations. Butler’s background as someone who was “ashamed to admit I knew nothing about what was happening in my birthplace” adds authenticity to Liv’s journey of cultural discovery.
The scenes where grandmother and granddaughter cook together—preparing dumplings, stewing pork belly with hard-boiled eggs, experimenting with turkey and shrimp combinations—pulse with sensory details that make readers feel hungry for both food and connection. These cooking sessions become the foundation for Liv’s healing and her gradual reconnection with her Taiwanese identity.
Character Development That Feels Earned
Butler’s character work stands out for its complexity and restraint. Liv could easily have been written as a victim, but instead she emerges as someone fighting to reclaim her life, even when panic attacks threaten to overwhelm her. Her relationship with Simon, the kind stranger who talks her through a panic attack at the airport, develops naturally without falling into romance novel clichés.
Yi-ping’s voice carries the weight of decades of grief without becoming melodramatic. Her memories of life in the Wang household—the careful navigation of family politics, the constant awareness of KMT surveillance, the devastating loss of agency—feel lived-in and real.
Even secondary characters like Ziyi, Yi-ping’s friend who survived her own tragic losses during the White Terror period, are fully realized. The revelation of what happened to Ziyi’s husband during the martial law period provides one of the novel’s most shocking moments, yet it never feels gratuitous or exploitative.
The Mystery Element
While marketed partly as historical fiction, the book contains strong mystery elements that keep pages turning. The search for the fourth daughter drives the plot forward, but Butler wisely avoids making it a simple quest narrative. The reveals about Clare and Sue’s family history, the connection to the KMT official who was responsible for so much suffering, and the ultimate reunion feel both surprising and inevitable.
The discovery that Po-wei essentially traded his daughter to save his own skin adds layers of moral complexity to the family history. Butler doesn’t offer easy forgiveness or pat resolutions—some wounds remain open, some relationships cannot be repaired.
Areas for Critical Consideration
While The Fourth Daughter succeeds in most areas, some elements feel less fully developed. The romance between Liv and Simon, though sweet, occasionally feels secondary to the main narrative thrust. Their decision to build a life together happens quickly, and readers might wish for more development of their individual character arcs before the romantic resolution.
Additionally, some transitions between timelines can feel abrupt, particularly in the novel’s middle sections where the pacing occasionally lags as Butler works to bring multiple plot threads together.
The ending, while emotionally satisfying, ties up perhaps too neatly. Real healing from trauma—both personal and generational—rarely happens as smoothly as depicted here.
Writing Style and Technique
Butler’s prose strikes an effective balance between accessibility and literary depth. She avoids purple prose while still creating vivid sensory experiences, particularly in food descriptions and Taiwan’s street scenes. Her research into Taiwanese history and culture is thorough without becoming pedagogical.
The dual timeline structure works well, with each era’s voice feeling distinct. Yi-ping’s sections carry more formal language patterns that suggest someone translating thoughts from Chinese to English, while Liv’s narrative flows with contemporary American rhythms.
Cultural and Historical Significance
The Fourth Daughter serves as important cultural work, bringing Taiwanese stories to broader audiences while avoiding the trap of writing solely for Western consumption. Butler’s author note explains her own journey of discovery about Taiwan’s martial law period, and this personal investment shows throughout the narrative.
The novel joins works like Julie Wu’s “The Third Son” and Jean Kwok’s “The Leftover Woman” in exploring Asian diaspora experiences without simplifying complex cultural and political realities. Butler’s focus on how political oppression affects families across generations feels particularly relevant in our current global context.
Comparisons and Recommendations
Readers who enjoyed Lisa See’s “Shanghai Girls” or Min Jin Lee’s “Pachinko” will find similar themes of family separation, cultural identity, and women’s resilience across generations. The food-centric healing narrative will appeal to fans of Tembi Locke’s “From Scratch” or Michelle Zauner’s “Crying in H Mart.”
Butler’s previous works, including “The Tiger Mom’s Tale,” “Red Thread of Fate,” and “Someone Else’s Life,” have established her as a reliable voice in Asian American fiction, and The Fourth Daughter represents her most ambitious and successful work to date.
Similar Books Worth Reading
For readers seeking similar themes and styles, consider:
- “Everything I Never Told You” by Celeste Ng – Family secrets and Asian American identity
- “The Tea Girl of Hummingbird Lane” by Lisa See – Mother-daughter separation and cultural preservation
- “When the Emperor Was Divine” by Julie Otsuka – Political persecution and family trauma
- “The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down” by Anne Fadiman – Cultural disconnection and understanding
- “Kitchen Chinese” by Ann Mah – Food as cultural connection and healing
Final Verdict
The Fourth Daughter succeeds as both entertainment and cultural document. Butler has crafted a novel that honors the complexity of Taiwanese history while telling a deeply personal story about trauma, healing, and the foods that connect us across generations and oceans.
The book’s exploration of how political oppression creates ripple effects across generations feels urgent and necessary. While it occasionally stumbles with pacing and some plot conveniences, the emotional honesty and cultural authenticity more than compensate for these minor flaws.
This is a novel that will satisfy readers looking for both page-turning storytelling and meaningful cultural insight. Butler has created something rare: a book that educates without lecturing, that honors both individual pain and collective trauma, and that suggests healing is possible even when scars remain.
The Fourth Daughter deserves a place on the shelves of anyone interested in Asian American literature, historical fiction exploring lesser-known periods, or simply beautifully told stories about the food and traditions that make us who we are.
