And boy did it not disappoint.

This has to be one of the most exciting wartime escape stories–and probably the most underreported one.

To start, the cast of [...]]]> After much anticipation, I finally received and read Tim Luard‘s fabulous Escape from Hong Kong: Admiral Chan Chak’s Christmas Day Dash, 1941 (Hong Kong University Press, 2012).

And boy did it not disappoint.

This has to be one of the most exciting wartime escape stories–and probably the most underreported one.

To start, the cast of characters couldn’t be more fascinating. As the title states, it was Admiral Chan Chak who led the escape. But Chan wasn’t just another career military man.

He was stationed in Hong Kong and presided over the Chinese (Nationalist) Navy’s southern forces. Oh, and he only had one leg.

Chan’s aide-de-camp was the dashing, devout Christian, six-foot-three-inch Henry Hsu, born in southern China, trained at the famed Whampoa Military Academy, and educated in the law in Shanghai.

The British Navy agreed to help Chan, Henry Hsu, and Chan’s bodyguard escape Hong Kong as soon as the colony fell to the Japanese because the Admiral couldn’t be captured, what with all the classified information he possessed. Plus, he had excellent connections in southern China, even in the Japanese-occupied areas just north of Hong Kong, and could be of great help to the top British Navy personnel (which included a Canadian, a New Zealander, some Scots, and a Russian Jewish refugee by way of Shanghai)–and others who tagged along for the ride.

But the escape didn’t start off as planned. When a boat carrying the Admiral, Henry Hsu, his bodyguard, and Colonel SK Yee was attacked by the Japanese, the three men stripped to their underwear and jumped overboard while the non-swimmer Colonel Yee stayed on the boat–with Chan Chak’s wooden leg (and a couple hundred thousand Hong Kong dollars stuffed inside the leg).

After the trio met up with five British torpedo speed boats, they made their way north to Mirs Bay. In all, more than sixty men escaped together in this group. They walked and rode overland through occupied China, dodging Japanese patrols and wading through paddy fields, until they reached Free China–all guided by Admiral Chan and his guerilla devotees north of Hong Kong. Many of the escapees made their way to Chungking and some on to Burma, where they once again fled the Japanese.

For more about this harrowing tale, check out the Escape From Hong Kong blog at http://www.hongkongescape.org/.

Several weeks ago I read and [...]]]> With all the Great Leap Forward books I’ve been reading, I thought I’d take a break and try something contemporary. So last week I picked up Yan Lianke’s Dream of Ding Village (Grove Press, 2011), which has been listed as a finalist for the 2011 Man Asian Literary Prize.

Several weeks ago I read and enjoyed Yan’s novel, Serve the People (Grove Press, 2008). What stood out in both these novels was Yan’s ability to depict love stories in times of crisis. Serve the People takes place during the Cultural Revolution while Dream of Ding Village is set in the present. But Dream could have been written about the Great Leap Forward. The story is a present day version of the helplessness from back then.

The narrator is Ding Qiang, a deceased 12 year old boy from rural Henan province. The boy dies after some villagers poison him to get back at his father, Ding Hui, an entrepreneur who made a fortune on the sale of his fellow villagers’ blood.

Not only does Ding Hui profit from the blood sales–which result in an HIV/AIDS epidemic–but he also intercepts the free coffins the government aims to provide villagers who die from AIDS, and sells them at a profit. Ding Hui finds yet another venture to profit off the dead. In the end, he’s risen in the government and is wealthier than anyone else in that area.

Ding Hui’s brother, simply named Uncle, contracts HIV in his thirties. His wife leaves him, so rather than suffering alone, he starts an affair with a young woman who also has HIV and is abandoned by her husband. But since Uncle and Lingling are still married to other people, the villagers frown upon their affair. They move in together and later marry. Uncle and Lingling’s relationship is my favorite part of the book.

As you can imagine, the residents of Ding Village don’t fare well. Grandpa, or Ding Shuiyang, is the hero of the story and quite a sympathetic character.

While reading Dream of Ding Village, I could picture the same scenario set some forty years earlier as cadres profited while peasants whittled away to nothing.

Yan Lianke’s books are by and large banned in China. This one is no exception.

Although the story revolves around the family of a California congressman who is involved in a 1980s sex scandal, it’s so much more than a scandal. As a result, this novel has caused me to look at the [...]]]> This week I fired up my Kindle and read Kim Arbor’s page-clicking novel, His Wife and Daughters.

Although the story revolves around the family of a California congressman who is involved in a 1980s sex scandal, it’s so much more than a scandal. As a result, this novel has caused me to look at the real scandals in a more human light, not as a CNN circus sideshow.

