Dreams of Joy

Dreams of Joy

4.1 446
by Lisa See

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In her most powerful novel yet, acclaimed author Lisa See returns to the story of sisters Pearl and May from Shanghai Girls, and Pearl’s strong-willed nineteen-year-old daughter, Joy. Reeling from newly uncovered family secrets, Joy runs away to Shanghai in early 1957 to find her birth father—the

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In her most powerful novel yet, acclaimed author Lisa See returns to the story of sisters Pearl and May from Shanghai Girls, and Pearl’s strong-willed nineteen-year-old daughter, Joy. Reeling from newly uncovered family secrets, Joy runs away to Shanghai in early 1957 to find her birth father—the artist Z.G. Li, with whom both May and Pearl were once in love. Dazzled by him, and blinded by idealism and defiance, Joy throws herself into the New Society of Red China, heedless of the dangers in the Communist regime. Devastated by Joy’s flight and terrified for her safety, Pearl is determined to save her daughter, no matter the personal cost. From the crowded city to remote villages, Pearl confronts old demons and almost insurmountable challenges as she follows Joy, hoping for reconciliation. Yet even as Joy’s and Pearl’s separate journeys converge, one of the most tragic episodes in China’s history threatens their very lives.

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Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher
“Astonishing . . . one of those hard-to-put-down-until-four-in-the-morning books . . . a story with characters who enter a reader’s life, take up residence, and illuminate the myriad decisions and stories that make up human history.”—Los Angeles Times
“[Lisa] See is a gifted historical novelist. . . . The real love story, the one that’s artfully shown, is between mother and daughter, and aunt and daughter, as both of the women who had a part in making Joy return [come] to her rescue. . . . [In Dreams of Joy,] there are no clear heroes or villains, just people who often take wrong turns to their own detriment but for the good of the story, leading to greater strength of character and more durable relationships.”—San Francisco Chronicle
“A heartwarming story of heroic love between a mother and daughter . . . No writer has better captured the voice and heart of Chinese culture.”—Bookreporter.com
“Once again, See’s research feels impeccable, and she has created an authentic, visually arresting world.”—The Washington Post
“Excellent . . . [Dreams of Joy] lives up to its predecessor’s magic.”—The Dallas Morning News
“[Lisa] See’s fans will be glad to read more about Pearl, May and Joy, and See’s recurring themes of unbreakable family bonds and strong-willed women.”—The Oregonian
“[See’s] prose rings like a temple bell.”—Los Angeles magazine
“A vivid, haunting, and often graphic portrait of a country, and a family, in crisis.”—Booklist
“See keeps her eyes focused on the women—their standing, their predicaments, their resourcefulness.”—The Seattle Times
“See’s many readers will be pleased to see the continued development of Pearl and May’s relationship. . . . [She] creates an immersive atmosphere.”—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Riveting, meticulously researched.”—Kirkus Reviews

Chris Bohjalian
Once again, See's research feels impeccable, and she has created an authentic, visually arresting world.
—The Washington Post

In this new novel, Lisa See (Peony in Love; Snow Flower and the Secret Fan) tracks the stories sister Pearl and May, last seen in her bestseller Shanghai Girls. Much of the impetus of the novel lies in the unbridled, idealistic spirit of Joy, Pearl's teenage daughter. Abandoning her family and their wishes, Joy leaves Shanghai to plunge in 1957 to plunge into the uncertainties of "the Great Leap Forward" in Mao's New China. Worried for her offspring's safety and yearning for reunion, Pearl follows Joy, but even as they converge, dramatic events overtake them. Like its predecessors, See's Dreams of Joy combines richly drawn characters; sweeping, yet plausible plot developments; and convincing settings. Worth recommending.

Publishers Weekly
See revisits Shanghai Girls sisters Pearl and May in this surefire story of life in Communist China. Joy, the daughter Pearl has raised as her own in L.A., learns the truth about her parentage and flees to China to seek out her father and throw herself into the Communist cause, giving See ample opportunity to explore the People's Republic from an unlikely perspective as Joy reconnects with her artist father, Z.G. Li, and the two leave sophisticated Shanghai to go to the countryside, where Z.G., whose ironic view of politics is lost on naïve Joy, has been sent to teach art to the peasants. Joy, full of political vigor, is slow to pick up on the harsh realities of communal life in late 1950s China, but the truth sinks in as Mao's drive to turn China into a major agriculture and manufacturing power backfires. Pearl, meanwhile, leaves L.A. on a perhaps perilous quest to find Joy. As always, See creates an immersive atmosphere—her rural China is far from postcard pretty—but Joy's education is a stellar example of finding new life in a familiar setup, and See's many readers will be pleased to see the continued development of Pearl and May's relationship. Looks like another hit. (May)
Library Journal
This is the eagerly anticipated sequel to See's Shanghai Girls, and what a sequel it is! Continuing the story of Pearl and May Chin, who escaped the Japanese invasion of China during the 1930s, the novel centers on Joy, the daughter that both women have raised, one as aunt, one as mother. When 19-year-old Joy discovers the identity of her "real" mother, she returns to China in 1957. Readers will be drawn in as they experience Joy's life in Mao's Communist China: her life on a commune, starvation, love, oppression, and her fight to stay alive. It's this struggle for life that May and Pearl understand all too well, and it's what sends Pearl back to China. Pearl has the fierce mother love that allows her to disregard her own life to save her daughter. And that's the essential question: What makes a true mother? VERDICT Readers of historical fiction will appreciate the authentic details that See weaves into her novel. You don't have to read Shanghai Girls to love this book, but if you have, this sequel will make you want to reread its predecessor. [See Prepub Alert, 11/22/10; 14-city tour; library marketing; see the Q&A with See on p. 76.]—Marika Zemke, Commerce Twp. Community Lib., MI
Kirkus Reviews

In this sequel to See's bestselling Shanghai Girls (2009, etc.), a daughter's flight leads to further family upheavals against the backdrop of Mao Tse-Tung's Great Leap Forward.

Twenty years have passed since Pearl and May Chin left war-torn Shanghai for California, to fulfill the marriage contracts their bankrupt gambler father had arranged.Now, Pearl's daughter Joy has impulsively immigrated to China to seek her birth father Z.G., who once painted the youthful Pearl and May for "Beautiful Girl" advertisements. Z.G. is not hard to locate—he is now the New Society's highest-ranking propaganda artist.But he has fallen into disfavor and is being sent to a peasant commune, Green Dragon Village, to reform his bourgeois aesthetic.Joy accompanies him to Green Dragon, excited at the prospect of living the communist ideals that so enthralled her as a University of Chicago student.For a while, the system works: Women are liberated from household drudgery, childcare and cooking (meals are provided by a canteen), crops are plentiful and people are being encouraged to have large families to augment the workforce. Z.G. returns to Shanghai, but Joy, who has married local peasant Tao, remains behind (she'll regret her marriage immediately after a wedding night spent in a crowded, two-room shack). However, soon the Great Leap Forward, thanks to several wrongheaded strategies (among them, plowing broken glass into the fields, overplanting wheat and a war on sparrows which wreaks environmental havoc), leads to nationwide famine.The once tranquil commune is now riven by strife.Under the rule of a corrupt party official who keeps all the food for himself, starving villagers resort to mob violence and cannibalism. Meanwhile, Pearl has arrived in Shanghai and is living in uneasy community with her father's former tenants and working as a street sweeper while she plots to rescue Joy and her new granddaughter.

