Image Credit: DAW Books
Introduction
By Tess Gerritsen
In The Dragon and the Stars, edited by Derwin Mak and Eric Choi, DAW Books, ISBN 978-0-7564-0618-9, 2010, pp.205-227
I grew up in a household where ghosts and demons were real and ancestors’ spirits hovered over our family, where incense was burned every morning and mysterious brews of whiskey and medicinal herbs often simmered on the stove. My mother, an immigrant from Kunming, China, never stopped reminding me that our family came from a land far older than America. She filled our heads with tales from her own childhood, of fighting monks and ghostly lovers and wise men who could magically walk on water.
“It’s true, these stories are all true,” she insisted. “In China, these things really happen.”
And I believed her.
But I grew up. I went to college and medical school and built a career as a doctor, and later as a writer. China may be stamped on my face and in my DNA, but in every other way, I thought of myself as an American. I believed in science, not superstition. As my memories of childhood receded, so too did my mother’s tales of ghosts and demons, of a far-off country so ancient that magic is part and parcel of its history. I forgot just how Chinese I really am.
When I read this marvelous collection of stories, my Chinese childhood came rushing back to me. Here, in The Dragon and the Stars, are tales of wonder and magic, of immigrant families, and ancient history re-imagined. Each of these writers knows what it means to be part of a Chinese family, to grow up with parents who no doubt spun mystical stories for them, just as my own mother did.
In this treasure chest of stories, you’ll discover a point of view that western literature too often ignores. Some of these tales are set in the ancient past, some in the near future. Some deal in magic, some in realism. In “Bargains” by Gabriela Lee, a young woman has a fateful encounter with a Chinatown shopkeeper who has dreams to sell -- dreams with consequences. In “Papa and Mama” by Wen Y Phua, a Chinese daughter struggles to remain dutiful to her parents, despite the fact they are both dead and inconveniently reincarnated as a fish and a bird. In “The Fortunes of Mrs. Yu” by Charles Tan, a blank strip of paper inside a fortune cookie spells an uncertain future to a diner. These three are just a sampling of the wildly imaginative tales you are about to enjoy.
In Chinese numerology, eighteen is a lucky number. The eighteen writers who contributed to The Dragon and the Stars hail from around the world, and their stories are each delightfully unique. But all of them share something in common: they reflect the experience of what it is to be Chinese, an identity that none of us ever truly escapes, though we may grow up far from the shores of China.