Dan Brath and his wife, Trina, have two teenage daughters when the congressman’s scandal breaks out. Jill is seventeen and Phoebe just thirteen. Trina deals with her husband’s infidelities in a few ways–some helpful, some not–and shows how a woman in her situation can still lead a dignified life, even if it takes years to get there.

Decades later Jill is a divorced realtor. Although the story is ultimately sad, I found myself laughing out loud when Jill is convinced her ex-husband is about to ask her back or when she spills coffee all over herself in a public spectacle at a cafe. She’s so human and sympathetic.

Phoebe, on the other hand, is a lost soul who feels betrayed by her family and cuts off all contact with them. She finds herself in Tokyo fulfilling the same role as her father’s teenage mistress all those years ago.

I love the San Francisco setting, especially Potrero Hill, which was the closest nice neighborhood to where I lived for a couple years in the 1990s. But I had no clue about San Francisco’s stairway streets. They’re definitely something to check out on my next visit. One could even do a walking tour of many of the places in this book–and see a side of San Francisco off the tourist path.

If I could change one thing about this book, I’d add a disclaimer at the beginning warning readers not to start this book on an empty stomach. The food descriptions are just too delicious to read when you’re hungry!

So begins Jasper Becker’s Hungry Ghosts: Mao’s Secret Famine (The Free Press, 1996), the first account of how 30 to 45 million–or [...]]]> One of the most remarkable things about the famine which occurred in China between 1958 and 1962 was that for over twenty years, no one was sure whether it had even taken place.

So begins Jasper Becker’s Hungry Ghosts: Mao’s Secret Famine (The Free Press, 1996), the first account of how 30 to 45 million–or more–perished in China during a time of peace and the absence of natural disasters.

How could 35-40 million die in three or four years?

Was it the call to melt down household metal like pots, pans, spoons, and knives in backyard furnaces so China could turn this scrap metal into steel and beat out the Soviet Union in its steel production? Or was it the policy to kill the four pests–sparrows, rats, flies, and mosquitoes–in which crops died as a result?

According to Becker these policies helped contribute to the problem, but the real culprits were the men in power. Mao was at the center, of course, but also leaders we’ve come to think of as reformers: Zhao Ziyang, Hu Yaobang, Deng Xiaoping, and Zhou Enlai.

What’s ironic is that those who did speak out about the Great Leap Forward–Peng Dehuai and Liu Shaoqi–were ultimately killed for their stance against Mao. Both died during the Cultural Revolution.

Hungry Ghosts isn’t an easy read for a number of reasons. The subject of course is completely depressing (probably not the best reading choice on New Year’s Eve), but it’s also structured in a way that lends to repetition.

What stuck out was the opening line of the book. I’d always assumed the Cultural Revolution was the greater of the crimes, but according to Becker, it was the Great Leap Forward hands down. This book was published in 1996, and up to that time people in China still weren’t talking about the Great Leap Forward. Literature didn’t mention it and movies didn’t cover it, unlike the Cultural Revolution.

Becker explains this silence. Peasants were the ones affected during the Great Leap Forward, while intellectuals and city folks were attacked in the Cultural Revolution. The peasants didn’t have a voice back then–and they still don’t.

And when the party in power back then is the party in power now, no one in Beijing is anxious to come forth with the real story.

The title refers to the defiles (gorges) on the Ayeyarwaddy (formerly Irrawaddy) River in [...]]]> My holiday season has been nice and quiet, allowing me to plow through a few novels and memoirs since my kids went on break 10 days ago. One memoir I recently finished was Ma Thanegi’s Defiled on the Ayeyarwaddy (ThingsAsian Press, 2010).

The title refers to the defiles (gorges) on the Ayeyarwaddy (formerly Irrawaddy) River in Myanmar. Ma is a spunky narrator and chronicles her travels from the top of the river all the way south to the ocean.

A painter, diplomat’s wife, divorcee, political prisoner, and now a writer, Ma is unusual in that she travels alone, which isn’t common for women in Myanmar, especially those in their 50s and 60s. She’s careful not to tell her friends she’s going to travel by boat alone until she’s about to leave for the pier.

And it’s not like Ma travels on luxury cruisers. Some of the boats have proper cabins and berths, but often Ma sleeps on the floor of a deck, sandwiched  between other passengers like sardines. Her mantra is to never feel sorry for herself because others live under worse conditions. In 2008, she helps with relief work after Cyclone Nargis, which she writes about in one chapter.

