Burkina Faso: Proverbs and Tales

Proverbs and Tales from Burkina Faso

by Luc Zio

Oh, Burkina Faso ... there just isn't much literature to work with.  I checked out so many lists and did so many Google searches, to little avail.  One list included a novel called Henderson's Spear, which I bought and started to read, but quickly realized that it was set in Tahiti and in England.  I'm not entirely sure why it was on a Burkina Faso list or whether there actually a Burkinabe component.  I did not finish the book.  Then I found one called Exchange is Not Robbery: More Stories of an African Bar Girl, which looked really intriguing but ... get this ... would cost more than $30 to purchase, even on the Kindle version.  Give me a break.  I moved on.  Or at least tried to.  I considered The Parachute Drop, which seems to have been popular among other literary circumnavigators, but thought maybe I'd try something different in order to put a little variety out there into the blog world.

Enter Proverbs and Tales from Burkina Faso, by Luc Zio.  By this point, I had realized that I inadvertently skipped over Bulgaria, a country for which I have already selected a book ... that is enticingly waiting for me on my shelf!  But I'd spent so much time on Burkina Faso, I decided to press on and worry later about my apparent problem with alphabetical order.

I thought this slim little volume would give me a glimpse of Burkinabe life.  The introduction was satisfying in that regard in that it discusses the importance of recording these bits of wisdom that primarily reside in the minds of village elders.  It goes on to discuss how in the rural parts of Burkina Faso, children grow up hearing these stories and develop, as they grow and mature, an innate sense of what these proverbs mean and when or where to use them.  There is a lovely, sort of stereotypical description of Burkinabe families, with people of all ages, gathered around an outdoor fire, sharing these stories as a way to preserve their culture and explain their lives.  The author laments that, by contrast, the children growing up in cities do not have access to these experiences and that this lack makes them less mature.  Interesting perspective.

Following the introduction, there is a little collection of proverbs that features the proverb itself, followed by an explanation of what it means.  Most of them make good sense and aren't especially difficult to understand.  Here is my favorite:

                                         Life is like a chicken butt; sometimes it drops eggs and 

                                         sometimes it makes some droppings.

                                        What does it mean?  It means that life has ups and downs; 

                                        sometimes things are good and sometimes they aren't so good.

You gotta admit, that's pretty darn funny!  Another favorite, more serious this time:

                                        A woman's mouth is her quiver.

                                       What does it mean?  In Burkina Faso, it is believed that while 

                                       men fight with fists, guns, and knives, women use their mouths 

                                       as a weapon to fight back and defend themselves.  Sometimes 

                                       words can be more powerful than actions.

The last section of the book are the tales ... little stories featuring animals explain some aspect of the world, much like myths did for the Greeks and the Romans.  The story of The Hyena and the Goat, for example, explains why goats don't have tails ... it's because a naughty little goat once disobeyed his parents and went for a walk in the woods alone, only to be chased home by a hyena that bit off his tail just as the little goat reached the safety of home.  Then there's the story of The Blind Old Man ... which tells how a blind man's youngest child helped him to regain his sight by bribing a sparrow-hawk though the offering of a chicken.  At the end of the story, we learn that this is why sparrow-hawks like to hunt chicken and, most importantly, why the youngest child is always the most loved in the family.

In the end, this was an amusing little foray into Burkina Faso's old culture.  I usually love books set in Africa so am sorry to have missed a chance to have a more modern glimpse of real life in this tiny West African country ... but I'm equally glad to have expanded my horizons by spending a little time with this unusual genre.  

Brunei: Written in Black

 

 

Written in Black

by K.H. Lim

 

 

 

Since there's not too much out there that's set in Brunei, so it's no wonder that my new blogger friend and I chose the same book for this tiny little country that is situated on the island of Borneo, surrounded by the South China Sea on one side and by Malaysia on all other sides.  Written in Black is about a small boy, Jonathan, who is adrift in the chaos of his family's dysfunction, left too often to his own devices as he struggles to understand why his mother has left, his eldest brother has run away, and his father has disengaged.  When his grandfather dies and the family gathers, Jonathan and his needs are only further pushed aside.  After learning that his cousin has been in touch with the elder brother, who in turn is in regular contact with their mother ... Jonathan decides to take matters into his own hands.  He hides in the back of the coffin delivery truck, and sets out to solve the problem of his missing family members.

