Krik? Krak!

by Edwidge Danticat

The youthful face on the cover and the title had misled me to expect a light, young adult read. This book is, however, a serious and excellent collection of short stories about life in Haiti and Haitians in America, and is in fact a finalist for the National Book Award.

In Haitian tradition, a story teller says “Krik!” to alert listeners that a story is about to be told. The audience responses with “Krak!”, to let the storyteller that they are giving her their attention in anticipation of a good tale. In this book, your anticipation will not be disappointed, for Danticat is a genius in capturing the spirit of her characters and creating beautiful imagery with little words. Powerful, memorable characters, often living an impoverished and at times tragic life, that stay with you after the story ends, dispite the little time you have come to know them. The woman who longs for a baby to hug, the woman who prositutes while her son sleeps, the immigrant mother who lives with her Americanized daughter, the man who goes on a raft, the girl who finally finds her name, the little boy who recites his speech in a play.

Often an anthology may have a few good stories, padded by mediocre ones, but this collection is excellent throughout. Higly recommended and likely to earn a spot on my best ten of the year list.

Imperial Life in the Emerald City: Inside Iraq’s Green Zone

by Rajiv Chandrasekaran

From Amazon.com:

The Green Zone, Baghdad, 2003: in this walled-off compound of swimming pools and luxurious amenities, Paul Bremer and his Coalition Provisional Authority set out to fashion a new, democratic Iraq. Staffed by idealistic aides chosen primarily for their views on issues such as abortion and capital punishment, the CPA spent the crucial first year of occupation pursuing goals that had little to do with the immediate needs of a postwar nation: revamping the Iraqi tax code and mounting an anti-smoking campaign.

As the Baghdad bureau chief for the Washington Post, Chandrasekaran has probably spent more time in U.S.-occupied Iraq than any other American journalist. In this acclaimed firsthand account, the former Baghdad bureau chief of The Washington Post gives us an intimate portrait of life inside this Oz-like bubble, which continued unaffected by the growing mayhem outside. Chandrasekaran unstintingly depicts the stubborn cluelessness of many Americans in the Green Zone—like the army general who says children terrified by nighttime helicopters should appreciate “the sound of freedom.” But he sympathetically portrays others trying their best to cut through the red tape and institute genuine reforms. He also has a sharp eye for details, from casual sex in abandoned offices to stray cats adopted by staffers, which enable both advocates and critics of the occupation to understand the emotional toll of its circuslike atmosphere. Thanks to these personal touches, the account of the CPA’s failures never feels heavy-handed.

This is a quietly devastating tale of imperial folly, and the definitive history of those early days when things went irrevocably wrong in Iraq.

When I opened the pages, I suddenly felt very proud to be Chinese. For right there, in the first pages, smack right in the middle of the map of Green Zone, is the marker “Chinese Restaurants”. Not pizza parlor, not hamburger joint, no, it’s Chinese restaurants. Mind you too, it’s not just one, but two of them. As some travelers commented, you will always be amazed that no matter how far you travel, there’s always a Chinese restaurant where you least expect it.

A really interesting and engaging book. We’ve all read about how inept the US govt’s handle of the Iraqi occuption is, but condensing the interviews and anecdotes into one volume really opened my eyes. A lot of it seems to be variations on the same theme: big, lofty idea thought up by someone unqualified for the position. Like the idea of using a food ration debit card, when neither electrity nor telephone was working; or Operation Smiles when the hospitals had been looted clean of the most basic supplies and beds, and patients are dying from the most curable sicknesses and injuries. Too bad when, filling positions, what matters is not what certificates or diplomas you hang on your wall, but whether there is a photo of you with Bush and Cheney.

While there are a few people who went there with the intention to make some quick bucks (the ludicracy of the contractor’s story is really something), in all honesty most of the people who went out to Iraq brought with them good intentions.

Kickboxing Geishas: How Modern Japanese Women Are Changing Their Nation

by Veronica Chambers

From the dust jacket flap:

Forget the stereotypes. Today’s Japanese women are shattering them — breaking the bonds of tradition and dramatically transforming their culture. Shopping-crazed schoolgirls in Hello Kitty costumes and the Harajuku girls Gwen Stefani helped make so popular have grabbed the media’s attention. But as critically acclaimed author Veronica Chambers has discovered through years of returning to Japan and interviewing Japanese women, the more interesting story is that of the legions of everyday women — from the office suites to radio and TV studios to the worlds of art and fashion and on to the halls of government — who have kicked off a revolution in their country.