This book is a beautiful tribute to Myanmar, its people, arts, and sites. It’s also interspersed with colorful photos Ma snaps on her travels down the river.

My mom and her friends are headed to Myanmar and the Ayeyarwaddy in late 2012, so I’m going to send this book to them pronto.

In my own writing, I’ve often explored the tolls it took on personal relationships. So last week I was quite excited to read Xujun Eberlein’s collection of short stories, Apologies Forthcoming: Stories Not [...]]]> I don’t know what it is about the Cultural Revolution, but I’m somehow drawn to it, especially when it comes to literature.

In my own writing, I’ve often explored the tolls it took on personal relationships. So last week I was quite excited to read Xujun Eberlein’s collection of short stories, Apologies Forthcoming: Stories Not About Mao (Blacksmith Books, 2009).

Eberlein is on the level of standouts like Li Yiyun and Guo Xiaolu. Her writing is clear and poetic, and focuses usually on strong female characters (although the last piece tells the story of two men from the same hometown in Sichuan who reunite 30 years later in Boston).

Her message is clear: the Cultural Revolution was so damaging that even years later it continued to touch people’s lives no matter how much they thought it was behind them.

I like how her stories vary. One deals with the pain of a family whose Red Guard daughter drowns. Another tackles the chilling realization that a woman’s boyfriend was in fact the Red Guard who led the raid on her father decades earlier.

And others tell of the isolation of the ‘inserts’ or teenage city dwellers who are sent to the countryside to learn from the peasants and the tensions between them and the peasants.

What I took from these stories is that a certain generation in China will probably never escape the Cultural Revolution. I think it’s important that we don’t forget this period, one that is still very vivid in many minds.

Last week I read Jonathan Chamberlain’s heart-wrenching memoir, Wordjazz for Stevie (Blacksmith Books, 2010), a beautiful tribute to his late daughter.

From reading the back cover blurb, I knew that Stevie only lived for eight and a half short years. But I had no idea that Chamberlain’s wife also passed away that same year.

In [...]]]>

Last week I read Jonathan Chamberlain’s heart-wrenching memoir, Wordjazz for Stevie (Blacksmith Books, 2010), a beautiful tribute to his late daughter.

From reading the back cover blurb, I knew that Stevie only lived for eight and a half short years. But I had no idea that Chamberlain’s wife also passed away that same year.

In the 1980s, the Chamberlains lived a comfortable life on Cheung Chau, a quaint outlaying island in Hong Kong. Expecting their first child, they never thought anything could go wrong. But when they learned Stevie had Down Syndrome, they realized there was very little support for special needs children in Hong Kong.

As it would turn out, Down Syndrome would be the tip of the iceberg after Stevie, as an infant, went in for heart surgery. Something went terribly wrong and she developed cerebral palsy, epilepsy, and blindness. After Stevie’s first bout with pneumonia, Chamberlain realized Stevie would no doubt succumb to pneumonia sometime in her childhood.

Even with this tragic prognosis, the Chamberlains did what they could to provide Stevie with a comfortable life. More than anything, Stevie loved music, and her parents always made sure she was around songs she enjoyed, even into her final minutes.

Before Stevie passed away from complications of pneumonia, Chamberlain’s wife Bernadette learned she had cancer. In just a matter of months, Chamberlain lost both his daughter and his wife.

The Chamberlains also had a son, so Chamberlain wrote about how he helped his 5 year-old son Patrick through this difficult time. Chamberlain examined the major religions to see how they handled death. He also wrote about the importance of community and Chinese traditions.

Although the nature of the book is sad and upsetting, it shows how people are resilient no matter the tragedy.

Now I have another to add: Caitlin Shetterly’s Made [...]]]> In writing my memoir, the few independent editors I’ve used along the way have given me lots of excellent advice. The key, according to all of them, is to read, read, read. And they all gave me a reading list, some of which included overlapping titles.

Now I have another to add: Caitlin Shetterly’s Made for You and Me: Going West, Going Broke, Finding Home (Voice, 2011).

This memoir works on so many levels. The author completely reveals her fears, hopes, and disappointments. As I read the story, I never once wondered what she really felt or questioned her honesty. She put it all out there.

Another thing that worked so well was the tension she kept throughout the story. The reader basically knows the story from just reading the title, but Shetterly keeps it flowing with the ups and downs of her journey to and from California. It’s truly a page turner and takes no time at all to get into the story.

In a nutshell, Shetterly is a child of divorce (or rather a teenager of divorce) and has made a fine career for herself in theater, writing, and the radio. After some unsuccessful relationships, she’s even resigned to being single for the rest of her life.

But then she meets the man of her dreams.