 

What struck me most about this story was both how heartbreakingly alone Jonathan felt among the people who were supposed to love him best.  Desperately missing his mother and not understanding what happened to cause her to leave, he is devastated to learn she calls when he's not at home and that he is the only one who hasn't been able to talk to her.  As children often do, he internalizes this in a very personal way, and it was difficult to read his pain, which the author conveyed very clearly.

 

The novel was somewhat entertaining but not really worthy of high marks.  Jonathan's journey is billed as a coming of age tale, a label that fits in how the novel is structured ... more internal dialogue than action.  The fact that Jonathan is reading Huckleberry Finn as the story gets underway serves as a little foreshadowing.  Overall, I have to say I didn't get what I'd hoped for from the book ... no real insight about Brunei or even about Jonathan himself.  Another episode in the Few Books Set In Small Countries drama ...

 

 



Botswana: White Dog Fell from the Sky

 

White Dog Fell from the Sky

by Eleanor Morse

 

 

 

 



So I had a really rough day today.  I'm feeling overloaded at work and disorganized in how I'm working, which of course makes the overload worse.  I'm also feeling pulled in too many directions.  My kids are all young adults and fairly independent, but it's summer and they are around a lot ... and I want to see them and spend time with them ... but see my previous comment about overload.  It's hard to focus on one thing for any extended period of time, and as the day goes on, I can feel my stress ... and blood pressure ... creeping up and up.  On days like this, I am so grateful to escape into the world of books.  Not just the one that I'm reading, but the whole darn world of them.

I soothed myself this evening with a good hour surfing Goodreads and Amazon, thinking about what's coming up soon in my literary trip around the world.  I wrapped up with ordering three new books ... for Bulgaria, Cameroon, and Canada!  Oh, and I sent my very nice son David out to bring home ice cream for dinner.  Feeling much better now!

But let's get back to the line-up ... Botswana!  I read White Dog Fell from the Sky, by Eleanor Morse.  I can't recall where I picked this up, but it's been on my shelf for a while now, just waiting for Botswana to get to the top of the list.  When the time came, I picked it up, read ten pages, and put it back down.  In the opening scene, there was a coffin, a desperate man escaping from something, and a mysterious white dog that appeared out of nowhere and began to follow our protagonist everywhere he went.  I thought, at first, that White Dog was a spirit of some kind, and I didn't think I was going to like the story line.  Thank goodness I picked it back up because this was seriously an outstanding story, well written and engaging, and so compelling in how it addressed apartheid, isolation, and escape.  No spirits were involved.  Just genuine human beings, flawed and frantic to make the best life possible, crossing all kinds of border and boundaries in the name of friendship and decency.  The dog was just a plain old white dog ... symbolic perhaps of the unexplainable connection and loyalty that sometimes grows between two beings and becomes something we cannot imagine being without. 

In the middle of apartheid South Africa, a young black medical student, Isaac, flees for his life, crossing the border (in an empty coffin) into Botswana, where he knows only one person and has nothing but the clothes on his back.  His friend, Amen, also left South Africa to escape the racial violence that plagued the country.  Unlike Amen, who channeled his anger into joining a revolutionary organization, Isaac wanted only peace and the opportunity to make a living.  He meets Alice, a lonely American woman who came to Botswana because of her husband's job, and he becomes her gardener despite not knowing the first thing about growing plants and flowers.  While trying to create a space of beauty and serenity outside of Alice's home, Isaac is in tune with what is happening inside the home ... namely that there is discord and unhappiness and the two rarely both spend the same night in the house.  Both Isaac and Alice are trying to identify and understand themselves during a time when nothing around them makes sense.  Dealing with painful things, like exile or marital strife, are made so much worse by the loss of everything familiar and known.

