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Little Hut of Leaping Fishes
by Chiew-Siah Tei
Reviewed by Isaac Stone Fish
The family under the stern roof of Master Chai. The opium smoking brute son Likang. His brother, the cautious and intelligent Liwei forced into managing the poppy fields by his father. The grand kids. Half-brothers, one, Mingyuan, a gambler, pawning family jade for another taste of the dice. Mingzhi. The hero. A Judge Bao, an upright figure of great erudition in the troublesome times of late 19th century China. That, in summary, is Chiew-Siah Tei's Little Hut of Leaping Fishes, a family saga told almost entirely in an odd, staccato punctuation, and filled with characters shaded mostly in black or white.
The novel follows Mingzhi from birth to mandarin-hood, and centers on his relationship with his dysfunctional, traditional family. Likang, his father, beats his wife and goes whoring, until he finds something more satisfying: "Likang's first puff of opium chokes him, but the second takes him to the ninth layer of sky, drifting: boneless, fleshless, weightless. And he never steps down to earth again."
Likang is irresponsible and careless, but Liwei is clever, obedient, and blessed with a conscious. "Liwei's rent collecting trips always leave him feeling guilty; as if he is a bloodsucker, robbing every sing qian from the poor peasants." He practically raises Mingzhi, and also takes care of Mingzhi's mother, Da Niang. Allusions to the affair between Da Niang and Liwei abound, and suggest that Liwei is actually Mingzhi's father: "In the adjoining room Da Niang sits up, listening, imagining her child grabbing Uncle Liwei's fingers, smiling at him. And she smiles quietly, too."
Master Chai combines the cruelty of Likang with the intelligence of Liwei. He commands his world with an iron fist, and acts only to increase his store of silver and to please his ancestors. When opium rises in value, he decides to plant only opium and becomes a smoker himself, dreaming of power and dragons. The "booming profits" please him. To propitiate the ancestors, he kills Mingzhi's dog Charcoal, because a black dog is inauspicious.
Mingyuan, while clever, is lazy to Mingzhi's assiduousness, cruel to Mingzhi's kindness. Simple if not simplistic comparisons and descriptions of the two half-brother's personalities run throughout. In school: "Mingyuan is fond of these awards, volunteers to recite, and accumulates prices. But Mingzhi is interested neither in the brushes nor the papers. An attentive glance or a gentle pat from his teacher leaves him feeling warm, encouraged, and eager to learn more. Still, Mingzhi receives more brushes than he needs." In play: "Mingyuan sneers… Mingzhi stands facing the morning sun. He watches as Mingyuan walks away through the courtyard, leaving a long shadow that falls over him." Mingzhi and Mingyuan, like Liwei and Likang, possess contrasting qualities: Mingzhi faces the sun while Mingyuan walks in shadow. Nor are descriptions very subtle: Mingyuan eventually succumbs to gambling, learning that "money is the only thing that is everything." Stabbed after a fight, he dies in a pool of his own blood.
The family culminates in Mingzhi. Young Mingzhi, where "A flash of rainbow after a downpour, or fallen leaves in the courtyard… these small things can make Mingzhi tearful, contemplative for half a day." Mingzhi the official, who promises "a school for every village. The budget is tight and resources scarce. Mingzhi tries his best drafting careful, practical plans." The progressive Mingzhi, who learns English from Father Terry and considers reinterpreting Confucianism for the modern time, a thought so radical that Liwei "trips over an exposed root and stumbles" with shock at the words. Mingzhi is the stereotype of the progressive reformer, who sees change and acts accordingly. At first he tries to help. Then, when he sees China being torn apart by imperialists and infighting, he leaves, sitting on a ship and staring into the horizon "where the water turns a deeper blue and the river widens into the sea."
The Malaysian-born Chiew-Siah Tei writes in both English and Mandarin. Her Chinese fiction has won awards, while Little Hut of Leaping Fishes was longlisted for the Man Asia Literary Prize in 2007. Occasionally she writes strong lines, like when Mingzhi sits before the words Fair and Just painted on the wall. "Four square, honest faces in thick and forceful brushstrokes look down on him. Only this makes sense." The title of the novel is also nicely raised: it comes from a line of poetry that Mingzhi creates, sitting in his peaceful courtyard, "he imagines the fish playing hide-and-seek and chasing each other."
But much of the book reads like high school poetry. The tea Mingzhi's wife brings him is "Warm. Like her smile." Morning in Pingdong Town is described: "With hurtling traffic of carts, cows, donkeys and horses. Pedestrians. Bustling hawkers. Haggling customers." Tei has an unfortunate tendency to separating phrases into individual sentences, breaking the rhythm of the text and causing one to wonder what it is about each word makes it important enough to deserve its own sentence. In two consecutive pages there are the series of lines: "The amber dies out. Black. Cold. " "The unexpected downpour in late spring that has washed over Plum Blossom Village. The fields. The poppies."
Tei's writing style and characterization lessen what could have been an engaging story.