After a two-year courtship and a fairytale Maine wedding, she and husband Dan follow their dreams and move out west to Los Angeles. Friends throw a going away party and help the couple pack. Shetterly starts a blog about her new adventure, but never dreams it will soon turn into a nightmare no one could fathom.

Apartments from hell are one thing, but when the recession crashes through California, Dan’s freelance photography jobs–once abundant–dry out. On top of that, the couple learns they’re pregnant.

The face of the recession isn’t an Ivy League graduate or a successful photographer. But Shetterly changes all that in her book. She uses every ingredient in their kitchen cabinets to put food on the table. Dan applies for every job opening he finds in Los Angeles, no matter the salary. And the couple has the new responsibility of caring for their infant son along with their dog and cat.

They face these challenges and more, and finally decide to move back to Maine on what little money they have left. It’s on that trip back across the country that a new chapter in their lives unfolds, which leads Shetterly to write Made for You and Me. I always enjoy learning how books come to fruition and her story of publication is especially fascinating.

Made for You and Me is inspiring in many ways. Shetterly writes about the positive impact of a simple smile, the satisfaction of a nutritious home-cooked meal, and the importance of noticing everyone, no matter the economic status–things many take for granted.

Last week I found a new one that’s gone to the top of my list. It’s Lost and Found Hong Kong (ThingsAsian Press, 2010), [...]]]> Over the years I’ve collected gorgeous photography books about Hong Kong. Two of my favorites are Kenneth Lo’s Nathan Road (MCCM Creations, 2007) and Ian Lambot’s City of Darkness (Watermark, 1999).

Last week I found a new one that’s gone to the top of my list. It’s Lost and Found Hong Kong (ThingsAsian Press, 2010), edited by Janet McKelpin.

As I’ve done with the others, I sat my kids down and leafed through the pages of Lost and Found, pointing out the colors and flavors I remembered from my years in Hong Kong. They were quite the captive audience, even the 2 year old.

Using images from five photographers who’ve called Hong Kong home, the book is reminiscent of Christopher Doyle’s haunting cinematography in Wong Kar-wai films.

I love the night shots the most. For when I think of Hong Kong, it’s usually at night: the neon signs, the lit skyscrapers, the dark stairwells with rusted mailboxes.

Some of my other favorites include an old barbershop, the walls lined with red Chinese character banners and an old fan. Then there’s a close-up of a stove covered with clay pots. I can almost taste the delicious rice inside. And the lonely butcher standing under rows of hanging meat reminds me of early morning strolls through Kowloon side streets as these meat shops were just coming back to life after a short respite.

If you’ve never seen Hong Kong, this book is a perfect introduction. Besides the urban street scenes, a section is also dedicated to the quaint refuge of Lamma Island.

And if you’ve visited or lived in Hong Kong, I can’t think of a better souvenir of this special city on the underbelly of mainland China.

Each story is unique, but they all have one common theme–desire. Most feature a strong female protagonist, although two of my [...]]]> November 15th marks the print release of Access (Signal 8 Press, 2011), Xu Xi’s new collection of thirteen stories. It came out as an e-book on November 1, so that’s what I read last week.

Each story is unique, but they all have one common theme–desire. Most feature a strong female protagonist, although two of my favorites center around men. The stories take place all over the world, from New Zealand to Hong Kong to Sweden to New York, with characters from an even wider mix of backgrounds.

It’s difficult to choose a few of the stories to summarize here because they are all so engaging and memorable. The following three stand out the most to me.

Servitude is one of my favorites. It’s an endearing story of a devoted Hong Kong office worker and his aging boss. At first glance, their relationship appears to be a standard employee-employer one. But as the story progresses, we learn there’s more at stake–for both the employee Chung and the boss Mr. Suen. I really like how Xu Xi is not afraid to end on a sad note.

And then there’s Access, the charming tale of a woman named Elna who deposits $1500 into a new account while worrying about her aging mother. Part Portuguese, part Lebanese, and part Chinese, Elna notices that her balance grows exponentially each time she checks the account. After many days, when she tries to withdraw her money, she learns the meaning of want and appreciates what she already has.

The last piece in the collection is so haunting that I couldn’t end my review without mentioning it. Lady Day is the story of a boy who is bullied in boarding school. Years later he plans the ultimate revenge on his unsuspecting tormenters.

The thirteen stories are organized into five sections: tall tales, circular tales, fairy tales, old wives’ tales, and beastly tales. Servitude is a circular tale, Access a fairy tale, and Lady Day a beastly tale. I highly recommend the entire collection and all of its tales.