Book review: A thousand moons on a thousand rivers

This month, my book discussion group selected the novel A thousand moons on a thousand rivers, by Taiwanese author Hsiao Li-Hung (translated to the English by Michelle M. Wu).  I just finished reading it last weekend.

My friend, Jim Kidwell, described the novel as "Chinese Norman Rockwell."  And, indeed, much as Rockwell sought to portray an idyllic, innocent America, so Hsaio depicts an edenic and disappearing Taiwan from the vantage of a small fishing village in the south of that land.

Although the novel is set in the 70s, as Will Johnson pointed out, there is a certain timeless quality to Hsaio's descriptions of village life. It is a glimpse into Taiwan as it must have existed for centuries:  agrarian, sedate, governed by a calm, ancient wisdom.  As industrialization and modernity encroach on long-settled traditions, people find themselves in conflict with their own beliefs and mores.  They are forced to evaluate age-old truths in the light of humanity's forward march.  They must attain a balance between the desire to preserve and the need to adapt.

Hsaio relates these complex growing pains through the eyes of Zhenguan, a spirited and honorable young woman.  Zhenguan emerges from the world she has known, the little village where her family has harvested fish for generations, to the fast-paced and alien world she finds when she leaves to take work in Taipei.  Zhenguan's journey is not only physical, but spiritual, as she attempts to take with her the wisdom and values instilled in her by her traditional upbringing.

Zhenguan is not alone in her journey to the modern world.  Other young people from her village are also confronted with the same challenges, including her dashing childhood friend, Daxin, to whom Zhenguan gives her heart.  The two of them perform a careful and respectful courtship that mirrors the relationship between Taiwan's past and its future.

What I enjoyed most about the novel was that it afforded a view of a culture that I rarely encounter.  Hsaio conveys much about Chinese reverence for family, for filial duty, for modesty and propriety.  I gained a better understanding of Chinese culture, generally, and found myself applying that understanding (however dim) to those few glimpses of Chinese culture in my own experience.  (For some reason, memories of my time as a dishwasher in a Chinese restaurant in Klamath Falls sprang to mind.)

My one complaint about the novel was that the prose was sometimes rather wooden.  I attribute this mostly to the difficulty of translating Mandarin to English.  I'm sure it is no easy task.  And, in spite of the difficulties, translator Wu still manages to capture some lyrical, poetic descriptions which echo what must surely be Hsaio's eloquence.

The four of us agreed that this is not a novel any of us might have picked up off the shelf.  Nonetheless, I'm glad I read it.  I learned from it.  That is reward enough.

Four decades of Jethro Tull

Jethro Tull circa 1974 
Front row:  John Evan, Ian Anderson, Martin Barre
Back row:  Jeffrey Hammond-Hammond, unknown child, Barriemore Barlow

In one of those rare and magical instances of synchronicity, as I was walking home from Pho Van yesterday evening, my ambulatory ruminations turned to one of my very favorite pop/rock music bands:  Jethro Tull.  I was thinking, specifically, about my collection of Jethro Tull albums, which includes every album they released in the United States from 1969 (Stand Up) through 1987 (Crest of a Knave).  I was deep in my reverie, thinking about that ripping instrumental jam in the middle of "Backdoor Angels" (War Child) when I got a call from Dave Hauth informing me that, at that very moment, local classic rock station KGON was running an interview and retrospective of Jethro Tull's career as part of the "Off the Record" series.  I hurried home to listen.

I've been a Jethro Tull fan since I discovered them during my junior year of high school in 1977.  By that time, Jethro Tull had been making albums for a full decade and so I had an entire catalog of music to investigate.  I quickly discovered that Jethro Tull was (and is) a band that is constantly evolving.  In the late 60s, Jethro Tull was mostly a standard rhythm-and-blues band.  But then, in the early 70s they transitioned to progressive rock.  In the late 70s they began incorporating traditional Celtic music themes into their work.  Then, sometime in the 80s they attempted to transition to a heavy-metalish band, although not particularly successfully.  I enjoy everything the band created up to the mid-80s, but I am particularly fond of their "progressive rock" period, with bookend albums Aqualung (1971) and Minstrel in the Gallery (1975).

The band's lineup has changed radically over the years as well.  In fact, Ian Anderson, the band's songwriter and front man, is the only artist who appears on every Tull album.  Even guitarist Martin Barre, who has been with the band since 1968 was not in the original lineup, replacing Mick Abrams on the band's second album, Stand Up. 

The first time I saw a live Jethro Tull performance was in Seattle in 1985 as part of their Under Wraps tour.  Since that time, I've seen them perform on some half-dozen occasions at various venues in the Pacific Northwest including one of the best live performances I've experienced when they played at the Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall, here in Portland in 1987 as part of the Crest of a Knave tour.  (Fairport Convention opened for them.)