Although the ending betrays See's roots in genre fiction, this is a riveting, meticulously researched depiction of one of the world's worst human-engineered catastrophes.

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Product Details

Random House Publishing Group
Publication date:
Sales rank:
Product dimensions:
8.02(w) x 5.24(h) x 0.86(d)

Read an Excerpt

THE WAIL OF a police siren in the distance tears through my body. Crickets whir in a never- ending chorus of blame. My aunt whimpers in her twin bed at the other end of the screened porch we share— a reminder of the misery and embarrassment from the secrets she and my mother threw at each other during their argument tonight. I try to listen for my mother in her room, but she’s too far away. That silence is painful. My hands grab the bedsheets, and I struggle to focus on an old crack in the ceiling. I’m desperately attempting to hang on, but I’ve been on a precipice since my father’s death, and now I feel as though I’ve been pushed over the edge and am falling.
Everything I thought I knew about my birth, my parents, my grandparents, and who I am has been a lie. A big fat lie. The woman I thought was my mother is my aunt. My aunt is actually my mother. The man I loved as my father was not related to me at all. My real father is an artist in Shanghai whom both my mother and aunt have loved since before I was born. And that’s only the tip of the iceberg— as Auntie May might say. But I was born in the Year of the Tiger, so before the gnawing blackness of guilt about my dad’s death and the anguish I feel about these revelations overpower me, I grip the sheets tighter, set my jaw, and try to force my emotions to cower and shrink before my Tiger ferocity. It doesn’t work.
I wish I could talk to my friend Hazel, but it’s the middle of the night. I wish even more that I could be back at the University of Chicago, because my boyfriend, Joe, would understand what I’m going through. I know he would.
It’s two in the morning by the time my aunt drifts off to sleep and the house seems quiet. I get up and go to the hall, where my clothes are kept in a linen closet. Now I can hear my mother weeping, and it’s heartbreaking. She can’t imagine what I’m about to do, but even if she did, would she stop me? I’m not her daughter.
Why should she stop me? I quickly pack a bag. I’ll need money for where I’m going, and the only place I know to get it will bring me more disgrace and shame. I hurry to the kitchen, look under the sink, and pull out the coffee can that holds my mother’s savings to put me through college. This money represents all her hopes and dreams for me, but I’m not that person anymore. She’s always been cautious, and for once I’m grateful. Her fear of banks and Americans will fund my escape.
I look for paper and a pencil, sit down at the kitchen table, and scrawl a note.
Mom, I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t understand this country anymore.
I hate that it killed Dad. I know you’ll think I’m confused and foolish. Maybe I am, but I have to find answers. Maybe China is my real home . . .
I go on to write that I mean to find my real father and that she shouldn’t worry about me. I fold the paper and take it to the porch. Auntie May doesn’t stir when I put the note on my pillow. At the front door, I hesitate. My invalid uncle is in his bedroom at the back of the house. He’s never done anything to me. I should tell him good- bye, but I know what he’ll say. “Communists are no good. They’ll kill you.”
I don’t need to hear that, and I don’t want him to alert my mother and aunt that I’m leaving.
I pick up my suitcase and step into the night. At the corner, I turn down Alpine Street, and head for Union Station. It’s August 23, 1957, and I want to memorize everything because I doubt I’ll ever see Los Angeles Chinatown again. I used to love to stroll these streets, and I know them better than anyplace else in the world. Here, I know everyone and everyone knows me. The houses— almost all of them clapboard bungalows— have been what I call Chinafied, with bamboo planted in the gardens, pots with miniature kumquat trees sitting on porches, and wooden planks laid on the ground on which to spread leftover rice for birds. I look at it all differently now. Nine months at college— and the events of tonight— will do that. I learned and did so much at the University of Chicago during my freshman year. I met Joe and joined the Chinese Students Democratic Christian Association. I learned all about the People’s Republic of China and what Chairman Mao is doing for the country, all of which contradicts everything my family believes. So when I came home in June, what did I do? I criticized my father for seeming as if he were fresh off the boat, for the greasy food he cooked in his café, and for the dumb TV shows he liked to watch.
These memories trigger a dialogue in my head that I’ve been having since his death. Why didn’t I see what my parents were going through? I didn’t know that my father was a paper son and that he’d come to this country illegally. If I’d known, I never would have begged my dad to confess to the FBI— as if he didn’t have anything to hide. My mother holds Auntie May responsible for what happened, but she’s wrong. Even Auntie May thinks it was her fault. “When the FBI agent came to Chinatown,” she confessed to me on the porch only a few hours ago, “I talked to him about Sam.” But Agent Sanders never really cared about my dad’s legal status, because the first thing he asked about was me.
And then the loop of guilt and sorrow tightens even more. How could I have known that the FBI considered the group I joined a front for Communist activities?
We picketed stores that wouldn’t allow Negroes to work or sit at the lunch counter.
We talked about how the United States had interned American citizens of Japanese descent during the war. How could those things make me a Communist? But they did in the eyes of the FBI, which is why that awful agent told my dad he’d be cleared if he ratted out anyone he thought was a Communist or a Communist sympathizer.
If I hadn’t joined the Chinese Students Democratic Christian Association,
the FBI couldn’t have used that to push my father to name others— specifically me. My dad never would have turned me in, leaving him only one choice. As long as I live I will never forget the sight of my mother holding my father’s legs in a hopeless attempt to take his weight off the rope around his neck, and I will never ever forgive myself for my role in his suicide.


