Dreams of Joy
From the book
THE WAIL OF a police siren in the distance tears through my body. Crickets whir in a never- ending chorus of blame. My aunt whimpers in her twin bed at the other end of the screened porch we share-- a reminder of the misery and embarrassment from the secrets she and my mother threw at each other during their argument tonight. I try to listen for my mother in her room, but she's too far away. That silence is painful. My hands grab the bedsheets, and I struggle to focus on an old crack in the ceiling. I'm desperately attempting to hang on, but I've been on a precipice since my father's death, and now I feel as though I've been pushed over the edge and am falling.
Everything I thought I knew about my birth, my parents, my grandparents, and who I am has been a lie. A big fat lie. The woman I thought was my mother is my aunt. My aunt is actually my mother. The man I loved as my father was not related to me at all. My real father is an artist in Shanghai whom both my mother and aunt have loved since before I was born. And that's only the tip of the iceberg-- as Auntie May might say. But I was born in the Year of the Tiger, so before the gnawing blackness of guilt about my dad's death and the anguish I feel about these revelations overpower me, I grip the sheets tighter, set my jaw, and try to force my emotions to cower and shrink before my Tiger ferocity. It doesn't work.
I wish I could talk to my friend Hazel, but it's the middle of the night. I wish even more that I could be back at the University of Chicago, because my boyfriend, Joe, would understand what I'm going through. I know he would.
It's two in the morning by the time my aunt drifts off to sleep and the house seems quiet. I get up and go to the hall, where my clothes are kept in a linen closet. Now I can hear my mother weeping, and it's heartbreaking. She can't imagine what I'm about to do, but even if she did, would she stop me? I'm not her daughter.
Why should she stop me? I quickly pack a bag. I'll need money for where I'm going, and the only place I know to get it will bring me more disgrace and shame. I hurry to the kitchen, look under the sink, and pull out the coffee can that holds my mother's savings to put me through college. This money represents all her hopes and dreams for me, but I'm not that person anymore. She's always been cautious, and for once I'm grateful. Her fear of banks and Americans will fund my escape.
I look for paper and a pencil, sit down at the kitchen table, and scrawl a note.
Mom, I don't know who I am anymore. I don't understand this country anymore.
I hate that it killed Dad. I know you'll think I'm confused and foolish. Maybe I am, but I have to find answers. Maybe China is my real home . . .
I go on to write that I mean to find my real father and that she shouldn't worry about me. I fold the paper and take it to the porch. Auntie May doesn't stir when I put the note on my pillow. At the front door, I hesitate. My invalid uncle is in his bedroom at the back of the house. He's never done anything to me. I should tell him good- bye, but I know what he'll say. "Communists are no good. They'll kill you."
I don't need to hear that, and I don't want him to alert my mother and aunt that I'm leaving.
I pick up my suitcase and step into the night. At the corner, I turn down Alpine Street, and head for Union Station. It's August 23, 1957, and I want to memorize everything because I doubt I'll ever see Los Angeles Chinatown again. I used to love to stroll these streets, and I know them better than anyplace else in the world. Here, I know everyone and everyone knows me. The houses-- almost all of them clapboard bungalows-- have been what I call Chinafied, with...
- Janet Song's voice reflects the tone of sorrow in See's emotional sequel to SHANGHAI GIRLS. The story begins as Joy, the daughter of a once-popular poster model, flees her Los Angeles home. She feels responsible for her stepfather's death and was shocked to learn that the woman she believed was her aunt is really her birth mother. Now she seeks her father, an artist whom she's never met, by returning to her ancestral home in Chairman Mao's People's Republic of China. Song depicts Joy's short-lived infatuation with communism and her subsequent discovery of deprivations and illusions. Song also delivers the poignancy of the novel's subplot as Joy's mother follows her daughter to China to ease difficulties and persuade her to return home. S.W. (c) AudioFile 2011, Portland, Maine
Los Angeles Times
"One of those hard-to-put down-until-four in-the-morning books . . . With each new novel, Lisa See gets better and better."
- The Washington Post "Once again, See's research feels impeccable, and she has created an authentic, visually arresting world."
- Los Angeles "A stunningly researched epic about revolutionary-era China."
- San Francisco Chronicle "See is a gifted historical novelist. She illuminates a turning point in Chinese history when people still remembered the inequities of the feudal caste system, and in some cases embodied them. . . . See is unflinching in her willingness to describe it all."
- The Oregonian "See's fans will be glad to read more about Pearl, May and Joy, and See's recurring themes of unbreakable family bonds and strong-willed women."
PublisherBooks on Tape
OverDrive MP3 AudiobookRelease date:
OverDrive WMA AudiobookRelease date:
Digital Rights Information+
OverDrive MP3 AudiobookBurn to CD:PermittedTransfer to device:PermittedTransfer to Apple® device:PermittedPublic performance:Not permittedFile-sharing:Not permittedPeer-to-peer usage:Not permittedAll copies of this title, including those transferred to portable devices and other media, must be deleted/destroyed at the end of the lending period.
OverDrive WMA AudiobookBurn to CD:Not permittedTransfer to device:Permitted (3 times)Transfer to Apple® device:PermittedPublic performance:Not permittedFile-sharing:Not permittedPeer-to-peer usage:Not permittedAll copies of this title, including those transferred to portable devices and other media, must be deleted/destroyed at the end of the lending period.