A Book That Changed My Opinion About Something // 30-Day Book Challenge - Day 26

Today is the twenty-sixth day of the 30-day book challenge, in which I will be writing about a different book or book series every day for 30 days, with each book chosen according to the daily prompt. Today's prompt is: "a book that changed your opinion about something".

One of the great things about books is how they educate us, introduce us to new ideas, and challenge our preconceptions. You would have to be a rather close-minded person to love reading and yet never allow the books you read to change your mind about something. Many books have changed my mind over the years, but thankfully that doesn't mean that I had difficulty choosing a book for this post. Actually there is a book that I've been wanting to write about, specifically with regard to how it changed my perspective on something, for a while now, so this post seems like the perfect opportunity to do so. This perspective-altering book is Dreams of Joy by Lisa See.

Dreams of Joy is the second book of Lisa See's that I have read, the first being Snowflower and the Secret Fan. When I saw Dreams of Joy for sale in a real life bookshop (how I miss those), I decided to buy it for two reasons: because I had enjoyed See's work previously, and because the cover was absolutely gorgeous. What I didn't realise at the time was that Dreams of Joy was actually a sequel to another of See's books, Shanghai Girls. In a way, I'm glad that I didn't know this, because that knowledge may have prevented me from reading what became one of my favourite books I'd read that year. That said, I should mention that describing the plot of Dreams of Joy will inevitably spoil the events of Shanghai Girls, so if you haven't read that book and are bothered by spoilers, perhaps you'd better turn back now.

With that out of the way, the plot of Dreams of Joy (as always supplied by a Goodreads summary) is as follows:

Nineteen-year-old Joy Louie has run away from her home in 1950s America to start a new life in China. Idealistic and unafraid, she believes that Chairman Mao is on the side of the people, despite what her family keeps telling her. How can she trust them, when she has just learned that her parents have lied to her for her whole life, that her mother Pearl is really her aunt and that her real father is a famous artist who has been living in China all these years?

Joy arrives in Green Dragon Village, where families live in crowded, windowless huts and eke out a meagre existence from the red soil. And where a handsome young comrade catches her eye... Meanwhile, Pearl returns to China to bring her daughter home - if she can. For Mao has launched his Great Leap Forward, and each passing season brings ever greater hardship to cities and rural communes alike. Joy must rely on her skill as a painter and Pearl must use her contacts from her decadent childhood in 1930s Shanghai to find a way to safety, and a chance of joy for them both.

As you can tell from this description, Dreams of Joy is something of a historical novel. I only knew a bit about the history of China under Mao and specifically the Great Leap Forward before reading it, so I can't attest to the accuracy of the book in that respect. In some ways, this historical context is only the background to a moving story about family. However, it was See's description of the famine resulting from the Great Leap Forward (an ambitious economic plan that aimed to rapidly increase the productivity of agrarian industry in China) that impacted me the most and stuck with me long after reading the book.

The description of the famine in Dreams of Joy, which is brutal and uncompromising in its detail, is the part of the book which changed my mind. I am a little embarrassed to admit what my mindset had been prior to reading the book, and there isn't really a much better way of putting it than saying that, simply, I didn't think hunger (and particularly large scale famine) was that bad. If this sounds strange and callous now, the only defence I can offer is that I was young and ignorant of the reality of something which I was lucky enough to have avoided experiencing in my own life.

When I say that I didn't think hunger was that bad, what I mean is that I felt the focus put on world hunger by charities and the like was disproportionate, and if non-profit organisations really wanted to help people then they should focus on things like education, which might help societies to lift themselves out of poverty and famine in the long term (presumably through some vague idea of social mobility), rather than just feeding people. While I'd probably still agree to this day that humanitarian aide should go beyond just food, my belief at the time seems like some sort of social Darwinist extension of the "give a man a fish and you feed him for a day; teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime" proverb. Needless to say, I don't feel this way any longer.

The way that Dreams of Joy changed my mind was not by facts or polemic but by emotion. Even though it has been years since I first read the novel, I still vividly remember the descriptions of how the famine impacts Joy and those around her. Through Joy's eyes, we see first-hand the effects of starvation: the physical pain; the emaciation and premature aging; the desperation and subsequent willingness to do anything to get even a scrap of food; and the inability to focus on anything except the constant, mind-numbing hunger. It was this last point, more than anything, that changed my mind. How could I argue that education was more important than food, when this book showed me that true hunger obliterates the desire for anything else. I had seen pictures of Maslow's hierarchy of needs before, but somehow it took a novel to show me that without those basic physiological requirements at the base of the pyramid being fulfilled, everything else comes tumbling down.

