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May. 23rd, 2007 10:00 pm
the fifth book of peace and other things
I finally finished reading A History of God, by Karen Armstrong. I thought her ending was kind of weak. It ends with a poem, and a lament about our apparently directionless generation. I dislike the whole "atheists have no direction" kind of talk, because I think it's kind of disingenuous. I realize that a lot of people need "God", or at least an idea of one, in order to deal with the mess that is the world today, but I don't think atheists are lacking in direction or moral guidance. Maybe some are, but I haven't really met any that need that sort of compass.
I just started The Fifth Book of Peace, by Maxine Hong Kingston. Kingston is one of my favorite Asian American writers; I read Woman Warrior when I was just a kid. I think I got bored and started reading stuff from my sister's college syllabus. I remember her complaining about her Asian American Studies class and how she didn't like how the writers would incorporate Chinese words into the text, forcing her to figure out what they actually meant instead of just using the English words. Reading Woman Warrior was sort of like reading about my family, except a little off. Kingston spoke Say Yup; my family spoke Toi San. Her parents were educated; mine were not. She inherited all the baggage that came with growing up Chinese and female; so did I. She grew up in Stockton; I in Oakland. When she travelled to China she met with scholars and academics; when I went I got a tourist package where a green tea salesman told us watermelons had been infected with AIDS. Not to worry; they caught the guy!
Even now, when I first opened this book, I laughed in recognition when she said that she caused an uproar in her Chinese villages because she neglected giving red envelopes to distant relatives. I would have done the same thing - I never know what I am supposed to do, and the things I do know how to do I always mess up. My mother gave everyone she met in our villages a red envelope. She got upset when an old classmate tried to bypass her; the old classmate claimed that she thought that since my mom was lucky enough to go to America, she was now "too good" for someone like her. My mom talked about it for days. In the villages, I didn't know how to act - to me it was a long procession of people who were supposedly related to us but who didn't know us at all. All over people shouted, "Can they understand us?!" And, "Why aren't you married yet? I want to eat some cookies!"
(When I went to the villages, I finally realized why my mom shouted so much. Nearly everyone in that village seemed to be deaf.)
And I also recognized the places she listed - Rockridge, California College of Arts and Crafts, Skyline. I thought, hey, that's home. But it's a different home than mine. She lived up in the Hills, and I used to live down on the bottom, next to the freeway. So reading Kingston is almost like wrapping myself in an old, comfortable blanket. It's nice.
Other things I have been reading:
Bookworm's home goes up in flames. I am afraid this might happen to me.
Nonjatta - a blog for Japanese single malt whisky.
I just started The Fifth Book of Peace, by Maxine Hong Kingston. Kingston is one of my favorite Asian American writers; I read Woman Warrior when I was just a kid. I think I got bored and started reading stuff from my sister's college syllabus. I remember her complaining about her Asian American Studies class and how she didn't like how the writers would incorporate Chinese words into the text, forcing her to figure out what they actually meant instead of just using the English words. Reading Woman Warrior was sort of like reading about my family, except a little off. Kingston spoke Say Yup; my family spoke Toi San. Her parents were educated; mine were not. She inherited all the baggage that came with growing up Chinese and female; so did I. She grew up in Stockton; I in Oakland. When she travelled to China she met with scholars and academics; when I went I got a tourist package where a green tea salesman told us watermelons had been infected with AIDS. Not to worry; they caught the guy!
Even now, when I first opened this book, I laughed in recognition when she said that she caused an uproar in her Chinese villages because she neglected giving red envelopes to distant relatives. I would have done the same thing - I never know what I am supposed to do, and the things I do know how to do I always mess up. My mother gave everyone she met in our villages a red envelope. She got upset when an old classmate tried to bypass her; the old classmate claimed that she thought that since my mom was lucky enough to go to America, she was now "too good" for someone like her. My mom talked about it for days. In the villages, I didn't know how to act - to me it was a long procession of people who were supposedly related to us but who didn't know us at all. All over people shouted, "Can they understand us?!" And, "Why aren't you married yet? I want to eat some cookies!"
(When I went to the villages, I finally realized why my mom shouted so much. Nearly everyone in that village seemed to be deaf.)
And I also recognized the places she listed - Rockridge, California College of Arts and Crafts, Skyline. I thought, hey, that's home. But it's a different home than mine. She lived up in the Hills, and I used to live down on the bottom, next to the freeway. So reading Kingston is almost like wrapping myself in an old, comfortable blanket. It's nice.
Other things I have been reading:
Bookworm's home goes up in flames. I am afraid this might happen to me.
Nonjatta - a blog for Japanese single malt whisky.
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