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3.68 AVERAGE
3.68 AVERAGE
emotional
mysterious
reflective
sad
Read for class. A postmodernist exercise in autofiction, blending memoir, myth, and speculation; its polysemic title referring to Kingston's mother, aunts, the legendary Hua Mulan, and a fictive, aspirational version of Kingston herself.
Rich in theme: immigration and social (in)adaptability; navigating the borderlands of multi-identity à la Anzaldúa (e.g. tongues, feminine silence, language); gender studies; the supernatural and natural; the (slippery) power of Narrative. Fascinating patchwork.
Rich in theme: immigration and social (in)adaptability; navigating the borderlands of multi-identity à la Anzaldúa (e.g. tongues, feminine silence, language); gender studies; the supernatural and natural; the (slippery) power of Narrative. Fascinating patchwork.
reflective
sad
medium-paced
The prose in this book was wonderful, beautifully written. Hong Kingston is an incredible writer, and I like to teach, “How to Tame a wild Tongue,” elements of which are present in the last section of the book. I thought the fictional and mythical components were stronger than the memoir ones, or preferred the stories about the author’s mother’s life rather than interactions with her directly, or from the author’s own memory. There is a lot of critique of Chinese culture on a sociocultural scale, especially toward its treatment and abuse of women, but also from the perspective of the author’s experience as a Chinese-American person. There is a sort of guilty desire for whiteness, and a thorough, continuous condemnation of Chinese ways of knowing, practices, and priorities in contrast with American ones, that come through most strongly with arguments and critiques of the author’s mother. I sometimes feel like the author is asking for our validation—wouldn’t anyone fight back against such a brutal tormentor? It’s just hard to do this in a black and white way, amid the detailed snapshots of her mother’s life we’re also given, and the author’s own cruelty to others to convince herself of her own worth, replicating the ruthless treatment she feels given by her mother. I think because this is mostly a memoir, its conflict is a necessary component of becoming as a person, and that messiness need not be realized in something complete or tidy. It is not necessarily an instructive or informational text, and I do not believe it should be monolithic in its representation of Chinese people, history, culture, or the Chinese-American experience; however, it conveys the difficulty in reconciling many identities, histories, and influences in being a person, one’s own person, very well, calling upon themes of tradition, family, and heritage poetically throughout.
hopeful
mysterious
reflective
sad
slow-paced
Is it predestined that every Chinese American woman will inevitably become consumed by the question of who their mother is? Is it futile to try to collect the piecemeal information you've been told about the past or to write from her perspective in an attempt bridge the vast chasms of culture and convention that keep you from every truly knowing each other? Even though you understand that all you have your projection of her perspective -- a blurry guess of how she might see herself, see you, see your conflicts -- because you know that she too, was confused and saddened by the disconnect you shared?
Also unrelated, but the book was a great illustration of how critically first-generation Chinese American's perspectives of their country of origin are defined by the generation their parents grew up in and the China they left behind.
Also unrelated, but the book was a great illustration of how critically first-generation Chinese American's perspectives of their country of origin are defined by the generation their parents grew up in and the China they left behind.
I love the way Kingston talks about stories and metaphors and Chinese culture, but the second half of the book is all about old women freaking out in American culture and becoming useless and for some reason I can't deal with that. It's my least favorite part of Amy Tan's work as well.
reflective
As the daughter of first-generation Chinese immigrants, Maxine Hong Kingston explores what it means to be both a woman and the Other in The Woman Warrior.
In No Name Woman, dives into the deep pain and struggles of women. It tells the story of an unnamed aunt who became pregnant out of wedlock and was cast out by the family, ultimately taking her own life and her baby’s by jumping into a well. Kingston lays bare the cruelty of Chinese patriarchal culture and shows how “ghosts” of family memory haunt the next generation. It exposes how women in traditional society were devalued, how marriage, often arranged and transactional, was the only protection available, and how having a child out of wedlock became a mark of shame. Ironically, the aunt’s tragic suicide is seen as an act of motherly virtue, which is both haunting and disturbing.