 

When Alice sets off on a business trip into Botswana's countryside, she leaves Isaac in charge of the house.  When she returns, she find the house empty, Isaac missing, and White Dog alone and starving.  During the few weeks Alice was gone, she had experienced a whirlwind romance and dashed hopes when tragedy struck unexpectedly.  Stinging from her own loss, she nonetheless endeavors to find out what happened to Isaac, who meanwhile, has found himself dealing with the aftermath of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

 

This is a brilliant novel about immigration, identity, second chances, and compassion.  It's about the human response to great love, great disappointment, and great turmoil.  I'm so glad I didn't give up on this one!

Next up for the blog is Brunei.  You may wonder about what happened to Brazil!  Well, back in 2016, when I was going out of order for a while, I read Snow Hunters by Paul Yoon, set in Brazil.  It was an okay story, but I didn't love the book so I thought about trying another book set in Brazil and picked up Ways to Disappear by Idra Novey.  Totally not my cup of tea ... so in the spirit of "so many books, so little time," I ditched it, gave myself credit for Brazil, and am moving on to the tiny country of Brunei. 



Bolivia: When Invisible Children Sing

When Invisible Children Sing

by Chi Cheng Huang

When I lived in the City of Falls Church in Virginia, the small town holiday parades always featured Bolivian dancers and musicians that filled the air with the festive sound of stomping feet, clapping hands, bells, whistles, and blaring folk music.  You couldn’t help but wish you could join the celebration.   It was a fine example of our immigrant neighbors bringing one element of their rich culture to their new home in the United States, offering it up to share with anyone who was interested and the least bit curious.  It also fueled my continued interest in Bolivia, which began back in 2003 when I first joined the Foreign Service and listed Bolivia’s capital, LaPaz, and my top choice of places I hoped to be assigned as a first-tour officer.  We ended up going to the Dominican Republic, which we loved, but I’ve remained interested in South America’s mountainous, land-locked Bolivia.  I hope I can visit someday.

Until then, I will settle for armchair travel, as I’ll have to do with many countries.  Once again, I struggled to find a book set in Bolivia.  I was just about to settle on A Matter of Desire, by Edmundo Paz Soldan, when a friend of a friend recommended When Invisible Children Sing, by Chi Cheng Huang.  Although I usually prefer fiction, I decided to read Huang’s memoir because I found the subject matter so compelling.  Huang was in the middle of his residency after medical school at Harvard University when he decided to take a one-year sabbatical to dedicate his time to serving others.  After considering a few options, he chose to travel to Bolivia, where he would work with street children.  Huang is pretty naïve when he sets out on this journey of goodwill.  He doesn’t know anything about Bolivia … or about street children … but he feels called to make a meaningful contribution, so he puts his faith in God and the people who helped him to arrange this situation, boards a plane, and finds himself immersed in a new culture and way of life. 

At first, he spends most of his time at an orphanage, working among Bolivians who have dedicated their lives to taking care of children in need, but he soon finds himself frustrated by the rules and limitations imposed on his efforts.  He begins to spend more and more time in the streets, often at night and usually at great risk to his own safety, looking for the children and seeking to understand the unique culture of homelessness and destitution that exists in this microcosm of Bolivian society.  All around him, he witnesses exploitation, abuse, and desperation.  But he also finds love, community, kindness, and hope. 

Huang walks us through his experience by telling us a series of stories about the children.  They do not all have happy endings, and he does not make it nice and pretty for his readers.  It is bold and honest and real.  There is an undercurrent of Huang’s Christian faith running through the narrative, but it is very subtle:  present, but not overpowering; central, but not primary.  He acknowledges that he feels called to be there and is motivated by his faith to sacrifice his comfortable life in order to serve the children, but he is acutely aware that it is through his hands, feet, and heart that the work will need to be done.  Day by day, child by child, Huang not only tends to the children’s injuries and illnesses, but also to their hearts and minds.  He earns their trust by not swooping in to insist they change, no matter how much he wishes for their lives to improve, and he allows himself to become part of their lives and community instead of immediately pulling them into his.  In short, he accepts them as they are, for who they are, and without judgment, and it is because of this that he is eventually able to inspire some of the children to come live in the safety of the orphanage, where they are fed, clothed, educated, and able to plan for some kind of future that does not include the streets. 

