A GOOD FALL
By Ha Jin
Even when it's done well - as it is, for example, by Alice Munro
- the short story often seems like a form that doesn't want to draw attention to
itself. Not minimalist, but low-key, conventionally realistic in terms of voice
and narrative structure, and with a focus on quieter, domestic details.
It is this slice-of-life approach that is adopted by
Chinese-American author Ha Jin in his new collection. The title is taken from
the last (and worst) story, a hokey tale of an unsuccessful suicide that turns
into a Hollywood-ending fortunate fall. The biblical parallel doesn't seem a
coincidence, as all of the stories deal with characters trying to make it in a
threatening new world that is nevertheless a land of opportunity, in this case
Chinese immigrants living in Flushing, New York.
If the streets of Flushing aren't quite paved with gold, there
are at least expensive cars driving on them, and the air is thick with the smell
of fatty foods. The stories all tend to revolve around the world of work, with
characters obsessing over visas and green cards. We meet a professor, a laundry
worker, a composer, a tutor, a cook, a homecare provider, an accountant, and a
martial arts instructor. They muddle through while trying to deal with inflated
family expectations, feelings of alienation, language barriers, and various
legal hurdles. Despite these obstacles, however, they quickly come to learn what
it takes to get ahead. "You mustn't think of yourself as a stranger,"
one character is told, "this country belongs to you if you live and work
here." "This is America, where we must learn self-reliance and mind
our own business," another story ends.
It's hard to tell with just how straight a face these platitudes
are being delivered. The stories themselves reinforce the simplistic message,
with hard work and a bit of determination typically being rewarded with both
love and material success. The writing, in turn, does little to instill
confidence that anything more profound is going on. Characters say things like:
"What we've done is wrong, and we ought to mend our ways, the sooner the
better. Truth be told, I am fond of you, but I must take my heart back and tame
it . . .", and verbs like "snickering," and "tittering"
make odd appearances (when was the last time you heard anyone titter?). In terms
of the descriptive prose, flatness is all.
As snapshots of the immigrant experience we do learn a bit,
somewhat in the manner of a PBS documentary. Even here, however, the style is
made to tell rather than show, with all of the subsequent awkwardness of
explanation entering into the exposition. "She was an 'ABC' (Asian -born
Chinese)" is how one character is introduced. And the couple in the story
"Temporary Love" get the full treatment: "They had become 'a
wartime couple,' a term referring to those men and women who, unable to bring
their spouses to America, cohabit for the time being to comfort each other and
also to reduce living expenses." If I wanted to read a magazine article on
the subject . . .
In the hands of a skilful practitioner, like Munro, the quiet
style can be devastatingly effective. Here, however, it is just dull and, what's
worse, clichéd. There is no sense of a larger world opening up beyond the
horizons of the page, but only the feeling that we are experiencing a writer
bumping up against the confined limits of his art.
Notes:
Review first published in the Toronto Star January 3, 2010.
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