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My grandparents on my mother's side were brought up in the Ch'an, or Zen, religion, a combination of Buddhism and Taoism. My mother
was taught the Ch'an concept of happiness, which was to find satisfaction in
small things. I was taught to appreciate the fresh air in the morning, the color
of leaves turning red in autumn and the water's smoothness when I soaked
my hands in the basin.
My mother didn't consider herself educated, but she adored Li Po,
a Tang Dynasty poet. Each time she read his poems she would discover new
meanings. She would put down her book and gaze out the window. Her
goose-egg-shaped face was stunningly beautiful.
Mandarin Chinese was the language I spoke as a child. Once a
month we had a tutor who came to teach us Manchu. I remember nothing
about the classes but being bored. I wouldn't have sat through the lessons if
it hadn't been to please my parents. Deep down I knew that my parents were
not serious about having us master the Manchu language. It was only for the
appearance, so my mother could say to her guests, "Oh, my children are
taking Manchu." The truth was that Manchu was not useful. It was like a
dead river that nobody drank from.
I was crazy about Peking operas. Again, it was my mother's
influence. She was such an enthusiast that she saved for the entire year so
she could hire a local troupe for an in-house performance during the Chinese
New Year. Each year the troupe presented a different opera.My mother
invited all the neighbors and their children to join us. When I turned twelve the
troupe performed Hua Mulan.
I fell in love with the woman warrior, Hua Mulan. After the show I
went to the back of our makeshift stage and emptied my wallet to tip the
actress, who let me try on her costume. She even taught me the
aria "Goodbye, My Dress." For the rest of the month people as far as a mile
from the lake could hear me singing "Goodbye, My Dress."
My father took pleasure in telling the background to the operas.
He loved to show off his knowledge. He reminded us that we were Manchus,
the ruling class of China. "It is the Manchus who appreciate and promote
Chinese art and culture." When liquor took hold of my father's spirit, he would
become more animated. He would line up the children and quiz us on the
details of the ancient Bannerman system. He wouldn't quit until every child
knew how each Bannerman was identified by his rank, such as Bordered,
Plain, White, Yellow, Red and Blue.
One day my father brought out a scroll map of China. China was
like the crown of a hat ringed by countries eager and accustomed to pledging
their fealty to the Son of Heaven, the Emperor. Among the countries were
Laos, Siam and Burma to the south; Nepal to the west; Korea, the Ryukyu
Islands and Sulu to the east and southeast; Mongolia and Turkestan to the
north and northwest.
Years later, when I recalled the scene, I understood why my father
showed us the map. The shape of China was soon to change. By the time
my father met his fate, during the last few years of Emperor Tao Kuang, the
peasant revolts had worsened. In the midst of a summer drought, my father
didn't come home for months. My mother worried about his safety, for she
had heard news from a neighboring province about angry peasants setting
their governor's mansion on fire. My father had been living in his office and
trying to control the rebels. One day an edict arrived. To everyone's shock
the Emperor dismissed him.
Father came home deeply shamed. He shut himself in the study
and refused visitors. Within a year his health broke down. It didn't take him
long to die. Our doctor bills piled up even after his death. My mother sold all
of the family possessions, but we still couldn't clear the debts. Yesterday
Mother sold her last item: her wedding souvenir from my father, a butterfly
hairpin made of green jade.
Before leaving us, the footmen carried the coffin to the bank of the Grand
Canal so we could see the passing boats, where we might get help. The heat
worsened and the air grew still. The smell of decay from the coffin grew
stronger. We spent the night under the open sky, tormented by the heat and
mosquitoes. My siblings and I could hear one another's stomachs rumbling.
Copyright © 2004 by Anchee Min. Reprinted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Company.
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