As I said earlier on, I am not proud to admit the strange and detached views I held on this subject before. To dismiss suffering without truly knowing about it or acknowledging the reality of those who have experienced it is not only cruel, it is dangerously ignorant. Thankfully, Dreams of Joy did what fiction does best and bred empathy in my young mind, not only for victims of famine and starvation but also for any person whose pain I might have previously been too quick to deny.

A Character Who I Can Relate to the Most // 30-Day Book Challenge - Day 25

Today is the twenty-fifth day of the 30-day book challenge, in which I will be writing about a different book or book series every day for 30 days, with each book chosen according to the daily prompt. Today's prompt is: "a character who you can relate to the most".

Another day, another delay. I shan't bore you with yet one more excuse explanation as to why this post is so late, so instead we can get straight to the topic of this post: a book which features, according to the 30-day book challenge, "a character who I can relate to the most".

My selection for this post is not an original one, but I hope I will be able to show you why the titular character of this book is one I relate to so much. Conveniently, both this character and the name of the book she stars in share the same name: Jane Eyre.

Jane Eyre, as many of you no doubt already know, is the first published novel by British author Charlotte Bronte, one of the three famous Bronte sisters of English literature (the two other sisters being Anne and Emily). While Jane Eyre was not actually the first book to be written by Charlotte Bronte - that award goes to The Professor - it is no doubt her most well-known work. Among its iconic characters are the eponymous Jane Eyre and her employer-slash-love-interest Mr Rochester. The plot, as described below by Goodreads, follows Jane Eyre from her early life as an orphan to her employment as a governess for Rochester, as well as her subsequent growth and development as a person:

Charlotte Brontë tells the story of orphaned Jane Eyre, who grows up in the home of her heartless aunt, enduring loneliness and cruelty. This troubled childhood strengthens Jane's natural independence and spirit - which prove necessary when she finds employment as a governess to the young ward of Byronic, brooding Mr Rochester. As her feelings for Rochester develop, Jane gradually uncovers Thornfield Hall's terrible secret, forcing her to make a choice. Should she stay with Rochester and live with the consequences, or follow her convictions - even if it means leaving the man she loves?

Jane Eyre is ultimately a very personal novel, being written from Jane's first person perspective, with a narrative that is intensely coloured by her own feelings. While a lot of focus seems to me to be put on the romance between Jane and Rochester in popular culture, I feel that Jane's intrapersonal development is more important than her relationship, which is really only relevant insofar as it applies to her character growth. I am mainly saying this in defence of Jane, as modern feminist criticism of the book often seems to concentrate on the, ahem, slightly dodgy nature of the main romantic plotline (and I agree, it is a little iffy) - but it is unfair to let this critique distract from the book's greatest virtue, the complex and inspiring character that is Jane herself.

Now, having done all of that defending of Jane, it might be a little narcissistic of me to claim that I can relate to this apparently amazing character. But in my own defence, I do relate to the less flattering aspects of Jane's character as well as the more positive ones. Besides, I was hardly likely to choose an entirely detestable character for this post. Although, if you do want to read about a character I hate precisely because I relate to her too much, feel free to look up Cath from Rainbow Rowell's Fangirl.

Getting back to Jane Eyre, the most important thing you need to know about her personality is that she's very reflective and passionate, something we as readers are constantly aware of given that the book is written from her perspective. On the positive side, this means that Jane is thoughtful, sensitive, and principled. On the other hand, Jane can be over-emotional, self-pitying, and stubborn.

I can relate to both these sides of Jane's personality, the positive and the negative, but beyond this multidimensionality, what I appreciate most about her character is how she develops over the course of the novel. Without getting into too much detail and risking spoiling her growth for those who haven't read the novel, I will say that the story allows us to see Jane grow from an unhappy, anxious, and at times timid person into someone who is strong, independent, and self-assured.

This is the final reason why I chose Jane over a character like Fangirl's Cath: because when I say I relate to Jane, I also mean that I see in her some potential for growth and the chance to become the sort of person I would like to be. I feel characters are most useful in that sense, when they not only show us our flaws but also how we might overcome them. At any rate, this is one of the things I find most valuable about Jane's character.