Throughout the story of the streets, Huang weaves his personal journey through his own childhood.  The son of Taiwanese immigrants to the United States, he grows up in safety and comfort but is aware that not everyone enjoys these things.  He is also aware that these things do not protect you from tragedy or pain, and he folds his readers gently into his story of loss through his young sister’s death and its impact on his life. 

The first time I encountered street children was in 1999, when my husband and I traveled to Vietnam to adopt our daughter.  Their presence on every corner was shocking to my inexperienced sensibilities, and I did not understand why no one did anything to help them.  I later read A Fine Balance, by Rohinton Mistry, a novel set in India that takes readers behind the scenes of the reasons children may be living on the streets and the adults who exploit them and manipulate the feelings of others in order to earn money through sympathy.  There were also plenty of children on the corners in the Dominican Republic.  Here in the United States, we may not find them on the streets, but children do live in deplorable conditions, far outside the standards of what we would consider to be appropriate care of our most vulnerable citizens. 

 

 

I’ve spent a lot of time trying to figure out what can be done to make a difference in the lives of children not fortunate enough to have loving parents and stable homes, and in my own way, I’ve tried to have an impact through personal decisions about how I live my life, where I donate my money, how I spend my volunteer hours.  It’s not enough … it will never be enough until every single child is safe and loved.  Huang realizes this, too, as the memoir draws to a close and a child to whom he has become attached decides to stay on the street with her mother instead of living in safety and comfort away from all she has known.  He doesn’t give up though on trying to change what he can.  Although he returns to the United States and to his career as a physician, he continues to visit Bolivia’s children and eventually finances the construction of several homes where the children can find safety and comfort with their loved ones, without having to give up all that they know.  What an incredible lesson for all of us.

 

 

Bhutan: A Splendid Isolation

BHUTAN

A Splendid Isolation

by Madeline Drexler

As a fledgling practitioner of yoga and meditation, I have a deep interest in the little country of Bhutan and its focus on Buddhism as a way of life.  But there sure isn’t much fiction set in what seems to me might be a fascinating setting for a novel with themes of grief and loss, soul-searching, identity, spirituality, recovery from tragedy, or even a little intrigue.  I picked up one novel about a woman whose sister takes an international job and then disappears, either in Bhutan or is later found in Bhutan.  Can’t remember.  The story didn’t grab me and I gave up after about 50 pages.  There didn’t seem to be anything else that was calling my name.

So I turned to memoir, my next favorite genre, and decided I would try to see Bhutan through the eyes of someone traveling or living there temporarily.  A Splendid Isolation, by Madeline Drexler, seemed to fit the bill, so I ordered it from Amazon and waited anxiously, armchair traveler style, for its arrival.  I was surprised to find, upon receipt, a very slim volume that is essentially an essay, maybe a travelogue, but not really a memoir.  The writing lacked the introspection and the ultimate moment of enlightenment (pun intended) that I usually find so inspirational in a good memoir.  Instead, it was more of a long description and critique of the writer’s observations of the Bhutanese people, way of life, government, and ideologies.  I found that my assumptions and happy illusions of Bhutan were somewhat shattered by this book’s focus on rampant alcoholism, lack of spirituality, and burgeoning materialism among the Bhutanese the author met. 

Having hoped for inspiration, I was rather discouraged and frankly, glad that I could wrap it up quickly and move on to the next country on my list.  Other readers gave the essay high marks on Goodreads.com, so I'm sure that my experience of it has much to do with my own expectations, which were not met or satisfied.  I don't think I really wanted to know the downside of a political philosophy that sounds as delightful and appealing as Bhutan's Gross National Happiness, which apparently (like so many things) is not all that it's cracked up to be. 

