The Flowers of War by Geling Yan

First published in 2006; published in trnaslation by Other Press on January 31, 2012

The Flowers of War takes place during the 1937 Nanking Massacre.  Fleeing the fighting that accompanies the Japanese occupation of Nanking, women from a brothel climb the walls surrounding the church compound maintained by Father Engelmann.  With hungry schoolgirls in the attic and sassy prostitutes in the cellar, the missionaries become desperately short of food, water, and patience. Hiding in the compound’s graveyard is Major Dai, wounded after a skirmish with Japanese soldiers.  When two more wounded Chinese soldiers arrive at the gate, Dai emerges and demands that they be sheltered.  Father Engelmann faces a dilemma:  if he turns them away, they will be captured and killed by the Japanese; if he gives them refuge, he will be compromising the neutrality of the church and placing the schoolgirls at risk.  The story that follows touches upon the lives of those within the compound’s walls as they try to avoid being victims of the war crimes committed by the Japanese Army.

Given the dramatic setting, much of the novel is surprisingly weak.  The characters are well constructed but familiar; the prostitutes are similar to the other prostitutes who make regular appearances in Asian novels (including Geling Yan's infinitely superior The Lost Daughter of Happiness), while Father Engelmann channels the standard American priest serving in a distant land.  We learn bits and pieces about the lives of various members of the ensemble cast, prostitutes and soldiers and students and missionaries, but not enough to appreciate any character completely.  A schoolgirl named Shujuan is often spotlighted but we know little about her beyond her petty jealousies in matters of friendship.  A prostitute named Yumo gets more attention than the rest but she’s an empty outline of a character.

The Flowers of War has substantial merit despite its relatively undistinguished cast of characters.  As is generally true in a novel that describes the atrocities of war, it would be difficult to remain untouched by the narrative.  The story produces some tender moments as groups of clashing characters -- very different in their upbringings and attitudes -- are forced to interact with each other.  Geling Yan creates palpable tension whenever Japanese soldiers make an appearance.  The ending and its karmic message is sensational; it is nearly enough to redeem the novel as a whole.

Yan writes (or is translated) in an undistinguished style, notable only for its plainness.  That doesn’t mean the writing is bad or unpolished; the prose is bland but serviceable and the story is easy to read.  It’s a shame, however, that such a powerful story was not told in more powerful language.  Ultimately, I recommend the novel for the story it tells rather than the way it is told.

RECOMMENDED

The Lost Daughter of Happiness by Geling Yan

First published in 2001

The Lost Daughter of Happiness is a remarkable novel, a love story unlike any I've read. It unfolds in alternating points of view. Writing in the second person, as if she were speaking to Fusang, looking back at Fusang's life from the present day, the narrator's language is factual, unemotional, sometimes bordering on contemptuous: You are a prostitute, she says, brought to California from China, one who didn't die during the long voyage, who didn't succumb to disease or beatings after being sold into slavery. "I certainly won't let people confuse you with any of the other three thousand whores from China." Occasionally the narrator quotes histories of the California Gold Rush from which she draws her account of Fusang. Occasionally she tells Fusang tidbits about her own life as a recent Chinese immigrant, about her own perplexity understanding the ways of white people, including her husband.

The other point of view is third person, telling the story of Fusang in its own time, sometimes shifting to the lives of others, particularly Chris, the white teenager who quietly worships Fusang's beauty, whose life changes because of her. The other central character is Fusang's Chinese warlord-like kidnapper. Both men love Fusang, and to some extent hate her, in their own warped ways. Fusang, in turn, has special feelings for both men--as distinguished from the hordes of undifferentiated men who want to sleep with her, whose names she's incapable of remembering.

Whether she's describing a battle between Chinese clans (of which Fusang is the indirect cause) or the culture shock and isolation experienced by Chinese immigrants past and present, Geling writes with a fluid grace. Geling avoids sympathetic language, yet her stark portrayal of Fusang's plight is incredibly moving. Still, Geling paints Fusang as largely unaffected by pain or trauma. Fusang may just be simple-minded, but she evinces a knowingness that the other slave girls lack. She understands how to steal pleasure from pain, how to find freedom in enslavement. Unlike the other prostitutes, she's content with a diet of fish heads. There is something zen-like about her simplicity.

Geling writes powerfully about race riots in San Francisco more than a century ago and about present day skinheads who profess their racial hatred on talk shows. She writes about rape and redemption. This short but wide-ranging novel is filled with tension and ugliness while maintaining a soft, quiet tone, but it is also filled with hope and beauty. It is a stunning performance. The Lost Daughter of Happiness deserves a much larger audience.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED