Lily Wu was fifteen when this book was published. It is illustrated by her parents, who are both Chinese-Australian artists.
It's a gorgeous book, abouLily Wu was fifteen when this book was published. It is illustrated by her parents, who are both Chinese-Australian artists.
It's a gorgeous book, about childhood, history, dancing, being a third culture kid (okay, possibly that requires squinting, but I'm adamant that it's there)... the writing is beautiful although the structure is perhaps a little more surface-complex than the audience it seems to be aiming for (children's picture book), with un-marked shifts from esoteric to straightforward narrative. The illustrations are varied in style, and all of them gorgeous. Finally, the Australian bits of the book are *very* Australian, while also seeming (to me) to retain the Chinese atmosphere as well.
I picked this up, to be perfectly honest, because it *wasn't* "Memoirs of a Geisha". Apparently it's sort of the person on whom that book was based, bI picked this up, to be perfectly honest, because it *wasn't* "Memoirs of a Geisha". Apparently it's sort of the person on whom that book was based, but given that (thanks to 50books_poc and etc) my attitude towards "Memoirs" is now fairly damning and would rather ignore the existence of the book than otherwise, I was much happier reading this one.
It is certainly fascinating. Iwasaki led an amazing and also incredibly... artificial... life. As in, life in the Gion Kobu is very, very different to Japanese life in general. And she points this out all the way through the book. (Personally, I still wish that the book had been called 'Geiko of Gion' as that's more correct, but of course it wouldn't have the cover-pull that the word 'Geisha' has.) Iwasaki is also VERY *keen* to set the record straight on the whole confusion with courtesans thing (understandably). There's certainly no *more* exoticisation of 'Asian women' in general in this book than what the geiko tradition itself contains, and Iwasaki is very clear on that.
I'm finding that my current reading is making all sorts of connections that I never really expected: at one point in her childhood, Iwasaki briefly befriended a girl who was 'burakamin', with whom she was not allowed to remain friends because of her underclass status. The same situation was recounted in Kawashima Watkins' "My Brother, My Sister and I". Of course, both books are set in Kyoto, so why I didn't expect those sorts of connections, I don't know.
The one other issue to address is the white co-author issue. As when I read Doreen Kartinyeri's memoir, there were so many places in this where the voice seemed particularly Japanese, that I'm happy to put it down as a book for 50books_poc. Rande Brown is listed on the front cover as 'with': something that in fiction these days I'd worry about (see any James Patterson book published recently) but for the time that "Geisha of Gion" was published, I don't believe that was such a trope of the publishing world. Iwasaki speaks so personally about a world that she clearly both loved and hated, defended and yet so badly wanted to reform, that it was both a pleasure to read and also exceedingly thought provoking....more
If nothing else (and I actually have got a lot out of this challenge) 50books_poc has got me reading graphic novels and comics. Kampung Boy is completIf nothing else (and I actually have got a lot out of this challenge) 50books_poc has got me reading graphic novels and comics. Kampung Boy is completely charming. I wish it wasn’t pretty much the only piece of Lat’s work so far published in Australia (although apparently they’re planning to release some more in the future). It’s a beautifully rendered graphic novel of (essentially) Lat’s childhood in a village – a kampung – in Malaysia. His and his family’s religious observance is matter-of-fact, and his childhood mischief is endearing. (Like that of most children.)
The book takes Lat to what seems to be an “end of childhood” moment: his departure from the Kampung to go to a boarding school in Town. (Town Boy is the next volume, and I’m really looking forward to finding it.)
Lat is one of the best-known cartoonists/serial artists in Malaysia, which is why I think it’s unfortunate that he’s only just getting published in Australia. Kampung Boy is, above all, exuberant and endearing; and well worth the read. ...more
Richard Frankland is a well known and highly regarded playwright. This is his first novel: the diary of a Koori boy in 1967, with links to the communiRichard Frankland is a well known and highly regarded playwright. This is his first novel: the diary of a Koori boy in 1967, with links to the community at Lake Condah, to the indigenous political organisations centred in Northcote (Melbourne) leading up to the May 27th referendum.
