Excerpt from Ghost Month by Ed Lin, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

She noticed my puffy eyelids and tear-stained face.

"Ah," she said. "I told you spicy was too spicy for you! And you said you could handle it because you sell spicy food at the Shilin Night Market!"

"I do," I said to one of her spots. "Well, not everything's spicy."

"Look, you didn't even eat any of it and you're crying your eyes out! Let me make you one without chili peppers."

"That's all right. I'm not hungry."

"A young man like you should always be eating."

"I should be going now." I stood up and towered over her.

"Hey, before you go, could you please help me? My son was supposed to be here an hour ago, and it's getting late to set up the offerings for the good brothers. We use the table in the back, but it's too heavy for me to carry. Could you please bring it to the sidewalk for me?"

"No," I whispered.

"No?"

"I can't."

"Do you want your money back? Is that the problem?"

"I have to go."

She grabbed my arm. "This will only take a moment, and I need your help. Don't deny an old woman!"

"Listen," I said, a lot harder than I meant to, "I'm not going to help you set up your stupid little table for your stupid little ghosts!"

I was shaking, and I cracked my neck in an attempt to settle down

"How can you say that?" she said, her eyes brimming with tears.

Part of me felt sorry for her. Another part of me was nauseated, maybe from all the incense. I reached out and touched the woman's left elbow. "Your son will be here soon," I told her before leaving.

In both directions of Jianguo Road, the sidewalks were crowded with offering tables and streaming rivulets of smoke. I couldn't handle it, not right now anyway. Luckily, Da'an Forest Park was nearby. I crossed the northbound lane of the street and walked under the Jianguo Elevated Road, listening to car tires moaning overhead like mournful spirits.

Why had Julia come back to this horrible island? Why was I stuck here now? We didn't belong. After all, neither of us believed in religion or astrology, and Taiwanese are the most superstitious people in the industrialized world. For example, the Da'an District is home to the country's top universities and brightest professors and young people. Yet these supposedly educated people would chuck their books and degrees into the fire if it made them more pious for Ghost Month.

Essentially, Ghost Month is the entire seventh lunar month of the year, when everybody on the island spends nearly five weeks indulging every crazy belief they hold about the spirit world. Supposedly the gates of the underworld are opened and spirits of the dead are allowed to walk among the living once again. It feels like hell's doors have been opened, as the festival usually straddles the two hottest months of the year—July and August.

Why the hell did we need to appease spirits and idols? We Taiwanese are capable of so many miraculous things on our little rocky island, such as building the tallest building on earth and operating the world's largest semiconductor plant. Yet we are also held back by our bizarre beliefs.

Car and house sales fall off during Ghost Month because Taiwanese stay away from big-ticket items out of fear that ancestors would feel they were being neglected. The ghosts could also "claim" such purchases by cursing them. Caesarian delivery rates go up the month before. It's unlucky to give birth during Ghost Month, and if you're unfortunate enough to be born during it, nobody will celebrate your birthday out of fear of offending jealous spirits.

All year round, Taiwanese avoid the number four because it sounds like "death" but love the number eight because it sounds like "luck." Buildings lack fourth floors, and it's not possible to get a license plate with a "4" digit. The way people drive in Taipei, you need all the luck you can get.

Excerpted from Ghost Month by Ed Lin. Copyright © 2014 by Ed Lin. Excerpted by permission of Soho Press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.