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Falling Leaves: The Memoir of an Unwanted Chinese Daughter (Paperback)
by Adeline Yen Mah
| Category:
History & culture, China & Asia |
| Market price: ¥ 168.00
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| MSL Pointer Review:
A compelling, painful, and ultimately triumphant story of a girl's journey into adulthood. Adeline's story is a testament to the most basic of human needs: acceptance, love, and understanding. |
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Author: Adeline Yen Mah
Publisher: Broadway
Pub. in: April, 1999
ISBN: 0767903579
Pages: 304
Measurements: 8 x 5.3 x 0.8
Origin of product: USA
Order code: BA00693
Other information: Reprint edition
ISBN-13: 978-0767903578
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- MSL Picks -
Adeline Yen Mah, in Falling Leaves, has written a searingly honest memoir of her miserable childhood in China. She provides a colorful and lively description of the customs, history and social upheaval of China from roughly the late 1800's until the 1970's. Adeline was the daughter of a prosperous businessman, Joseph Yen, who five children, and Adeline is the youngest one. Yen Mah begins her memoirs after the death of her father, relating the devastating news from her cruel stepmother, that there was nothing for the children in their father's will; he had died penniless and left them nothing. She then goes back in time, interweaving family stories with her own lifeline. After her mother's death, her father remarried a shrewd woman, who regarded her stepchildren as less than her biological children. She plays her stepchildren against one another and keeps a stranglehold over her husband and his relatives. Everyone is inferior to her, even if it goes against Chinese tradition. Mah brings alive a large cast of characters, stoically recounting many tales of deep sorrow that must have wounded her greatly. She makes the streets of China come alive with her vivid descriptions of the sights and sounds of such cities as Shanghai, Tianjin and Hong Kong.
Yen Mah's memoir is elegantly written and astonishingly painful. She naturally weaves in bits of Chinese history and how it affected her family throughout their lives. She has incredible recall into her tormented childhood that will leave readers shaking their heads in disbelief. Falling Leaves is an intensely psychological and personal memoir. It must have been difficult for Adeline Yen Mah to bare her soul as she did. The result is an unforgettable story of a terribly dysfunctional family and the courageous young woman who had to come to terms with her often tragic life.
- From quoting E. Bukowsky and R. Chaffey
Target readers:
General readers
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Adeline Yen Mah is a physician and writer who lives in Huntington Beach, California, and spends time as well in London and Hong Kong.
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From the Publisher
Born in 1937 in a port city a thousand miles north of Shanghai, Adeline Yen Mah was the youngest child of an affluent Chinese family who enjoyed rare privileges during a time of political and cultural upheaval. But wealth and position could not shield Adeline from a childhood of appalling emotional abuse at the hands of a cruel and manipulative Eurasian stepmother. Determined to survive through her enduring faith in family unity, Adeline struggled for independence as she moved from Hong Kong to England and eventually to the United States to become a physician and writer.
A compelling, painful, and ultimately triumphant story of a girl's journey into adulthood, Adeline's story is a testament to the most basic of human needs: acceptance, love, and understanding. With a powerful voice that speaks of the harsh realities of growing up female in a family and society that kept girls in emotional chains, Falling Leaves is a work of heartfelt intimacy and a rare authentic portrait of twentieth-century China.
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Yi Chang Chun Meng: An Episode of a Spring Dream
My own memories of Tianjin are nebulous. Early photographs show a solemn little girl with clenched fists, pressed lips and serious eyes, dressed in pretty western frocks decorated with ribbons and bows. I enjoyed school and looked forward to going there. Lydia and I were pulled there and back daily in Grandmother's black, shiny rickshaw. It had a brass lamp on each side and a bell operable by foot. When I revisited Tianjin in 1987, I was surprised to find that it took only seven minutes to walk from our house to St Joseph's.
I remember Lydia as an imposing, rather intimidating figure. Between us there were three brothers and a gap of six and a half years. We were a world apart.
