本文发表在 rolia.net 枫下论坛Jan Wong, the Globe And Mail terrier everyone loves to hate -- and who loves to hate everyone -- has written a followup to Red China Blues, her autobiographical account of her adventures in China as a student and "a good little Maoist." This one's about her six years as The Globe's Beijing correspondent, rounded out by a secret return visit earlier this year.
Wong has an advantage over the average correspondent or tourist in China, since she looks and speaks Chinese and thus attracts less attention and suspicion while doing her work. Plus, as a one-time member of the party faithful, she offers rare insight into the politics and culture of the Communist state.
Wong is a clever and fearless reporter who's undaunted by bureaucrats and police, and seems willing to take huge risks to get a story. That quality, combined with her wry sense of humour and sharp eye for telling detail, make for a lively, colourful read.
China at the end of the 20th century is a baffling place where people are persecuted for talking to outsiders, and authorities keep track of women's menstrual cycles in an effort to control the birth rate. You can be fined if you get pregnant because the condom broke, and abortions are as commonplace as manicures are here. Poverty in some rural areas is so bad that some couples own just one pair of pants, so only one of them can go outside at a time.
Wong's account of life in China -- the police state, the constant need to watch one's back, the endless rules and regulations, the horror of babies for sale or left to die, people's desperate attempts to eke out a better life in the cities or abroad -- is riveting. I've learned much about China -- and I've never felt so lucky to have been born in Canada.
Now I understand why poor Fujians risk everything to board a rusty boat to North America. It explains why so many of these pathetic refugee claimants flashed grins when they were picked up by Canadian authorities earlier this year. And I feel sorry for those who are sent back to China.
But.
Yeah, there's always a but. In this case, it's Wong's often patronizing tone and propensity for patronizing piffle.
This line is typical: "At 68, she looked like a bespectacled grandmother but was actually a retired state gynecologist." Are being a grandmother and being a retired gynecologist mutually exclusive? My mother is both a bespectacled grandmother and a practising occupational therapist -- should I be alarmed?
Elsewhere, Wong writes of a very driven and hard-working woman: "The regimen was taking its toll -- her hair was threaded with white." Hey, she's got nothing on me -- I've been finding white hairs on my head since I was 18.
Also, Wong devotes an entire page to explaining that, in China, surnames come before given names. I kept thinking about an old journalism school classmate of mine who now also writes for The Globe And Mail. Tu Thanh Ha, who is Vietnamese, would raise his hand to speak, and the teacher would say, "Yes, Tu?" And my classmate would correct him: "Ha!" And so it went all semester: "Tu?" "Ha!" "Tu?" "Ha!"
I suppose the teacher, who never did clue in, is just the kind of person Wong is trying to educate. But switching the names around to Western style after the first reference? That's not so much helpful as it is distracting. Most of us aren't that stupid.
And even more distracting, Wong often -- though not always -- translates the meaning of Chinese given names for our benefit. Thus, "Yao Yuexiu" becomes "Elegance Yao" and "Wang Chunrong" becomes "Springtime Wang."
Well, I know my brother's name, Nathan, means "God's Gift," but damned if I'm going to call him that. Names in all languages mean something, so translating the meaning instead of just using people's proper names seems pretentious and silly.
But you have to laugh, though, when Jan Wong reveals her Chinese name translates as, ahem, "Bright Precious."更多精彩文章及讨论，请光临枫下论坛 rolia.net
Wong has an advantage over the average correspondent or tourist in China, since she looks and speaks Chinese and thus attracts less attention and suspicion while doing her work. Plus, as a one-time member of the party faithful, she offers rare insight into the politics and culture of the Communist state.
Wong is a clever and fearless reporter who's undaunted by bureaucrats and police, and seems willing to take huge risks to get a story. That quality, combined with her wry sense of humour and sharp eye for telling detail, make for a lively, colourful read.
China at the end of the 20th century is a baffling place where people are persecuted for talking to outsiders, and authorities keep track of women's menstrual cycles in an effort to control the birth rate. You can be fined if you get pregnant because the condom broke, and abortions are as commonplace as manicures are here. Poverty in some rural areas is so bad that some couples own just one pair of pants, so only one of them can go outside at a time.
Wong's account of life in China -- the police state, the constant need to watch one's back, the endless rules and regulations, the horror of babies for sale or left to die, people's desperate attempts to eke out a better life in the cities or abroad -- is riveting. I've learned much about China -- and I've never felt so lucky to have been born in Canada.
Now I understand why poor Fujians risk everything to board a rusty boat to North America. It explains why so many of these pathetic refugee claimants flashed grins when they were picked up by Canadian authorities earlier this year. And I feel sorry for those who are sent back to China.
But.
Yeah, there's always a but. In this case, it's Wong's often patronizing tone and propensity for patronizing piffle.
This line is typical: "At 68, she looked like a bespectacled grandmother but was actually a retired state gynecologist." Are being a grandmother and being a retired gynecologist mutually exclusive? My mother is both a bespectacled grandmother and a practising occupational therapist -- should I be alarmed?
Elsewhere, Wong writes of a very driven and hard-working woman: "The regimen was taking its toll -- her hair was threaded with white." Hey, she's got nothing on me -- I've been finding white hairs on my head since I was 18.
Also, Wong devotes an entire page to explaining that, in China, surnames come before given names. I kept thinking about an old journalism school classmate of mine who now also writes for The Globe And Mail. Tu Thanh Ha, who is Vietnamese, would raise his hand to speak, and the teacher would say, "Yes, Tu?" And my classmate would correct him: "Ha!" And so it went all semester: "Tu?" "Ha!" "Tu?" "Ha!"
I suppose the teacher, who never did clue in, is just the kind of person Wong is trying to educate. But switching the names around to Western style after the first reference? That's not so much helpful as it is distracting. Most of us aren't that stupid.
And even more distracting, Wong often -- though not always -- translates the meaning of Chinese given names for our benefit. Thus, "Yao Yuexiu" becomes "Elegance Yao" and "Wang Chunrong" becomes "Springtime Wang."
Well, I know my brother's name, Nathan, means "God's Gift," but damned if I'm going to call him that. Names in all languages mean something, so translating the meaning instead of just using people's proper names seems pretentious and silly.
But you have to laugh, though, when Jan Wong reveals her Chinese name translates as, ahem, "Bright Precious."更多精彩文章及讨论，请光临枫下论坛 rolia.net