Japanese men hardly know what has hit them. In a single generation, women in Japan have rewritten the rules in both the bedroom and the boardroom. Not a day goes by in Japan that a powerful woman doesn’t make the front page of the newspapers. In the face of still-fierce sexism, a new breed of women is breaking through the “rice paper ceiling” of Japan’s salary-man dominated corporate culture. The women are traveling the world — while the men stay at home — and returning with a cosmopolitan sophistication that is injecting an edgy, stylish internationalism into Japanese life. So many women are happily delaying marriage into their thirties — labeled “losing dogs” and yet loving their liberated lives — that the country’s birth rate is in crisis.

Part of this book reads more academic than I expected. It’s rather comprehensive and the author definitely knows the subject well and has a deept understanding of the Japanese culture. Her “geishas” is a very bunch: young hip-hop DJ, diplomat’s-wife-turned-TV-chef-turned-government minister; an openly gay Osaka assembly-woman, restaurant owner, host club addict, competitive snowboarder, executives, and the stereotypical OLs and housewives. She covers a board spectrum of subjects, interviewed plenty of men and women, and presents a very completed pciture of modern day Japan. I like how she discusses the topic evenhandedly. For example, when she talked about the middle aged divorce, she certainly shows a lot of sympathy for the men.

The author is African American, and that adds a interesting perspective, such as the mention of the b-kei, Japanese who are fans of the black culture, which is slightly different from the typical Westerner focus.

The most interesting part for me is the discussion about Japanese men. It was kind of surprising to read how dissatisfied the Japanese women are with their men. Granted, the surveyed subjects are not necessarily representative of the whole population, but it still makes me feel “wow”, how come they view their men so poorly? In fact, among the men interviewed in the book, they did not come across badly at all. Some even appeared more open-minded and supportive than the average American guy I know of. Or were they too polite to be bash about feminism and working women in front of the author?

I mean, I have dated Japanese guys and know some as friends, and I certainly did not find them so lacking. Looking back at my single days, I think Japanese guys have better rep than Korean guys (who are supposedly even more male chauvinistic) and American guys (who only want sex and have a 50% divorce rate). And I and my friends certainly do not have such negative opinion of the men of our own cultures, there may be areas they fall short of compare to men from other countries, but the repeated expressed sentiment was really a surprise for me. I wonder if the author would consider for her next book to research how happy are the women of different cultures with their own men? She has totally piked my interest.

The Teahouse Fire

by Ellis Avery

“When I was nine, in the city now called Kyoto, I changed my fate. I walked into the shrine through the red arch and struck he bell. I bowed twice. I clapped twice. I whispered to the foreign goddess and bowed again. And then I heard the shouts and the fire. What I asked for? Any life but this one.”

Thus begin the story of Aurelie, a French American girl of nine in last 19th century. She was taken from her mother, against her will, to accompany her missionary uncle to Kyoto to “convert the barbarians”. When a fire broke out in the house she and her uncle stayed in, she ran away, and ended up in the garden of a Japanese tea master. She was taken in by Yukako, the tea master’s daughter, as partly a maid, partly a younger sister. They did not consider her a foreigner, as she did not have blue eyes and golden hair, but thought that she was just born a bit defected and retarded (as her language skills seeed seriously limited). (I guess if a child with Down’s syndrome can be called Mongol, such perception can go both ways…) As the two girls grew up, they witnessed the political changes in Japan: the birth of Tokyo as the new capital, the demise of power of the samurai clan, the influence of Western culture, the resulting nationalism… and with it, the realization that the art of tea had to adapt to the new world or die.

The beginning of the story strongly reminds me of Memoirs of a Geisha. Both are about a young girl being plucked from her normal childhood, to enter into a highly codified community of a Japanese traditional art as an outsider. For Aurelie, she was doubly an outsider, barely speaking the language and totally ignorant of the social rules and etiquettes. Thus, a perfect protagonist was created. As things were explained to her, they were explained to the readers, without feeling contrived.

