A Concise Chinese-English Dictionary for Lovers

A dime a dozen, coming of age, youthful novel, this is not.!  This Chinese author’s approach has an interesting, unique twist, revolving around ubiquitous cross-cultural relationships.  Just a few more septades of Moore’s Law’s effects and the population of our world will be Borg-like connected and communicating with each other.  In my youth, it was the summer romance in Italy on the Continental tour that rounded out one’s education.  I’m sure the Romans sent their youngsters on a trip to Carthage or the Middle East.  Except in times of war, romantic dalliances in a foreign language have been the domain of the 1%: those who could afford far-flung travels for their young. 

The only thing that separates us from the beasts of the wild is our ability to effectively communicate our thoughts and desires to others of our same species.  Some might argue that the planet would be a better place if mankind weren’t around to communicate: no lies, no cheating, no hate, no wars.  But most of us have some sort of faith in mankind being able to hold back the bad parts of human nature, and spiritually strive to utilize this unique talent to better ourselves and the rest of the planet. 

The subject of disparate cultures meeting through the passions of romance has been a favorite story topic through the ages.  Guo is pioneering in this sub-genre:

a)   letting the cross-cultural “misunderstandings” allow her to discuss gay relationships without this being a “Gay Book”;

b)   to discuss sex in general without this being an explotive sex book, and allowing her in the same breath to compare political/economic systems: Chinese versus the West’s

c)    most uniquely though, is her insightful, and unbiased analysis {through plotline} of the metaphysical comparisons and weighing of the values of the life approaches of Buddahism and Christianity.

This was an entertaining and worthwhile read.  I liked the author’s organization of the book: the monthly chapter titles, following the seasons of a romance, spring to winter, helped the book’s pacing; the sub-chapter titling using dictionary words was pushing things a bit much, but did help to keep the reading-pace suitable for bathroom or bedroom, short attention-span, reading moments.

This is not a “serious” novel, not much more than a throw-away, summer beach read.  However I do think it augers a whole series of similar books yet to come – maybe a reality TV show – French boy to Siam; Egyptian female student on a year abroad in Japan; Pole tries farming in Brazil; Mexican consular intern does her training in Turkey.

You get the idea.  The world is opening its doors to the 99%.

There are 200 countries at the United Nations.  That makes 200 X 199 = 39,800 possible intercultural hookups possible to study, review, look at, write about.  In terms of TV seasons, this could last a thousand years, at 39.8 weeks per year.

I’d recommend this book to others for a mindless summer read.

I would give “Dictionary” a seven out of ten.

the underside of joy

“Is this ‘chick lit’?”, Pat Nolan asked me when I spoke about the Underside book on our radio program.  I have recently been reading a spate of novels by authors sited in western Sonoma County.  I thought for a few seconds, then said, “No! It’s no different than Didion’s recent book about her adopted daughter.  Relationships are not the sole purview of the female gender.”  Obviously he thought they were.  “She was self-indulgent the first 50 pages, and I put it aside for a month.  But then I started in again, and the following 250 pages were interesting, balanced, and altogether, a good read.”  The author of the underside of joy, Seré Prince Halverson, mentions Sonoma County as where she is living, but does not make this a central plotline as the other local writers have done.  The variant on the theme is that the protagonist is the step-mom, dealing with the return of the birth mother for shared rights of the kids.

 

By comparison, another book I’m currently reading, I will also put aside after 100 of its 400 pages.  This is letter from a stranger by Barbara Taylor Bradford.  Bradford’s book, stranger, is the epitome of what men mean when they say, ‘chic lit’.  It’s a “Dallas” style soap opera put into novel format. 

Justine, an evocative middle-eastern name, is a world-famous documentary film-maker, wealthy, but noble.  She has a twin brother, a world-famous architect and also a brilliant artist; well, she is too, come to mention it.  Justine intercepts a letter addressed to her mother, off on her annual world tour.  She nosily reads the letter and surmises that her 80 year-old grandmother is alive and living in Istanbul.  She freaks out as she and her brother overly-dramatize this news and decide to drop everything, [his opening of a boutique hotel in London; her four-part special on CNN,] and go to Istanbul to find granny.

Now I have come to love books about Istanbul – it seems to be the new Berlin as far as the hot ‘in’ cities to explore.  I’ve ordered Istanbul Passage, which combines spycraft with Istanbul intrigue – can’t wait. 

So, I may pick this stranger book up again.  But I have peeked ahead and the singular focus of the writer on the protagonist’s “me! me! me!” outlook is hard to get through, even with the reward of a travelogue about Istanbul.  Thus the components I like to avoid are: a predictable plotline (and thus vapid); one-dimensional support characters; moral depravity focusing on lavish wealth and fame; and too much stream of consciousness thought without any introspection.  That’s bad lit.