Showing posts with label Art. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Art. Show all posts

Mar 18, 2012

'Butterfly': With Love, From China

What do you and I, as common educated Indians, think of China? For us, China is an 'aggressor' which is working day and night to expand its military, and falsely claiming Arunachal to be its part. Also, we see China as a rapidly growing economy, a country that has in it to take over the numero uno status from the Americans. The saner ones see China as a prospective ally and a future friend. They believe that two of the most ancient human civilizations can together change the geopolitics and economics of the modern world.

Also, we get an impression that China is somewhat like a well-guarded secret. A country, which was once the epitome of art & culture, cradle of human civilization is now merely know for its impressive GDP numbers.Where have the Chinese artists gone? Where are the writers? Who is the next Chinese movie star, we have had enough discussion and stereotypical banter over Jackie Chan?

It is in this regard, that Julie O'Yang's Butterfly comes across as a refreshing pallet of colors. It gives us a sneak peek into mystical Mainland China, and the immense love that the country has in store. At the end of the journey, you are overwhelmed by the sheer magnificence of that complex emotion called love. Risking venturing on an often walked road, the author displays utmost sincerity and maturity in handling the subject. The novel raises some pertinent questions regarding love- What actually is love? Is love the most important emotion for a human being? Is it the road to salvation? Then, why does the investment of this emotion backfires at times? And this is not all. The novel also gives ample space to historical events that have marred China-Japan relations for several decades.


The story is set in China of 1930s-40s, when World War-II was busy rewriting history. Butterfly is the tale of a young married Chinese woman who falls in love with a Japanese soldier. Both of them are bound by socio-national shackles and their own inner demons of deprivation. Butterfly also challenges the mythical notions of history and human existence, without getting rhetorical about it. There is a subtle undercurrent of prose that flows throughout the story, taking the readers into a magical world of history, emotion and romance.

The author uses layered, at times complex, narration to convey this fantastic tale of love. Her wide range of diction, variety of expression and command over the English language is at display throughout the novel. The conclusion of the story is sprinkled with fantasy, hope, spirituality and a universal definition of love. Julie makes a massive impact with 'Butterfly', and comes across as an uninhibited writer who is completely in command of her words. She is not afraid to touch upon the 'grey areas', be it Rape of Nanking or Sino-Japanese relations in the 1940s. Read 'Butterfly' if you wish to time travel, decipher love and appreciate the richness of Chinese art and culture. Put in a nutshell, J.O.Y's (Julie O'Yang) 'Butterfly' is a joyful read!

*****


Julie O'Yang is a novelist and visual artist based in The Netherlands. Born and brought up in China, she is also a scholar of Japanese language and culture. To connect with her on Facebook, click here or visit her website www.julieoyang.com

May 5, 2011

Mr. Mirror

We often look into each other, our eyes meet
I glare and you pass that friendly glance
We neither converge nor tread the similar path
Why are our perspectives different?


I experience guilt and you have no remorse to show
My tears fail to make headway too
Jubilation is your muse while I sulk
Like a frowning old lady

Virtual is you they say
Your reflections are funny I feel
Sometimes I wonder
Do you know what apathy is, what’s zeal

The world outside staggers
Brilliant red blood oozes its way out
And you flatter to deceive
Showing the red rosy picture


Light is your best friend
But I want to look at you when its dark
Queries are aplenty, some lush more stark
Mr Mirror, Give me the Answer. (I am told, you don't lie too often)

Apr 24, 2011

Convertible

An old wooden bench, Fall and us
Parched leaves kiss your tender feet
You give me that 'Someone-will-see' look
I clarify my position and you fall in love
With the way I explain the unexplainable
I am the orator


We walk past the drowsy roads
Pavements glare at us with their eyes wide open
You look for directions, heart dancing on your sleeves
I show you the way, always taking a longer route
I am the sailor


As stars stand in line to get the Sky Ticket
You recline by my side, hair tied to form a beehive
I give you a carefree caress, shoulder to rely upon
You sleep amid the stars and I put vigil all night long
I am the soldier


Dawn is yawing at the doors and you are still fast asleep
Picking your favorite lipstick, I paint Good Morning
Drawing a sun around your naval
And you rise like a torpid devotional song
I am the painter


You see a new me each day
By your side, to make you happy, to amuse you
There have been many before and are bound to be more
But lovers of my kind are very few, because
I am Convertible