i turn down Broadway and then onto Sunset, which allows me to continue passing places I want to remember. The Mexican tourist attraction of Olvera Street is closed, but strings of gaily colored carnival lights cast a golden glow over the closed souvenir stands. To my right is the
Plaza, the birthplace of the city, with its wrought- iron bandstand. Just beyond that, I see the entrance to Sanchez Alley. When I was little, my family lived on the second floor of the Garnier Building on Sanchez
Alley, and now my heart fills with memories of my grandmother playing with me in the Plaza, my aunt treating me to Mexican lollipops on
Olvera Street, and my mother taking me through here every day to and from school in Chinatown. Those were happy years, and yet they were also filled with so many secrets that I wonder what in my life was real at all.
Before me, palm trees throw perfect shadows on Union Station’s stucco walls. The clock tower reads 2:47 a.m. I was barely a year old when the train station opened, so this place too has been a constant in my life. There are no cars or streetcars at this hour, so I don’t bother waiting for the light to change and dash across Alameda. A lone taxi sits at the curb outside the terminal. Inside, the cavernous waiting room is deserted,
and my footsteps echo on the marble and tile floors. I slip into a telephone booth and shut the door. An overhead light comes on, and I
see myself in the glass’s reflection.
My mother always discouraged me from acting like a peacock. “You don’t want to be like your auntie,” she always chastised me if she caught
. . . 10 . . .
me looking in a mirror. Now I realize she never wanted me to look too closely. Because now that I look, now that I really look, I see just how much I resemble Auntie May. My eyebrows are shaped like willow leaves, my skin is pale, my lips are full, and my hair is onyx black. My family always insisted that I keep it long and I used to be able to sit on it,
but earlier this year I went to a salon in Chicago and asked to have it cut short like Audrey Hepburn’s. The beautician called it a pixie cut. Now my hair is boy- short and shines even here in the dim light of the phone booth.
I dump the contents of my coin purse on the ledge, then dial Joe’s number and wait for the operator to tell me how much the first three minutes will cost. I put the coins in the slot, and Joe’s line rings. It’s close to five a.m. in Chicago, so I’m waking him up.
“Hello?” comes his groggy voice.
“It’s me,” I say, trying to sound enthusiastic. “I’ve run away. I’m ready to do what we talked about.”
“What time is it?”
“You need to get up. Pack. Get on a plane to San Francisco. We’re going to China. You said we should be a part of what’s happening there.
Well, let’s do it.”
Across the telephone line, I hear him roll over and sit up.
“Yes, yes, it’s me. We’re going to China!”
“China? You mean the People’s Republic of China? Jesus, Joy, it’s the middle of the night. Are you okay? Did something happen?”
“You took me to get my passport so we could go together.”
“Are you crazy?”
“You said that if we went to China we’d work in the fields and sing songs,” I continue. “We’d do exercises in the park. We’d help clean the neighborhood and share meals. We wouldn’t be poor and we wouldn’t be rich. We’d all be equal.”
“Being Chinese and carrying that on our shoulders and in our hearts can be a burden, but it’s also a source of pride and joy. You said that too.”
“It’s one thing to talk about all that’s happening in China, but I have a future here— dental school, joining my dad’s practice. . . . I never planned on actually going there.”
When I hear the ridicule in his voice, I wonder what all those meet-
ings and all his chatter were about. Was talking about equal rights, sharing the wealth, and the value of socialism over capitalism just a way to get in my pants? (Not that I let him.)
“I’d be killed and so would you,” he concludes, echoing the same propaganda that Uncle Vern has recited to me all summer.
“But it was your idea!”
“Look, it’s the middle of the night. Call me tomorrow. No, don’t do that. It costs too much. You’ll be back here in a couple of weeks. We can talk about it then.”
The line goes dead.
I refuse to allow my fury with and disappointment in Joe to shake me from my plan. My mom has always tried to nurture my best characteristics.
Those born in the Year of the Tiger are romantic and artistic, but she has always cautioned me that it’s also in a Tiger’s nature to be rash and impulsive, to leap away when circumstances are rough. These things my mom has tried to cage in me, but my desire to leap is overwhelming and
I won’t let this setback stop me. I’m determined to find my father, even if he lives in a country of over 600 million people.
I go back outside. The taxi is still here. The driver sleeps in the front seat. I tap on the window, and he wakes with a jerk.
“Take me to the airport,” I say.
Once there, I head straight for the Western Airlines counter, because
I’ve always liked their television commercials. To go to Shanghai, I’ll have to fly to Hong Kong first. To go to Hong Kong, I’ll have to depart from San Francisco. I buy a ticket for the first leg of my journey and board the day’s first flight to San Francisco. It’s still early morning when
I land. I go to the Pan Am counter to ask about Flight 001, which goes all the way around the world with stops in Honolulu, Tokyo, and Hong
Kong. The woman in her perky uniform looks at me strangely when I
pay cash for a one- way ticket to Hong Kong, but when I hand her my passport, she gives me the ticket anyway.
I have a couple of hours to wait for my plane. I find a phone booth and call Hazel’s house. I don’t plan on telling her where I’m going. Joe already let me down, and I suspect Hazel’s reaction would be even worse. She’d warn me that Red China is a bad place and stuff like that—
all the usual negativity we’re both accustomed to hearing from our families.
The youngest Yee sister answers the phone, and she hands me over to
“I want to say good- bye,” I say. “I’m leaving the country.”
“What are you talking about?” Hazel asks.
“I have to get away.”
“You’re leaving the country?”
I can tell Hazel doesn’t believe me— because neither of us has been anywhere other than Big Bear and San Diego for weekend excursions with the Methodist church, and college— but she will later. By then, I’ll be somewhere over the Pacific. There’ll be no turning back.
“You’ve always been a good friend,” I tell her. Tears cloud my eyes.
“You’ve been my best friend. Don’t forget me.”
“I won’t forget you.” Then after a pause, she asks, “So do you want to go to Bullock’s this afternoon? I wouldn’t mind buying some things to take back to Berkeley.”
“You’re the best, Haz. Bye.”
The click of the receiver going back into the cradle sounds final.
When my flight is called, I board and take my seat. My fingers seek out the pouch I wear around my neck. Auntie May gave it to me last summer before I left for Chicago. It contains three sesame seeds, three beans, and three coppers from China. “Our mother gave these pouches to Pearl and me to protect us when we fled Shanghai,” she told me last night. “I gave mine to you on the day you were born. Your mother didn’t want you to wear it when you were a baby, but she let me give it to you when you went away to college. I’m glad you’ve worn it this past year.”
My aunt . . . My mom . . . My eyes begin to well, but I fight back the tears, knowing that, if I start to cry, I may never stop.
But how could May have given me up? How could my real father have let me go? And what about my father Sam? Did he know I wasn’t his? May said no one else knew. If he had known, he wouldn’t have killed himself. He would still be alive to throw me out on the street as the disrespectful,
shameful, deceitful, troublemaking bastard that I am. Well,
I’m out now. My mom and aunt are probably up, and still not speaking to each other but beginning to wonder where I am. I’m glad I’m not there to choose which mother to love and be loyal to, even with all their poisonous secrets, because that’s an impossible choice. Worst, there’s going to be a moment when things calm down and my mom and aunt make peace— and they go over everything again with a fine- tooth comb,
as they always do— that they put two and two together and realize that
I’m the real source of what happened to my father Sam, not Auntie May.
How will they react when it finally sinks in that I’m the one the FBI was interested in, that I’m the one who led Agent Sanders right to our home,