--
Isaac Stone Fish lives in Beijing and is involved in literature and media.
by Chiew-Siah Tei
Reviewed by Isaac Stone Fish
The family under the stern roof of Master Chai. The opium smoking brute son Likang. His brother, the cautious and intelligent Liwei forced into managing the poppy fields by his father. The grand kids. Half-brothers, one, Mingyuan, a gambler, pawning family jade for another taste of the dice. Mingzhi. The hero. A Judge Bao, an upright figure of great erudition in the troublesome times of late 19th century China. That, in summary, is Chiew-Siah Tei's Little Hut of Leaping Fishes, a family saga told almost entirely in an odd, staccato punctuation, and filled with characters shaded mostly in black or white.
The novel follows Mingzhi from birth to mandarin-hood, and centers on his relationship with his dysfunctional, traditional family. Likang, his father, beats his wife and goes whoring, until he finds something more satisfying: "Likang's first puff of opium chokes him, but the second takes him to the ninth layer of sky, drifting: boneless, fleshless, weightless. And he never steps down to earth again."
Likang is irresponsible and careless, but Liwei is clever, obedient, and blessed with a conscious. "Liwei's rent collecting trips always leave him feeling guilty; as if he is a bloodsucker, robbing every sing qian from the poor peasants." He practically raises Mingzhi, and also takes care of Mingzhi's mother, Da Niang. Allusions to the affair between Da Niang and Liwei abound, and suggest that Liwei is actually Mingzhi's father: "In the adjoining room Da Niang sits up, listening, imagining her child grabbing Uncle Liwei's fingers, smiling at him. And she smiles quietly, too."
Master Chai combines the cruelty of Likang with the intelligence of Liwei. He commands his world with an iron fist, and acts only to increase his store of silver and to please his ancestors. When opium rises in value, he decides to plant only opium and becomes a smoker himself, dreaming of power and dragons. The "booming profits" please him. To propitiate the ancestors, he kills Mingzhi's dog Charcoal, because a black dog is inauspicious.
Mingyuan, while clever, is lazy to Mingzhi's assiduousness, cruel to Mingzhi's kindness. Simple if not simplistic comparisons and descriptions of the two half-brother's personalities run throughout. In school: "Mingyuan is fond of these awards, volunteers to recite, and accumulates prices. But Mingzhi is interested neither in the brushes nor the papers. An attentive glance or a gentle pat from his teacher leaves him feeling warm, encouraged, and eager to learn more. Still, Mingzhi receives more brushes than he needs." In play: "Mingyuan sneers… Mingzhi stands facing the morning sun. He watches as Mingyuan walks away through the courtyard, leaving a long shadow that falls over him." Mingzhi and Mingyuan, like Liwei and Likang, possess contrasting qualities: Mingzhi faces the sun while Mingyuan walks in shadow. Nor are descriptions very subtle: Mingyuan eventually succumbs to gambling, learning that "money is the only thing that is everything." Stabbed after a fight, he dies in a pool of his own blood.
The family culminates in Mingzhi. Young Mingzhi, where "A flash of rainbow after a downpour, or fallen leaves in the courtyard… these small things can make Mingzhi tearful, contemplative for half a day." Mingzhi the official, who promises "a school for every village. The budget is tight and resources scarce. Mingzhi tries his best drafting careful, practical plans." The progressive Mingzhi, who learns English from Father Terry and considers reinterpreting Confucianism for the modern time, a thought so radical that Liwei "trips over an exposed root and stumbles" with shock at the words. Mingzhi is the stereotype of the progressive reformer, who sees change and acts accordingly. At first he tries to help. Then, when he sees China being torn apart by imperialists and infighting, he leaves, sitting on a ship and staring into the horizon "where the water turns a deeper blue and the river widens into the sea."
The Malaysian-born Chiew-Siah Tei writes in both English and Mandarin. Her Chinese fiction has won awards, while Little Hut of Leaping Fishes was longlisted for the Man Asia Literary Prize in 2007. Occasionally she writes strong lines, like when Mingzhi sits before the words Fair and Just painted on the wall. "Four square, honest faces in thick and forceful brushstrokes look down on him. Only this makes sense." The title of the novel is also nicely raised: it comes from a line of poetry that Mingzhi creates, sitting in his peaceful courtyard, "he imagines the fish playing hide-and-seek and chasing each other."
But much of the book reads like high school poetry. The tea Mingzhi's wife brings him is "Warm. Like her smile." Morning in Pingdong Town is described: "With hurtling traffic of carts, cows, donkeys and horses. Pedestrians. Bustling hawkers. Haggling customers." Tei has an unfortunate tendency to separating phrases into individual sentences, breaking the rhythm of the text and causing one to wonder what it is about each word makes it important enough to deserve its own sentence. In two consecutive pages there are the series of lines: "The amber dies out. Black. Cold. " "The unexpected downpour in late spring that has washed over Plum Blossom Village. The fields. The poppies."
Tei's writing style and characterization lessen what could have been an engaging story.
--
Isaac Stone Fish lives in Beijing and is involved in literature and media.
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