Reading the book gives me the pleasure of understanding more about chado and recent history of Japan. I had attended a tea ceremony once and couldn’t say I enjoyed it, just found the whole thing too artificially formal, sitting painfully on my legs in a constrictive kimino, and a big show for just a cup of hardly palatable tea (the tea was made with grounded tea leaves froth to a foamy, bitter, dark green broth, served with a sweet that supposedly balances the bitterness but for me had the effect of making it more bitter.) I won’t rush for another cup of tea but at least I can see the reason why someone would love it, and appreciate better the thoughts and care that go into the art. Really a lot of thoughts and care. In one ceremony, the windows were closed off except for one, fitted with glass. The ceremony was timed such that the moon would sail into view at the moment the tea was prepared. When the guest arrived in a kimino that doesn’t go well with their decoration, the master had to rearrange the furniture, change the tea box, move the flowers… if they could repaint the room and change the carpet… they probably would too…

As a fiction, Memoirs is without doubt more accompanished. As Aurelie is more an observer in the background, she is often a reporter of events rather than the actress in the center stage. At times the pace feels too slow, the characters walking around the stage without much action and purpose, and some scenes and events are simply uninteresting. Definitely a bit of editing could make the read more pleasurable.

However, I was glad that I stay with the book, because the ending was worth it. In the last fifty pages or so, everything picks up speed, like a train leaving a station, building up, building up, and then with a blast and a loud horn, it runs at you with full force. I closed the book with tears in my eyes, and realize that if not for all the little clues and information the author painstakingly paved along the road, it would be impossible to fully understand Nao’s revenge, and to fully understand Yukako’s gift. All of a sudden I feel like asking Aurelie, don’t stop, don’t stop, tell me more…

Travels With A Tangerine: A Journey In The Footnotes Of Ibn Battutah

by Tim Mackintosh-Smith

I have to say it’s not a fast and easy read, but I am glad I did persevere to finish it. My first book to finish in 2009!

At moments the book does feel a bit repetitive, as the author visited one tomb after another, in unfamiliar places, of people I’ve never heard of (the maps in front were indispensable). He was following the 400-year-old footsteps of Ibn Battutah, the most famous Arabic traveller from Tangier (hence the Tangerine in the title – no other citrus was featured in the book). I am sure if I were more knowledgable about Middle Eastern culture and geography, I may find it more interesting; on the other hand, even were he to travel in search of European castles, Asian temples or Napa vineyards, things could still go stale after a while. What makes the book interesting was the human contact throughout his journey. Most of the people he met were friendly, easy-going, tolerant, cultured and generously hospitable. Incidentally, a few days ago I watched an Anthony Bourdain show, where he travelled to Saudi Arabia. His conclusion of his visit was in a similar tone, that he found the people open, generous and fun-loving, very different from the images we were usually shown or conditioned to conjour up.

The author is a scholarly traveller, and the amount of research he did about IB, his work and his period was evident. He did, however, write with a witty sense of humour. Not the laugh-out-loud type of J. Maarten Troost, but a subtle type that is more likely to joke at himself than his subjects.

Jungle Child

by Sabine Kuegler

The book is way better than I thought it would be.

It begins with a idyllic childhood in the remote West Papua jungle, where her family went to live with the Fayu tribe, hitherto untouched by modern civilization. There Sabine ran wild in the jungle, swinging from vines like Tarzan, trading her family’s pots and pans for a baby crocodile, and throwing snakes at her sister. I won’t want Sabine as a sister… she is more a terror than my baby brother!

While the childhood is interesting, and the details of tribal life makes an intriguing anthropological read, and would make an entertaining book on its own, I enjoy even more how the book goes deeper into Sabine’s psychological confusion, as the girl grows up and realizes she is an in-between: totally unadapted to live in the complicated Western world, but also gone is the carefree girl who can run wild with her native friends. As her sister puts it: who will want to steal them as brides? They who don’t know how to prepare food or manage a household properly.

I really admire the author’s courage to live her life. I would love, howver, to hear more how the villagers are faring. While it is an inevitable fact of life, it is a pity to read about how as the author grows up, the siblings and her childhood friends go their own way. But at least she has a lovely, unforgettable childhood to treasure, and to give her strength.

The book’s website: http://www.junglechild.co.uk/ There is an extract of the book. I do wish though she would post some of the photos there.