Bhutan has been tough, blog-wise.

I will say that, having not satisfied my curiosity about my perception that Bhutan has a lot to do with Buddhism, I’ve decided to re-read Hermann Hesse’s Siddhartha and to reinvigorate my efforts to learn more about the spiritual practices behind the yoga that I do twice a week just because it feels so good. So at least there’s that.

I’ve also decided to return to the original plan for this blog and read books set in countries by alphabetical order.  My departure from that interfered with my enjoyment of this endeavor, and I think it made me a lazier reader.  I just wish there was a better way to identify the kind of book I’d like to read for the smaller countries, like Bhutan, or those without their national literary works available in English translation. 

Bolivia is next … any suggestions?

So Far in 2017

So Far in 2017

So this blog is really challenging to keep up with.  I'm not exactly sure why.  Perhaps I am over-thinking it, trying to make it into something it doesn't need to be or something I don't even want it to be.  It's just a little journal of my reading, that's all.  And it's only some of my reading, not all of it.  And there's no contest, no judging, no grade, no right or wrong answer.  Right?  So here I am again, thinking I'll try to get back at it and try to keep up better.  Because like I said before, just because I'm not writing doesn't mean I'm not reading. 

Since I last wrote, I have visited Germany, Burma, Nigeria, Cuba, Hong Kong, Papua New Guinea, Italy, and France!  Plus several in the USA, of course, but I don't write about those.  That's a lot of countries and books to cover ... might not get them all in this one post.  Here we go ...

GERMANY

In the Garden of Beasts: Love, Terror, and an American Family in Hitler's Berlin

by Erik Larson

I really wanted to enjoy this nonfiction work about U.S. Ambassador William Dodd's time in Germany during Hitler's rise to power.  Having served the U.S. government overseas in two U.S. embassies abroad and also in Washington DC, I understand the diplomatic world and was intrigued by what it must have been like to represent the United States in Germany during that period of history.  Regrettably, this book was enormously disappointing.  I wanted insight about how ... and why ... the United States stood by and watched it all happen without intervening ... or how they missed even seeing the opportunity to intervene ... or why they believed they were not in a position to have taken action of some kind during that critical and horrific period in our world's history.  What Larson delivered, in my opinion, was primarily a dull and uninspiring litany of boring details about the Ambassador's personal life and his daughter, Martha's promiscuous and entitled behavior.  I am aware that many, many people enjoyed this book and found value in it.  I'd love to be persuaded that my impression is biased, skewed, narrow, or just flat out wrong.  Anyone?

BURMA

The Piano Tuner

by Daniel Mason

Author Daniel Mason is a magician with the English language.  His poetic and mesmerizing narrative weaves characters that jump off the page as if they are real people, sitting in your living room, telling you their stories.  This lovely novel is about a quiet and unobtrusive piano tuner, Edgar Drake, who is commissioned by the British War Office to travel to far-away Burma where he will repair a rare and costly piano.  Confused about why such a valuable musical instrument has been transported to the middle of the uncivilized jungle where heat and humidity risk damaging it beyond repair, Edgar's long, slow, and arduous journey affords him plenty of time to learn the history not only of the piano, but also of the army doctor who has won over the Burmese natives through art, poetry, and especially music.  Edgar  hears the story multiple times, told by different narrators in varying styles and with varying levels of truth.  Nothing can prepare him though for what he experiences when he arrives and finds himself feeling more alive than ever before.  The first half of the novel is stronger than the second half, and I slogged my way through a bit towards the end.  But the imagery and poetic crafting of the words make it more than worthwhile.

