Take a photo of a barcode or cover
3.68 AVERAGE
3.68 AVERAGE
This book was the heaviest read I have had the past few weeks. It was not like I didn't know anything about China and its treatment in regards to women, but I didn't think the culture was so present in Chinese-American culture in the U.S. The way her Chinese parents addressed the author and the children were considered "less" for being part American and not so influenced by Chinese culture was heart-breaking and opened my eyes to what may be actually happening in China and Chinese-American neighbourhoods. I totally recommend this book to anyone that is interested in the culture and the perspective of a Chinese-American woman.
dark
emotional
reflective
slow-paced
Vivid, lyrical, & moving portrayal of a negotiation of identities through storytelling.
adventurous
challenging
dark
emotional
reflective
sad
tense
medium-paced
Kingston's memoir is written as a series of short stories about her family's experience fleeing the Chinese Revolution and her own self-explorative journey reconciling two distinct cultures being herself Chinese-American growing up in San Francisco. Her stories blend fantasy and folklore with fact. Beautiful, powerful, and poetic.
I have mentioned earlier that I wasn’t able to place this book within a genre, and now I just believe it doesn’t really have one. Kingston seems to believe the same; that the boundaries of memoir/autobiography/novel, more often than not, crisscross and meld through her writing. Her characters are not really fiction, but never entirely real. The merging of the real experience and the fictive one is so simples and unnoticeable, we’re left to wonder about the “facts”.
A most remarkable thing about this novel happens when Kingston herself admits, during her childhood, that it was difficult to perceive what was the memory of a Chinese culture, and what was the invention of villagers who left home long ago. Kingston doesn’t exaggerate or disregards the boundary between memoir and fiction carelessly, but seems to draw from this quality, refusing to be wholly imaginary or wholly factual.
"No Name Woman", the book's first chapter, offers a description of a family secret. But because the parents refuse to tell the story in any detail, Kingston establishes a few plausible occurrences on her own. Because the first-generation, during wistful reminiscences of their childhood village, refuse to completely dispel the obscurity of their past, Kingston’s need to appropriate the stories, fill in the gaps through speculation, and consequently step from memory to invention seems unavoidable. Without that knowledge she remains lost between cultures: Chinese, American, and Chinese-American. And throughout the entire book, there is the same restless ambivalence that is found in "No Name Woman": the yearning to reconcile a divided identity. Also, there is the desire to simply embrace her heritage and China, and the anger at the injustices suffered by Chinese women and girls.
There are also two other important aspects (that will be significant throughout the book) in this first chapter: the silence and the second-generation sense of rootlessness.
The Woman Warrior, though taken up with several kinds of fantasy and full of anecdotes from the author’s childhood, is a sober narrative of an immigrant culture, and a family’s story. Even though the Chinese immigrant community is familiar to the author, she does not feel at home there, because the cultural disconnect between first and second-generations appears impossible to overcome. One of Kingston’s wishes is to be reunited with her own estranged family.
The final chapter, “A Song for a Barbarian Reed Pipe”, suggests that Kingston identifies herself as living among “barbarians” - her own community and family. Kingston compares herself to the second-century poet and musician Ts'ai Yen, who was taken captive by barbarians, and is best known for her Eighteen Stanzas for a Barbarian Reed Pipe, a series of short songs about her life among her captors and her longing to return to her own people.
At the ending of the story [and of the book], Kingston only briefly notes the poetess lamenting over her separation from her native land and her eventual return to her homeland. Instead, focuses on Ts'ai Yen as she recognizes eventually the validity of the barbarians' culture. I believe this suggests an ability to live amicably in both American and Chinese [and Chinese-American] cultures. That this story implies that as Kingston has accepted her Chinese past, so her family (especially her mother, Brave Orchid) learned to accept the American influence.
A most remarkable thing about this novel happens when Kingston herself admits, during her childhood, that it was difficult to perceive what was the memory of a Chinese culture, and what was the invention of villagers who left home long ago. Kingston doesn’t exaggerate or disregards the boundary between memoir and fiction carelessly, but seems to draw from this quality, refusing to be wholly imaginary or wholly factual.
"No Name Woman", the book's first chapter, offers a description of a family secret. But because the parents refuse to tell the story in any detail, Kingston establishes a few plausible occurrences on her own. Because the first-generation, during wistful reminiscences of their childhood village, refuse to completely dispel the obscurity of their past, Kingston’s need to appropriate the stories, fill in the gaps through speculation, and consequently step from memory to invention seems unavoidable. Without that knowledge she remains lost between cultures: Chinese, American, and Chinese-American. And throughout the entire book, there is the same restless ambivalence that is found in "No Name Woman": the yearning to reconcile a divided identity. Also, there is the desire to simply embrace her heritage and China, and the anger at the injustices suffered by Chinese women and girls.
