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a penguin of very little brain
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| cultural appropriation: what's left behind when you're done with your fun |
[Aug. 25th, 2008|03:00 pm] |
I saw an auntie on Saturday night. She was attending a work function in the hotel in which we are staying, so she was all dressed up with pretty clothes and painted toe nails and a diamante swastika pendant on a chain around her neck, because she is Buddhist.
The bus I've been catching from the hospital meanders down Dato Keramat and past a building with a swastika carved into its face.
Coffins are draped in a silk covering, the covering patterned with swastikas; shops sell sparkling, multicoloured swastikas; cast iron swastikas form the shapes in fences.
The thing about cultural appropriation is that maybe you think it's fun, or just a symbol, or whatever, but sometimes it leaves a legacy that means this religious symbol is pretty universally equated with white supremacists and hate crimes (and Nazis) in the West. This is interesting, though, because I would suggest that Jesus' cross has also been co-opted by white supremacists, but the image of a crucifix doesn't inspire that visceral, gut reaction. Well, not as much, anyway.
Anyway. Cultural Appropriation: stop stealing other people's stuff. You might think your appropriation is harmless, but have you asked? |
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| be this bright in the moon |
[Aug. 8th, 2008|06:15 pm] |
This is for IBARW, but I'd be making this post regardless.
I was reading Sanguinity's post about doing the 50books_poc challenge this year. The challenge is to read fifty books by authors of colour, and she entered the challenge to help her expand out of what she described as her racially-insulated life. That's really awesome, and she got a lot out of it and her post is definitely worth reading, and worth considering.
I've been going the other way lately, reducing instead of expanding, guilty that I'm so immersed in Western culture that I don't read books by Chinese authors or have any sort of Chinese or Malaysian literary knowledge.
I remember flipping through books, never seeing faces like my little Chinese face, and though as I have grown my face has changed, the memory remains. I can recite the stories of Cinderella and Sleepy Beauty and Rapunzel and a dozen fairytales of European origin and debate their merit, but I can't tell you anything about Chinese fairytales. I don't know when I committed the European fairytales to memory, because they've been intertwined in my reading and storytelling for so long, but I can tell you that I learnt about Mulan thanks to Disney, and after we watched it my mum said, it's not a terrible translation.
I can list a page worth of members of the Greek pantheon and what they patron, and I can tell you things that happen in the Old Testament of the Bible, but I can't remember why white tiger, red phoenix, black turtle and green phoenix are important, or who comes next after the Jade Emperor. I can name a dozen North American SF authors (of Anglo ethnicity) without thinking too long, but I can't name a single Chinese SF author.
I admit that I'm exaggerating, a little (not about the SF thing, though): I do know a bit about this, but it pales in comparison to my knowledge of European/British/Western literature. And as someone with equal parts Chinese and Anglo ethnicity, I feel like my knowledge should be a little more equal than that.
I'm reading a random mythology book right now: it's one third Viking, one third Greek, and one third 'Oriental.' So you see what I mean?
So I'm making the effort to read more authors of Chinese ethnicity/from China, and then after that, after I feel like I know something concrete about one half of my own cultural literary history and contemporary literature, then maybe I'll be ready for the 50books challenge, though I plan to tackle it by continent, or region, or intersections, or something. But that's an issue for another post. |
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| qiu xiaolong, 'death of a red heroine;' and on chinese family names |
[Aug. 6th, 2008|09:11 pm] |
I recently read Death of a Red Heroine, the first book in a series by Qiu Xiaolong. This series of novels is about Chief Inspector Chen Cao, a cop struggling to find his place in early 90s Shanghai. Death of a Red Heroine is a mystery novel but it's also a discussion of that conflict between socialism and capitalism that is still a point of contention now. The novel is placed so firmly in a certain space, and it was written in English but reading it, it doesn't feel like it was written for a purely Western audience as such. It feels like it was written for me, someone already familiar with a lot of these themes, and familiar with the China of the time, because there are so many little hints that place it in Shanghai in the early 90s, showing rather than telling.
Davyd's mum has borrowed it and taken it on her trip to Europe. As she is someone with a negligible knowledge of mainland Chinese customs and history and society, I am very interested to know how much she understood, and how many references were unfamiliar to her.
