A Song of Joy from Across the Centuries
Writing about the Chinese is both a blessing and a curse.
I will say, right off the bat, that the blessings far outweigh any difficulties I've come across, both in my research and as I begin my writing. The most obvious plus is that I'm learning more and more about the culture of my husband's family. None of their ancestors, to their or my knowledge, made the Pacific crossing in a boat to find gold in the 1800s, but in 1981 my in-laws did embark from Hong Kong, as Ah Toy did, crossed the Pacific, as Ah Toy did, and, like our mistress hero, arrived in San Francisco to try their hands at a new and more profitable life in a foreign land. (I'm fairly certain that their similarities end there, especially occupationally.) Additionally, I've read some fascinating books about Chinese religion, superstitions, philosophy on food, yin and yang, feng shui, and numerous other facets of Chinese culture that have caused me, from time to time, to gleefully shout, "I sort of understand my mother-in-law now!!!"
On the downside, researching another culture means running into a seemingly insurmountable obstacle: language. I've found almost zero Chinese language sources from the Gold Rush period of San Francisco, and searching in another language is almost impossible. I'll admit that I've only put a moderate amount of energy into it. There are plenty of other avenues I can explore to track some down, but when the Chinese Historical Society resident historian says, "There's not much from that time period. I recommend looking up some things on Wikipedia," I can't say that bodes well. I have plenty of English language sources - almost too many, really - but I can't, in good conscience, write a book about a Chinese woman relying solely upon the perspectives of white men. Finding relevant Chinese language sources is probably my biggest hurdle at this point.
Which is why I got so excited when I came across a book called, Songs of Gold Mountain: Cantonese Rhymes from San Francisco Chinatown, by Marlon Hom. It was mentioned in some other book, so, like I've done many times before, I followed the thread to see where it would lead me. When I cracked the cover, my face cracked a smile. It turned out to be a collection of Cantonese songs written by Chinese immigrants. In San Francisco. IN THE 1850s. Hot damn! These were songs that captured their excitement, trepidation, culture shock, and longing of home. I knew I was reading something special when I saw this:
What a find, and what valuable insight! This is the kind of stuff that makes historians swoon (not least because it had an English translation with it). Nothing substitutes for the perspective of someone who was there, lived it, and strove to express his or her experiences in a deeply personal way. Just like taking a peek into a diary or a collection of letters, these songs open up a portal to a different world and a different time, yet also to emotions and thoughts that we in 2016 would find deeply familiar. This has the potential of making my book come alive.
Here are a couple more that I feel I should share.
And finally, one that may apply directly to Ah Toy (and not my in-laws, for the record),
My only wish is that there were five more volumes of these blessings (and easily findable)!
I will say, right off the bat, that the blessings far outweigh any difficulties I've come across, both in my research and as I begin my writing. The most obvious plus is that I'm learning more and more about the culture of my husband's family. None of their ancestors, to their or my knowledge, made the Pacific crossing in a boat to find gold in the 1800s, but in 1981 my in-laws did embark from Hong Kong, as Ah Toy did, crossed the Pacific, as Ah Toy did, and, like our mistress hero, arrived in San Francisco to try their hands at a new and more profitable life in a foreign land. (I'm fairly certain that their similarities end there, especially occupationally.) Additionally, I've read some fascinating books about Chinese religion, superstitions, philosophy on food, yin and yang, feng shui, and numerous other facets of Chinese culture that have caused me, from time to time, to gleefully shout, "I sort of understand my mother-in-law now!!!"
On the downside, researching another culture means running into a seemingly insurmountable obstacle: language. I've found almost zero Chinese language sources from the Gold Rush period of San Francisco, and searching in another language is almost impossible. I'll admit that I've only put a moderate amount of energy into it. There are plenty of other avenues I can explore to track some down, but when the Chinese Historical Society resident historian says, "There's not much from that time period. I recommend looking up some things on Wikipedia," I can't say that bodes well. I have plenty of English language sources - almost too many, really - but I can't, in good conscience, write a book about a Chinese woman relying solely upon the perspectives of white men. Finding relevant Chinese language sources is probably my biggest hurdle at this point.
Which is why I got so excited when I came across a book called, Songs of Gold Mountain: Cantonese Rhymes from San Francisco Chinatown, by Marlon Hom. It was mentioned in some other book, so, like I've done many times before, I followed the thread to see where it would lead me. When I cracked the cover, my face cracked a smile. It turned out to be a collection of Cantonese songs written by Chinese immigrants. In San Francisco. IN THE 1850s. Hot damn! These were songs that captured their excitement, trepidation, culture shock, and longing of home. I knew I was reading something special when I saw this:
In the second reign year of Haamfung [1852], a trip
to Gold Mountain was made.
With a pillow on my shoulder, I began my perilous
journey;
Sailing a boat with bamboo poles across the seas,
Leaving behind wife and sisters in search of money,
No longer lingering with the woman in the bedroom,
No longer paying respect to parents at home.
What a find, and what valuable insight! This is the kind of stuff that makes historians swoon (not least because it had an English translation with it). Nothing substitutes for the perspective of someone who was there, lived it, and strove to express his or her experiences in a deeply personal way. Just like taking a peek into a diary or a collection of letters, these songs open up a portal to a different world and a different time, yet also to emotions and thoughts that we in 2016 would find deeply familiar. This has the potential of making my book come alive.
Here are a couple more that I feel I should share.
Born into a rotten life,
Coming and going, all without leaving my mark.
Even after leaving the village for a foreign
country,
Running about east and west, I've gained nothing.
Everything's turned upside down;
It's more disconcerting being away from home.
I have gone to the four corners of the world;
Alas, I am neither at ease while resting nor
happy while moving.
And finally, one that may apply directly to Ah Toy (and not my in-laws, for the record),
What a street-walking broad:
All dolled up like a charming young lass,
Like a native-born from Canada,
Loitering on the streets day and night.
I follow her from behind,
Thinking she might be something nice.
Quickly I walk up to take a good look:
O, my, is she a wilted flower!
My only wish is that there were five more volumes of these blessings (and easily findable)!
Have you contacted Dr. Hom? Looks like he's easy to reach.
ReplyDeleteThe wilted flower part might apply to said in-laws... ;)
ReplyDeleteIt only became wilted after Noel joined the family!
DeleteAww a wilted flower may have a subtle curious sent, a soft and crisp spirit and a mysterious story. Sometimes we pass blindly...and don't linger.
ReplyDelete