causing such devastation? When that happens, they’ll be glad I’m gone.
I let go of my pouch and wipe my sweaty hands on my skirt. I’m anxious— who wouldn’t be?—but I can’t let myself worry about how what I’m doing might affect my mom and aunt. I love them both, but
I’m mad at them and afraid of what they’ll think of me too— and just like that, I know I’ll always call May my auntie and Pearl my mom. Otherwise
I’ll be more confused than I already am. If Hazel were sitting next to me, she’d say, “Oh, Joy, you’re a mess.” Fortunately, she’s not here.
about a billion hours later, we land in Hong Kong. Some men roll a set of stairs to the plane, and I get off with the rest of the passengers.
Waves of heat shimmy off the tarmac, and the air is stiflingly hot, with humidity that’s even worse than when I left Chicago in June. I follow the other passengers into the terminal, down a dingy hall, to a big room with lots of lines for passport control. When my turn comes, the man asks in a crisp British accent, “What is your final destination?”
“Shanghai in the People’s Republic of China,” I answer.
“Stand to the side!” He gets on the phone, and in a couple of minutes two guards come to get me. They take me to the baggage area to retrieve my suitcase, and then I’m led down more shadowy hallways. I don’t see any other passengers, only people in uniforms who stare at me suspiciously.
“Where are we going?”
One of the guards answers my question by roughly jerking my arm.
Finally we reach a set of double doors. We push through them and back into the horrible heat. I’m put in the back of a windowless van and told to keep quiet. The guards get in up front, and we start to drive. I can’t see anything. I don’t understand what’s going on and I’m scared— petrified,
if I’m honest. All I can do is hang on as the van makes sharp turns and goes over bumpy roads. It pulls to a stop after a half hour. The guards come around to the back of the van. They talk for a few minutes, leaving me inside to worry and sweat. When the doors are opened, I see that we’re on a wharf where a big boat is taking on cargo. The boat flies the flag of the People’s Republic of China— five gold stars on a red background.
That same mean guard yanks me out of the van and drags me to the gangplank.
“We don’t want you spreading communism here,” he practically yells at me as he hands me my suitcase. “Get on the boat and don’t get off until you reach China.”
The two guards stand at the bottom of the gangplank to make sure I
board. All this is a surprise— an intimidating and unsettling surprise. At the top of the gangplank, I see a sailor. No, that’s not what he’d be called.
He’s a crewman, I think. He speaks rapidly to me in Mandarin, the official language of China and a language I don’t feel confident about in its pure form. I’ve heard my mother and aunt converse in the Wu dialect—
Shanghainese— my whole life. I believe I know it well but not nearly as well as I do Cantonese, which was the common language in Chinatown.
When talking to my family, I’ve always used a little Cantonese, a little
Shanghainese, and a little English. I guess I’ll be giving up English entirely from here on out.
“Can you say that again, and maybe a little slower?” I ask.
“Are you returning to the motherland?”
I nod, pretty sure I’m understanding him.
“Good, welcome! I’ll show you where to bunk. Then I’ll take you to the captain. You’ll pay him for your ticket.”
I look back down to the two guards still watching me on the wharf. I
wave, like an idiot. And then I follow the crewman. When I was younger,
I worked as an extra with my aunt in lots of movies. I was once in a film about Chinese orphans being evacuated by boat from China during the war, and this is nothing like that set. There’s rust everywhere. The stairs are narrow and steep. The corridors are dimly lit. We’re still docked, but
I can feel the sway of the water beneath my feet, which suggests that this might not be the most seaworthy vessel. I’m told I’ll have a cabin to myself,
but when I see it, it’s hard to imagine sharing the claustrophobically small space with anyone else. It’s hot outside and it may be even hotter in here.
Later I’m introduced to the captain. His teeth are tobacco stained and his uniform is grimy with food and oil. He watches closely when I open my wallet and pay for my ticket. The whole thing is kind of creepy.
On my way back to my cabin, I remind myself this is what I wanted.
Run away. Adventure. Find my father. A joyful reunion. Although I only just found out that Z.G. Li is my father, I’d heard about him before. He used to paint my mom and aunt when they were models back in Shanghai.
I’ve never seen any of those posters, but I did see some of the illustrations he did for China Reconstructs, a propaganda magazine my grandfather used to buy from under the table at the tobacconist. It was strange seeing my mother’s and aunt’s faces on the cover of a magazine from Red China. Z.G. Li had painted them from memory, and he did so many more times. By then he’d changed his name to Li Zhi- ge, probably in keeping with the political changes in China, according to my mom.
My aunt liked to pin the magazine covers with his illustrations to the wall above her bed, so I feel like I already know a bit about him as an artist. I’m sure that Z.G.—or whatever he wants me to call him— will be very surprised and happy to see me. These thoughts temporarily alleviate my concerns about the soundness of the boat and its strange captain.
As soon as we leave Hong Kong harbor, I go to the galley for dinner.
It turns out the boat is primarily for returning Overseas Chinese. A different boat leaves Hong Kong every day, I’m told, taking others like me to China. Twenty passengers— all Chinese men— from Singapore, Australia,
France, and the United States, have also been brought directly to this boat from other flights and other ships. (What does Hong Kong think will happen if one of us stays overnight or for a week?) Halfway through dinner, I start to feel queasy. Before dessert is served, I have to leave the table because I feel so nauseated. I barely make it back to my room. The smells of oil and the latrine, the heat, and the emotional and physical exhaustion of the last few days hit me hard. I spend the next three days trying to keep down broth and tea, sleeping, sitting on the deck hoping to find cool air, and chatting with the other passengers, who give me all kinds of useless advice about seasickness.
On the fourth night, I’m in my bunk when the rolling of the ship finally eases. We must be passing into the Yangtze River estuary. I’ve been told it will take a few more hours before we veer onto the Whangpoo River to reach Shanghai. I get up just before dawn and put on my favorite dress— a shift of pale blue dotted swiss over white lining. I visit the captain,
hand him an envelope to mail when he returns to Hong Kong, and ask if he can change some of my dollars into Chinese money. I give him five twenty- dollar bills. He pockets forty dollars and then gives me sixty dollars’
worth of Chinese yuan. I’m too shocked to argue, but his actions make me realize I don’t know what will happen when I land. Am I going to be treated like I was in Hong Kong? Will the people I encounter be like the captain and take my money? Or will something entirely different happen?
My mother always said China was corrupt. I thought that sort of thing went out with the Communist takeover, but apparently it hasn’t disappeared completely. What would my mom do if she were here? She’d hide her cash, as she did at home. When I get back to my cabin, I take out all the money I stole from her can under the sink and divide it into two piles,
wrapping the larger amount in a handkerchief and pinning it to my underwear.
I take the rest—$250—and put it in my wallet with my new Chinese money. Then I pick up my suitcase, leave the cabin, and disembark.
it’s eight a.m., and the air is as thick, heavy, and hot white as potato soup. I’m herded with the other passengers into a stifling room filled with cigarette smoke and pungent with the odors of food that’s spent too long without refrigeration in this weather. The walls are painted a sickly pea green. The humidity is so bad that the windows sweat. In America,
everything would be orderly, with people standing in lines. Here, my fellow passengers crush forward in a throbbing mass to the single processing kiosk. I linger on the edges because I’m nervous after my experience with passport control in Hong Kong. The line moves very slowly, with numerous delays for reasons I can’t see or intuit. It takes three hours for me to reach the window.