I wandered into Dymocks a few months ago to pick up a copy of Death of a Red Heroine, and I couldn't find it so I wandered around for a bit and finally found it under 'X,' and I was so disappointed. Borders, also, has him under 'X,' and it's a little disappointing that some people still can't identify the difference between a family name and a personal name, and that some of those people are booksellers who should arguably be able to correctly shelve books by author name.
So for your benefit, here is a simple (but problematic) rule of thumb: a Chinese family name will probably not be two syllables. Of course, this is complicated because names like 'Huang' and 'Liu' are clearly one syllable, but that might not be so obvious for people who don't speak Mandarin or a main dialect, but please try and give it a go none the less.
Why it's problematic: a family name might be two syllables, and some (non Han) names might be more, but the one hundred most common surnames are all one syllable, and account for 85% of the surnames in use. |
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| like i've lived too much |
[May. 10th, 2008|11:09 pm] |
Thirteens and black cats have never meant much to me, though I have avoided ladders for safety reasons.
I remember in high school, a friend complained about some Chinese people who were interested in buying her parents' house, up until they got there and realised the street address had a four in it and so it all fell through. Of course, I think I said, it's like death, and thought, how could they not have realised? and then I didn't think about it again until today.
We went to view a townhouse, and I was looking out the window for number fourteen, and then we arrived and Davyd said it was number four, and then I realised what that meant. We looked inside anyway, but the damage was done: no matter how brilliant it was, I wouldn't have been able to bring myself to buy a house that was numbered four, let alone one that was numbered four twice.
But then, there is not-quite truth in that statement, too, for there are things that can be done, and all these unfortuitous things can be surmounted. That's what the mirrors and the bells are for.
And the 福, upside-down, that sits on our kitchen door.
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| some penguins had a party and all their friends came |
[Apr. 22nd, 2008|10:09 pm] |
We woke on Saturday morning to rain, a constant droning on the roof. I love it when it rains, but rainy days are days for cooking things for hours and staying indoors, not holding garden parties.
We ventured out to my old hairdresser, a hilarious woman named Fran who works out of Cutting Edge in Midland. There was some consultation as I produced the ornate things I wanted to slot into my hair, and some confusion as I kept complaining about height and body, which I inexplicably loathe in hair.
 My hair piece was actually formed out of the middle piece of a traditional Malay headpiece. The pieces are usually worn on top of the head, facing forwards, to form sun rays emerging from the head. There was no way I was doing this, though, and I prefer wearing my hair with pieces through it, so I felt this was a nice compromise. The headpiece belongs to a Malaysian girl with whom I work.
We returned from hair related things to discover that the marquee looked amazing. The marquee was only completed at 0800, in the rain, and then Davyd, Bernard, Zanchey, Matt, Essie, Linda and Michael started setting the tables and putting things in place, and by the time we returned it looked fantastic, all the cranes scattered on the tables and the napkins folded beautifully.
 I bought all of the hanging decorations on a recent trip to Melbourne, so if anyone happens to know of anyone who needs to use some Chinese wedding decorations, let me know. Also, the 120 pairs of chopsticks were found by rummaging through the drawers in my mother's kitchen, and in our kitchen. Chinese homes tend to have an excess of chopsticks, due to the tradition of purchasing an entire new set every Chinese New Year. As such, if anyone needs to borrow a whole lot of chopsticks, again, let me know.
At about 1300 Matt went on an emergency run to Bunnings to buy mats to put by marquee's entry, to stop people from sinking into the damp grass there. By the time he returned the rain had stopped, though, and the sun had come out, and that was awesome.
Amanda and SJ were amazing with my makeup. They threw me in a makeup chair at Myer in Perth, where the woman at the Clinique counter painted things on my face and we found perfect lips and eyes at Shishedo, both of which I've blogged about previously. I was not first to get my makeup done on the day - first was SJ's mum, who wanted her makeup to be done in time for her to watch kickoff of the derby.
My wedding dress was tailored for me by a bespoke tailor in Penang in 2005. It sounds ridiculous, especially given we didn't actually do anything else wedding related in the time between July 2005 and setting the date in December 2007, but three years later I still believe it was the best decision. I knew then that I would be wearing the qipao when we married, and at that point I was about to turn 23, and hadn't changed weight or shape in about six years. It is expensive to tailor qipao in Australia, and there was no way I was spending AUD$500+ for some sort of one wear only dress. A qipao is designed to be worn again, not worn once.
