I have finally finished Falling Leaves by Adeline Yen Mah. This post is going to be less a book review than the thoughts that ran through my head while I struggled to finish the book. Now, it isn’t as bad as I make it sound. Mostly it’s because I’m supposed to read it for EALD that makes my progress so slow. The same with The Pearl, Julius Caesar and Holes. Knowing that I’m supposed to complete the book before a certain day has an opposite effect that renders me unable to read for hours on end.
Anyway, Falling Leaves is basically an account of Adeline as an unwanted Chinese daughter. It catalogues her childhood through to her adult years, her relationships with her father, stepmother, aunt and siblings, bits of historical changes in China, her love life and most of all, her emotional growth. In all honesty, I hated the book. Let me explain. At first, I simply disliked the narration but I was still sympathetic to the young Adeline growing up in the face of such meanness. There was an abruptness in the way she wrote that rubbed me wrong. More than that was the tone she used throughout the book, as though she was always the victim. The more I read, the more she sounded like a martyr. The worst part was the fact that it made me feel guilty for feeling that way. It was a biography that I disliked, a true story, something someone has really gone through. What am I but an unfeeling person if I have no empathy for her?
It is true that she has gone through a lot of emotional suffering and perhaps this is the way she deals with that pain. I don’t begrudge her that. I can relate. After all, I write about things that make me sad too. Probably in some way, I see myself in her. English is her second language. She is the youngest in the family before her step-siblings came along. She longs for emotional fulfillment. She keeps setting herself up for disappointment. The single most discernible difference is that her sufferings are at least 10 times greater than mine. So with that one book, Adeline has not only taken away so many hours of my life but my right to complain about my life as well.
Believe me, I feel awful giving this book a bad review. Who does that to a biography? But while reading the book, I have doled out disgust for nearly every major character in the book, including the author. There was a lack of depth to the characters, despite them being real. Then again, portraying someone you know is probably harder than it sounds — you never really know someone that well. So that I can forgive. What is completely unforgivable is the faultlessness of the narrator (also author). Her greatest fault was that she constantly yearned for approval from her evil stepmother despite her being well, evil. She simply failed to mention any of her own flaws while highlighting everyone else’s, except for Aunt Baba whom she loved dearly. It makes me doubt the truth of her words. There were many conflicts in the book and with her lack of frankness, I found myself not believing her side of the story as much as I should. That made it a difficult read.
Ok I’m more or less done with ranting about the book. Now I shall get started on the second item on my reading list: Desert Flower by Waris Dirie.
