Lifestyle
L.A. Chinatown, a place for outlandish yearnings and improbable dreams
I am walking through Dynasty Center, warmed by the morning sun. The season’s rainstorm brought a sky as blue as a newborn’s eyes, but water vapor is still rising from the multicolored canopies. Stalls with vendors selling densely packed sun-faded souvenirs is the Chinatown setting I’ve been walking through for as long as I can remember, from New York up to San Francisco and back to L.A. Turtles the size of chicken nuggets paddling in their little plastic boxes, accompanied by the barks of little mechanical dogs that march stiffly in the same futile direction, beneath the phone chargers, the rows of luggage, and the bamboo clusters peeking over one another in ceramic pots. I am walking past walls of pajamas with Disney characters, then walls of backpacks with Marvel characters. Then there are characters I only vaguely recognize, some I feel real fondness toward but no present desire for, all those Labubus of yesteryear.
I had been driving west through downtown and stopped in Chinatown to wait out the morning congestion in a new café that used to be an old bistro. One thing I don’t think gets mentioned enough about L.A. is all the positive aspects of traffic. Sometimes sitting in the car makes you want to die, but other times the standstill on the freeway is a provocation. It forces you to get out of your car so you can really look at a place and forces you to reckon with all that it means.
Walking from my parking spot, I buy cilantro and two star fruits from a bundled-up grandmother eating from her own supply of sticky corn. I wonder if I could pick up a bamboo cluster for a friend, as a birthday present. Perhaps some paper manifestations just in time for the year of the Fire Horse.
But it is then that I realize that perhaps I am being looked at with curiosity. There aren’t many customers inside Dynasty to begin with, but I am the only one that the vendors seem to be watching. I stop and stare back.
“Ni Hao,” one of them finally says, spoken in a warped inquisitive tone, like a test. As if he is really trying to ask: Who are you? Where did you come from? Are you lost? What are you doing here?
These are valid questions. What am I doing here?
Every city I have ever found myself alone in, I have gone directly to its Chinatown. A 12-hour layover in Istanbul, a summer abroad in Paris, a weekend trip to Athens from London, a visit to a friend in Seoul. It’s an impulse I’ve always followed but haven’t questioned too closely. I tell myself I am seeking ease, advice from a familiar face, a cozy bowl of soup that tastes like home.
When my family immigrated from China to America, I was surprised that our first shared apartment was on a street with hardly a single English sign. Alhambra was another one of L.A.’s unofficial Chinatowns where everyone still spoke their native tongue. I grew to love places like that, places where I could get affirmation for just speaking Mandarin without an accent, where I was still allowed back simply because I didn’t draw attention to myself. Over the years, Chinatowns have offered me ephemeral homecomings in city after city without demanding that I make my home there.
One day, and I guess that day has finally come, this ruse stopped working. I no longer fit in the picture. I’m a person who creates characters, imbues them with problems and makes up situations for them to struggle through toward emotional epiphanies. The very real people who live in this part of the city have no use for someone like this. The grandmothers might still smile warmly at me, but they are no longer my grandmothers, and I am no longer a child, so why should they offer me refuge.
My mother was dubious when I told her I wanted to write about Chinatown. She said, “You know how older immigrants talk about Chinatown? Three words: dirty, chaotic, broken.”
Historian Norman M. Klein wrote about one of L.A. Chinatown’s most enduring legends: underneath is a hidden web of tunnels, where sinful, lurid acts were carried out and crimes were committed. For decades this myth was passed on as people were suspicious of what they couldn’t understand. After the Chinese Exclusion Act in 1882, Chinatown’s Chinese residents were barred from testifying in court, excluding them from courtrooms that were investigating them, and vulnerable to police officers whose official records stated they couldn’t tell them apart.
That original Chinatown was eventually demolished to clear space for Union Station. The replacement was moved just north of Downtown Los Angeles and opened in 1938. It’s an eerily quiet part of city, especially during the day. Its only post office is in danger of closing due to lack of funding, and fliers are posted up on lamp posts asking for financial support from the community. The owner of the small antiques shop will talk to you for hours about every small business that has come and gone on his block. Fridays and Saturdays a group of young Thai chefs and artisans try to draw crowds to eat and shop at their night market on Mei Ling Way. During game nights, hundreds of Dodgers fans will stream in and park before games; perhaps they will eat a big meal together at Yang Chow but then the crowds depart, the rest of the streets stay quiet.