An inspector dressed in an ill- fitting drab green uniform asks, “What is the reason for your visit?”
He speaks Shanghainese, which is a relief, but I don’t think I should tell him the truth— that I’ve come to find my father but I have no clue where he is precisely or how to locate him.
“I’m here to help build the People’s Republic of China,” I answer.
He asks for my papers, and his eyes widen when he sees my U.S.
passport. He looks at me and then back at the photo. “It’s good you came this year instead of last year. Chairman Mao says that Overseas Chinese no longer have to apply for entry permits. All I need is something that shows your identity, and you’ve given me that. Would you consider yourself stateless?”
“It’s illegal to travel in China as a U.S. citizen,” he says. “So are you stateless?”
I’m nineteen. I don’t want to seem like an uninformed and ignorant runaway. I don’t want to confess that I don’t exactly know what stateless means.
“I’ve come to China in response to the call for patriotic Chinese from the United States to serve the people,” I say, reciting things I learned in my club in Chicago. “I want to contribute to humanity and help with national reconstruction!”
“All right then,” the inspector says.
He drops my passport in a drawer and locks it. That alarms me.
“When will I get my passport back?”
“You won’t.”
It never occurred to me that I could be giving up my rights should I
ever want to leave China and return to the United States. I feel a door swing shut and lock behind me. What will I do later if I want to leave and
I don’t have the key? Then my mother’s and aunt’s faces flash before me and all the tumultuous and sad emotions of our last days together bubble up again. I’ll never go back. Never.
“All personal luggage for Overseas Chinese must be searched,” the inspector states, pointing to a sign that reads, customs procedure governing preferential treatment of personal luggage accompanying overseas chinese. “We’re seeking contraband items and clandestine remittances of foreign currency.”
I open my bag, and he paws through the contents. He confiscates my bras, which might be amusing if I weren’t so surprised and scared. My passport and bras?
He gives me a stern look. “If the matron were here, she’d take the one you’re wearing. Reactionary clothing has no place in the New China.
Please throw out the offending item as soon as possible.” He closes my suitcase and shoves it aside. “Now, how much money have you brought with you? You’ll be assigned to a work unit, but for now we can’t let you enter the country unless you have a way to support yourself.”
I hand him my wallet. He takes half of my dollars and pockets them.
I’m glad I have most of my money in my underwear. Then the inspector scrutinizes me, taking in my dotted swiss shift, which I now realize may have been a mistake. He tells me to stay where I am. When he leaves, I
worry that this will be a repeat of what happened in Hong Kong, except where would they send me now? Maybe Joe and my uncle were right.
Maybe something really bad is about to happen to me. Sweat begins to trickle down the small of my back.
The inspector returns back with several more men dressed in the same drab green uniforms. They wear enthusiastic smiles. They call me tong chih. It means comrade but with the connotation that you are a person of the same spirit, goals, and ambitions. Hearing the word makes me feel much better. See, I tell myself, you had nothing to worry about. They huddle together with me in the middle so our picture can be taken, which explains the delays earlier. Next they show me a wall with framed photos of what they tell me are some of the people who’ve entered China through this office. I see mostly men, a couple of women, and a few families. And they aren’t all Chinese. Some are Caucasians. Where they’re from, I can’t tell, although from their dress they don’t appear to be Americans. Maybe they’re from Poland, East Germany, or some other country in the Eastern
Bloc. Soon my photo will be on the wall too.
Then the inspectors ask where I’ll be staying. That stumps me. They see my uncertainty and exchange worried— suspicious— looks.
“You need to tell us where you’ll be staying before we can let you leave here,” the chief inspector says.
I tilt my head down and peer up at them, suggesting I’m innocent and helpless. I learned this expression from my aunt on a movie set years ago.
“I’m looking for my father,” I confide, hoping they’ll feel sorry for me. “My mother took me away from China before I was born. Now I’ve come home to my right place.” I haven’t lied up to this point, but I need their assistance. “I want to live with my father and help him build the country, but my mother refused to tell me where to find him. She’s become too American.” I crinkle my face at that last word as though it’s the most detestable thing to be on earth.
“What kind of worker is he?” the chief inspector asks.
“He’s an artist.”
“Ah, good,” he says. “A cultural worker.” The men rapidly discuss the possibilities. Then the chief inspector says, “Go to the All- China Art
Workers’ Association. I think they just call it the Artists’ Association now,
Shanghai branch. They supervise all cultural workers. They’ll know exactly where to find him.”
He writes down directions, draws a simple map, and tells me that the
Artists’ Association is within walking distance. The men wish me luck,
and then I leave the processing shed and step onto the Bund and into a sea of people who look just like me. Los Angeles Chinatown was a small enclave, and there weren’t that many Chinese at the University of
Chicago. This is more Chinese than I’ve seen altogether in my life. A
wave of pleasure ripples through me.
I stand on a pedestrian walkway that seems almost like a park edging the river. Before me is a street filled with masses of people on bicycles.
It’s just noon, so maybe everyone is on lunch break, but I can’t be sure.
Across the street, huge buildings— heavier, grander, and broader than what I’m used to in Los Angeles— sweep along the Bund, following the curve of the Whangpoo. Turning back to the river, I see Chinese naval ships and cargo ships of every shape and size. Dozens upon dozens of sampans bob on the river like so many water bugs. Junks float past with their sails aloft. What seems like thousands of men— stripped to their waists, with light cotton trousers rolled up to the knees— carry bundles of cotton, baskets filled with produce, and huge crates on and off boats.
Everyone and everything seems to be either coming or going.
I glance at the map to get my bearings, adjust my suitcase in my hand,
make my way through the crowds to the curb, and wait for the bicycles to stop to let me cross. They don’t stop. And there’s no streetlight. All the while I’m being bumped and pushed by the ceaseless flow of pedestrians.
I watch others step into the herds of bicycles and daringly cross the street. The next time someone steps off the curb, I follow close behind,
hoping I’ll be safe in his wake.
As I head up Nanking Road, I can’t help making comparisons between
Shanghai and Chinatown, where most of the people were from
Canton, in Kwangtung province in the south of China. My family’s originally from Kwangtung too, but my mother and aunt grew up in Shanghai.
They always said the food was sweeter and the clothes were more fashionable in Shanghai. The city was more enchanting— with clubs and dancing, late night strolls along the Bund, and one more thing: laughter.
I rarely heard my mother laugh when I was little, but she used to tell stories of giggling with Auntie May in their bedroom, exchanging jokes with handsome young men, and laughing at the sheer joy of being in the exact right place— the Paris of Asia— at the exact right moment— before the Japanese invaded and my grandmother, mother, and aunt had to flee for their lives.
What I’m seeing now certainly isn’t the Shanghai my mother and aunt told me about. I don’t see glamorous women walking along the streets, perusing department store windows for the latest fashions sent from Paris or Rome. I don’t see foreigners who act like they own the place, but Chinese are everywhere. They’re all in a hurry, and there’s nothing stylish about them. The women wear cotton trousers and shortsleeved cotton blouses or plain blue suits. Now that I’m away from the river, the men are better dressed than the dockworkers. They wear gray suits— what my dad derisively called Mao suits. No one looks too thin or too fat. No one looks too rich, and I don’t see any of the beggars or rickshaw pullers that my mother and aunt always complained about.
