Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan

When I made the FB event for this month's Book Club pick (Joy Luck Club, by Amy Tan), I had tagged it as "in honour of Mother's Day" - if ever there was a novel about mothers and daughters and the "lost in translation"-esque relationship they sometime have, JLC is definitely up there.

Joy Luck Club follows the life stories of four Chinese mothers and one of each of their daughters. Written like that, it sounds so ordinary, but it's so far from. Amy Tan has a hard-to-come-by talent of being able to completely sell each character - when I read the story through Waverly's eyes, I feel sorry for this little chess genius who is embarrassed by her mother's boasting; when I read about Waverly through June's eyes, I feel like she's a total brat. While we don't get whole character studies, I did find each character to be believably fleshed out, flawed and talented in equal measures. I thoroughly enjoyed Tan's style and eloquence, which is brilliant in its simplicity. I think it's a must-read.

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Book Club is bar-none the consistent highlight of my month. Not only do I read these great books, but the conversation generated is intelligent, provocative and fun. I had commented that I can almost hear my own mother's voice in the thoughts of Lindo, Suyuan and An-Mei (not so much Ying-Ying) - the disappointments, fears and heartaches bred solely for their daughter. I turn the big two-nine this year, and I can't help but reflect on own mother at my age.

In 1986, at 29, my mother gave birth to her second child (LilBro himself). She was young, energetic, in a great job surrounded by family and friends. But looking into the big brown eyes of her children, she must have known that, suddenly, it wasn't about her at all. At 29, my mother decided to leave the country of her birth (of her parents and grandparents) and filled out applications for Canada and America and Australia and said the first ones to reply back would win us all. To make her case better for herself, my mother, at 29, decided she would learn French. She prodded my dad into upgrading his mechanics' skills and completing his GSO training. When she received the acceptance letters, my mother at 29 sold all our worldly possessions (save for her father's cuff link collection, her father-in-law's tools and her gold), packed eight burgeoning suitcases with flannel night clothes, fancy dresses and all the hope she could squeeze in. My mother, at 29, boarded a plane with my brother in one arm, tickets in the other, her husband and daughter close behind and never looked back.

My mother, at 29, was far braver than I could ever imagine being.

Often, I disparage my parents. My mom is the original Iron Maiden, my father the happy-go-lucky guy who just lets her boss him around. I read JLC and thought, yes, my mother was just as cruel and harsh in her treatment of me. One look, one word from my mother and I become eight years old again, asking forgiveness for a crime I didn't even know I committed. My mother is a hard woman - but she's had to be. If she wasn't, my mother (at 29 or any other age), would never have left behind the comforts of all she found familiar to travel to a strange and distant land we now call, with all our hearts, home. What's a harsh word here and there when I know just what she is willing to sacrifice for me, and me alone?