Perhaps it is the neighborhood’s enduring, somewhat mysterious opacity that appeals to a new generation of designers and artists. They’ve opened studios and galleries alongside the stationery store, coffee shops, tea cocktail lounges, fusion restaurants and destination bars that come fully to life only after dark.
A decades-long business owner on Chung King Road told me, “Every couple of years, a new group of people, recently graduated art students usually, come around, rent space and try to revitalize the streets.” In her shop she sells postcards of faraway places with captions like: A BEST SELLER MOVIE BY JACKIE CHAN RUSH HOUR WAS NOT SHOT HERE. There’s a resigned weariness in her voice when she says, “Then they realize we just don’t get the kind of foot traffic it takes to sustain those kinds of businesses, and it goes away.”
I get it. She’s been living in the community for decades and has seen tides of faces come and go. She sounds already disappointed on their behalf, tired of artists whose far-fetched plans never quite materialize.
There’s something about the architectural scale of Los Angeles Chinatown that has always struck me as somewhere between convincingly authentic and strangely artificial. Is the sky too close to the clay tile roofs? Is the sunset too orange? Did someone repaint the mechanical horses for children one too many times and now their eyes look crazed?
It’s hard to walk during the day between Hill and Broadway without feeling like you’re walking in the backdrop of a movie, like a camera from above is about to come in focus and people will appear out of nowhere and set the place into action. Signage for new and defunct art galleries appear with letters roasted dry by the relentless California sun until the edges of words peel away, looking like they were written in calligraphy.
When pitching a TV show around Hollywood a few years ago, I saw the ways media executives’ eyes perked up with approval when I mentioned Chinatown as a setting. Somehow, always a piece of the city, yet to be claimed. Since I’d been finding myself in various Chinatowns both as a liminal space and a state of mind, I told them I’d claim it, even though it was just as mysterious to me. I thought in trying to capture it, I could join the group of people somehow helping to protect it.
I love exploring Chinatown, peeking into the windows of jewelers boasting diamonds and gold and Rolexes, and discovering secret cinemas across the street from death doulas. But it’s also a place that takes care of its elderly inhabitants, whose presence is most urgently felt. Elders get their hearing checked and play mahjongg and practice calligraphy in the shade of empty plazas. Elders in wheelchairs sit in the sun beside decommissioned shopping malls, whose main purpose seems to be to hold adult daycare centers for senior citizens. There do not seem to be sharks circling.
For a long time I wanted to move to Chinatown myself, to live there even without knowing very much about it. I dreamed of my children learning Chinese in the dual language immersion program of the local elementary. Before moving back to L.A., I had lived in a tenement building in New York’s Chinatown. I miss having claim over a piece of that city that other people found indecipherable. I miss a place that did not make me feel ashamed about my most outlandish yearnings and dreams.
There are many places in this city that real estate developers have found more appetizing. Communities with futuristic dispensaries and start-up athleisure. Thriving shopping malls and long lines around the block for viral beverages. Not here in Chinatown, but perhaps this place is holding out for something better, something more real.
My friend Joseph Lee has his painting studio on the second floor of a strip mall plaza, his half-squeezed tubes of paint line the walls from end to end. On the surface, here is another Chinatown mall whose decommissioned retail and office spaces have stood empty for years. But in recent years, they’ve been turned into studios for architects and designers and other creatives whose floor-to-ceiling windows face one another under Chinatown’s bright sky.
Joe told me he followed his heroes to Chinatown. The first one being Bruce Lee, who once had a martial arts studio in an unmarked building (which Joe found using a now-defunct History Channel app). Then there’s one of his favorite living painters, Henry “Chinatown” Taylor himself, whose gallery and former home are still just around the corner.
At night, Mandarin Plaza buzzes with conversation from the tea shop in the center. On weekends, sometimes a jazz band performs behind the stairwell and revelers dance in the eaves. The sidewalk in front of Café Triste is often so crowded with impeccably dressed patrons, it’s difficult to hear your own thoughts while walking by. Its owner can’t keep the customers sitting down long enough to eat his creative menu, so he thinks he must start serving fries.
My mother brought me to this country as a child and toiled with a ferocious determination that afforded our family the means to move farther and farther from the place we started. Thinking back, it was precisely because she was too busy working to focus on me that I was given the freedom to pursue my own fantasies of becoming a writer.