A Thousand Splendid Sun

by Khaled Hosseini

I kept crying for a while after finishing the book.  A moving story indeed, especially towards the ending – well, it was well written from page 1, and continue to build up to a lovely ending.  A strong, solid work throughout and, unlike The Kite Runner, did not falter in the middle part. 

The title comes from a poem about Kabul writen by Saib-e-Tabrizi back in the seventeenth century:

“One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs,
or the thousand splendid suns that hide behind her walls.”

It’s this beauty that draws the city’s sons and daughters home, despite of the danger and the rubbles.  The story is about Mariam and Laila, two women who are wives to a brutal man.  Both of them harbor loss of their loved ones, and in a world where they seem to be lone survivors of their families who departed them in brutal manners,  they slowly they overcome their hostility and become like friends, like sisters, like mother and daughter.   Unlike the protagonist in Kite Runner, these women are strong, and they have hopes and dreams that they are not afraid to pursuit.

It is also chilling to see how much the political and social environment could change in such a short time.  When Leila was young, she was able to run around the neighborhood and visited her male friend.  Then she had to done a burqa, and could not step outside without a male family escort.  It reminds me of The Handmaid’s Tale — somehow, that story doesn’t seem so foreign, so fantastical after all.  If it could happen in Afghanistan, what guarantee it couldn’t happen elsewhere?

The Rice Mother

by Rani Manicka

(This review contains spoilers)

Manicka’s first novel is a big, sprawling, absorbing multigenerational saga set in Malaysia. At the age of 14, Lakshmi is married off to Ayah, a man more than twice her age.  After they crossed the sea from Ceylon to Malaysia, Lakshmi is excited to see a big limo with driver waiting for them.  But the excitement soon turns to confusion as they drive pass a big house without stopping.  Finally, when the limo drops them off at a small house and Ayah takes off his gold watch and gives it to the driver, Lakshmi realizes that her mother has been mislead into thinking that her beloved daughter is married to someone rich. However, Lakshmi is strong and resourceful, trying to keep her six children safe, through the years of Japanese occupation and more.

When I started reading the book, I was curious how the author choose to tell the tale through so many protagonists, though it becomes clear towards the end of the story.  You feel like you are sitting with the different members of the big family under a tree in the courtyard, as each regales his or her own story, and each providing a different interpretation of the same event.  You can’t quite point the finger to say who’s wrong and who’s right.  In the end, you realize that most of them are just basically good but imperfect people who do not want to hurt others, who want to love the ones they care about, but somehow, somewhere, things gone wrong and there is no turning back.  And that’s the saddest of things.  Looking back, they could have made it better, but it’s too late.  Small hatres, small misunderstanding just take hold like a seed in the heart, and grow, and in the end snuff out the life and joy in the heart.   

[SPOILER]

I think the last words of Lakshmi to Ayah sums it up the best.   At his funeral, “she touched her lips to my father’s cold ears, but still I heard her whisper, ‘I ask the boon that in my next life, I am again given the same husband, for it seems I loved him all along.’”  I cried when I read that, and do so again when I type it now.

Learning to Bow: Inside the Heart of Japan

by Bruce Feiler

Another excellent book that I won’t have come across were it not for BookCrossing. 

I thought I know a bit about Japanese school system from all the mangas I read, but this book is so educating!  It delves from the funny, such as Bruce’s not-too-auspicious nampa adventures (concerns that Bruce is too “big” for Japanese women), to the thought-provoking, such as the little-known caste of burakumin and the conflict between the inaka and the metropolis. 

I also garnered interesting facts such as the perfect lenghth of chopsticks (15% of your height), and that Japanese school days are a whooping 60 days longer than American school days.

The book provides an excellent insight into the heart of Japanese culture. Certainly there are pros and cons for both school systems, the two are probably as far apart as can be among industrialized nations.  From the education of children, you can see the big picture of the national identity, business practice and the possible future of the countries.

The book is however a bit dated.  I didn’t have a clue how old it is until I came across pop culture references like Hikari Genji that are, in terms of pop culture, two generations ancient.  I don’t know how much things have changed, but certainly students are still required to clean the classrooms, hazing and suicide is still going on, and cramming for entrance exams still very much part of a student’s life.  Therefore, while the popstars are stars no more, the observations made and messages conveyed still hold true.