This book does - from my clueless white girl viewpoint - a marvelous job of explaining what was going on in 1967. Vietnam. The referendum. The sheer stupidity of the mere need for the referendum.
The emnity-into-friendship of Digger and Darcy is a highlight of the book: the way that they are forced, again and again, into each other's orbit. I love the involvement of the churches (historically accurate, thank you) in the whole thing: the Catholic church through Sister Ally, and the Aboriginal Evangelical Fellowship (I have to assume) through Digger's family. (I do wish I wasn't constantly wanting to call him "Dumby", though. It's the effect of having every Year Nine in my school studying Deadly, Unna? this year.)
It's at least as good as as Anita Heiss' Who Am I? The Diary of Mary Talance, and it's great to see Frankland writing YA books. While I'm sure this has used a lot of Frankland's own life experience (like Digger, Frankland is a Gunditjmara man with links to Condah), I hope he goes on to write more....more
I processed this book into the library collection last week but never really considered reading it until this year when the students began working on I processed this book into the library collection last week but never really considered reading it until this year when the students began working on an Ancient China assignment and our collection was coming up rather short. Mah's book was catalogued as modern Chinese history, and I wanted to work out whether it was miscatalogued, and whether it could be helpful to kids in their ancient China assignment.
It is a *very* basic introduction to Chinese history; very much an overview. It (allied with some Avatar-related posts I've been reading around LJ, and IBARW stuff) has made me realise how much I don't understand about China, and how I do tend to view the entire Imperial era as some sort of pretty fantasy "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" world. Which is a major failing on my part, and something I would like to try to rectify in the future.
It was also fascinating to be in the middle of this book when watching the first of Tony ("Baldrick") Robinson's programs on the history of the British Legal system. There he was, talking about pre-1066 law in Britain, and I was comparing the dates he was talking about to where I was in the book and being flabbergasted by the difference.
Mah's description of the Qing dynasty provides an explanation of how China went from being so amazingly advanced to being considered "backwards". It also says nothing good about the Victorian-era Brits who seem to have been as narrow-minded as most white colonists and explorers (geeze, we can be dumb-as. ~sigh~)
This book really is a very good simple introduction to China....more
Having read When my name was Keoko, which was the Korean point of view on the Japanese occupation of Korea, I then picked up this book, "So far from tHaving read When my name was Keoko, which was the Korean point of view on the Japanese occupation of Korea, I then picked up this book, "So far from the Bamboo Grove", the first in a two volume autobiographical novel series by Yoko Kawashima Watkins, a Japanese girl who grew up in Korea, the child of a member of the Japanese ruling class. When the war began to go badly for the Japanese, and the Korean Communist party/forces attack the Japanese colonialists, Yoko, her mother and sister leave and begin to walk south to Seoul. The bamboo grove where they once lived, in fact, gets very little time. As the story opens, their lives are already relatively hard (although I was glad to have the back story of Keoko , because it gives an angle that one just would NOT get simply from reading this. (Given that Kawashima was quite young at the time, this isn't exactly surprising).) There is basically just enough time to introduce Colonel Matsumura before the Kawashima family escapes. The brother, Hideyo, follows the women a week later, and for a great deal of the book the narrative is split between the two.
This is a very important book. It's the only one I know of at the moment that covers immediate post-war Japan, in English, for a YA audience. (Anyone with any recs, please provide!) I really appreciate the reminder that life in Japan was anything but easy post-war. (Because by the time I went to Japan, it all seemed so … repaired. And shiny.) So, yeah. The Kawashima family are refugees in a defeated Japan. And refugees are pretty much as low as you can get, especially from Korea, and post-war.
There were so many little moments of cultural reminder: of festivals and how birth dates are calculated and the realities of post-war life: it's just wonderful from that angle, and probably also wonderful from a plain old literary standpoint.
