Bound by flesh, divided by conflict

In 'Chang and Eng,' Darin Strauss touches on issues of identity, individuality and the first 'Siamese twins'

An illustration of Chang and Eng, circa 1830

In this story: 'Neither singular nor plural' Fiction or nonfiction? Moments intimate and tragic RELATED STORIES, SITES

By Leah Lessard
Special to CNN Interactive

LOS ANGELES, California (CNN) -- The first piece of advice many aspiring novelists receive is, "Write what you know," and most seem to take this comforting principle to heart. Bookstore shelves are crammed with good and bad books by first-time writers, their topics ranging from semi-autobiographical tales to unabashed memoirs.

Yet some, like Darin Strauss, a graduate of New York University's creative writing program, ignore that maxim. He prefers telling "juicy stories about extraordinary lives."

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Excerpt: 'Chang and Eng'

Instead of drawing from his own experiences, Strauss tackled the story of Chang and Eng Bunker, the 19th-century conjoined twins from Siam for whom the term "Siamese twins" was coined. Three years of writing and research have produced "Chang and Eng" (Dutton), which has earned raves for the 30-year old author from Long Island, New York.

The lives of Chang and Eng were nothing if not extraordinary. Born in 1811 to poor peasants living on the Mekong River in what is now Thailand, the two appeared doomed at the age of 6 when the king of Siam condemned them to death. Upon seeing the "double monster," the king changed his mind and kept the identical duo in his court as curiosities, whom he alternately indulged with education and wealth and exploited as freak-show attractions.

Chang and Eng traveled the world as a circus act (including a stint for P.T. Barnum) and achieved a level of celebrity that warranted visits with the czar of Russia and Britain's Queen Victoria. More amazing, the brothers later settled as hog farmers in pre-Civil War North Carolina, married a pair of American sisters and fathered 21 children between them.

Attached at the chest by a fleshy band of cartilage, the twins shared a stomach and a liver (an unfortunate fact, given that one of the twins was an alcoholic) but were otherwise two separate men. They walked side-by-side with their arms slung over each other's shoulders.

Strauss became captivated by the idea of what he calls "a self that is neither singular nor plural" after seeing conjoined twins girls on the "Oprah" show. The pair jumped up and said in unison, "We're a big girl now!" That wonderfully odd moment inspired Strauss to explore the questions of selfhood and identity that inform "Chang and Eng."

Author Darin Strauss ignored the advice of "write what you know" and is now enjoying the success of his book "Chang and Eng," the story of 19th century conjoined twins

In the book, Chang and Eng are both "we" and "me," and Strauss plays with pronouns to maximum effect. ("This is the end I have feared since we were a child," says Eng when he wakes to find his brother dead beside him.)

Beyond Strauss' agile treatment of the complexities of intimacy and independence, "Chang and Eng" is an ambitious undertaking for another reason: The story is told through the eyes of Eng, the shy alter ego of boisterous Chang.

"Since I was doing it first person, the whole point of it was to get the reader to understand what it must be like to be Siamese twins," Strauss said at a recent book signing in Los Angeles. "So, if I did my job, the reader should come away saying, 'Oh, that's what it must be like.'"

"Chang and Eng" differs from the traditional biography. The book's cover identifies the work as a novel, and the afterword states, "The story you have just read is true and not." The outline of the twins' life is grounded in fact, but most of the people and situations are the products of the author's imagination.

"I hope this book is a more truthful telling of the story of Chang and Eng than some of the biographies, which didn't really give you a true picture of them," said Strauss. "They sort of just throw facts at you."

By calling his work a fiction, Strauss landed on the desirable side of a controversy that's been roiling since the 1999 release of "Dutch," Edmund Morris' biography of Ronald Reagan. Morris was criticized for including false footnotes and fabricating events (many of which were the literary equivalent of a cameo, in which the author actually wrote himself into the scene).

"I wanted to be really clear that this is a novel," said Strauss. "I didn't want to be like the guy who wrote 'Dutch' because I think that's kind of dirty pool, to say it's a biography and then make a lot of stuff up."

"That is an important difference" because Straussí book should not be mistaken for a biography, said Steve Wasserman, books editor for the Los Angeles Times. "So we can agree to believe that it is really true -- or perhaps not so true -- whenever we wish to about it," he said.

But even in the best of situations, finding and conveying indisputable fact is a difficult enterprise. In researching recorded details of the twins' lives, Strauss found that the "facts" amounted to little more than an unreliable hodgepodge of sideshow and editorial hyperbole. Not much could be found in the way of family history, either, since most of the twins' descendents declined to talk out of embarrassment.

But there was a positive result: Because so little is known about the twinsí personal lives, Strauss felt less tethered by research and more free to use literary devices to lend his tale a ring of truth.

In one scene, soldiers storm Chang's and Eng's childhood home to take them away to a certain death. Their mother is forced to make a devil's bargain -- she must try to sever the cord that binds her sons, half-certain she is killing them in the process:

"Slowly she pierced the ligament with the tip of the blade, drawing out a dab of our blood. Tears streamed down Mother's face, too. I heard a modest crunching as the cutting edge slid into our skin. More blood. We panted reflexively. Our legs in a spasm of self-preservation clung to each other, a tangle at the knees. And we wept, in pain such as no child should ever know."

In the twins' most intimate moments, "Chang and Eng" has a tenderness, such as when they take a leisurely stroll as if on a double date.

Yet their fusion means that neither can ever have a secret conversation or a private moment when the other is awake. In later years, when the brothers are metaphorically divided by personal conflict, they take turns living in each other's homes with one of their wives and children.

Strauss finds poignancy in situations that could otherwise seem hideous. In telling about the night Eng consummates his marriage with his wife, Strauss writes through the groomís voice:

"She bit my bottom lip -- by design? -- and as I flipped us all over, my brother moaned as if he'd been kicked or slapped inadvertently. But Chang could not have been, because all of Sarah's hands and feet were touching me."

Throughout the book, the romantic aspects of the men's lives are at once tragic and life-affirming. Perhaps the most compelling element is Eng's falling in love with his brother's wife. The guilty desire, the furtive hand-holding, the stolen kiss beside his sleeping brother; all are the devices of powerful storytelling.

But remember: This is a work of fiction.

"If you don't know anything about their marriages or their relationship with themselves, it's not very interesting," said Strauss. "I think you have to take those risks, those imaginative leaps."

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Darin Strauss' home page
Chang and Eng Bunker
Practical information on conjoined twins
Dutton (Penguin Putnam)

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