Passing Under Heaven

by Justin Hill

I started reading this while I was on The Tale of Murasaki, and it soon dawned on me the interesting parallels of the two stories.  Well, it was more than interesting parallel – the similarities are uncanny, so much so that I have to put aside Murasaki least I get the two mixed up.

Both tales are historical fiction about a female writer, heavily interlaced with original works written by the protagonists themselves. Murasaki is the creator of The Tale of Genji, one of the, if not the, best known classics from medieval Japan.  Yu Xuanji is among the most well-known female classical poets in China.

While the upbringing of the two girls are rather different – Murasaki grew up in a noble family, Lily was of humble birth - they share a strong streak of stubbornness and independence, not the meek and obedient ideal figure as expected of their tradition.  They both become concubines to prominent officials and at one point of their lives, lived in a monastery.

Interestingly, in Murasaki, Fuji mentioned the visit of a Chinese ambassador, while in Passing Under Heaven Lily went on the street of the Capital to view the passing by of a Japanese convey.   Both girls are also very much intrigued with the poem The Song of Everlasting Sorrow, about Yang Guifei and the King.

I did not realize, till well pass half the book, that Passing Under Heaven is a fictional biography of Yu Xuanji (she did not acquire the name Xuanji till rather late in her life). I could not say I know much of her, though I remember there was a porn movie about her – The Slut of the Tang Dynasty (: P).  She is also, more flatteringly, given the title as the Most Talented Woman of Tang.  And the Tang Dynasty is, mind you, the most liberal period in Chinese history, even counting modern times.

I was glad to read this book which prompted me to look deeper into Yu’s life and work.  Part of the plot does not fit in with what little was known of the historical figure, though that is the license of fictional creation.  I do wish that the quotations are translated in a more poetic style – they do not quit convey the beautiful nature of the original work, though I understand that poetry translation is probably the hardest of all.  I also do not quite understand how the author created Lily with an almost monstrous streak of meanness.  While she was a child she would kill insects, an act that likely many kids may have done, but in fictional work, such acts are usually reserved for characters to brand them as evil to the core.    While he may want to use this to explain her ultimate crime, it is unnecessary.

I do not remember reading her works during my Chinese Literature classes back in high school.  Maybe her unconventional lifestyle has banned her work from making it to classrooms?  I remember that Li Qingzhao’s work was thoroughly discussed, and she was a upperclass housewife with a doting husband. However, reading Passing Under Heaven, I was reminded of a saying by my Ch. Lit teacher, Miss Wong: there are two types tragedies: one made by tragedic events (being at the wrong place at the wrong time), and tragedic personalities (personalities that make other people hate or misunderstand a person.)  Yu is definitely a poster child of the latter.  She could have been so happy, so loved, and lived a comfortable life to death.  Her wilfulness ruined it all, she had nobody to blame but herself.

And, for those who are interested, here’s the “official” biography of Yu’s short and sad life.  A life that, in fact, is more unfortunate than the fictional one.

<POSSIBLE SPOILER>

There was no mention of adoption, but Yu’s father died early and she was working as a washing maid with her mother when the famous poet Wen discovered her. He became her mentor, though there was no indication that there was anything beyond a teacher/student, father/daughter relationship or friendship.  Once when they went to view the public exam announcement, she wrote a poem on the wall, whcih drew Li Zian’s attention.  Wen gladly became the matchmaker, considering them a young, talented and handsome couple.  They had a lovely honeymoon, but Li’s wife was extremely jealous of Yu and beat the girl with a stick the moment she stepped into the house.  The beating went on till three days later, Li sent Yu off to a monastary till he straightened things out.  Yu was only 17 then.  She later found out that Li had moved away with his wife, and she was abandonned.  When the abbot of the monastery died, Yu started inviting admirers to visit, for drinks, literary discussion and more, making a notorious name for herself.  One day, she killed her maid out of suspicion that she had an affair with her sponsor.  She was beheaded for her crime, at the age of 24.

Of her poems, the most famous line was: “Easy to find a priceless treasure. Hard to find a loving man.”

The Tale of Murasaki

The Tale of Genji is a classic in Japanese literature.  This novel is a fictional diary of its author, Fujihara (commonly known as Murasaki Shikibu, after a well loved character in her fiction and her father’s official title).