Chinatown is a part of Los Angeles built by immigrants who were chased, moved aside, distrusted — a place with a violent history it has continuously tried to shake. And yet it remains in a state of reinvention, making it an ideal place for dreamers to impose their improbable dreams, to make bets on themselves as artists, as creatives, as immigrants. Even when those dreams don’t quite hold, it continues to allow people to harbor hope for the next evolution. In that sense, Chinatown carries its own poetic legacy, the myth that deserves to endure.
Xuan Juliana Wang is author of the short story collection “Home Remedies” and assistant professor of English at UCLA.
In her long-awaited memoir, Phases, entertainment icon Brandy is opening up about her storied journey from singing in church in rural Mississippi to building a decades-long career in Hollywood as a music artist, songwriter, producer and actress.
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It was in the late summer of 1993 when Brandy first captured viewers nationwide with the premiere season of the sitcom Thea. Playing the vibrant and savvy Danesha Turrell, Brandy stepped into a role that, though short-lived, would become the prelude to her now decades-long entertainment career.
In an interview with Morning Edition ahead of the release of her new memoir, Phases, Brandy recounted that these early achievements affirmed the childhood dreams she held so close growing up in McComb, Mississippi, and Carson, California. While working to reach her visions for herself, Brandy honed her singing and acting skills with the support of her singer and musican father, William “Willie” Norwood Sr., her mother and eventual manager, Sonja Norwood, and her younger brother, Ray J, whose full name is William Norwood Jr.
“All I wanted to do was be a singer, touch people with my voice and meet Whitney Houston. That was my dream. But God had other plans for me. I was able to expand into acting and all sorts of things that I never saw myself doing,” Brandy told NPR’s A Martinez.
Brandy at the ninth annual Soul Train Music Awards in 1995, where she won the award for R&B new artist following the release of her self-titled debut album, which went platinum and featured her chart-topping singles “I Wanna Be Down” and “Baby.”
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Brandy’s debut acting role came the same year that she secured her first record deal — with her signing to Atlantic Records. Just one year later in 1994, several months after Thea filmed its final episode, Brandy dropped her self-titled debut album. The platinum-selling album stormed the charts, producing two No. 1 singles on the Hot R&B/Hip-Hop Songs chart, three top 10 hits on the Billboard Hot 100 chart and securing Brandy’s title as an artist to watch.
“I just remember being fearless at 14, excited for everything, ready for all of the things that I saw myself doing. I just was so full of spirit,” said Brandy, whose full name is Brandy Norwood, though she’s gone by the mononym Brandy throughout her career.
From a rising star to a pop culture force
Less than a year after releasing her first album, Brandy had already accomplished one of her most coveted goals — meeting her idol Whitney Houston. The pair crossed paths at the Nickelodeon Kids’ Choice Awards in 1995, where Brandy was performing and Houston was hosting the show. Brandy said that encounter was the beginning of a “beautiful friendship” between her and Houston.
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Brandy and Houston soon worked together again when Houston asked Brandy to be on the soundtrack for Houston’s 1995 film Waiting to Exhale, a music project that Houston curated to feature a roster of all-women music artists and housed Brandy’s No. 1 single “Sittin’ Up in My Room.”
The following year, Brandy took on a new role on the UPN series Moesha, where she starred as the show’s title character, Moesha Mitchell. The show aired for six seasons until its end in 2001, a series run Brandy said she “couldn’t predict” would have lasted so long.
Brandy celebrates the 100th episode of Moesha with her castmates William Allen Young, Yvette Wilson, Shar Jackson, Marcus T. Paulk, Lamont Bentley, Sheryl Lee Ralph and Brandy’s real-life brother, Ray J.
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“It was nothing like Moesha on television. It wasn’t a young Black girl with braids on television, just tackling so many topics about life and what teenagers go through. It was different. It was family oriented. It just seemed really grounded,” Brandy said.
“I loved that it was set in Leimert Park. It was just the culture there. It was just so beautiful,” Brandy added, referencing the real-life historic Black neighborhood in Los Angeles where Moesha and her family lived on the show. “I was so happy that we tapped into it. It was such a fun time.”