There’s only one problem. I can’t find the Artists’ Association.
Shanghai is a latticework of streets, and soon I’m completely twisted around. I turn down byways and into alleys. I end up in courtyards and dead ends. I ask for directions, but people shove past me or ogle me for the stranger I am. They’re afraid, I think, to talk to someone who looks so out of place. I enter a couple of shops to get help, but everyone says they’ve never heard of the Artists’ Association. When I show them my map, they look at it, shake their heads, and then ungraciously push me out of their shops.
After what seems like hours of being rejected, pointedly ignored, or jostled by crowds, I realize I’m totally lost. I’m also starved and woozy from the heat, and I’m starting to get scared. I mean really, really scared,
because I’m in an unfamiliar city halfway around the world from anyone who knows me and people are staring at me because I look so alien in my stupid dotted swiss shift and white sandals. What am I doing here?
I’ve got to hold myself together. I really do. Think! I’m going to need a hotel. I’m going to need to return to the Bund for a fresh start. First,
though, I need something to eat and drink.
I find my way back to Nanking Road and after a short walk come to a huge park, where I see a couple of vendor carts. I buy some salty cakes stuffed with minced pork and chopped greens wrapped in a piece of wax paper. At another cart, I buy tea served in a thick ceramic cup, and then sit on a nearby bench. The cake is delicious. The hot tea makes me sweat even more than I already am, but my mom always claimed that a cup of tea on a hot day has a cooling effect. It’s late afternoon and the temperature hasn’t dropped at all. It’s still so humid— and without a hint of a breeze— that I really can’t tell if the tea has a cooling effect or not. Still,
the food and the liquid revive me.
This isn’t like any park I’ve been in before. It’s flat and appears to go on for blocks. A lot of it is paved so that it seems like it’s more for mass meetings than for play or recreation. Even so, there are plenty of grand-
mothers minding small children. The babies are tied in slings to their grandmothers’ backs. The toddlers paddle about in pants split at the crotch. I see one little girl squat and pee right on the ground! Some of the older kids— not one of them over four or five— play with sticks. One grandmother sits on a bench across from me. Her granddaughter looks to be about three and is really cute, with her hair tied up in ribbons so that it sprouts from her head like little mushrooms. The child keeps peeking at me. I must look like a clown to her. I wave. She hides her eyes in her grandmother’s lap. She peers at me again, I wave, and she buries her face back in her grandmother’s lap. We go through this a few times before the little girl wiggles her fingers in my direction.
I take my ceramic cup back to the tea vendor, and when I return to the bench to get my suitcase, the little girl leaves the safety of her grandmother and approaches me.
“Ni hao ma?” I ask. “How are you?”
The little girl giggles and runs back to her grandmother. I really should be going, but the child is so charming. More than that, playing with her gives me a sense that I belong and that everything will work out.
She points at me and whispers to her grandmother. The old woman opens a bag, fishes around, and then places something in her granddaughter’s tiny hand. The next thing I know, the little girl is back in front of me, her arm fully outstretched, offering me a shrimp cracker.
“Shie- shie.”
The girl smiles at my thank- you. Then she climbs up next to me and starts swinging her legs and jabbering about this and that. I thought I was pretty good at the Shanghai dialect, but I don’t understand her nearly as well as I’d hoped. Finally, her grandmother comes over to where we’re sitting.
“You’ve met our disappointment,” she says. “Next time my husband and I hope for a grandson.”
I’ve heard things like this my entire life. I pat the little girl’s knee, a gesture of solidarity.
“You don’t look like you’re from Shanghai,” the old woman goes on.
“Are you from Peking?”
“I’m from far away,” I respond, not wanting to tell my whole story.
“I’m here to visit my father, but I’m lost.”
“Where do you need to go?”
I show her my map.
“I know where this is,” she says. “We could take you there, if you’d like. It’s on our way home.”
“I’d be very grateful.”
She picks up her granddaughter, and I pick up my suitcase.
A few minutes later, we reach the Artists’ Association. I thank the old woman. I look through my purse, find the last of a roll of Life Savers, and give it to the little girl. She doesn’t know what to make of it.
“It’s candy,” I explain. “A sweet for a sweet.” A memory of my aunt saying that to me gives me a sharp pang of anguish. I’ve come this far and still my mother and aunt are with me.
After a few more thank- yous, I turn away and enter the building. I
was hoping for air- conditioning, but the lobby is just as oppressively hot as the street. A middle- aged woman sits behind a desk in the center of the room. She smiles and motions me to step forward.
“I’m looking for an artist named Li Zhi- ge,” I say.
The woman’s smile fades and blooms into a scowl. “You’re too late.
The meeting is almost over.”
I stand there, bewildered.
“I’m not going to let you in there,” she snaps harshly, gesturing in annoyance to a set of double doors.
“You mean he’s in there? Right now?”
“Of course, he’s in there!”
My mother would say it’s fate that I should find my father so easily.
But maybe it’s serendipity. Whatever it is, I’m lucky, even if it’s only dumb luck. But I still don’t understand why the receptionist won’t let me in.
“I need to see him,” I plead.
Just then, the doors open and a group of people stream out.
“There he is now,” the receptionist says with a sneer.
She points to a tall man wearing wire- rimmed glasses. His hair is rather long and falls in a loose mop across his forehead. He’s definitely the right age— somewhere around forty- five— and strikingly handsome.
He’s dressed in a Mao suit, but this one is different from the ones I saw on the street. It’s crisp and well cut, and the fabric looks richer. My father must be very famous and powerful, because the others follow closely behind him, practically pushing him to the street.
As they leave the building, I hurry after them. Once on the sidewalk,
the others fall away, melting into the throng of pedestrians. Z.G. stands still for a moment, looking up through the buildings to a patch of white sky. Then he sighs, shakes his hands as though relieving stress, and begins to walk. I follow him, still lugging my suitcase. What will happen if
I walk up and announce I’m his daughter? I don’t know him, but I sense this isn’t a good moment. Even if I thought it was, I’m filled with apprehension.
At one point he stops at an intersection, and I pause at his side.
Surely he has to notice me since I look so different— after all, everyone else has noticed me— but he seems completely preoccupied. I should say something. Hello, you’re my father. I can’t do it. He glances at me, still registering nothing, and then crosses the street.
He turns onto a quieter lane. Official- looking buildings give way to apartments and little neighborhood shops. He walks for a few blocks,
then swings onto a pedestrian walkway lined on both sides with pretty
Western- style, two- and three- story homes. I stay at the corner to watch where he goes. He passes the first three houses, and then he opens a low picket fence, enters a yard, climbs the stairs to the porch, and disappears through the front door. I take a few steps onto the walkway. I see patches of lawn, cymbidiums in bloom, and climbing vines. Bicycles lean against porches and laundry hangs on poles that jut from windows. The houses themselves are lovely— with tile roofs, nicely painted façades, and iron grillwork in art deco patterns covering windows, as peek- throughs for doors, and as decoration along the eaves and around mail slots.
This isn’t how Joe and my professors described Red China. I expected utilitarian Communist quarters or even an artist’s single room.
Instead, my father lives in an elegant art deco house with a lovely garden.
What does this say about him exactly?
I take a deep breath, and then I climb the steps and ring the bell.