 Two weeks before the wedding I tried the dress on, and the zipper broke. I had it repaired by Snip N Stitch clothing alterations, who were happy to do the repairs but told me I had to find the invisible zip on my own, as very long, bright red invisible zips were hard to come by around here. Fortunately the crazy wool store at Subi crossroads had some. Cost of repairs plus zip was $32.95.
The qipao fit fine, though you should note that they're made to fit snug, which made sitting a challenge. "I have to hike my skirt up," I complained to my mother, later. "That's how it works," she replied, like it was something I already knew but had obviously forgotten. It also made bending over a chore, so all night I made people pick things up for me. Essie reminded me, though, at least I was still able to go to the loo on my own, some wedding dresses require assistance when you sit to pee.
It is customary to wait one month after the birth of a baby before gift giving. This is a hold over from the days when babies would often die during their first few days, and pragmatically there is no point giving gifts to a baby who dies a few days later. The gifts are also gifts and wishes for the baby's future, usually represented by a whole lot of gold jewellery. It is this that I was wearing, the gold given to me after my first month, so that I was draped in the wishes of my family.
 For the longest time I was determined not to hold a bouquet. At the last, I was convinced to hold something, so I agreed to a bouquet, but only if it could be styled similarly to the bouquets that Tom and Max's bridesmaids held a few years ago. The result, designed by Linda, was simply magnificent. It was understated yet bright and not all droopy like a teardrop, and I loved it.
As I peered out the window, waiting for the time to be right, and for all to be ready, I was delighted to discover that many people had turned up with hats and fascinators, and in Alex's case with a cane. Maelkann wore a bright orange suit, as promised, and my view from the window was all bright colours and big hats and I was so pleased.
I was reluctant to do a stately walk down the aisle, there's so much possession and propriety implicit in that. The compromise was that Davyd, Zanchey, Bernard, SJ and Susie would chat with people somewhere around the frontish area, whilst dad and I would meander over. I sank slowly into the ground as I walked, and my stocking slowly failed (I couldn't wear a garter belt as the qipao has no give for it, and the elastic on the stay-up failed).
The sun was in our eyes, because although we'd run through the day before, we'd ended up in the wrong position, so halfway through the ceremony we crept forward, out of the glare. At prodding from the celebrant, we included anecdotes and readings, how we met through Sailor Moon and then SJ read a bit from Now We Are Six, because everybody loves a Pooh quote.
Later, we took a giant group photo. Afterwards, we dismissed friends to play croquet and cricket (thanks to dr k and dave for the croquet set, and grahame for the cricket set), and half of Davyd's extended family took "and if you're family, you have to stick around for more photos" as an opportunity to nick off to the pub to watch the end of the derby. A number of friends ran off to the Junction for icecream, though many of them managed to get lost. In hindsight, we should have included directions to the Junction as part of the wedding pack, along with the map to the venue.
group photo, sans amanda and essie :o(
We meandered around the estate, taking photos as they occurred to us and pausing for champagne, and for me to unlock my ibook. I discarded the failing stockings before we headed to the marquee, where many of our friends were already well into the beer, and had almost demolished the Squire.
 On a table to the side was a basket from Singapore, overflowing with ang pau and surrounded by envelopes. The Chinese custom shies away from registries and gifts, leaning more towards things that will fit in little red envelopes, that is, money and jewellery. This is considered more practical. "No one is writing their name!" my mother despaired, so now we have no idea who gave what. It is usual to take note of each red packet, the amount and who gave it, but I prefer it this way. Now, if someone chose not to give us anything, we will never know, and that is fine because gifts should be no obligation, anyway.
A Chinese wedding banquet is a lavish, extended affair, comprising eight to ten courses (not including dessert), each served individually to the middle of the table, for communal eating. It is sprawling, taking usually about two to three hours, and it is important to eat selectively at each course, or by meal's end you can find yourself bloated, and unable to sample the delicious dishes which round out the banquet. I have blogged about the catering we used in my foodie blog here, and about our delicious vegan and gluten-free (double chocolate and raspberry) wedding cupcakes here.