Lydia liked to exercise her authority and flex her muscles by quizzing me on my homework, especially catechism. Her favourite question was, 'Who made you?' To this, I always knew the answer. Like a parrot I would trot out the well worn phrase, 'God made met' then came the twister. A gleam came into her eyes. 'Why did God make you?' I never could answer because teacher never taught us beyond the first question. Lydia would then give me a resounding slap with her powerful right hand, and call me stupid. During our daily rickshaw rides, she liked to keep me waiting and was invariably late. On the rare occasions when I was delayed in class she simply rode the rickshaw home alone but would send the puller back to get me. She tended to be stocky, even as a child. Her physical deformity gave her a characteristic posture, with her semi-paralysed left arm hanging limply by her side and her face perpetually tilted slightly forwards and to the left. From my four-year-old perspective, she was a fearsome figure of authority.
My eldest brother Gregory had a sunny personality and the infectious ability to turn ordinary occasions into merry parties. His joie de vivre endeared him to many people. Being the eldest son in China meant that he was the favourite of Father as well as of our grandparents. I remember him, full of mischief, gazing with rapt fascination at a long, black hair blowing in and out of the right nostril of snoring Ye Ye one hot afternoon. Finally Gregory could no longer resist the temptation. Skilfully, he pinched the hair ever so tightly between his thumb and index finger during the next exhalation. There was a tantalizing pause. Ye Ye finally inhaled while Gregory doggedly hung on. The hair was wrenched from its root and Ye Ye awoke with a yell. Gregory was chased by Ye Ye brandishing a feather duster but managed, as usual, to escape.
On the whole, Gregory ignored James and me because we were too young to be interesting playmates. He was always surrounded by friends his own age. He did not enjoy studying but, like Grandmother, excelled in games of chance such as bridge. Good with numbers, he occasionally taught us younger ones neat mathematical tricks, roaring with laughter at his own cleverness.
Of all my siblings, it was Edgar I feared the most. He bullied James and me and used us as punchbags to vent his frustration. He ordered us around to perform his errands and grabbed our share of toys, candies, nuts, watermelon seeds and salted plums. He did not distinguish himself at school and was deeply insecure, though he possessed enough fortitude to maintain a passing grade.
My san ge (third elder brother) James was my hero and only friend. We used to play together for hours and developed a telepathic closeness, confiding to one another all our dreams and fears. With him, I could discard my vigilance and I needed that haven desperately. Throughout our childhood, it was immensely comforting to know that I could always turn to him for solace and understanding.
We were both Edgar's victims, though perhaps James suffered more because for many years he shared a room with our two eldest brothers. He hated to make waves. When pushed around, he endured the blows passively or hid from his tormentor. Seeing me being beaten by Edgar he would skulk quickly away in blinkered silence. Afterwards, when Edgar was gone, he would creep back and try to console me, often muttering his favorite phrase 'Suan le!' (Let it be!)...
Of Niang's two children, she openly favoured Franklin. In physical appearance he was the spitting image of Niang: a handsome boy with round eyes and a pert upturned nose. Susan at this stage was still a baby. But they were already special. I don't recall either Edgar or Lydia ever laying a finger on them. James and I were the ones singled out to do everyone's bidding. If we were not fast enough there was often a slap or a shove, especially from Edgar.
I always felt more comfortable with my friends at school than at home, where I was considered inferior and insignificant, partly because of the bad luck I had brought about by causing the death of my mother. I remember watching my older sister and brothers playing tag or skipping rope and longing to be included in their games. Although James and I were very dose, he went along with the others and became 'one of the boys' when they wished to preclude me.
