【书摘】The Joy Luck Club
看到结尾又毫无预料地看哭了。An-mei 在母亲去世之后依照母亲的愿望回国寻找在战争中失散的异父姐姐，至亲重逢时的花好月圆与时代沧桑巨变的山河远阔，她们拥抱、哭泣、用彼此陌生的语言呼唤mama，“那一刻我似乎感受到她正在我们姐妹中间”。落下泪来。
四位母亲在旧中国经历困苦的童年抑或悲惨的婚姻，用一辈子的时间珍藏着关于她们的母亲的久远记忆，一遍一遍打磨和咀嚼这些记忆，来舔舐过早被命运剥夺的母爱。她们逃离苦难来到大洋彼岸的新国度，想给女儿不一样的最好的人生，然而却是母女之间半个世纪的隔阂。母亲们带着无法治愈的第一段婚姻中的伤痕，却目睹女儿们在婚姻中仿佛宿命一般怯懦、卑微、被动。
印象最深刻的是书中所写，女儿终究会找到她自己身上属于母亲的那部分，无论她如何摆脱、否认、用不同国度的文化去对抗，她总有一天会看到和母亲的相同点。想到一句话，“我是世界上的又一个你。”
摘抄：
In China, everybody dreamed about Kweilin. And when I arrived, I realized how shabby my dreams were, how poor my thoughts. When I saw the hills. I laughed and shuddered at the same time. The peaks looked like giant fried fish heads trying to jump out of a vat of oil. Behind each hill, I could see shadows of another fish, and then another and another. And then the clouds would move just a little and the hills would suddenly become monstrous elephants marching slowly toward me.
，I had always assumed we had an unspoken understanding about these things: that she didn’t really mean I was a failure, and I really meant I would try to respect her opinions more.
My mother and I never really understood one another. We translated each other’s meanings and I seemed to hear less than what was said, while my mother heard more.
In me, they see their own daughters, just as ignorant, just as unmindful of all the truths and hopes they have brought to America. They see daughters who grow impatient when their mothers talk in Chinese, who think they are stupid when they explain things in fractured English. They see that joy and luck do not mean the same to their daughters, that to these closed American-born minds “joy luck” is not a word, it does not exist. They see daughters who will bear grandchildren born without any connecting hope passed from generation to generation.
When you lose your face, it is like dropping your necklace down a well. The only way you can get it back is to fall in after it.
That’s the way it is with a wound. The wound begins to close in on itself, to protect what is hurting so much. And once it is closed, you no longer see what is underneath, what started the pain.
And then I realised it was the first time I could see the power of the wind. I couldn’t see the wind itself, but I could see it carried the water that filled the rivers and shaped the countryside. It caused men to yelp and dance.
We are lost, she and I, unseen and not seeing, unheard and not hearing, unknown by others.
I did not lose myself all at once. I rubbed out my face over the years washing away my pain, the same way cravings on stone are worn down by water.
But now that I am old, moving every year closer to the end of my life, I also feel closer to the beginning. And I remember everything that happened that day because it has happened many times in my life. The same innocence, trust, and restlessness. the wonder, fear, and loneliness. How I lost myself.
The front door with its narrow glass panes opened into a musty lobby that smelled of everybody’s life mixed together.
With imagined tragedy hovering over us, we became inseparable, two halves creating the whole: yin and yang. I was victim to his hero. I was always in danger and he was always rescuing me. I would fall and he would lift me up. It was exhilarating and draining. The emotional effect of saving and being saved was addicting to both of us.
We were like two people standing apart on separate mountain peaks, recklessly leaning forward to throw stones at one another, unaware of the dangerous chasm that separated us.
But somehow, when you lose something you love, faith takes over. You have to pay attention to what you lost. You have to undo the expectation.
How we expect the best and when we get it we worry that maybe we should have expected more, because it's all diminishing returns after a certain age.
I look out the window, and out in the distance is the valley beneath us,a sprinkling of thousands of lights shimmering in the summer fog.
I felt tired and foolish, as if I had been running to escape someone chasing me, only to look behind and discover there was no one there.
Thank you, Little Queen. Then you must teach my daughter this same lesson. How to lose your innocence but not your hope. How to laugh forever.
I was taught to desire nothing, to swallow other people’s misery, to eat my own bitterness.
I think this to myself even though I love my daughter. She and I have shared the same body. There is a part of her mind that is part of mine. But when she was born, she sprang from me like a slippery fish, and has been swimming away ever since. All her life, I have watched her as though from another shore. And now I must tell her everything about my past. It is the only way to penetrate her skin and pull her to where she can be saved.
I wanted my children to have the best combination: American circumstances and Chinese character. How could I know these two things do not mix? I taught her how American circumstances work. If you are born poor here, it's no lasting shame. You are first in line for a scholarship. If the roof crashes on your head, no need to cry over this bad luck. You can sue anybody, make the landlord fix it. You do not have to sit like a Buddha under a tree letting pigeons drop their dirty business on your head. You can buy an umbrella. Or go inside a Catholic church In America, nobody says you have to keep the circumstances somebody else gives you. She learned these things, but I couldn't teach her about Chinese character. How to obey parents and listen to your mother's mind How not to show your own thoughts, to put your feelings behind your face so you can take advantage of hidden opportunities. Why easy things are not worth pursuing. How to know your own worth and polish it, never flashing it around like a cheap ring. Why Chinese thinking is best.