Brandy and her real-life brother, Ray J, both appeared in the the television series Moesha. Brandy played the series’ title charachter, Moesha Mitchell. While Ray J memorably played several charachters on the show, with his best-known rolebeing Dorian Long.
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But it was in 1997 that Brandy played one of her most treasured roles — Cinderella in the Disney television film adaption of the musical Rodgers & Hammerstein’s Cinderella. Brandy was cast in the lead role by her own fairy godmother Houston — with Brandy making history as the first Black actress to play a Disney princess on screen.
While working on the film, Brandy says that Whitney centered her with “encouraging energy” and urged Brandy to be herself.
“She just made me feel safe to be myself and I just wanted to impress her,” Brandy said. “Anything I could think of to impress her, I would do it … to make her laugh, to do a run or something to just make her smile. Just because I loved her so much. And I still love her.”
Brandy and Monica arrive at the 41st annual Grammy Awards in February 1999 in Los Angeles, California. That night they won the Grammy Award for best pop duo/group peformance for their chart-topping single “The Boy Is Mine.”
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Dan Callister
On the glass heels of the Cinderella film’s international success, Brandy released her 1998 sophomore album Never Say Never. The album included the track “The Boy Is Mine,” her record-breaking duet with her fellow teen sensation Monica. Brandy then closed out the decade with a Grammy win for “The Boy Is Mine,” her becoming the first Black singer to land a CoverGirl contract, Mattel’s release of a Brandy Barbie doll, and her recognition as a beauty and style muse — who’d become known for her trademark braided hairstyles and her fashion on and off the screen.
Balancing the dream
The bustle following Brandy’s debut album in 1994 had surged to a thundering confirmation by the end of the 1990s, with the multiphenate amassing a pop culture significance unrivaled by most of her teen-star contemporaries. But Brandy says navigating her preteen and teenage years as a public figure came with a crushing cost — the mounting expectations of perfection she often felt placed upon her professional and personal life.
Brandy performs during the 50th annual Primetime Emmy Awards on September 13, 1998.
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“You’re a teenager. That’s when you’re making mistakes, and falling down and trying to get back up — all of these things. And I wasn’t able to do that because I was an example. I was put in a position to be like a role model,” Brandy said.
“The pressures of staying on point and not making mistakes — it was hard to live up to for a long period of time,” Brandy continued. “Because life kicks in. And you do start to learn about yourself. And you do start to make mistakes. And you learn from those mistakes. But when you’re a child star, everything is on blast.”
An expansion of career and honoring of self
Brandy entered the new millennium with artistic fervor, exclaiming her coming of age as a young adult with her 2002 third studio album Full Moon and its acclaimed title track. Her Full Moon era also included the birth of her now 23-year-old daughter Sy’rai Smith, who Brandy says has pulled her own creative inspiration from the beloved project.
“[Sy’rai]’s an artist. She loves music. She can sing her little tail off. So I’m supporting her on her journey, becoming and blossoming into a beautiful artist,” Brandy said, adding that “Full Moon” is Sy’rai’s favorite song out of her mom’s catalog. “Her and her crew, every time that song comes on, they want me to know that they know every lyric. They know every word.”
Brandy visits BET’s 106 & Park and chats with the shows co-host Free in 2002 while promoting her third studio album Full Moon.
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In the decades following Full Moon, Brandy expanded her career through a melding of film, TV, theater and music projects.
As an actress, she’s taken on feature films like The Perfect Match, her lead role in the sitcom Zoe Ever After, her televsion movie with Sy’rai Christmas Everyday and starring on Broadway as Roxie Hart in the musical Chicago. She’s also continued to foster her musical evolution through studio albums that have found her exploring a range of sonic spaces — including her critically lauded Afrodisiac in 2004, her pop and R&B fusion Human in 2008, Two Eleven in 2012 and her musing experimental album B7 in 2020, which she co-wrote and co-produced.
Brandy’s daughter, Sy’rai Smith, pictured above on the left, is building her own career as a singer and actress. Sy’rai released her debut single “On My Own” in 2023, has been featured on several songs on her mother’s albums and Sy’rai appeared alongside Brandy in the Lifetime holiday movie Christmas Everyday, which premiered in November 2025.
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Paras Griffin
Despite her exhaustive list of creative pursuits, the past three decades have seen Brandy employ moments of dormancy from the spotlight — with her often going inactive on social media and generally retreating from the public eye between projects. It was during one such break that Brandy says she was able to fully address the emotional complexities of her life as a child star.