At St Joseph's, marks were added together every Friday and the girl with the highest total received a silver medal which she could wear pinned on her breast pocket for the entire week. Father immediately noticed when I wore the medal. Those were the only times when he showed pride in me. Father would say teasingly, 'Something is so shiny on your dress. It's blinding me! Now what could it be?' or 'Isn't the left side of your chest heavier? Are you tilting?' I lapped up his words. Soon I was wearing the medal almost continuously. At prize-giving at the end of 1941 my name was mentioned for winning the scholarship medal for more weeks than any other student in the school. I remember my pride and triumph as I climbed up the steps, which were so high and steep that I had to go up on my hands and knees, to receive my award from the French monseigneur. There was warm applause and delighted laughter from the audience, but no one attended from my family, not even Father.
At the beginning of 1942 the Japanese were taking uncomfortably closer looks at Father's books, insisting on an exhaustive audit and finally demanding that his businesses be merged with a Japanese company. Father could remain nominally in charge but profits would be split 50/50. This 'offer' was, in fact, an order. Refusal would have resulted in confiscation of assets, probable jail for Father and unthinkable retaliation against the rest of the family. Acceptance meant open collaboration with the enemy, immediate loss of independence and possible reprisal from the underground resistance fighters.
After many sleepless nights, made worse by elaborate luncheons during the-day when the Japanese alternately cajoled and threatened, Father took a radical step. One cold day, he took a letter to the post office and never returned home.
Ye Ye carried on with this life-and-death charade for a few months. Those were chaotic days. Kidnappings, murders and disappearances were everyday events. He immediately went to the local police and reported his son missing. He placed advertisements in the newspapers offering a reward for knowledge of Father's whereabouts, alive or dead. It was a dramatic ruse and the price was high but ultimately it had the desired effect. Without Father at the helm, Joseph Yen & Company floundered. Many of the staff were laid off. Business dwindled. Profits plummeted. The Japanese soon lost interest.
Father, meanwhile, having managed to transfer part of his assets before his staged disappearance, made his way south to Japanese-occupied Shanghai under an assumed name, Yen Hong. He bought what was to become our family home on the Avenue Joffre. Soon afterwards he sent for Niang and Franklin, who travelled with a couple of trusted employees and joined him there.
For the rest of the family, stranded in Tianjin, life became oddly serene. Aunt Baba ran the household and encouraged us children to invite friends home to play and snack on various dim sums in a way Niang would never have tolerated. Mealtimes were informal and the adults talked and played mah-jong late into the evening. Ye Ye kept a skeleton staff in the office. By and large the Japanese left us alone. A chauffeur was hired and on Sundays we were driven to various restaurants to try out different cuisines, including Russian, French, and German. I remember drinking hot chocolate and eating pastries at the sparkling Kiessling Restaurant while a music trio played Strauss waltzes and Beethoven romances. Sometimes we were even taken to see suitable movies.
Father was keen that the rest of his family should join him in Shanghai. In the summer of 1942, Grandmother was persuaded to visit for two months but returned saying that Tianjin was now her home. She stubbornly refused to move and told Aunt Baba that the essence of life was not which city one lived in, but with whom one lived.
After dinner one stiflingly hot day, 2 July 1943, we were planning next day's menu with Cook. Aunt Baba suggested that we have Tianjin dumplings instead of rice. Freshly made with chives, ground pork and spring onions, these dumplings were a great favourite among us children. We were all shouting out ridiculously high numbers as to how many dumplings we could eat. Grandmother developed a headache from all the commotion. She went to her own room, lit a cigarette and lay down. Aunt Baba sat by her and narrated a story from The Legend of the Monkey King. Even though Grandmother knew many tales from the well-known Chinese classic, she found it relaxing to hear them told again and again by her daughter.
She removed the shoes, stockings and bindings from her tiny damaged feet before soaking them in warm water to relieve the constant ache, giving a sigh of contentment. Aunt Baba left her and was taking her own bath when Ye Ye hammered on the door. Grandmother was twitching, frothing at the mouth. Doctors were called but it was too late.
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Cox (MSL quote), USA
<2007-05-06 00:00>
I picked up this book during a holiday vacation at a relative's home. Being a medical professional with an interest in Asian culture, my aunt thought I would enjoy it. It was a fascinating look at the disaparity within the family - before stepmother and after; before the cultural revolution and after; and the success of some of the older female relatives balanced against the crushing patriarchy affecting the younger members of the family, especially the author. Her success is a tribute to her intelligence, ambition and willingness to go it alone, even if it meant possible disinheritance.
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Justin (MSL quote), USA
<2007-05-06 00:00>
I cannot improve upon Roz Levine's review, but I must add something. Adeline came from an amazing family-- her Grand Aunt founded a women's bank, and her people were literate. I said many prayers for her beloved Aunt Baba, who was the anchor and the sunlight to young Adeline while she suffered the mental gymnastics of her step mother, Niang, and the tauntings of her brothers and sisters. I wanted to go back and hug her beloved Yee Yee or grandfather, who suffered at the hands of a son (Adeline's father) who had come under the spell of an outwardly beautiful wife. Adeline had her own, ingrain sense of what was right and held her head together when her life was hell. Aunt Baba encouraged her reading and treasured her report cards in a safe place and encouraged her in every scholastic endeavor. While I wondered how she survived when most people would give up when separated from her dear aunt, she had enough sense of purpose to herself and perhaps her aunt to persevere and not quit pushing herself. She spoke of the idealism of Mao and how a German professor with whom she was in love talked to her about why it wouldn't work and why it was wrong. I look at her life with astonishment-- we trip over the little things, yet Adeline had mountains to leap over to succeed-- which she did. If I ever become a bibiotherapist, this is a book that I will use in a group setting. I cried and thanked God for Adeline making it because if anyone was given a bad set of life cards at birth, it was her, and she showed that perseverance and doing you best may take a while but that you can triumph.
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Blaine (MSL quote), USA
<2007-05-06 00:00>
Heard FALLING LEAVES by Adeline Yen Mah, the true story
of an unwanted daughter's childhood during the turbulent time
of the revolution in China.
It was very sad, yet surprisingly fascinating . . . also, it made me
have a greater appreciation for the term "dysfunctional family," in that
the author truly grew up in one . . . she also had to contend with a
wicked stepmother that made the one in Cinderella appear kindly
in comparison.
I particularly liked FALLING LEAVES for its insight into the culture
of China at the time, as well as for the fact that it presented an inspiring
story of how one woman could make it in the world despite many
problems that others would find insurmountable.
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Gumulauskis (MSL quote), USA
<2007-05-06 00:00>
I first saw this book on display at a major book seller when it first came out in paperback years ago. The subtitle "Memoirs of an unwanted Chinese daughter" caught my eyes--and my heart--but I didn't read the book until nearly seven years later.
I too felt unwanted as a daughter but Mah gave examples of the extreme fomrs of abandonment. The entire book, up to the last page, is about her struggle to make something of herself despite her disadvantage of being born a girl and being a stepdaughter.
Yet, Mah proved herself worthy enough to be sent to England to study medicine there, which gave her father a more humane image, and some sympathy, for the readers. That was his one way of showing her that he loved her, even though the father was spellbound by his second wife who controlled every facet of everyone's lives.
The problem with memoirs is that they are reflections of life from the author's perspective. One has to wonder if everything in the story is true. Where all the people in her life (minus the grandfather and aunt)so evil to cause her so much pain?
Mah became a successful doctor in California and her other brothers fared quite well also. The only trouble I had was that the author didn't seem to want to let go of her struggle despite her more recent successes. She is not giving herself time to heal because her pain and struggles are proving profitable to her now.
Family deaths and inheritance always bring out the worst in people. That happened in my own family when my own father passed away 4.5 years ago. But the pain I felt didn't force me to write a book about my childhood. It only convince me never to allow my next-of-kin to be railroaded by greedy funeral directors and the catholic church.
I would have felt better had the author given her father more credit for educating her. He got an honorable mention in the end but not enough to convince readers that her life has a happy ending even though it's apparent that it has ended well. But how is she as a wife and mother to her own family? One will never know as that is never mentioned. That is the real mystery of this book. |
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