Please note: My “Reading Reflections” are not reviews. They are simply my thoughts in response to certain passages.

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SILVER SPARROW was my book club’s most recent selection. I knew nothing about it going in, which sometimes I think is the best way to read a book. This isn’t a feel-good story, so it’s hard to be like, “Omg I loved this!!” But I did really enjoy the writing, and I was impressed by the complexity of the characters and their actions.

She is gifted with language and is able to layer difficult details in such a way that the result is smooth as water. She is a magician who can make the whole world feel like a dizzy illusion. The truth is a coin she pulls from behind your ear. (5)

To me, this is what good writing does. It gifts you with impossibilities that are at once both dazzling and familiar. An unexpected and perfect analogy, a lovely turn of phrase. Images and ideas that were hiding inside you, revealed by someone else’s words. All as silky and natural as the wind. If that’s not magic, then I don’t know what is.

When did I first discover that although I was an only child, my father was not my father and mine alone? I really can’t say. It’s something that I’ve known for as long as I’ve known that I had a father. (6)

My father wasn’t a bigamist like the one in SILVER SPARROW, but he did have a wife and two daughters before my mother and me. I can’t remember being told, but I also can’t remember a time that I didn’t know. (I do remember thinking as a young girl that Phoenix, where my half-sisters lived, was just the name of the apartment complex with dark red awnings down the street from us.)

In spite of all the differences between the family in SILVER SPARROW and ours, I found it fascinating to glimpse into the mental and emotional headspace of the daughter who didn’t get her father full-time. Did my half-sisters resent me the way Dana resented Chaurisse? Did they also long to know me? Would we have been friends? And how do these complex, contradictory feelings compare to the ones that “normal” siblings have?

Whether or not I ever get the answers to these questions, it’s thinking about them that makes me grow. That’s the point and the power of fiction, after all.

(Note: Whatever issues there were in the past, my impression is that our family has done a good job working through them, especially in the past decade or so. I credit my middle half-sister in particular for opening the dialogue between everyone and pushing us all to become closer.)

(Also: She actually reads this blog. Hiiiiiii.)

This was what it was to have a friend, someone who knew exactly who you were and didn’t blame you for it. (75)

This is why people love dogs. (And cats, I guess. Although I suspect that sometimes cats DO blame us for our faults…)

But seriously, if I look at my longtime friends, this is definitely a defining trait of those relationships. And that kind of acceptance is so… essential, so priceless, so healing.

On the other hand, if I look at the friendships that have failed in my life, I can see now that they lacked this. I was blamed for who I am. But the more important thing for me to reflect upon is, Did I blame them for who they were?

And now, a few great lines to close us out:

“Love is a maze. Once you get in it, you’re pretty much trapped. Maybe you manage to claw your way out, but then what have you accomplished?” (116)

“You got to learn how to listen sideways to what people are saying to get at what they really mean.” (260)

The truth is a strange thing. Like pornography, you know it when you see it. (303)

“Just because you were ignorant doesn’t make you innocent.” (327)

People say, that which doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. But they are wrong. What doesn’t kill you, doesn’t kill you. That’s all you get. Sometimes, you just have to hope that’s enough. (340)

As I said, there was a bit of overflow in my Reading Reflections on THE PARIS WIFE. Too many great lines, too many thoughts. I couldn’t get it all down in that first post, so here’s a bit more.

An artist given to sexual excess was almost a cliché, but no one seemed to mind. As long as you were making something good or interesting or sensational, you could have as many lovers as you wanted and ruin them all. What was really unacceptable were bourgeois values, wanting something small and staid and predictable, like one true love, or a child. (145)

Ah, the artist as bohemian. (Borderline heathen.) Sex, drugs, rock ‘n roll. That’s what we’re supposed to be, right? Wild. As if morals, or other “strappings of society,” would dampen our creativity.

I don’t think that stereotype is as strong today as it used to be, but it isn’t completely eradicated. My own mother tells me that I’m too square (lol) and worries that this limits me, that it’s hindering my path to success. I’m never sure exactly what to say to that, except that I think it’s ridiculous.

Creativity is not about being “wild.” It’s about imagination, observation, distillation. And artistry is about pushing creativity to its max. It’s dedication, discipline, mastery.

There’s no reason that I can’t forge that path in a quiet way. In fact, some might argue that the stability of my life allows me the freedom to explore my writing without fear.

(Of course, some would argue that fear is an incredibly motivating force…)

Also, I wish people would stop knocking normal. Not everyone can be “special,” not everyone can “change the world.” Maybe if more of us would teach our kids that being good and ordinary is just as worthy as any other path in life, we’d have a happier, better world.