If you'd like to read a book set in Burma, I would strongly recommend The Art of Hearing Heartbeats, by San-Philipp Sendker, which is one of my all-time favorite novels.  I read this book in January 2013, just a little over a year after my father died.  It was the perfect book for me at that particular moment in my life.  It reads like a fairy tale that is real enough you don't have to completely suspend disbelief, but magical enough to draw you into all the beautiful hidden messages that hover just below the surface of the story.  In the novel, as in true life, all is not as it may seem.  The main character, Julia, who has also lost her father, has to come to terms with the realization that she really knew very little of who her father was.  But as she becomes caught up in the story within her story, she not only makes her peace with this reality, but also comes to understand that this is perhaps the way it's meant to be.  If you're like me, you'll find yourself thinking about love, loyalty, imagination, the meaning of life, the contract of cultures, and the importance of making the most of every second of your life.  There is definitely a spiritual feel to the book, so wait until you're in the right mood to read it ... but definitely read it.  I was enchanted. 

NIGERIA

Americanah

by Chimananda Ngozi Adichie

Okay, nothing I say here is going to adequately convey how powerful this novel is.  Another highly relevant fictional look at critical issues of our time, Americanah tackles the concept of race in the United States and contrasts the protagonist's experience of being black both here and in Nigeria, where nearly everyone is black and race is not emphasized.  The story begins in Nigeria when Ifemelu and Obinze are teenagers, falling in love just as their country comes under military rule.  They both leave ... Ifemelu to join a family member in the United States, and Obinze to London.  She goes legally, with all the necessary documents, and finds that life in America is not all what her aunt had represented.  She is poor, lonely, and forced to make unthinkable decisions in order to survive.  Meanwhile, Obinze gives up on being able to follow her to America, so he sets out for the United Kingdom.  He is without legal documentation and finds himself immersed in a world that is fraught with secrets, compromises, worry, and isolation.  Years later, Ifemelu makes her way back to Nigeria, where she once again meets Obinze, who returned long before.  Their respective experiences have changed them, shaping their understanding of the world, themselves, and each other in ways they could not have predicted.  This is an incredible, thought-provoking novel that won the 2013 National Book Critics Circle Fiction award, is a bestseller, and should be required reading for anyone who wants to dig deeper into the social construct of race.

CUBA

The German Girl

by  Armando Lucas Correa

I don't know if I want to get into anything too political here, but let's just say that this book was amazingly relevant considering the times in which we are currently living and the ongoing public debate about immigrants, particularly refugees, and whether they should be allowed to enter the United States to find safety.  It would be dishonest if I did not, however, make it clear that I am unequivocally pro-refugee and pro-immigrant, that I believe all human being are deserving of and entitled to safety and security, and that failure to respond with open arms to those seeking refuge would be the ultimate failure of our humanity.  Yeah, so maybe I do want to be a little political, although one might argue that this isn't really about politics ... it's just about being decent.

As I've watched this public debate evolve, with one side saying "let them in" and the other saying "keep them out," I have thought many times about the ship of Jewish refugees that left Germany and arrived at a port in the United States, only to be turned away without allowing a single human to disembark.  Imagine the terror those passengers must have felt upon learning that they would not be welcomed.  It is a dark spot on our history and one that should not ever be repeated.  Yet here we are, several decades later, having the Exact Same Conversation!  I am astonished and ashamed that we continue to speak from a place of fear and privilege in this manner (so many places of privilege that I won't delve into right now ... for now, just this one particular moment of incredible ugliness and arrogance that mars our history and threatens, unbelievably, to mar us again.)  

With this in the backdrop, I picked up The German Girl because of its setting in Cuba, not realizing until I was partway into the story that it is about that very ship of souls, those 937 passengers who had left Germany in 1939 to escape the Third Reich and were turned away, first from Cuba and then from the United States.  In the novel, young Hannah is aboard the St. Louis with her parents, her best friend Leo, and Leo's father.  She is confused and does not understand what is really happening, but she tries to piece it together based on bits of overheard conversations and what she can see with her own eyes.  When the ship arrives in Havana, Cuba, only a few passengers are allowed to get off and remain.  Hannah and her mother are among them ... all the rest, including her beloved father and young Leo, sail away, looking for another safe place to land.  Hannah never sees them again, and this of course, shapes and defines who she becomes.  Many years later, her great-niece Anna comes from New York to visit and to help her piece together an understanding and acceptance of what happened to her and those she loved.  Much of the novel is set in Cuba and offers a fascinating glimpse through the eyes of a young refugee of that country's transition to the totalitarian communist state that is currently is.