 Although the catering was done by Lotus, and the cupcakes were constructed by Susie, Amanda, Sajee and Essie in a feat of awesome, and the fruit was prepared by my mother and an auntie, the serving and related was done by Linda and Michael, with assistance from two of the kids from archery and a colleague of Davyd's.
Linda and Michael went above and beyond, volunteering to come early Saturday morning to assist with setup, and staying late to help us clear away. All we'd wanted them to do was coordinate the food! Their help was amazing and we are so appreciative of their contribution to the Really Big Party. Linda also did all the flower related things, my beautiful tiny bouquet and the corsages and buttons.
There were a handful of speeches, limit of 120 seconds. SJ wrote hers onto a crane; we had to wait for her to unfold it. There was some music and some dancing, cheers to Meggie for using her contacts to get us the sound gear. I turned around at one point to discover that some people I occasionally call friends had loaded some very choice songs onto my ibook, cheers for that, guys. Whereby 'choice' should be prefaced by 'questionable.'
Linda, Michael, Zanchey and Bernard stayed with us until well past midnight, cleaning and clearing and putting away. Eventually, exhausted, we kicked everyone out though the job was unfinished, and waved Linda and Michael off, and we four tumbled into the car and Bernard drove us all home.
As Zanchey stumbled out of the car at 0130, he reached behind Davyd's head and withdrew a top hat. "Oh, what!" I exclaimed, that he had not worn it in photos, and he shut the door and we drove away.
Thank you so much to everyone who came, it was delightful and both Davyd and I had an excellent Party, and we hope that everyone else did, too.
Photos:
- Full set of photos taken by Amanda can be found here. There are about 600 of them, though, so I have posted a small selection of my favourites here
- Some can be found here by my frellie
![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) dortamur
- essie's picks of her own photos; full set can be found here
- essie's picks of amanda's photos
- these were photos taken by thanners
- Anil took some photos which you can find here
- Photos by Davyd's dad can be found here
- Photos by Alex here (everyone is pulling such dour faces, though!)
Please let me know if you have some that aren't linked here, and if you've taken some but haven't put them up please do that and let me know.
Financial analysis to follow when it all gets sorted out. |
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| a moment of |
[Apr. 18th, 2008|01:53 pm] |
As we arrived in Singapore I realised, with dread, that I had forgotten to bring ang pau for auntie's children.
We stopped by the concierge desk at first opportunity. "I forgot red packets," I explained. "Do you know where we can buy them?" The concierge suggested Chinatown, or perhaps a bookstore; then suggested we wait whilst he checked to see if he had any spare. He did, and I took three for auntie's children.
The crisis was averted, and the service at the Fairmont continued to be superb our entire stay. |
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| auntie is a magic word |
[Apr. 16th, 2008|01:12 pm] |
In Chinese dialects there is a distinction between the auntie who is mother's sister, and the auntie who is father's sister, and so on. But everyone just says 'auntie,' even in the middle of a sentence in Mandarin, just creates this gigantic, amorphous mass of scolding, loving aunties.
We sat at a table on the edge of a carpark just off Bukit Timah Road. "What?" a grumpy old man barked. "Waiting for Auntie," I replied, my voice falling into that annoying Penang whine (though I was in Singapore by this time), and he melted away at the magic word.
Auntie is the old lady crossing the street; Auntie is my mother's sister or my father's sister; Auntie is a woman I met when I was six; Auntie gives me ang pau and tells me to eat more; Auntie is not related to me; Auntie is obligation and permission and guilt. |
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| as we turn down the lights |
[Mar. 12th, 2008|10:08 pm] |
The race riots of 1969 were considered to be the fault of the economic and wealth disparity that existed between the poorer Malays and the more wealthy Chinese. This disparity developed for various historical reasons, but most obviously because many Chinese people had come in to Malaysia and set up businesses, which moved the flow of wealth in that direction. The NEP was established in 1971 to compensate for that economic and social disparity, giving ethnic Malays preference in government positions, university placements and government tenders. The NEP involved a redistribution of wealth and ownership from other Malaysians and foreigners to Bumiputras, and was supposed to increase the overall national economy.
Its emphasis was on actual ownership, rather than training, a sort of constant bandaid rather than solution. The NEP officially ended in 1990, but is considered to still live on today in many forms.
Lim Guan Eng was sworn in as Penang's head of state on Tuesday; this morning the very first thing I read was this headline: Penang abandons pro-Malay policy.
I am trying to be reasonable as I write this, not talking about what a shit program NEP was. So this is kind of dry, but inside my head I'm leaping around freaking out (coalition with PAS?! WE'RE RUINED) and incredibly hopeful (NO NEP!) and I'm trying to summarise it so you understand, but every time I think about it I can't stop grinning.
There will be no overnight change; given the control still remaining with the central government, and the continued fear that it will take funding away from Penang, there may never be any real change; but I am hopeful.
Some reading: Slaying an Immortal Tiger (old article on NEP); Malaysia PM: Lessons to be learnt; Penang's leaders abandon pro-Malay policy. If you're interested in this, Mahathir's The Malay Dilemma is very interesting reading. |
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| on your shoulders |
[Mar. 9th, 2008|04:23 pm] |
I am excited; awash in a sea of joy and confusion. UMNO has been the ruling party in Malaysia since Merdeka fifty years ago, and its power has been pretty concrete. There are many reasons why I grew up in Australia and not Malaysia, and UMNO is one of the biggest of them. At yesterday's national election, it won with a simple majority. This sounds like nothing but the government no longer has power to make constitutional changes, and is a sign of dissatisfaction across the country with the loss of four state assemblies, including my beloved tiny island of Penang. I'm afraid and I'm concerned but most of all I'm excited, and I hope.
Links: BBC; ABC; Associated Press; Straits Times. |
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| 一百四十二张《喜喜》红包 |
[Feb. 15th, 2008|11:13 pm] |
一百四十二张《喜喜》红包 | Crawley, WA | Summer 2008
We are not so cruel as to expect all our friends and Davyd's family to know what to do at Chinese weddings, so we've told them. I'm worried that it's a bit forward, to include a list of you can do this but you can't do that, but I'd rather seem weird than court disaster.
I'm superstitious, and it shows. |
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| lions |
[Feb. 8th, 2008|08:44 pm] |
As we stepped off the bus I turned my head; I could hear the drum beats in the air, that familiar sound that means a lion is dancing, for heads of lettuce and for money. The lion dances to bring good fortune and luck, and dances to the beat of the drum and the echo of the gongs in order to scare away the bad spirits.
As we walked, the drums grew louder and faster until it was clear that they were finished, that the lion had done its exorcism and eaten its ang pao, and we saw finally the lion itself, a beautiful red one with white through it, and the dance never changes but equally it is never the same, and it never fails to thrill me, to hear that beat in the air. |
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| 第一 |
[Feb. 7th, 2008|09:52 pm] |
The Last Ang Pau | Crawley, WA | Summer 2008
These are the last Chinese New Year red packets that Davyd and I will receive. Only unmarried people receive ang pau at new year. |
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| book: snow flower and the secret fan, lisa see |
[Oct. 22nd, 2007|10:14 pm] |
Though at several points I wished that there was a little more show and a little less tell when foreshadowing, Snow Flower and the Secret Fan was so emotionally wrenching that I spent fifteen minutes this evening weeping, incredibly glad that I hadn't reached the final chapters whilst still sitting on the bus.
I picked up Snow Flower and the Secret Fan because several people had recommended it. It is about the 老同 friendship of two girls during the nineteenth century, passing through the Taiping Rebellion and out the other side. We follow the narrator Lily through her life, and the way her life forms around her old same, Snow Flower. Lily is sometimes petty and bitter, but she remains a sympathetic character through all of her flaws, and as such the book is a quick, interesting read.
I was going to say it is an easy read, and it is in the normal way, lovely words and easy prose, but it is also a very difficult read. The description of foot-binding in particular was a struggle for me, but other sections reminded me of how lucky we are, and by "we" I mean my sister, my mother, my grandmother, my aunts. When the status of daughters as weakest branches is made so clear, I thought of my mother, admonishing me as I grew up that I was not to marry a Chinese boy, the risk of a traditional mindset being too great. I never knew what she feared, but gradually I came to understand, and it was a constant reminder as I read.