I'm very glad that I made the decision to make the Kawashima Watkins books a priority in my final weeks with this marvellous collection. ...more
This continuation of So far from the Bamboo Grove … took a while to impress. While I don't at all doubt the historicity of what Kawashima Watkins expeThis continuation of So far from the Bamboo Grove … took a while to impress. While I don't at all doubt the historicity of what Kawashima Watkins experienced, it sometimes all seemed too much. Mostly the attitudes of the Sagano girls, and that's despite having experience of bullying. But once I settled into it, (and was reminded that they were living in Kyoto, which apparently was not bombed during the war (which was why Mrs Kawashima left her daughters there while she journeyed north to her home town) I just kept being more and more impressed. It took a while, but by the end of the book I just loved it, and like So far from the bamboo grove, I actually think that it ought to be required reading for - well, pretty much everyone. Beyond the issue of post-war Japan, this book brings in homelessness in general. Sure, there's refugee issues, but the life this family went through: the discrimination and the horror of how Yoko was treated at Sagano? I can cope with almost everything else, but the stratification that came with being homeless? And not just homeless but living in a hospital and living under a bridge homeless. And oddly, the burakamin were still considered more lowly. Sigh re: the human tendency towards stratification.
I kind of wish these two books would be turned into movies. But, you know, good movies.
'To the Edge of the Sky' is another in the genre of Memoirs of the Cultural Revolution. I find this era interesting (which is why two of my first ten 'To the Edge of the Sky' is another in the genre of Memoirs of the Cultural Revolution. I find this era interesting (which is why two of my first ten books (at least) fit into this genre). The fact that it easily fits into this genre is probably the reason for the publicity quote on the front cover that refers to "this now familiar story". Chang Jung's Wild Swans was certainly the first of these I read, and remains the best. (I have at least two more on my list at this point, both by male writers, which will be an interesting contrast to the mostly female writers I've read until now.)
But about Gao Anhua and her book. My most significant comment has less to do with the book and more where it was cataloged in our library. It was under "survivorographies" rather than Chinese history, and that coloured my expectations of the book. I was rather dreading it, as a matter of fact: expecting it to be far more violent and gruesome than it (thankfully) was. Gao is a little younger than Chang, but older than Jiang Ji-Li, whose Red Scarf Girl I read last month. So I'm getting a decent spread of experience.
Somehow it didn't have the flow or the distinctive voice of Wild Swans, and of course Chang's book is unique in its three-generation span. In Gao's book it was somehow far more evident that all schooling ceased during the Cultural Revolution, and because of her experience in working in foreign trade, it was a fascinating insight into the changing rules of regime.
I certainly enjoyed the book: as I said above, I enjoyed it far more than I expected....more
I first heard of this book via Margaret Throsby (and have now decided to create a shelf to that effect), who interviewed PaulAnother five star review.
I first heard of this book via Margaret Throsby (and have now decided to create a shelf to that effect), who interviewed Pauline Nguyen last year. I tried to find it at one library, but couldn't; when I found it in the HCLC catalogue, I pounced.
While it is a cookbook, it's also a memoir, and even a survivorography. It was named one of Gourmet/Epicurious' Best Cookbooks of 2008. Between the sections of recipes Nguyen tells the story of her parents decision to leave Vietnam, how they came to Australia, and Pauline's own life under the shadow of her parents' experiences.
I came away from this book with two key things: 1) Next time I'm in Sydney, I want to eat at The Red Lantern (Nguyen's restaurant with her partner and one of her brothers) and, 2) I simultaneously have a great deal of respect for her father, and am horrified by his treatment of his children. Both at the same time. And that's a hard thing to reconcile.
Most of the recipes are a long way from vegetarian, so I'm unlikely to ever make any of them. But reading the recipes (and the comments of Mark Jensen and Luke Nguyen that accompany the recipes) was just as much of a joy as looking at this beautifully produced book and reading the memoir sections. ...more
This is the first beneficiary of my "prioritised reading program" in view of my upcoming departure from WHS. It's been on my to-read list for a long tThis is the first beneficiary of my "prioritised reading program" in view of my upcoming departure from WHS. It's been on my to-read list for a long time: it was probably one of the first to be added, back when I was compiling my 50books_poc lists.