“I’m trying to keep it alive,” he said. “To stay with the action, and not try to put in what I’m feeling about it. Not think about myself at all, but what really happened. That’s where the real emotion is.” (162)

Upon a suggestion from F. Scott Fitzgerald, Hemingway cuts most of the opening of THE SUN ALSO RISES, which consisted largely of backstory for the main characters. Starting with backstory was apparently the common practice in novels at the time. But instead, Hemingway decides to jump right in with the action, and to strip out the narrative reflection, and to employ sparse, direct prose. All practices that are considered paramount in contemporary writing.

Throughout THE PARIS WIFE, I was fascinated by the evolution of Hemingway as a writer. This quote/anecdote gave me a glimpse into not just his evolution, but the evolution of storytelling as we know it.

I wonder what changes we are seeing — what changes we are making — right now. Young Adult literature as a genre, I think. First person present tense narration as the standard? Closer straddling of the literary-commercial line? What trends are here to stay, versus just marking a place in time? Which authors will have the impact of Hemingway, or Fitzgerald, or Salinger?

That we’ll probably never know the answers to those questions is both beauty and tragedy. It’s for the next generation of readers and writers to uncover.

Please note: My “Reading Reflections” are not reviews. They are simply my thoughts in response to certain passages.

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Truth be told, THE PARIS WIFE by Paula McLain is not the type of book I would have picked up on my own. A “biofic,” it might be called. But after seeing McLain at Books by the Banks last year, I wanted to know if her eloquence and enthusiasm translated to the page. (IMO, it did.) The story is told from the point of view of Hadley Hemingway, Ernest’s first wife, and focuses on their years together. As a woman in a committed relationship, I did connect with Hadley, but to my surprise, I found myself drawn more strongly to Ernest himself. Despite his boorish behavior at times, he was a writer, an artist above all else, and his absolute, uncompromising conviction stirred a lot of emotion in me.

(As did his insecurities. And Hadley’s.)

As I read, I wondered if Andy would identify with Hadley to some degree too. They’re both highly sensible, yet with enough of an artistic sensibility to connect with their creative partners, and they both have to deal with supporting — indirectly enduring? — the unstable, untraditional path of a writer. Granted, I don’t get drunk or fight bulls like Hemingway did… but still. I know it isn’t easy.

Anyway, I highlighted the HECK out of this book, and it was extremely hard to choose which quotes to feature here. I may end up having to do a couple short follow-up posts, actually, but these will do for now.

The whole time he talked fast about his plans, all the things he wanted for himself, the poems, stories, and sketches he was burning to write. I’d never met anyone so vibrant or alive. He moved like light. He never stopped moving — or thinking, or dreaming apparently. (15)

I remember showing my writing journals to Andy for the first time. How vulnerable and exposed I felt, because here were all my innermost ideas, laid bare to be read, possibly judged. Each hastily scribbled line was a seed; whether it would bloom or not, I had no idea. This was not a beautiful garden so much as a vast field that I tended and watched with tentative hope.

Fortunately Andy didn’t say much. He just flipped pages slowly, taking it all in, taking me in, with a kind of reverence that I noticed and appreciated.

His mood was pretty low during this time. He’d gotten several more rejections on stories he’d sent to magazines, and it hurt his pride. It was one thing when he was writing part-time and having no success. But now he was devoted to his craft, working every day, and still failing. What did that mean for the future? (67)

Oy, do I feel this. When you’ve put everything on the line — your reputation, your fortune, your heart — you can’t help but feel it. I am so lucky and thrilled that I could afford to quit my job and pursue writing full-time. But I’m terrified too.

In our circle, everyone believed things would hit for him, and that it was only a matter of time. “You’re making something new,” Pound told him one day in his studio. “Don’t forget that when it starts to hurt.”

“It only hurts to wait.”

“The waiting helps you boil it down. That’s essential, and the hurting helps everything along in its way.” (127)

Patience really is the hardest part. Thank god for the people who believe in you.

Now, switching from the writing focus to the relationship bits…

“Let’s always tell each other the truth. We can choose that, can’t we?” (47)

I feel like that’s a good motto in any relationship, but in a marriage especially. The truth may not always be easy or pretty, but it’s the only foundation you can build anything long-term on.

I also liked to look around at the houses surrounding the park and wonder about the people who filled them, what kinds of marriages they had and how they loved or hurt each other on any given day, and if they were happy, and whether they thought happiness was a sustainable thing. (92)

Do you ever play this game? I know I do. I speculate about couples at restaurants and on the bus, about celebrity couples, about couples I actually know. It’s as if I think figuring out their problems will help me solve — or avoid — my own.

But the truth is, we can’t compare our relationships to anyone else’s. There’s so much that goes on within each person’s heart, head, and home that we never see.