This book is historical women's fiction, though I cannot say how accurate the parts pertaining to the Taiping Rebellion are, as it is not a period I know much about; I recommend it (and am willing to lend my copy, as always). |
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| movie: the home song stories |
[Oct. 7th, 2007|09:12 pm] |
I spent some time today at the movies, with my mother. We saw The Home Song Stories, a story that is sort of about being Chinese in Australia (in the 70s), and sort of about the Chinese diaspora, and also about being unhappy and stuck and trying so hard to live.
I was intrigued going in, at the idea of an Australian movie, set in Australia, but in English, Mandarin and Cantonese. Unlike many other multi-language movies I have seen recently, the English was used as the modifier, rather than the Mandarin or the Cantonese, which was interesting. Watching it was also an interesting experience for us. As the movie opened in Hong Kong, there was singing, and my mother laughed. "That was the song, when I was growing up," she whispered, and what she meant that it was very, very popular, but now she cannot even recall its title. It starts 忘不了， which sounds like it could be a song title, so. Later, my mother said, "her Cantonese was not very good;" I laughed, and said, "it's okay, her mother was clearly not a peasant, so they're even." (they were supposed to live rural, but her mother spoke with a strong Beijing accent)
I loved Tom, the main character, an adorable eleven year old boy, ethnically Chinese but having spent the majority of his childhood in Australia. I love this story of how they found the actor: they placed an ad in The Age, and at the end of the day that the ad ran, he called, and in a little voice said that he'd heard they were looking for an eleven year old Chinese boy, and he was an eleven year old Chinese boy. That's an adorable story, and I love the character and the way he played him, quiet and observant and so unconfident but still kind of sure.
It's a difficult film, very harsh and bleak and as such, the ending feels a bit out of place but overall it's a very strong, compelling movie. My mother kept reaching for her tissues, though I will be scolded soundly for saying that, and I was really struck by the style of storytelling.
Also, I loved how "Australia in the 70s" it all was, so clearly identifiable. At one point Tom was sleeping on sheets identical to ones I slept on for years, which caused me a lot of glee.
I'm not very good at reviews, I know, but I'm really glad that I saw this film.
For a better review, you can see David and Margaret's one here. Margaret gave it four stars and David gave it three and a half, and you would never doubt them, surely. |
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| i don't need reminding |
[Oct. 4th, 2007|08:25 pm] |
things that i love include but are not limited to: lion dances
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| book: white tiger, by kylie chan |
[Oct. 3rd, 2007|07:53 pm] |
On Ghoti's recommendation, I picked up a copy of White Tiger by Kylie Chan on the weekend, and rather than do anything useful last night and on the bus today, I read it.
White Tiger is a novel about modern-day Hong Kong, and the Chinese deities that still hang out there. And it works pretty well, for the most part.
It was an interesting read. I love the idea of it, the interweaving of Chinese mythology into the modern world, and I loved the representation of life, the bao and the food obsession and the value of appearances and all the other tiny things that were so familiar. I loved the way she wrote each of the deities, too, the cuddly beauty of Kwan Yin and the filthy, hearty arrogance of Bai Hu. I really liked the way she very rarely used the narrator to explain elements of Chinese culture that a Western reader might not know: for the most part, she wrote as if we were expected to be familiar with it already, and I really liked that. She did use the narrator to explain a handful of things, qi and various New Year customs, but overall it was just assumed knowledge and that was great.
The book is in first person, which detracts from the story a little. That it is in first person means we are stuck with the narrator as she goes shopping, looks beautiful, has lunch with her friends. We are stuck with her as she (frequently) pines for her love, and as we miss a major confrontation because she is inside, preparing for a smaller but no less significant confrontation. It is this last that is interesting, because the way the story is written, we don't care about that major confrontation outside, though later, after I had finished reading, I did wonder about that confrontation, and earlier battles that sounded awesome, that we missed because we could only see the narrator's point of view.
The narrator is a Caucasian-Australian woman named Emma, and I know that the author is Caucasian-Australian and you write what you know and that's fine, but that Emma is so perfect, this perfect white woman who comes into their lives is a bit grating at times. Emma is a fun character, caustic and kind and just a person, but she's perfect at all the things she sets her hand to, and I have issues with the prevalence of texts that are set in [random Asian/African/coloured country] with a main character who is white, in order to allow readers/viewers to have something to cling to. Other recent releases to suffer from this problem include but are not limited to: The Last King of Scotland (great movie about Ugandan dictator Idi Amin, shame society says we had to see the country through the eyes of the very beautiful but white James McAvoy), which is not a book but you get the point. That having been said, her role as white person was rarely significant, and more importantly was not overly used to other all of the Chinese characters. There was only one point where I had to put the book down for a moment: one of the characters forgets that Emma is Caucasian, and I was speechless.