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Dreams of Joy 4.1 out of 5 based on 1 ratings. 446 reviews.
BabsBonMots More than 1 year ago
Goodreads, you are spoiling me for anything other than reading! I had no intentions of whiling away the day by reading a book, but I received my recent win, "Dreams of Joy" on Thursday, started reading Saturday morning and couldn't stop. I have read Lisa See's other books ("Snowflower and the Secret Fan", "Peony in Love", "Shanghi Girls") so was very pleased to score this win. "Dreams of Joy" is a continuation of the "Shanghi Girls" story--in some ways I wish I had re-read "Shanghi Girls" before I started "Dreams of Joy", just so that I could refresh the characters in my head. "Dreams" is the story of Joy, Pearl's daughter. (This is hard, I don't want to spoil the story by sharing too much.) Basically, Joy finds out some family secrets and leaves her home (America) and goes to China, where she buys into the communist philosophy. Along the way she loses her naivety, falls in love, meets her father, learns that she is a strong person, as well as to appreciate her family. Basically she grows up. Meanwhile her mom (Pearl) follows her to China and learns some things about her ownself, her relationship with her sister, as well as her daughter. Really liked this book. As in See's other books, you will learn about Chinese culture and history. In this book, there are several characters with bound feet. With the onset of communism, women were discouraged from this practice. In fact, those who had bound feet were encouraged to unbind them, which turns out to be a painstaking process with less than ideal results. Although the feet will unfurl, they cannot be "normal" since the bones were broken in the binding process when they were young. In the afterward the author mentions the photos of Joseph Rupp and his bound feet project. It was interesting to read the stories of these women, who just accepted this rite of passage as necessary to getting a husband, as well as to see their photos. I'd post the website for you to check out, but this site doesn't allow - so, do a search for Rupp Bound Feet Project if you'd like to learn more. Highly recommend this book!
theReader278 More than 1 year ago
I loved reading this wonderful book! Excellent for a hot summer day!
-JACKI- More than 1 year ago
DREAMS OF JOY begins where SHANGHAI GIRLS left off, right after Joy, (19 years old), finds out that May gave birth to her. After the fight, Joy, a student at the University of Chicago, decides to leave her university education behind and move to China. Soon after arriving in Shanghai, Joy finds her biological father, a well-known artist, who after the shock that he'd fathered a child with May. The author does a wonderful job placing this intriguing family saga in the middle of Mao's "New China" with a balance of bringing the atrocities to light without over powering the family storyline. There is a great lesson in human nature that love, loyalty and perseverance can triumph and survive world unrest. Stunning realism and completely believable characters make this book a hit!
ceejai More than 1 year ago
The last book, "Shanghai Girls", has lived in my mind for nearly a year now. It was one of those rare books that I didn't want to see end and couldn't put down. The characters were both supremely tragic and yet somehow triumphant; the era and situations very thought provoking. Now, I'll be able to see how the saga continues - yea!! Definately recommend reading the earlier book first simply for context.
Psychomom02 More than 1 year ago
This is my first time reading a book from this author and it is a must read..I always read the reviews before i read the editorial reviews and i knew i would like but i LOVED it....Lisa See detailed descriptions of people,places and chacteristics transports you to the same places as her characters. I absolutely could not put this book down. The book is about two sisters that are different in many ways but the same. Lisa tells the story of how Pearl and May go from loving their sheltered,rich and fulfilled life in Shanghai and living as "beautiful girls" (models for advertisements) to poor plain average chinese girls that had to escape their home in Shanghai to go to America to live..Pearl and May was everything a traditional chinese daughter was not..they had dreams,aspirations,goals and they didn't believe in old chinese traditions..but their fate changed for worse not by their own doing but by their father to settle his debts. Their lives took a turn for the worst in the worst way..I can go on and on about this book but i want you to get the entire jest of it..the author is great about educating you on the chinese culture,beliefs and traditions and also language..you can even learn a few words in shanghainese..overall it's a great book,i couldn't put it down and i can't wait until dreams of joy is out so i can dive into that one as well..Well happy reading until next time.
Jane_Austen09 More than 1 year ago
In "Dreams of Joy", See beautifully rounds the circle she began in "Shanghai Girls." In fact, one can argue that you can't really understand "Shanghai Girls" completely on a first reading because the sequel brings a two dimensional perspective to its predecessor. See organizes her new novel in four sections -- The Tiger Leaps, The Rabbit Dodges, The Dog Grins, and The Dragon Rises. As in her previous work, it's fascinating to see how her main characters act against the background of their astrological signs. Joy's guilt-ridden journey to China to find her father and Pearl's loving pursuit are placed in the context of the tumult and suffering of Mao's China -- especially with regard to the horrific famine by Mao's misguided Great Leap Forward. Yet despite the extreme suffering around them, Pearl, Joy, Z.G., and May are able to find joy and to heal many of the pains of the past. I heartily recommend this novel. In bringing joy to her main characters, See brings abundant joy to her readers as well.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
A bit wary because of some of the reviews, I hesitated in purchasing this book, however after reading it I'm glad I bought it. To be able to be reintroduced to Pearl, May and Joy and to see how life progressed for them was great. Filled with vivid descriptions of China with language that is neither simplistic or overstated, Dreams of Joy is yet another wonderful novel by this great author.
bookworm919 More than 1 year ago
I really enjoyed this book. I recommend reading Shangia Girls first. This book had great character development. I learned a lot. Parts were diffult to read but it was worth it.
catmama3 More than 1 year ago
I first read another of Lisa See's books, "On Gold Mountain". I found this book about See's family fascinating and decided to read more. I ended up reading all of See's books. Dreams of Joy completes the story of the two girls in "Shanghai Girls". The story keeps you wondering what is going to happen and how things are going to turn out. It was well researched and written.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
this book won't make much sense unless you've read Shanghai Girls first. All the characters originate there and this is a good sequel.
toujours More than 1 year ago
Beyond the plot and the various interesting characters, I was fascinated by what, in the end, is a barely disguised description—and criticism—of Mao’s disastrous Great leap Forward, and of chinese culture in general.
beh88 More than 1 year ago
hard to get into but once i did, i couldn put it down... i was totally ignorant regarding China during this era....wow are we lucky to live in the usa
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I have never read a more powerful book. The history amazed and horrified me. The charactors felt so real. I wish there was anouther book.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Just as the first book in this series, a fast reader because of it woven historical events within this families's lives. The strength within comes out when you most need it to survive. Have already looked up other Lisa See books and have added them to my must read list!
samcivy More than 1 year ago