I actually had the opportunity to meet Ian Anderson when Tull passed through Portland in the early 90s.  My (ex-)brother-in-law is an avid autograph hound and he knew that Ian routinely greeted fans at the stage door after the show to sign paraphernalia and shake hands.

And so, my brother-in-law, myself, and my brother Eric (also a die-hard Tull fan) waited in the rain for some 45 minutes after the show.  We stood at the front of a line of about 50 people, just outside the stage entrance to Portland's Civic Auditorium.  We hoped to get Ian's autograph.  We were not disappointed.  Eventually, someone associated with the band opened the door and let us in where I came face to face with my hero.

He looked a little wary as I approached him.  I don't blame him.  I was dressed like a vagabond (my own version of the down-and-out Aqualung) and I was thoroughly soaked by Portland rain.  I stammered, "Mr. Anderson, I'm a huge fan.  Will you sign this?"  I had been carrying the album cover of Minstrel in the Gallery under my jacket in anticipation.  I pulled it out and thrust it at him.

"Sure," said he.

"I've gotta tell you," I went on, "Baker Street Muse is an awesome tune."

"Oh yes, that one," said he.  He put his hand to his chin, remembering.

Eric was right behind me, and he got Ian to sign Eric's copy of Too Old to Rock 'n' Roll:  Too Young to Die! which Eric still proudly displays in his living room hutch.

In all honesty, I have to say that I haven't much cared for anything that Jethro Tull has produced for the last 20 years.  But, I'm still a huge fan.  If they pass by on their next tour, you can be sure I'll be at the show.  Just another one of the hundreds of thousands of Jethro Tull fans.

They grow all their roses red and paint our skies blue
Drop one penny in every second bowl, make half the beggars lose;
Why do the faithful have such a will to believe in something
And call it the name they choose having chosen nothing?
--Backdoor Angels, Jethro Tull

What is a tea-bagger? (Plus a couple springtime pics)

I've spoken with a couple friends about it, and we are pretty much agreed that the tea-baggers --excuse me -- the Tea Party Movement is motivated, whether the tea-baggers know it or not, by a deep-seated fear of "the Other."  (I call them tea-baggers because that was the name they gave themselves when they first started their histrionics.  Boy, was I laughing up my sleeve at that!  It's a pity that they finally caught on.)

It makes them anxious, for example, when they find themselves at the Shell Station on Highway 97 and everyone there --the guy filling the tank, the woman behind the counter, the local clientele --speaks Spanish.  That's why we see bumper stickers on tea-bagger pickup trucks that say:  "This is America.  Speak English only." 

Likewise, homosexuals make tea-baggers nervous and uncomfortable because they dislike being confronted by their own sexual repression.  A gay person who seems comfortable with himself or herself is obviously someone who has faced questions that the tea-bagger cannot. Which is not to say that all tea-baggers are repressed homosexuals, but that for an indoctrinated tea-bagger, his or her sexuality --gay, straight, or otherwise --is irrelevant.  The tea-bagger must maintain the appearance of a heterosexual if he or she wants to be accepted into tea-bagger society.  (As we all know, however, the reality is often quite different).  That's why tea-baggers feel so strongly that "marriage" is between a man and a woman.

Tea-baggers vehemently deny that they are racist.  And despite the reports in the news about racial slurs directed at Congresspersons, I think tea-baggers are sincere in their protestations.  As the old saying goes, "Some of my best friends are [insert your racial/religious/ethnic slur here]."  I don't believe the majority of tea-baggers actively hate black people or Mexicans or Muslims.  I do believe, however, that tea-baggers are uncomfortable with the idea of black people or Mexicans or Muslims having any authority.  That's why they have such antipathy toward President Obama.  That's why black people, Mexicans, and Muslims steer clear of tea-bagger rallies.  And, I suppose, being the spouse of a black person and a Muslim, and myself being (partly, at least) Mexican, that's why I despise tea-baggers.

Well, none of this is anything new.  Although today's tea-baggers see themselves as part of an unprecedented, grass-roots movement, these United States have a long history with this nativist, latently racist demographic of the population.  Back in the 1840s and 1850s, they were called "Know Nothings."  But, back then, "the Other," were German and Irish immigrants. In fact, so familiar are we with this political demographic that many have risen to prominence and made tons of money by catering to its fears and prejudices. 

Anyway, that's how I see it.

There's something about

I was thinking today about my life: taking tally of those humble achievements, goals attained, and rites dutifully completed that together comprise the curriculum vitae I might present to the Universe.  You know?  When the End comes.  Or, rather, the Great Transition.  As Dr. Manhattan said, "Nothing ever ends, Adrian."