This historical ficiton is well researched, offering realistic glimpses into the life of a noble woman in 11th century Japan.  It’s interesting though hard to imagine how blackened teeth is a symbol of beauty then, and how the Chinese customs differs from the Japanese ones.   The line about the Regent’s complain that his wife bore him nothing but sons indeed sounds unreal to many cultures, then and now.

The story imagines how Fuji’s life experience enriches her writing – a discussion she overheard of his brother’s and his friends about women inspires Genji’s version, for example.  Unfortunately, towards the end, the story seems to drag on slightly too long to a fizzled ending, when details such as the color combination of the clothes is no more novel but tedious.  (But then as a lady in waiting at the Imperial Palace, life is not exactly exciting.)

I also love the small novella of Ukifune, the supposed lost final chapter to the Tale of Genji.

Some pictures from Waki Yamato’s manga version of Tale of Genji:

http://www.kodanclub.com/cgi-local/comic.cgi?id=999-00135-01-001

http://www.internal-dream.net/library/yamato.htm

Malinche

by Laura Esquivel

When Malinalli, a member of a tribe conquered by the Aztec warriors, first meets Cortes, she-like many-blieves that he is the reincarnated forefather god of her tribe.  Naturally, she assumes that her task is to help Cortes destroy the Aztec empire and free her people.  However, she gradually comes to realize that Cortes is all too human, although by that time, she is so swept up in the events that she could no longer turn back.

Throughout Meixcan history, Malinalli has been reviled for her betrayal of the Indian people.  Esquivel’s fiction is an attempt to create Malinche as she is, a young girl in hope of love, of belonging, of following the will of God. As events unfold, she desparately tries to reconcile her beliefs – her traditional belief and the God of the Spaniards, to figure out what her role should be, what action she should take.

 A few lines from the book I find interesting:

“She couldn’t believe that god’s emissaries would behave in such a manner, that they would be so rough, so rude, so ill spoken, even insulting their own god when they were angry… There was one thing, though, that was worse than the unpleasant manner with which the Spanish gave orders, and that was the odor that emanated from them.  She never expected thtat the emissaries of Quetzalcoatl would smell so bad… If they in fact were gods, they would be concerned with the earthm with the planting, with making sure that men were nourishedm,  but that was not the case.  Never had she seen them interested in the cornfields, only in eating.”

“Gold, known as tecocuitlatl, was considered to be the excrement of the gods, waste matter and nothing else, so she didn’t understand the desire to accumulate it.”

“(from her grandmother) Your task is to walk.  A still body limits itself to itself, a body in movement expands, becomes a part of everything.  Walking fills us with energy and changes us to allow us to lok into the secret of things.  Walking transforms us into butterflies that rise and see truly what the world is.  What life is, What our body is.  It is the eternity of consciousness.  It is the understanding of all things.  That is god iwthin us.” 

White Ghost Girls

by Alice Greenway

I was originally interested in the title because it tells of two young girls in Hong Kong.

The author herself grew up in Hong Kong, and this beautiful fiction likely has some autobiographic elements in it.  The story is told through the eyes of Kate, an innocent American girl, younger sister to the more rebellious Frankie.  While their father photographs the Vietnam war for Time magazine, the girls live with their mother in Hong Kong, a safer haven to shield them from the horrors of war.  However, there is no escape from the turbulent political situation, which posts a omnimous fascination for the girls. 

While the war is in the backdrop, this certainly is no epic tale.  It is a touching, intimate story about two sisters close to each other in an unfamiliar world and fearful time, and growing apart as they enter adolescent and test their individuality.

The Fifth Mountain

by Paulo Coelho

Talk about unplanned themed reading! I was listening to Anne Rice’s Christ the Lord (I was curious how the Queen of Vampires protrays Jesus.) I happened to see a visiting friend reading The Alchemist, and decided to read this to pass on to him, and hopefully recruit a new BCer. So I picked up the book with no clue that it is based on a Biblical figure!

I am not too familiar with Elijah’s story in the bible, but I certainly find the portray of God rather weird in this book. I guess there is a very fine line of following his will or battling it to show yourself worthy ( “There are moments when God demands obedience. But there are moments in which He wishes to test our will and challengs us to understand His love.”) Well, please God, grant me the wisdom to distinguish the two.

I also so not understand very well the reasons for the High Priest to opt for war… to stop alphabet from spreading? Okay, I suppose he wants the privileges of being a minority of educated. Still it sounds as far-fetched as a comic book villian’s desire to conquer the world.