I wonder ... how long before someone writes a novel about those refugees left in dangerous places as a result of what is happening now?

HONG KONG

 Girl in Translation

by Jean Kwok

and

The Expatriates and The Piano Teacher

by Janice Y.K. Lee

I did not intend to read three books set in Hong Kong all in a row.  In fact, typically I would resist reading even two in a row that are set in the same place or have too much else in common.  I like to mix things up when I read, and this is probably why I don't usually enjoy series.  Even when I love the characters, I just find myself thinking that there are so many books out there, and so little time to read them, I'd rather not spend too much time in one particular world.  The first two Hong Kong books were completely accidental ... I pulled Girl in Translation off my shelf after it had been there for quite a while, then The Expatriates appeared under my Christmas tree and I wanted to dive in right away.  I enjoyed The Expatriates so much that when I remembered I had The Piano Teacher, by the same author, sitting right there on the bookshelf, I went ahead and read it right away.

Girl in Translation actually takes place primarily in New York.  Kimberly Chang and her mother have immigrated from Hong Kong to the United States with the help of an aunt, who then feels no shame about housing them in deplorable conditions and putting them to work in her husband's Chinatown sweatshop so they can work off their passage to America.  The novel offers a disconcerting look into the world of the sweatshop, right here in our country, and into the heart and mind of a bright young girl who is determined to make a better life for herself and her mother.  Kimberly makes all of her choices based on what will be best for her mother, what will help them to progress in their new lives, and what may enable them to break away from her cruel aunt.  The weight of these responsibilities impacts every facet of her life, from how hard she studies to whom she chooses for friends to whether she allows herself to fall in love.

The Expatriates follows the stories of several women who have each arrived in Hong Kong through different avenues and whose lives intersect as they try to find their footing in a strange place.  Hilary, grappling with her inability to have a child, has become attached to a little boy in a local orphanage but can't quite bring herself to move forward to adopt him.  She is immobilized by her husband's ambivalence and her own uncertainty about how strong she is and whether she could be a mother on her own.  Margaret has followed her husband to Hong Kong, where she finds unspeakable tragedy and struggles to keep going for the sake of her children.  And Mercy, a confused, young, Korean-American woman, is running away from her loneliness, finds herself in Hong Kong, where she unwittingly plays a part in Margaret's loss.  Her desperation to be forgiven is tangible and poignant.

Finally, in The Piano Teacher, we go back in time to Hong Kong during World War II.  This is the story of a British expatriate, Will Truesdale, and his love affairs with two women, ten years apart from each other in time.  Trudy, half Portuguese and half Chinese, is the great love of his life ... a beautiful and wild young woman of privilege, the one he would have married if not for the Japanese occupation of Hong Kong during the war.  As a foreigner, Will is imprisoned in a camp along with other expatriates from countries that were enemies of Japan.  On the outside of the camp, Trudy is struggling to make the best of the horror that life in Hong Kong has become.  She makes some brutally difficult choices, not necessarily good or even justifiable, but she does what she must in order to survive.

Ten years later, Claire arrives in Hong Kong with her new husband, and encounters Will, who is a completely different person after the war.  They fall into a passionate, but not romantic, relationship, and Claire unwittingly unravels a dark piece of history that involves Will and the wealthy, influential Chen family, whose daughter is her piano student.  The characters in this book are actually extremely unlikeable.  I found Trudy to be careless and spoiled; Claire, vapid and naïve; and Will, weak and malleable.  However, the historical component of this novel kept me turning the pages.  The Japanese invasion of Hong Kong is a little-mentioned episode in world history, and I found it fascinating to read about the political and military setting as well as the impact the Japanese presence had on Hong Kong's society.  There was a compelling subplot that added a little bit of mystery and psychological intrigue.  I would recommend this book to others, just don't expect too much of the characters.

Stay tuned for more...