There's something about stepping off a train to a gray, rainy morning in a little town in western France, not knowing a soul, with no more than a dozen French words in one's vocabulary and, nonetheless, feeling completely at ease and assured.  Confident in one's self and in humanity --crazy, bewildered humanity.  I don't believe I have experienced anything like it.

Unless it was sitting on the pier in Stockholm harbor, with the warm wind drying my hair and the yellow diamonds blinking on the choppy surface of the gray-blue Baltic water.  I remember being proud that day, and being embarrassed at my pride.  And I remember I had a deep sense of solace.

Or strumming my guitar on a bench at a sleepy bus station in Pucón, being fascinated by the vaporous white ejaculate emitted by that macho old Chileno:  volcán Villarrica.  The sky was clear and blue and forlorn and that day haunts my memory like a grief-wizened, young widow, with sad, hollow eyes.  I don't know why. 

Or standing on the deck in back of my house, face turned toward the stars, dimmed and faded though they were by Portland's electric halo, imagining those impossible distances and the implications of scale.  But I knew then as I know now that every wave emitted must factor in to the equation.  And anything we might call God must certainly penetrate the infinitesimal.  And so I cast it out there:  "Lord, what have I done to deserve these blessings Thou hast bestowed upon me?"

Humbling, I tell you.  Humbling.

Dying elephants

Can you see it?  The GOP appears to be in its death throes. But unlike the elephant in Hemingway's Garden of Eden there is no majesty nor dignity in the demise of this pachyderm.  Only a withering, wasting rot, both ugly and debased.  The party is in the death grip of a crisis, incubated by political defeat and public rejection, amplified by hysterical, seditious rhetoric from the nutty redneck base, and prolonged by the Bush-era legacy of disregard for law and decency.

Senator Ensign continues his slow burn

According to the Las Vegas Sun, Nevada Senator John Ensign could very soon be on the receiving end of a Justice Department indictment for "structuring."  Structuring, as I understand it, is a form of money-laundering that attempts to conceal pay-offs and hush money.

The situation has its genesis in Senator Ensign's admission, in June of 2009, to having an extra-marital affair with the wife of his chief of staff and close friend.  (That's how Republicans do their friends.)  Ensign, of course, is a "family values" man.  So outraged was he, during the Lewinsky scandal that he called on President Clinton to resign.  But, hey, hypocrisy is no crime.  (If it were, the entirety of the GOP caucus would be behind bars!)

Ensign's legal problems stem from a series of actions he took to conceal his hypocrisy. 

Allegedly the Senator used his influence as a United States Senator to land a job with a Washington lobbying firm for his former friend, the cuckold.  Further, the Senator's in-laws, the parents of his aggrieved wife, made a payment of $96,000 in one lump sum to Mr. Hampton after discovery of the affair.  Both of these acts were in exchange for his silence, according to Mr. Hampton.  The Senator claims the money had nothing at all to do with keeping Mr. Hampton quiet, that it was merely a "gift."  (If that's the case, can someone please tell me how to get on the Senator's Christmas list?)

If this were an isolated incident, the GOP could write Ensign off as a bad apple.  But taken in conjunction with other scandals involving Senator David Vitter and all the other Republican hypocrites, the word "Republican" is becoming synonymous with "rot" or "corruption."

RNC Chairman Michael Steele points at the cliff and stomps on the gas pedal

Meanwhile, the Republican National Committee is dissolving before our very eyes.  The latest resignation is that of "unpaid advisor" Alex Castellanos, who appends himself to the growing list of Republicans who have lost faith in Chairman Michael Steele.  Castellanos' resignation comes on the heels of revelations about RNC expenditures (of donor money) at a fetish nightclub in Los Angeles, and the abandonment of the committee by top donors.

The RNC has done nothing but stumble since Steele took the helm in a hotly contested party election last year.  Since that time, the RNC has burned through its cash faster than it can sucker donations out of its misguided adherents.  According to The Hill, Steele's RNC spent $15 million more than it took in last year, including an $18,500 expenditure to redecorate Steele's personal office.  Further, Steele appears to be cashing in on his status as chairman.  He's been flying around the country giving speeches and charging fees. 

What I found to be particularly rich, however, was Steele's response to George Stephanopoulos when the latter asked if Steele's race (he is, after all, African-American) gave him a "slimmer margin of error."  Steele made the mistake of telling the truth:  "The honest answer is 'yes,'" said he.

Well, no sh*t, Mr. Chairman.  As the father of former African-American Congressman JC Watts (Republican) once said:  "A black man voting for the Republicans makes about as much sense as a chicken voting for Colonel Sanders."

