A Good Fall: Stories by Ha Jin

By Ha Jin

In his first e-book of reports considering that The Bridegroom was released in 2000 ("Finely wrought . . . each tale this is lower like a stone."—Chicago Sun-Times), nationwide e-book Award–winning Ha Jin provides us a set that delves into the event of chinese language immigrants in the US.
 
With an analogous profound awareness to element that could be a hallmark of his past acclaimed works of fiction, Ha Jin depicts the following the entire spectrum of immigrant lifestyles and the day-by-day struggles—some minute, a few grand—faced through those fascinating participants.
 
A lonely composer takes convenience within the antics of his girlfriend's parakeet; children choose to swap their names in order that they might seem extra "American," blind to how deeply this may harm their grandparents; a chinese language professor of English makes an attempt to illness with assistance from a reluctant former scholar. All of Ha Jin's characters fight in events that stir inside of them a wish to stay connected to be dependable to their fatherland and its traditions as they discover and avail themselves of the liberty that existence in a brand new nation bargains.
 
In those stark, deeply relocating, acutely insightful, and infrequently strikingly funny tales, we're reminded once more of the storytelling prowess of this amazing author.

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Sample text

With your warrior’s feathers downsloped at the back of your head, those white sheaves formed like a shield overlaying your breast, your gray-blue cast, the dark tail feathers——do you wear wolves’ tails about your ankles and dance in clearings in the woods when your blood is running? I wonder where you have fought warrior. Where! You retreat beneath your cowl, spread wings, rise, drift upriver as silent as winter trees. I follow you. You have caught me with your reticence. I will listen to whatever they say about you, what anyone who has seen you wishes to offer——and I will return to call across the river to you, to confirm or deny.

I went down to the river and saw the place where he went into the water. The ground was soft around the rocks. I knew his feet. I am not a man of great power, but I took what I had and gave it to him that time, everything I had. “You keep going,” I said. I raised my hands over my head and stepped into the water and shouted it again. ” My heart was pounding like a waterfall. the falls That time after he left he was gone almost ten years again. I had a dream he was living up on those salmon rivers in the north.

While he was up there the dog, Leaves, slept out on some rocks in the Sweetgrass River, where he would not be bothered, and fasted. I came at dawn and then at dusk to look. I could not tell from a distance if he was asleep or dead. Or about the dog. I would only know it was all right because each morning he was in a different position. The fourth morning——I remember this one the best, the sun like fire on the October trees, so many spider webs sunken under the load of dew, the wind in them, as though the trees were breathing——he was gone.

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