I would love to know if anyone reading this has been able to relate to a character like I can relate to Jane Eyre or even if you can relate to a character in a way that's a little different - maybe it's less ambiguously positive or negative, or maybe it's less about their personality and more about their life situation or another factor. Whatever the reasoning, I'd like to hear it, so if you'd like to share please comment or send me a message and let me know.

A Book That I Wish More People Had Read // 30-Day Book Challenge - Day 24

Today is the twenty-fourth day of the 30-day book challenge, in which I will be writing about a different book or book series every day for 30 days, with each book chosen according to the daily prompt. Today's prompt is: "a book that you wish more people had read".

After another unplanned absence of longer than I'd care to calculate, we are finally back again with another instalment of the 30-day book challenge. I'd like to say that I have been too busy spending my time at home productively to write blog posts, but the truth is that my strategy for surviving quarantine has been to divorce myself from reality as much as possible. Also, I recently got back into playing The Sims, so that's taken up a sizeable chunk of time as well. 

So you might be thinking that it's a little bold of me to suggest anyone read a certain book given that I have been spending my time recently dissociating and playing The Sims 4 (not as good as Sims 2 or 3, sadly - that's a topic for another post), but the 30-day book challenge decreed that today's post should be about 'a book that you wish more people had read', and so I must obey.

With all that out of the way, the book I have chosen for this prompt is The Wooden Doctor by Margiad Evans.

A summary of the book's plot, copied from Honno Press, is as follows:

First published in 1933, this is the story of Arabella, an adolescent girl who is obsessed with her doctor. From a childhood blighted by a violent, alcoholic father, Arabella grows up into a passionate young woman impatient of any restraints. Misunderstood by all around her, she is desperate for the security and peace she associates with the young Irish doctor and she develops a strange illness which she likens to a fox inside her, biting and tearing her flesh. Her condition, it seems, is incurable.

Despite its intriguing premise, The Wooden Doctor is not a famous book. Outside of the sphere of Anglo-Welsh literature, within which Margiad Evans is perhaps relatively well-known, few people seem to have even heard of her - let alone be familiar with this book, the second of her four novels. While her first novel, Country Dance, has been republished recently as part of Parthian's Library of Wales series, to my knowledge Honno Press is the only publisher currently releasing copies of The Wooden Doctor. Honno Press themselves are a small, independent women's press that focuses on publishing books by women with a connection to Wales, such as Evans. They have published their edition of The Wooden Doctor as part of their Honno Classics series - a decision I am forever grateful for, as if they hadn't done so I might never have had the opportunity to read this wonderful book.

And The Wooden Doctor is, in my opinion, a wonderful book. It's intense, gothic, and emotionally powerful, such that it might have been studied alongside such greats of the literary canon as Jane Eyre in an alternate universe. But in this universe, Margiad Evans and her works are tragically little-known.

In my final year of university, I chose to write about The Wooden Doctor and Country Dance for my dissertation. Whenever anyone asked me what I was writing about, they inevitably looked blank at the mention of Margiad Evans (except, thankfully, my dissertation supervisor). The one place where I could reliably find people who not only knew of her but had read her work was at a conference for Welsh writing in English, where I was able to meet some of the academics who have worked hard to analyse and promote the work of Evans, like Kirsti Bohata and Katie Gramich. 

That said, I don't want anyone reading this to think that Margiad Evans is an author who only has value from an academic perspective. On the contrary, I think her work is very accessible and should be able to appeal to a much broader audience than she is currently known to. This is one of the reasons why I wish more people would read The Wooden Doctor: because I feel there are so many people out there who would love the novel, but they just haven't come across it yet. 

From a selfish perspective, too, I wish more people had read The Wooden Doctor. I would be overjoyed to have more people to discuss the themes of Evans' work with, and it would be nice if more people could read my dissertation within the context of having read the two books it's about (beyond its current readers of just me and my supervisor, that is). 

Ultimately, though, I wish more people had read The Wooden Doctor because I think it's a criminally underrated book that deserves more readers. It's a powerful story about trauma, desire, and the things we hold inside of ourselves. I believe that there are many, many people out there who could find something in it to relate to, who are just waiting to discover this unjustly-hidden gem.

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Editing note: If you're thinking the font of this post looks weird or irregular, you're correct. Something went wrong during the editing process and I haven't yet been able to fix it. So... sorry about that.