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464 pages, Kindle Edition
First published March 8, 2016
“Every act of communication is a miracle of translation.”
“We are defined by the places we hold in the web of others’ lives.”
“Our lives are ruled by these small, seemingly ordinary moments that turn out to have improbably large effects.”
“And yet, whatever has been lost in translation in the long journey of my thoughts through the maze of civilization to your mind, I think you do understand me, and you think you do understand me. Our minds managed to touch, if but briefly and imperfectly.
Does that thought not make the universe seem just a bit kinder, a bit brighter, a bit warmer and more human?
We live for such miracles.”
Once, the water buffalo jumped into a dish of soy sauce on the table at dinner. (He wanted to wallow, like a real water buffalo.) I picked him out quickly but the capillary action had already pulled the dark liquid high up into his legs. The sauce-softened legs would not hold him up, and he collapsed onto the table. I dried him out in the sun, but his legs became crooked after that, and he ran around with a limp. Mom eventually wrapped his legs in saran wrap so that he could wallow to his heart’s content (just not in soy sauce).But as the boy grows older, he experiences the prejudices that those who are different often suffer. Because of his loathing of everything that makes him other, he also grows ashamed of, and then distant from, his very Chinese mother.
“Speak English to him,” Dad said to Mom... “You have to. I’ve been too easy on you. Jack needs to fit in.”
Mom looked at him. “If I say ‘love,’ I feel here.” She pointed to her lips. “If I say ‘ai,’ I feel here.” She put her hand over her heart.
" Dad had picked Mom out of a catalog."The need to belong is intrinsic to all people. But especially for children, it is the make-it-or-break-it need, the force that determines their viewpoints, attitudes, the way they experience the world. It is meant to be protective, help become a part of the greater whole, a part of a group, clan, society. But when you come from a background very different from that of most of your peers, how do you reconcile the childhood need to belong to the majority and your heritage? How do you appreciate both without resenting either one? It is immensely difficult, and immigrant children seem to so often go through the grotesquely amplified rebellion of preteen and teen years, rejecting their parents and what they represent with almost unexpected vigor, holding on to the beliefs of their new home and their 'native' peers and turning their back in shame and resentment at the 'different' that their parents signify.
"What kind of woman puts herself into a catalog so that she can be bought? The high school me thought I knew so much about everything. Contempt felt good, like wine."
"We are not other families.” I looked at him. Other families don’t have Moms who don’t belong."It hurts to be different as a child. And just as much it hurts for the parents to be rejected by their child, the one in whom they have hoped to preserve some of their 'old' culture and family and traditions.
"Mom looked at him. “If I say ‘love,’ I feel here." She pointed to her lips.And this estrangement felt so very painful in the short space of this story as it was contrasted with the years of Jack's childhood when he was happily laughing at his mother's creations an playing with Laohu the Tiger - the times before he realized his 'difference' and set out onto a determined course to change that. The course that brought him to the point when college became more important than his mother's death.
"If I say ‘ai,’ I feel here." She put her hand over her heart.
Dad shook his head. “You are in America."
"If Mom spoke to me in Chinese, I refused to answer her. After a while, she tried to use more English. But her accent and broken sentences embarrassed me. I tried to correct her. Eventually, she stopped speaking altogether if I was around."I could easily relate to the teenage feelings of being ashamed of your parents. Isn't that feeling universal to all teenagers, protected by their maximalistic feelings of invulnerability and superiority? But the lengths to Jack goes to estrange his mother from him were so painful, so cruel that my heart was breaking for his mother whom he never understood, the differences from whom he cherished, to whom she became nothing more than an embarrassing awkward former mail-order Chinese bride, little more than a reminder of what made him different from what he wanted to be - a 'native', keeping him from his "all-American pursuit of happiness".
"Mom finally stopped making the animals when I was in high school. By then her English was much better, but I was already at that age when I wasn’t interested in what she had to say whatever language she used."
"You shouldn’t treat your mother that way," Dad said. But he couldn’t look me in the eyes as he said it. Deep in his heart, he must have realized that it was a mistake to have tried to take a Chinese peasant girl and expect her to fit in the suburbs of Connecticut."The quiet mystical element to this story - magical origami animals that came to life with the breath of Jack's mother - felt very organic and, of course, highly symbolic. I loved the quiet presence of magic, filling Jack's childhood like it is for many children, being his connection to his mother, and cruelly put away when it was no longer needed.
"You know what the Chinese think is the saddest feeling in the world? It’s for a child to finally grow the desire to take care of his parents, only to realize that they were long gone."
"What we are asking for is a declaration from this body that it is the belief of the United States Congress that the victims of Unit 731 should be honored and remembered, and that the perpetrators of these heinous crimes be condemned. There is no Bill of Attainder here, no corruption of blood. We are not calling Japan to pay compensation. All we are asking for is a commitment to truth, a commitment to remember.
"Every act of communication is a miracle of translation.
... And yet, whatever has been lost in translation in the long journey of my thoughts through the maze of civilization to your mind, I think you do understand me, and you think you do understand me. Our minds managed to touch, if but briefly and imperfectly.
Does the thought not make the universe seem just a bit kinder, a bit brighter, a bit warmer and more human?
We live for such miracles."
Every act of communication is a miracle of translation.
Everyone makes books.
I have no candle to burn at both ends. I won’t measure my life with coffee spoons. I have no spring water to quiet desire, because I have left behind my frozen bit of almost-death. What I have is my life.
“Churchill said that we shape our buildings, and afterward our buildings shape us. We made machines to help us think, and now the machines think for us.”
“I thought that he was not unlike those he had hunted all his life: They were all sustained by an old magic that had left and would not return, and they did not know how to survive without it.”
The character for ‘mob’ is formed from the character for ‘nobility’ on one side and the character for ‘sheep’ on the other. So that’s what a mob is, a herd of sheep that turns into a pack of wolves because they believe themselves to be serving a noble cause.
[A] photograph is not only an image (as a painting is an image), an interpretation of the real; it is also a trace, something directly stenciled off the real, like a footprint or a death mask.
Relief spreads out from the center of her mind to the very tips of her fingers, the soothing, numbing serenity of a regulated, disciplined mind. To be regulated is to be a regular person.
You know what the Chinese think is the saddest feeling in the world? It’s for a child to finally grow the desire to take care of his parents, only to realize that they were long gone.
Time’s arrow is the loss of fidelity in compression. A sketch, not a photograph. A memory is a re-creation, precious because it is both more and less than the original.
“People change, as a species and as individuals. We don’t know what he would have chosen if he had been offered your choice. But no matter what, never let the past pick your life for you.”
“It is in the face of disasters that we show our strength as a people. Understand that we are not defined by our individual loneliness, but by the web of relationships in which we’re enmeshed. A person must rise above his selfish needs so that all of us can live in harmony. The individual is small and powerless, but bound tightly together, as a whole, the Japanese nation is invincible.”
“All life is an experiment. But at the end of our lives we’d know that no man could do with our lives as he pleased except ourselves, and our triumphs and mistakes alike were our own.”
“I don’t know if it’s going to make any difference, change anyone’s mind. But it doesn’t matter. It’s good enough for me that he is speaking, that he is not silent. He’s making the secret a little bit harder to keep, and that counts for something.”
“Those men and women of Yangzhou died a hundred years ago, Tian Haoli, and nothing can be done to change that. But the past lives on in the form of memories, and those in power are always going to want to erase and silence the past, to bury the ghosts. Now that you know about that past, you’re no longer an innocent bystander. If you do not act, you’re complicit with the Emperor and his Blood Drops in this new act of violence, this deed of erasure. Like Wang Xiuchu, you’re now a witness. Like him, you must choose what to do. You must decide if, on the day you die, you will regret your choice.”
“Independence” is declared, and suddenly the past is forgotten; a “revolution” occurs, and suddenly memories and blood debts are wiped clean; a treaty is signed, and suddenly the past is buried and gone. Real life does not work like that.
☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽
And yet, whatever has been lost in translation in the long journey of my thoughts through the maze of civilization to your mind, I think you do understand me, and you think you do understand me. Our minds managed to touch, if but briefly and imperfectly.
Does the thought not make the universe seem just a bit kinder, a bit brighter, a bit warmer and more human?
We live for such miracles.