It gave me a sharp kind of sadness to think that no matter how much I loved him and tried to put him back together again, he might stay broken forever. (100)

I felt that way about someone once. I don’t love him anymore, not in that way, but I still think of him from time to time, and wonder about him, and hope for him.

“Sometimes I wish we could rub out all of our mistakes and start fresh, from the beginning,” I said. “And sometimes I think there isn’t anything to us but our mistakes.” (220)

Please note: My “Reading Reflections” are not reviews. They are simply my thoughts in response to certain passages.

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A couple weeks ago, I finished the book HALF THE SKY by Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn. They’re the first husband-wife duo to win a Pulitzer for their work, and their goal was to shine light on the troubles of women around the world (particularly India, Africa, and the Middle East). Now, we in the U.S. have plenty to be worried about in our own country, but even with my deep sadness and anger and frustration about certain issues, I can’t help thinking how privileged American women generally are compared to so many other places in the world.

What would men be without women? Scarce, sir, mighty scarce. – Mark Twain

One point the book raises is that the term “women’s issues” can be problematic. Many men tune out as soon as they hear it, automatically assuming that whatever follows doesn’t affect them. But women’s issues are in fact universal, because hey, guess where you came from? That’s right: a woman.

Furthermore, studies have shown that investing in the women of any given area does more social and economic good than investing in the men. Women tend to spend on food, clothing, and education for their family and themselves, whereas men tend to spend on alcohol, gambling, and prostitutes.* (Sorry, guys, I’m just repeating the findings.) Yet men dominate business and government in most societies worldwide (including ours — let’s not deceive ourselves).

Part of the solution is training everyone to care about so-called “women’s issues.” We should all be concerned about the maternal mortality rate of women in Sierra Leone, and about the number of female village leaders in India, and about the education levels of girls in Pakistan. Not only out of compassion (though I wish that were enough) but also because those numbers have widespread effects on the growth and stability of those regions, which then have effects on politics and economies worldwide.

I’ll step off the soapbox now, but needless to say, “women’s issues” are important to me. You can see that threaded throughout my stories, even in the ones from childhood, and especially in the ones to come.

Yes, we’ve come a long way, but we still have a long way to go.

The tide of history is turning women from beasts of burden and sexual playthings into full-fledged human beings. The economic advantages of empowering women are so vast as to persuade nations to move in that direction. Before long, we will consider sex slavery, honor killings, and acid attacks as unfathomable as foot-binding. The question is how long that transformation will take and how many girls will be kidnapped into brothels before it is complete — and whether each of us will be part of that historical movement, or a bystander. (251)

By coincidence, screenwriter John August blogged today about “citizenship.” Not belonging to a country, but understanding and participating in a community. Local, national, global. I’ve been thinking about that myself lately. About my citizenship. About what I can do to make a difference.

If you, like me, want to be part of the movement, here’s one way: join the micro-lending organization Kiva and take advantage of a free trial, meaning your first $25 loan is FREE (for a limited time). By doing so, you can help a young woman finish her college education, or a widower expand his village business. (*Obviously I’m not suggesting that we should lend only to women. All Kiva loanees have been vetted.) There are thousands of enterprising individuals around the world who have applied for these loans, for all sorts of ventures that will improve life for their families and/or their communities. You can support a budding artist, or a farmer, or a construction worker. All at low/no cost to yourself.

A man goes out on the beach and sees that it is covered with starfish that have washed up in the tide. A little boy is walking along, picking them up and throwing them back into the water.

“What are you doing, son?” the man asks. “You see how many starfish there are? You’ll never make a difference.”

The boy paused thoughtfully, and picked up another starfish and threw it into the ocean.

“It sure made a difference to that one,” he said. (Hawaiian parable)

Fellow blogger and writer Amanda Kendle has been micro-lending for some time and said she’s never not been paid back. Her reassurance about the whole process, along with John Green’s tweets about the free trials, encouraged me to take the plunge, which I’d been wanting to do for a while. Four of my friends joined shortly after.

Maybe we’re all just throwing starfish into the ocean. Maybe there are thousands we’ll never get to. But maybe some is better than none.

Please note: My “Reading Reflections” are not reviews. They are simply my thoughts in response to certain passages.

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Over Thanksgiving, I finally read Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, which I really enjoyed and which gave me a lot to think about. Spoiler: it’s not nearly as controversial as the Wall Street Journal excerpts would have us believe. Sure, some of Chua’s parenting is over the top, but none of it constitutes child abuse, and it’s clear that she loves her children dearly.

In fact, at some point in the book, I stopped identifying with the girls (even though we’re all halfies) and started finding myself in awe of Chua. As hard as she worked her daughters, she worked herself 10 times harder. It made me think about my own “Tiger mother,” and my rabbit (according to the Chinese Zodiac, anyway) father, and all the hard work they’ve put into their careers, their business, and me.

(Friend and writer Ben L.J. Brooks was having similar reflections over the holiday, and he shared them in this wonderful, inspiring post, simply titled “Thanksgiving.”)

Anyway, on to the book:

In Chinese culture, it just wouldn’t occur to children to question, disobey, or talk back to their parents. In American culture, kids in books, TV shows, and movies constantly score points with their snappy backtalk and independent streaks. Typically, it’s the parents who need to be taught a life lesson — by their children.

This is something my mom hates about American TV. (Specifically, Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, haha.) I’ve always gotten in trouble with her (yes, even now) for “talking back.” In fairness, I’m not always guilty, but I’m probably not always aware either. (Sorry, mom! I’ll try harder.)

What Chinese parents understand is that nothing is fun until you’re good at it. To get good at anything you have to work, and children on their own never want to work, which is why it is crucial to override their preferences.

Western parents worry a lot about their children’s self-esteem. But as a parent, one of the worst things you can do for your child’s self-esteem is to let them give up.

“… you can only be really great at something if you love it. So it’s good that you love tennis.” But just because you love something, I added to myself, doesn’t mean you’ll ever be great. Not if you don’t work. Most people stink at the things they love.

I think these are fair points. I certainly don’t tend to enjoy or take pride in the things I’m terrible at. (Except singing. Enjoyment, yes. Pride, definitely not.)

But of course, it’s rare to be good at something without a lot of practice first. That’s why sometimes – sometimes – parents and teachers have to “force” kids to do things they “don’t like.”

(That’s also why first drafts aren’t always fun.)

Like every Asian American woman in her late twenties, I had the idea of writing an epic novel about mother-daughter relationships spanning several generations, based loosely on my own family’s story.

LOL yuuuup.

(Seriously, though: I am going to write that book someday. But mine only deals with two generations.)

Anyway, the understanding is that Chinese children must spend their lives repaying their parents by obeying them and making them proud. By contrast, I don’t think most Westerners have the same view of children being permanently indebted to their parents. Jed actually has the opposite view. “Children don’t choose their parents,” he once said to me. “They don’t even choose to be born. It’s parents who foist life on their kids, so it’s the parents’ responsibility to provide for them. Kids don’t owe their parents anything. Their duty will be to their own kids.” This strikes me as a terrible deal for the Western parent.

I can see both sides to this argument. In fact, I think both are true. (Paradox!)

My parents perfectly embody that contradiction. I would say overall my mom believes the typical Asian view, that kids owe their parents, and my dad believes the typical Western view, that parents owe their kids (or at least that kids don’t owe their parents). And yet when it came to my college education, my mom said that since it was their expectation that I go to a top tier school, they should pay for it. By contrast, my dad (who went to the same university I did) said that he’d worked his way through college and expected me to do the same.

(In the end I got scholarships/grants, they paid for some, and I worked for some.)

“Do you know what a foreign accent is? It’s a sign of bravery. Those are people who crossed an ocean to come to this country.”

Couldn’t agree more. (Are you that brave?)

“It just always seemed that if you had to ask for something, it wouldn’t be worth anything.”

Unfortunately, I have long thought this too. I say “unfortunately” because we live in a society where the squeaky wheel gets the grease. You do have to learn to advocate for yourself, even to “sell” yourself. In jobs, relationships, etc. Humility is an admirable trait, but not always a useful one.

That said, there’s a thin line between confidence and arrogance, between advocating for yourself and just being a schmuck. Try not to cross it.

There are all these new books out there portraying Asian mothers as scheming, callous, overdriven people indifferent to their kids’ true interests. For their part, many Chinese secretly believe that they care more about their children and are willing to sacrifice much more for them than Westerners, who seem perfectly content to let their children turn out badly. I think it’s a misunderstanding on both sides. All decent parents want to do what’s best for their children. The Chinese just have a totally different idea of how to do that. Western parents try to respect their children’s individuality, encouraging them to pursue their true passions, supporting their choices, and providing positive reinforcement and a nurturing environment. By contrast, the Chinese believe that the best way to protect their children is by preparing them for the future, letting them see what they’re capable of, and arming them with skills, work habits, and inner confidence that no one can ever take away.

That’s pretty much the long and short of the parenting part of the book (which is maybe the first third or half). The long and short of my thoughts are this:

Part of me wishes my mother had been “more Chinese” with me, and part of me is really, really glad she wasn’t. I like to think I got the best of both worlds. But if I’m being honest, I could be — should be — “more Chinese” with myself.