It tells the story of a family in Korea during the Japanese occupation, modelled on the family of the author's parents. When the government orders that all Koreans are to take a Japanese name, Sun-hee is renamed Keoko. And yet the family form their Japanese names very carefully, resisting the government even while they follow the law. Further, the narrative only ever refers to Sun-hee, her brother Tae-yul, and the other family members by their Korean names. The Japanese name is only used in the mouth of Japanese characters, particularly officials.
It would be something of an understatement to say that I learned a lot from reading this book. I am ashamed to say that while I knew that China, particularly Manchuria, was invaded and ruled by Japan in the middle of the 20th Century, I actually hadn't picked up that Korea was in the same situation.
There is a lot of heartrending stuff in here, particularly about the way in which the Japanese government removed Korean identity. It's nothing new - changing names, forbidding the use of Korean language, either spoken or written; just what generations of colonising governments have done. And non-colonising governments. The book is dedicated to Park's parents, to whom she gives three names: their Korean name, their Japanese name, and an English/American name. Which I think was one of the sadest things in reading the whole book.
And yet, the strength shown by these characters, keeping secrets, making sacrifices, just keeping on living in the face of opression and discrimination and cruelty... that strength is phenomenal and inspiring. The story of Sun-hee's mother and the Rose of Sharon is one such story, another is that of Mrs Ahn's method of resistance.
This book will make me look rather more askance at some arguments about Japanese racism that I've seen about, though, I have to admit. I already took certain versions of "but that's not what we're talking about" with a pinch of salt, having known as I do a previous General Secretary of the Korean Protestant Church in Japan. But... yeah. I think the two main things I'm going to take away from this book are the erasure of identity through names and language, and the Kim family's small, quiet, but no less meaningful ways of resistance. Definitely worth the read, and I'm so glad I finally got around to it....more
Red Scarf Girl is a memoir of one girl's early adolescence in China during the Cultural Revolution. It is written for a young adult - probably Junior Red Scarf Girl is a memoir of one girl's early adolescence in China during the Cultural Revolution. It is written for a young adult - probably Junior High to low Senior High - American audience. It covers approximately two years of the life of Jiang Ji-li, as the Cultural Revolution more and more affects her Shanghai family directly.
I was glad, reading this, that I knew a bit about the period already. I read Jung Chang's book Wild Swans pretty much back when it first came out (and then studied it at school). That book, covering three generations as it does, provides a long-term background in Chinese history. The scope of this book is far narrower, and simply doesn't have the context contained within it that I already knew. Without that background, I think the book would still be very good. I just know I'm glad I had a broader knowledge.
Because it covers such similar territory, I can't help but compare it to Wild Swans. This book feels far more didactic; the dialogue felt off to me, because Jiang has herself and her sisters talking about her "Mom" and "Dad", which felt too American to me in a context where America was something of a Bad Guy. And the didacticsm (if that's a word) was odd, too, in that there was a sense of it, but also a sense that if the object was to teach, the teaching wasn't done well enough. When I finished the book I discovered a Glossary at the back, which did provide explanations for some things that I hadn't known (for example, I'd been puzzled by "Grandma"'s invocation of Allah - the glossary explains that the Jiangs were Muslim, which seems obvious and yet not entirely obvious), as well as explanations clearly geared for the intended audience, such as the explanation that there was a time when not everyone had a telephone in their own home.
Structurally, Red Scarf Girl is about Jiang Ji-li's struggle between being a Child of Mao and a child of her family. Because of that, the story finishes when she finally decides that her family comes first - which is a little startling: I wanted to follow her family through to the death of Mao and the rehabilitation of Jiang's father.
What this book does put across exceedingly well is just how difficult that struggle was: how devoted Jiang is to the Revolution, to struggle, and to Mao Ze-dong as leader of China. It isn't written as an adult looking back, judging her childhood self: it's written as though Jiang is still that child - passionate, headstrong, and a little careless of those around her.
I just had the feeling that despite this, she was talking down to her audience just a little; just that bit too much for me to thoroughly embrace the book. ...more
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