“Once I was able to step away from the limelight and really work on myself, and work on my self-worth, and heal, I was able to grow and become an amazing person, and mom and a role model for my daughter in the best way possible,” Brandy said. “So I’m grateful for what I’ve been through because I wouldn’t be the person that I am today.”
A timeless icon reinspired
Now putting shape to her fourth decade in the entertainment industry, Brandy says she’s building on the artistic energy she rediscovered during her record-setting joint tour with Monica last fall — which was named after their hit song “The Boy Is Mine.” The 32-date The Boy Is Mine Tour sold out arenas around the nation and dominated social media feeds with performance clips, photos and behind-the-scenes footage.
Brandy attends her Hollywood Walk of Fame induction ceremony on March 30, 2026, in Hollywood, California.
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“When I was creating [The Boy Is Mine] with Rodney Jerkins and LaShawn Daniels, I was watching a lot of [the Jerry Springer Show]. And I saw this [episode] where the show was called pretty much ‘The Boy Is Mine.’ And I was like we should do a song with another artist like Monica,” Brandy said. “I thought my idea for it was amazing. When I heard the song, I just had this idea of our voices going back and forth, and us going back and forth in the song, and producing it like that and. And nobody could see it but me. And I was right.”
“[‘The Boy Is Mine’] is the biggest song of our careers. It won us a Grammy. It put us back on tour 27 years later in 2025 in front of these amazing fans — and reinspired me and reignited me to do more performing and entertainment now. I’m so inspired because of ‘The Boy Is Mine’ and the tour,” Brandy said.
Brandy performs the national anthem ahead of the NFC Championship Game between the Los Angeles Rams and the San Francisco 49ers at SoFi Stadium on January 30, 2022 in Inglewood, California. Brandy’s white tracksuit paid homage to the white windsuit her idol Whitney Houston wore during her iconic performance of the national anthem at the Super Bowl in 1991.
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As Brandy waxes into a new phase of galvanized creativity and self-discovery, she’s reassured that she won’t be overshadowed by weighty expectations and misconceptions. Instead, this era of her life will be fully illuminated by the personal truths she assuredly proclaims in her long-awaited memoir, which she penned in collaboration with journalist Gerrick Kennedy.
“For so long my story was told for me. So given the opportunity to have a chance to speak myself and tell my own story, I just felt like it was divine,” Brandy said. “I wanted to give my younger self a voice and heal my inner child. Some of the things that I went through was super difficult, and I wanted to speak about that and inspire others.”
“[Gerrick Kennedy] helped me to recall some of the things that I didn’t remember and was able to put together a beautiful, compelling story to help other people feel like they can survive whatever they’re going through,” Brandy added.
To his millions of YouTube, Instagram and TikTok followers, 30-year-old designer and content creator Drew Michael Scott (a.k.a Lone Fox) is best known for his easy-to-follow DIY transformations, from updating his 1929 Spanish duplex and offering rental tips to surprising his mom with a living room makeover.
Now, Scott has taken on a new project that isn’t online. This week, he opened Lone Fox Los Angeles, a 7,000-square-foot bricks-and-mortar home store on La Brea Avenue in Mid-City that will have about 2,500 square feet of retail space across two floors.
In Sunday Funday, L.A. people give us a play-by-play of their ideal Sunday around town. Find ideas and inspiration on where to go, what to eat and how to enjoy life on the weekends.
“I source every single item,” Scott said, as he gave a tour of the elegant showroom filled with vintage furniture and modern accessories including glassware, pillows, lighting and small gifts.
Scott started selling vintage furniture online about 2½ years ago after his viewers kept asking him about the pieces he used. “I would always use thrifted finds and flea market things in my makeovers, and people would always ask me, ‘Can you sell what you’re using?’” he said.
Fans can now get a taste of his impeccable style in person. Curious about where he finds his vintage pieces? On a typical Sunday in L.A., Scott visits one or two flea markets. Want to know which ones? Keep reading.
This interview has been lightly edited and condensed for length and clarity.