I will read the other books in this trilogy. The book was fun, and it had its flaws but I enjoyed it. |
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| on being vegetarian, and chinese |
[Jan. 18th, 2007|08:03 pm] |
You don't eat fish, my mother said, or duck, or pork. You can't live a Chinese life. I paused and started to reply, but: when are you going to grow out of this fad? my father asked. I resent your statement that it's a fad, I snapped; it is, he replied, and started worrying that I was supplementing my diet with pills.
It's something that I've thought about, that so much superstition in Chinese life revolves around what one eats; I draw comfort in the knowledge that there are Chinese vegetarians out in the world (mostly Buddhists), and continue to learn how to cook the lucky food as best I can.
The most important luck food is noodles, anyway: no meat required. |
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| further adventures in not eating meat |
[Jan. 4th, 2007|08:01 pm] |
I thought the thing that I would miss the most would be fish, but it's not. Fish is still meat, and I don't eat meat anymore, so it's something I don't even think about now.
The thing I actually miss the most is noodle soup, because it's so possible yet I can't have it. We don't eat at vegetarian restaurants because Davyd and I dislike the following things: TVP, mock meat. As a result, the restaurants we tend to frequent cater for a more meat-eating clientele. And the staff are always happy to provide noodles freshly cooked with no meat, which is usually fine but noodle soup requires broth and it's always, always chicken stock and I can never have it.
Han's has a clear vegetarian soup (with vegetables in it), and I once tried to get them to give me the soup with some mai fun in it, but my request was sadly denied.
Davyd says the thing he misses the most is choice, at restaurants. |
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| 看电影 |
[Jun. 24th, 2006|04:42 pm] |
On Thursday I watched 我的父亲母亲 without subtitles in my Chinese class, and it was so beautiful and really sad and difficult to understand, not because I had no English aid, but because of the situation it was trying to convey. I'm not even sure I can describe it, but I am going to try. The movie is nominally about a young man who returns to the village of his youth because his father is very sick, only to be told by the village elders that his father has died. His mother is distraught, and insists that his father be carried home from the hospital on the shoulders of people, rather than in a truck. This isn't possible, because all the young people have left the village for work in the cities. The story diverges here, and becomes partly about the young man's attempts to have his father carried home, but mostly it becomes a flashback to the love story of his father and his mother. Zhao Di (the young man's mother) was very devoted to the man who would later become her husband. When Luo had to travel away from the village (he was called back for Cultural Revolution reasons), she would stand out on the hill, overlooking the road to the village, every day. She became very sick, and everyone became very concerned for her, especially as there was no official attachment between the two. Because this story takes place in a Northern village, and it's just on the cusp of the CR, they village elders are clearly worried about her because this was still a time of matchmakers rather than "love matches," so her behaviour was not only inappropriate but also unusual and worrying.
It's a movie sort of about the Cultural Revolution, but also about life in China at that period of time, and it's completely different to anything that I have ever experienced, which is why I struggled to understand her motivation and her actions.
Anyway, I've totally not explained the movie in any sort of clear way, but whatever. It was very sad and very beautiful and quite interesting, and I am going to try and see if I can purchase a copy for myself (and then force many people to watch it). Another movie that I want to see because I have been told that it is very beautiful is 2046. I saw it for sale in Borders last week, but it is unfortunately expensive and I am unfortunately broke, so I did not purchase it. But I shall! Perhaps after my birthday. 2046 stars Wang Fei, whom I have never seen act but whose singing I adore, and also stars Zhang Ziyi.
Oh! I wanted to mention that 我的父亲母亲 is known as "The Road Home" in English, which is a reference to the road along which Zhao Di wants her husband to be carried from the hospital to the village, and is significant because he first came to the village as the new teacher, the hope of the village teaching the children, and he did so much for the village and that's why it's important, hokay. However, "我的父亲母亲" doesn't translate to "the road home." A literal translation of that is "my father my mother," which also makes sense and sounds lovely in Mandarin, but is a bit too prosaic in English. |
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