There are also two other important aspects (that will be significant throughout the book) in this first chapter: the silence and the second-generation sense of rootlessness.
The Woman Warrior, though taken up with several kinds of fantasy and full of anecdotes from the author’s childhood, is a sober narrative of an immigrant culture, and a family’s story. Even though the Chinese immigrant community is familiar to the author, she does not feel at home there, because the cultural disconnect between first and second-generations appears impossible to overcome. One of Kingston’s wishes is to be reunited with her own estranged family.
The final chapter, “A Song for a Barbarian Reed Pipe”, suggests that Kingston identifies herself as living among “barbarians” - her own community and family. Kingston compares herself to the second-century poet and musician Ts'ai Yen, who was taken captive by barbarians, and is best known for her Eighteen Stanzas for a Barbarian Reed Pipe, a series of short songs about her life among her captors and her longing to return to her own people.
At the ending of the story [and of the book], Kingston only briefly notes the poetess lamenting over her separation from her native land and her eventual return to her homeland. Instead, focuses on Ts'ai Yen as she recognizes eventually the validity of the barbarians' culture. I believe this suggests an ability to live amicably in both American and Chinese [and Chinese-American] cultures. That this story implies that as Kingston has accepted her Chinese past, so her family (especially her mother, Brave Orchid) learned to accept the American influence.
This book of personal essays electrified the blood in my veins
I liked this even more than I expected to. I knew it was a classic, but I was really impressed with both MHK's writing and the inventive structure of the book. Although it is a memoir, MHK doesn't make any effort to give the book a temporal structure or orient the reader to how events fit with one another. The book rather consists of five different stories, which blend to varying degrees events from MHK's own life and those of her relatives along with Chinese folktales. I got the impression while reading that these were just the five things that MHK was most interested in writing about, and she leaves it to you to draw the logical and conceptual relationships between them.
I think overall this style works well because the book is just packed with memorable sections. The first part, "No Name Woman," resonated a lot with me because it's similar to a story my partner's dad recently pieced together about his own family. The second part, "White Tigers," is basically a re-telling of the story of Fa Mu Lan (Hua Mulan) and really grabbed me as MHK just drops you into a fantasy story without warning. The third section, "Shaman," about her mother's medical training in China, was probably my favorite. The scene of her determinedly sleeping in the haunted room to prove her bravery is so memorable. The fourth section, "At the Western Palace," has hilarious and memorable scenes of a bunch of family members driving down to LA to confront an estranged husband at his medical clinic. And finally, the fifth section, "Song for Barbarian Reed Pipe," has MHK's memorable childhood list of things she is afraid to say to her mother.
A very distinctive book that still feels fresh more than 40 years after its original publication.
I think overall this style works well because the book is just packed with memorable sections. The first part, "No Name Woman," resonated a lot with me because it's similar to a story my partner's dad recently pieced together about his own family. The second part, "White Tigers," is basically a re-telling of the story of Fa Mu Lan (Hua Mulan) and really grabbed me as MHK just drops you into a fantasy story without warning. The third section, "Shaman," about her mother's medical training in China, was probably my favorite. The scene of her determinedly sleeping in the haunted room to prove her bravery is so memorable. The fourth section, "At the Western Palace," has hilarious and memorable scenes of a bunch of family members driving down to LA to confront an estranged husband at his medical clinic. And finally, the fifth section, "Song for Barbarian Reed Pipe," has MHK's memorable childhood list of things she is afraid to say to her mother.
A very distinctive book that still feels fresh more than 40 years after its original publication.
It makes sense why this book is considered a game changer, and why it’s mentioned whenever people talk about memoir. Beautiful, unflinching storytelling. Though some things seem a little dated now.
This book is divided into 5 parts. I loved No Name Woman and At the Western Palace the best, followed shortly by Shaman.
There were parts of A Song for a Barbarian Reed Pipe that were so real and honest, I felt like I had to look away. But obviously I couldn’t because then I couldn’t keep reading.
I loved all the “ghosts” and the ghosts.
This book is divided into 5 parts. I loved No Name Woman and At the Western Palace the best, followed shortly by Shaman.
There were parts of A Song for a Barbarian Reed Pipe that were so real and honest, I felt like I had to look away. But obviously I couldn’t because then I couldn’t keep reading.
I loved all the “ghosts” and the ghosts.
I've taught WW in the past, although I did switch it out for Jasmine , which I prefer to teach despite its fairly overt Orientalizing tone. It's a hard sell to my students, though. I've had the most success starting off discussions with, "So, what did you think about the baby with no anus?"