Senator Coburn makes his Moses bid

Just as darkness descends on the Grand Ol' Party, Oklahoma Senator Tom Coburn made what some might call a chivalrous and brave gesture at a recent town hall meeting.  Not only did the Senator criticize Fox News, but he defended House Speaker Nancy Pelosi and corrected right-wing distortions about the recently-enacted Health Care Reform bill!

Here's how the Portland Examiner reported it:

However last week at a town hall Senator Coburn warned his constituents about Fox News and urged them to consult other sources of information.  The incident occurred after one constituent asked if it was true that citizens could be put in jail for not complying with the new health care law.  This myth was spread in part by Fox News who warned of a mysterious provision in the health care bill in which people could be put in jail for not buying health insurance.  In fact no such provision exists.  The health care reform bill expressly prohibits the government from imposing prison time, or even liens in order to enforce the bill.  Senator Coburn stated as much when he told the constituent, "The intention is not to put anybody in jail.  That makes for good TV news on Fox, but that isn't the intention."

Later Senator Coburn returned to the subject of Fox News when the crowd booed a the mere mention of Speaker Nancy Pelosi.  Senator Coburn urged the crowd to be civil and stated, "Don't catch yourself being biased by Fox News that somebody's no good,"  Finally Coburn urged audience members to consult both sides of the issue.  In addition to watching Fox News he urged constituents to also watch CNN and read The New York Times and Wall Street Journal.

Startling! My take on it is that Senator Coburn recognizes the need for the Republican party to move back toward the middle of the American political spectrum and away from the hysteria and public histrionics of the tea-baggers.  With his impeccable conservative credentials, the Senator is in a position to actually do something to make it happen.  (Now if he can just avoid implication in the brewing "C Street" scandal.)

The Republicans are being exiled into the political wilderness.  Perhaps Senator Coburn hopes to be their "Moses," the figure who will lead them through their time of tribulation.  Well, Tom, get ya a pair of Birkenstocks, a loose-fitting robe, a shepherd's staff, let your hair grow out and go for it!

Will it really die?

The (Junior) Bush era marked the ascendancy of the Know-Nothing nativist faction within the Republican party.  Their xenophobic, paranoid and fanatical nature now threatens to kill off what was once a noble party.  Political parties in the United States have certainly died before.  But it is not clear that the GOP will actually expire, or if it will be reborn.  I'm hoping for the latter.  Really.

Our country needs a strong two-party system to keep both parties honest.  The GOP of my grandparents, the party of Lincoln and Teddy Roosevelt and Ike and even Dick Nixon was a party of moderate conservatism.  Does such a party even exist anymore?

Day old Easter hyacinths

Ambling through Fred's, 'cause Maty's workin' tonight
And I miss her presence in the house;
Apple cinnamon low-fat granola,
And something for her, too, just 'cause I miss her;

We had walked up the street for pho the other day;
Tulips, cherry blossoms, and blueberry buds;
"What is that one?" cocoa-colored finger extended;
Hyacinths, pink and pale, though I could not remember;

Flowers at Fred's cost less 'cause Easter's over;
Day-olds, dry and neglected;
One pale pink hyacinth, drooping, unloved toward the inevitable,
Moves my heart to pity... to love and pity!

A swift walk home to the kitchen sink;
Tap water deluge of love:  Drink up!
Drink long, drink deep, for God's and my sake!
'Cause if you won't drink, then no one ever will;

I hope to imagine there's never anything ever,
Never, ever --anything at all
That might be wrong with day-old Easter hyacinths
That I could not bear to forsake;

Party talk

What a weekend!  Senegal's 50th Anniversary, Sunday Mass at Saint Philip Neri, and Easter dinner at brother Calee's home.  Random snippets of conversation heard at these events:

Maty and Nadiya, dressed to kill for the Senegal Independence Day party

"All I want from someone is honesty. I'm a straight-up person. Maybe that's too much to ask."

"All the way from Sacramento to Bakersfield.  The Central Valley.  What a hole!"

"Some people get scared when things seem to be going too well. They thrive on chaos. If chaos is lacking, they create it."

Maty dancing mbalax to Senegalese drums

"No matter how unfair the report, no matter how incendiary and hysterical the tone, we cannot vilify.  We cannot kill the messenger.  We've got work to do.  The Church, like all human institutions, is sinful and must atone."

"Is it not true that a thoughtful person, upon discovery of a betrayal, will first ask 'What have I done to provoke this?'"

"Would you take a vow of celibacy?"  "Well, considering the last year, that's not a lot to ask."

"Don't make fun of her.  She can't help it if she's a blind midget."

Chae, Kyle, Gino, Mia, Calee, Kris, Sarah, Erin, Maty

Said while hoisting nephew Gino into the air:  "He is risen! He is risen! He is risen!"  Sister Mia:  "Dade, knock it off!"