Dreams of Joy Lisa See © 2011 (author of Shanghai Girls) Random House Trade Paperbacks ISBN 978-0-8129-8054-7 349 pp. plus photos and discussion questions After the death of her husband, Sam, Pearl and her sister May (characters in Shanghai Girls) quarrel and reveal family secrets to their daughter, Joy. (Yes, she’s both women’s daughter.) Joy has been influenced in college by tales of how wonderful Communism is in China, so she runs away to Shanghai to find her birth father and help build the ‘new China’. Pearl realizes the dangers for Joy so follows her to China, sneaking in through Hong Kong. She learns that Joy found her birth father, ZG, but doesn’t see them for months. Joy doesn’t realize their sojourn in a small Chinese village is government punishment for ZG, a famous artist. Joy also falls in love with a peasant boy, Tao, not really understanding the culture and disastrous life in China during Mao’s rule. The story brings alive Chinese life during early communism, with a host of characters we can relate to. Naturally, as with any well-written tale, complications set in for everyone. The resolution is surprising, but satisfying and suggests a sequel for May and ZG, plus Pearl and another man, Dun.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Great read! I couldn't put it down because I wanted to find out what happens next. The writing flows easily and being Chinese American, it makes sense the way Lisa writes from a Chinese perspective. The way she composes the sentences and uses Chinese words, they are familiar and really adds to the storyline. I hope there's a next book and I can't wait!
Book_Sniffers_Anonymous More than 1 year ago
When Joy finds out that the people she has called Mother and Father all her life are really her Aunt and Uncle and her Aunt is really her biological mother and her father is still in China, Joy is obviously upset. She runs away to China to find her birth father and to help rebuild the new China. Only, when she gets there things aren't really what she thought they would be. I liked Shanghai Girls and was really interested when this book came out. You have to read Shanghai Girls in order to pick up on a lot of what has happened. Otherwise you won't understand the reasoning behind why Pearl acts the way she does towards China, Z.G (Joy's father) or May. There are some references to the last book and even though I read it, it was so long ago that some parts took me a minute to catch up on. This story is split between Joy and Pearl. After all, Pearl takes off after Joy to China and tries to bring her home. She goes back to her old family house which is now run down and grimy and waits until she can find Joy. Meanwhile Joy is out traveling the country with her father who is an artist, painting, having an adventure and is totally oblivious to the dangers around her. This a captivating story about a mother's love for her child and the depths that you will go to to protect them. I enjoyed this story quite a bit and even though Joy annoyed me through the majority of the book by how naive she was being, the second things clicked for her, you started to see the woman that she will become.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Lisa See’s Dreams of Joy is a follow up to her prior novel, Shanghai Girls. Ms. See is an accomplished novelist and her writing skills incontestably appear in Dreams of Joy. It’s a spellbinding story about youthful Joy returning to communist China and her stepmother, Pearl, purses her in an attempt to rescue her. Joy and Pearl are molded into heroines by overcoming awesome trails and difficulties. The novel has many impressive features. One outstanding quality is the accuracy of the historical setting that reinforces the authenticity of the interactions amongst the characters. Undoubtedly Ms. See did extensive research before writing the novel. The story accurately reveals how people struggled during a tragic period in modern China.
triviakat More than 1 year ago
I read "Dreams of Joy" before "Shanghai Girls" as I didn't realize it was the sequel. I do recommend reading SG first. There is so much depth to the lives of Joy, Pearl and May and uncovering the layers is a large part of what makes these novels so real. I had too much information when I read SG and feel I missed out on some of the natural progression of their relationships. That said, reading "Dreams of Joy" first allowed me to see that it is an excellent book in it's own right. It does not need "Shanghai Girls" to fall back on, though "Shanghai Girls" does give an enormous amount of background. As I read it, Joy was a strong and determined young woman, misguided by pain, confusion and innocence. I reread the beginning of "Dreams of Joy" just after finishing "Shanghai Girls" and realized I had a very different idea of who Joy is - I found her more of a willful, naive girl overall who, when wounded, struck out by making impulsive decisions with no thought or knowledge of how life changing they would be for her and those around her. Once again, I am impressed by See's commitment to research and her ability to make history come alive through her fictional characters.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I highly recommend the whole series by this author. As a former history teacher, I love the way she reveals the history of China, through the eyes of the women in this family. You should read Snow Flower and the Secret Fan first. That introduces you to the culture and the reality of the little value placed on females. From there you go to Peony in Love, which continues with the lives of the women in Snow Flower. You learn about foot binding and ancestor ceremonies and more. The family line is followed in Shanghi Girls and that covers the cultural revolution in China. Now you are prepared to read Dreams of Joy. .....it's a good enough story to stand alone, but I strongly recommend you read the whole series in chronological order.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I really enjoyed this even though some might describe it as a "chick" book - and I am not a chick. I couldn't put it down, captivated by the characters and the storyline. It helped that I had recently taken a class on Chinese history so the descriptions of events and the author's technique of weaving the story around major historical events was excellent. I will be looking at the author's other offerings as a result of reading Shanghai Girls and Dreams of Joy. One warning: it truly is a sequel so everyone should read Shanghai Girls first.
Laohu More than 1 year ago
This is a heckuva story. Even if you know something about Mao's China and the Great Leap Forward, this will make it real for you. A fantastic follow-on to her "Shanghai Girls". Lisa See shows her skill as a storyteller and researcher. I can't believe she's not actually Chinese, for she writes like one! She gives Amy Tan and Anchee Min a run for their money.
aunie More than 1 year ago
This book was even better than the last! I really enjoyed the wonderful descriptions of emotions in the characters. I felt like I was truly transported to the time and place. Definitely felt all the suffering, happiness, and love the characters were feeling. I was moved and feel like I learned a bit about history and chinese culture. A superb read!
BookHounds More than 1 year ago
The story of May and Pearl continues through their daughter, Joy. After just escaping the Japanese invasion of China, they must now save Joy from the communist revolution in China. Joy is living the American Dream and while away in college becomes part of a communist revolutionary movement that is taking place on her campus. She is encourage to return to her mother's homeland and help with the revolution, so she leaves her family in a fit of anger and begins a search for her roots. This leads her to discover that her mother and aunt haven't been completely honest with her or themselves. This one took me a while to get through and reflect upon. I never imagined the true horror of exactly what happened during China's Great Leap Forward or the toll it took on the people living during this time and from what I read about is still occurring somewhat today. I think anyone who grew up during the 50's-60's heard someone say "Eat your dinner, there are people starving in China" and this story illustrates just how true that was. This one was a bit hard to digest since the story is not a typical one of self discovery but one of just how difficult immigration and escaping the horrors of a homeland that is in turmoil
rtpana More than 1 year ago
This book was interesting because it does not hold back on the harsh reality of the brutality that was endured by the Chinese people under Mao. Some of the scenarios were unrealistic but the over-all effect was positive. A good, fast read beach book that leaves you with some understanding of another time and culture. I will continue to read Lisa See's books.