This inner conflict is written all over the chapter At the Western Palace, one of my favorites. Brave Orchid represents the classic first-generation immigrant. She tries to take control of her life in the middle of cultural confusion and identity loss. She harbors a deep, unspoken resentment toward America, which stems from internalized shame and feelings of inferiority. She distances herself from her homeland, hoping to cut ties with the past, but she also knows can’t erase where she comes from. She longs to fit into America, but hates what America is. She’s proud to have escaped her past, but also terrified that the mark of being an outsider will never fade. She believes she’s American now, but deep down, she still carries her parents’ culture.
In the final chapter, A Song for a Barbarian Reed Pipe explores the second-generation immigrant’s identity crisis. Language becomes a symbol of power and belonging. She’s not entirely Chinese, nor is she truly American. There’s a powerful scene where the mother cuts the narrator’s tongue tie when she’s a baby, supposedly to help her speak more clearly. But the act is violent, symbolic of how culture can mark the body.
Even though this book was published back in 1976, it feels incredibly fresh and relevant today. Reading it in the original English actually brought me closer to the Chinese American experience, caught between two languages and cultures, constantly negotiating identity.
In No Name Woman, dives into the deep pain and struggles of women. It tells the story of an unnamed aunt who became pregnant out of wedlock and was cast out by the family, ultimately taking her own life and her baby’s by jumping into a well. Kingston lays bare the cruelty of Chinese patriarchal culture and shows how “ghosts” of family memory haunt the next generation. It exposes how women in traditional society were devalued, how marriage, often arranged and transactional, was the only protection available, and how having a child out of wedlock became a mark of shame. Ironically, the aunt’s tragic suicide is seen as an act of motherly virtue, which is both haunting and disturbing.
This inner conflict is written all over the chapter At the Western Palace, one of my favorites. Brave Orchid represents the classic first-generation immigrant. She tries to take control of her life in the middle of cultural confusion and identity loss. She harbors a deep, unspoken resentment toward America, which stems from internalized shame and feelings of inferiority. She distances herself from her homeland, hoping to cut ties with the past, but she also knows can’t erase where she comes from. She longs to fit into America, but hates what America is. She’s proud to have escaped her past, but also terrified that the mark of being an outsider will never fade. She believes she’s American now, but deep down, she still carries her parents’ culture.
In the final chapter, A Song for a Barbarian Reed Pipe explores the second-generation immigrant’s identity crisis. Language becomes a symbol of power and belonging. She’s not entirely Chinese, nor is she truly American. There’s a powerful scene where the mother cuts the narrator’s tongue tie when she’s a baby, supposedly to help her speak more clearly. But the act is violent, symbolic of how culture can mark the body.
Even though this book was published back in 1976, it feels incredibly fresh and relevant today. Reading it in the original English actually brought me closer to the Chinese American experience, caught between two languages and cultures, constantly negotiating identity.
This won a National Critics Circle Award for nonfiction, which intrigues me, as much of it is the stories a family tells. Myth, hyperbole, one person's perspective...but nonfiction, maybe not. Fascinatingly funny at times.
Truly this book changed my perception of the memoir and personal essay as a genre. This is one of my all-time favorite books, and the way Hong Kingston shares her own story through other stories - such as the myth of Mulan - is revolutionary. I cannot recommend this enough!
I also suggest you get the version of this book that includes the spiritual successor, China Men. While Woman Warrior tells Hong Kingston’s story and her matrilineal history, China Men focuses more on her patrilineal story.
In China Men, she also references the Chinese novel “Flowers in the Mirror,” especially relating her father’s story of immigration to the US to by telling it through the story of the main character of that novel.
I also suggest you get the version of this book that includes the spiritual successor, China Men. While Woman Warrior tells Hong Kingston’s story and her matrilineal history, China Men focuses more on her patrilineal story.
In China Men, she also references the Chinese novel “Flowers in the Mirror,” especially relating her father’s story of immigration to the US to by telling it through the story of the main character of that novel.
emotional
medium-paced