8 a.m.: Avoid anxiety by posting content
I am a workaholic. But I do that to myself. In the past, I was an anxious person, and that stemmed from having too much free time. So I like filling my day. I have been doing social media for 15 years, and Sundays are my primary day for posting content. I wake up around 8 or 9 a.m. and am excited to post my content, which I always have ready to go. Over time, I noticed it felt like a nice day for people to look at social media because they had more free time, and I found that my views did better on Sunday.
9 a.m.: Coffee and croissants at a minimalist coffee shop
I love the coffee shop Laveta Coffee near downtown [L.A.] on Glendale Boulevard, which is only 16 minutes from my house. It’s a chill coffee shop where croissants are made to order. They also have cinnamon-sugar croissant doughnuts that are really good. I always get the Andante, a cold brew with maple syrup, salted sweet cream foam, cacao powder and pink salt. It is the best coffee I’ve ever had in my life. It’s my go-to, and I love that place.
10 a.m.: Flea market shopping in Long Beach or Pasadena
Sundays are for flea markets, and I take advantage of that. I personally source all my vintage pieces, so I try to visit flea markets every week. I bring a wagon to carry all my finds and really enjoy hunting for treasures. I try to go early and can always find art or furniture to rework and give new life. My favorite spot is the Long Beach Flea Market.
Another great option is the Pasadena City College Flea Market. It’s especially nice on hot days because about 70% of it is in a shaded parking garage. Sometimes I’ll find a large piece of furniture. When that happens, I use Lugg, which works like Uber. It’s perfect for things like sideboards and usually costs about $100.
Noon: Hunt for treasures at a sprawling antique mart
I also spend a lot of time at the Mart Collective in Venice, where I have a booth. I love finding new pieces there and checking out the different vendors. The selection is so interesting. It feels more like a museum than a typical antique mall, and I always discover something new. Two booths I really like are West End Vintage, which has unique furniture that looks like it’s from a mountain home, and a French booth near the checkout stand that has amazing French oil paintings.
1:30 p.m.: Stop by Lone Fox Los Angeles
After shopping, I’ll drop off my vintage finds from the flea market and check in at Lone Fox Los Angeles. I don’t plan to be there all the time, but I want to be around the first few weeks it’s open to spot any issues.
2 p.m.: Walk the dog over to Thai lunch
After visiting the shop, I’ll walk my dog over to Her Thai in Mid-City to pick up lunch. I love their pad Thai and Thai iced tea, and I usually get my order to go and bring it home. The Thai tea is especially good. Her Thai is run by the same people who own Met Her at a Bar and Met Him at a Bar, and they are all great.
4 p.m.: Indulge in an afternoon bath
I love taking a bath during the day, even though it feels a bit unusual. I only get the chance on Sundays. I don’t really use bath time to relax, but I do find it sparks my creativity. When I’m in the bath, I come up with ideas for scripts or plan out my work for the week. It might not be the typical way people use their bath time, but it’s something I’ve always enjoyed. My mind is usually focused on work, so that’s where my thoughts go. While I’m in the tub, I like using Cyklar products. Their vitamin C body oils smell great, and adding them to my bath makes me feel productive.
7 p.m.: Enjoy some homemade pasta at a cozy neighborhood cafe
Then I’d have dinner at Met Him at a Bar, my favorite spot. I really like the restaurant’s vibe. They offer both indoor and outdoor seating, and it reminds me of a New York street corner. The restaurant serves Italian food and makes its pasta from scratch. Their Brussels sprout appetizer with balsamic glaze is amazing. The cocktails are great too. Since it’s just a few blocks from my house, I can walk there if I want to have a drink.
10 p.m.: Content planning while watching true crime documentaries
I love watching TV from bed. On Sunday nights, I usually plan content for the week and check what’s trending. I try to relax and come up with new ideas. I’m really into crime documentaries, which are very different from the content I make at home. I like how real they are, even if they aren’t uplifting. I can work on my phone and look up when something interesting happens. I also enjoy YouTube videos about home content, Mr. Kate, how things are made and soothing ASMR reels. It’s my guilty pleasure and helps me unwind.
A note from Wild Card host Rachel Martin: George Saunders is considered one of the master storytellers of our time. He uses humor and empathy to draw readers into characters and situations that stick deeply in the imagination.
He also seems like a guy totally preoccupied with the liminal space between the living and the dead. And I dig this because I am also preoccupied with this in-between-space. It was the setting for his best selling book “Lincoln in the Bardo” and of his newest novel, “Vigil.”
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