The opening is beautiful, and the scene of the bowman very powerful. The rest of the book seems somewhat muddled though. And I find it hard to believe that Elijah would claim to love someone yet dragged his feet to rescue her from a burning house. To reason that she must be dead by then and just thought of sitting down and do nothing is just beyond me. Surely, if the love is strong, you would rush there, dig your fingers raw, for the one millionth of a chance that she is still alive.

I am afraid I do not like this one as much as The Alchemist. The Alchemist is a beautiful, magical story, with a crystal clear message: “When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.” I don’t see a message as loud and clear in The Fifth Mountain though. I think this is what the author wants to say:

“[God] desired that each person takes into his hands the responsibility of his own life. He had given His children the greatest of all gifts: the capacity to choose and determine their acts.”

“A warrior knows that war is made of many battles; he goes on.”

“If you have a past that dissatisfies you, forget it now. Imagine a new story of your life, and believe in it. COncentrate only on those moments in which you achieve what you desired, and this strength will help you accomplish what you want.”

 

A Many-Splendoured Thing

by Han Suyin

This is a book sent to me via Bookcrossing. (It’s a great site, a great site, a great site!!) I found it in our mailbox on our way out, so I read bits and pieces of it while my husband drove. The story was written in 1951, but we enjoyed the description of events and landmarks in Hong Kong (where I grew up) and Macau (where he grew up), some of which still stand after half a century, while some long gone. A few we didn’t know about until he verified with someone our senior. We chuckled at the writer’s complain about

Hong Kong’s crowdedness (at 2 million people – 1/3 of what it is today), and marveled that the city had already made a reputation as shopping mecca half a century ago.Suyin, an Eurasian doctor, widowed with a girl, arrived in

Hong Kong and lived with a group of missionaries who were kicked out of
China during the political turmoil. At a social gathering, she met Mark Elliot, a British reporter. The two fell madly in love, despite the ostracism and bleak future.
Part of my enjoyment in reading this book was to learn more about my birthplace in an era before my time: a colony taxed with a sudden influx of Chinese refugees as civil wars broke out, with the communists advancing closer “just over the hills.” A place where the wealthy
Shanghai immigrants and shrewd British merchants transformed the little fishing port into a world renowned city, where “no one knows where Heaven with its stars ends and the earth with its lights begins.” It’s one thing to know what happened in history but quite another to learn what the thoughts and reactions of the real people in that era are.The author did a beautiful job describing the world around her, from the little details of a dinner on a boat, to the turbulent political climate of the world. Observant, poetic, soulful.

Nonetheless, it’s an interesting read. And I just want to copy down some favorite passages:

“

Hong Kong, look, no one knows where Heaven with its stars ends, and the earth with its lights begins.”"[The squatters' wooden shacks] Untidily stacked above each other, clinging to the crumbling hill slope, huddling beneath large threatening boulders, in danger of being washed away by the rains, in danger of being pulled down for health’s sake, in danger of fire every time a meal is cooked, many thousands of huts house many tens of thousands of people. The government of the colony cannot do more, for new thousands cross the border every week.”

“We did not look at each other, draw near, or touch. Only to be like this. Not to want anything. To sit, a little tired, a little muddled with weariness. Happy to know that in the world he was alive, and I was alive, on the same spot on ths earth, at the same moment, aware of each other… We sat, frigthened and grateful. Frightened because so easily we might have missed each other; grateful and asking no more than what we had already, because even what we had was too big for us to encompass.”

“I stopped to stare at the frontage of St. Paul’s Church, divested of any inside or any walls behind it, an abandoned stage prop, high on a hill, framing the evening sky in its doors and windows.”

“If he cannot [marry me], he will feel unfree, and I shall possess his imagination more than ever. If he can, I shall have to give him back to his world, otherwise he may leave me. Not bodily, but part of his mind. One woman is very much like another, after a while.”

“If you were Chinese, I could be your concubine. But we’d have to stay in Hongkong, because concubines are allowed only in your British colonies, Hongkong, Singapore, not in China now.”

“…the new, foolish amah, an irregular comet, darted at intervals from the outer spaces of the kitchen into the planetary system of our supper table to refill our rice bowls…”

“For your absence is even more potent than your presence to evoke you to me.”