Jade Peony

I didn’t finish Jade Peony by the proscribed ‘return by’ date. The book was part of a reading group for September at my library. Something came up and I both didn’t finish it and I missed the meeting, which is too bad. I rather like my groupies and missed seeing them.

So I kept the book these last couple of days to finish, which may also be too bad. First, the library rotation calendar is now off because the book’s not back. That’s too bad, to be keeping others from Wayson Choy’s novel. But the other thing is that I would have written a better, more positive review if I’d only read part instead of all.

Jade Peony is about an immigrant Chinese family in Vancouver, BC about seventy years ago. The structure is that three of the children tell a story about their childhood as being Chinese in Canada, and, by the end, being Canadian with Chinese parents (I say parents, but the grandmother is far and away the most powerful person in this family). This development as we get further down the line to the youngest was pretty decent.

The daughter’s story is around her desire for beauty and the love she has for an old man she believes to be a mystery, part of her grandmother’s stories of intrigue and disguise. It’s pretty realistic sounding and ends in enough tragedy to be authentically Chinese.

The adopted son’s story jumps around a lot with all the foreshadowing a reader can bear. I learned more about the author from this story. No, not necessarily that he put his ego in this child, but more what he wants his reader to believe or accept.

I was this far by the correct date and should have left well enough alone. So far an enjoyable read with plenty of social commentary and heaps of fun Old Chinese stories and ways strung through like lanterns. Plus, I know a bit of pinyin, making all the scattered phrases a pleasant little game rather than just ornamental letters or some kind of interruption.

But I did like the book and wanted a bit more, so I continued and read the third part, about the youngest son. The youngest son has been a worthless character so far, being sickly. He does free up the older kids from the attentions of the Grandmother, which in one case is good and the other not so welcome. When we reach his personal story we find that it really is true, he actually does nothing.

The youngest is perhaps a catalyst for what happens, but he has no inner life. Others act upon him and use him for their purposes. Honestly, it’s a pretty lame segment. It’s almost apparent to the author as well, who can’t seem to keep the child’s age in mind. The kid doesn’t seem at all real or unique; in fact he doesn’t even fit a stereotype. He’s just there and the threads all come around him, so he’s bound, yet may not present, too. Not the way you’d like a character you’re reading for a couple hundred pages to turn out.

And, again Wayson Choy makes social commentary. Although the supporting characters, especially the women, are far more interesting than this boy and really it’s their stories which are told, I do appreciate Choy’s decision not to spell out his conclusions, but let the thing come to its end. An end which just so happens to be more than sufficiently Chinese tragic.