It was his day off from work. Da Wei was sitting outside, staring at a book beneath the light of a late seaward sun. He thought for a while and found it amusing that he read The Good Earth in that coastal town of his kin. In that narrow stretch of land they have ports and markets and schools and lofty houses, but fields of produce they have not had for as long as any living man could remember. There are no farmers in their city, for the earth they have seemed never to have been good.
And yet it proved not difficult for his heart to get drawn to that Chinese saga about the cycle of life and fortune. Why exactly he could not tell. Perhaps it’s because his veins carry blood that trace back to one forgotten immigrant who came from the land of Han. Perhaps it’s because the other half of his lineage is that of a brown-skinned people who always tell of stories about a poor man who prospered but found that riches could not bring him peace. Or perhaps, he reflected, it’s because the book showed with subtle acuity the tragedies and triumphs of human condition.
Da Wei recalled a time no more than a fortnight earlier when the afternoon heat felt as though a sea of steam was rising up the sun-drenched road, and the youngest son of his departed uncle—a hefty young man of much greater height—was then walking with him along a narrow street. All of a sudden, a little boy began to shout at them, asking for a coin, though with a sound like not the pleading cry of a beggar but the peremptory call of a backstreet gangster. The boy, of course, was far too small to impose his will and hustle men for money. Indeed the boy was begging, although neither hungry nor destitute was his appearance like. He was just as a regular boy playing in his own neighborhood. The boy was begging, Da Wei thought, not because he was in need of food or comfort but because he realized that if he cried for coins someone passing would soon give them so. All this Da Wei recalled as he read past Chapter Eleven of the book where Wang Lung learned that there was more to be earned in begging than in honest labor. That such a system could exist, Da Wei could not refute for in his own native land he knew it to be true.
Then Da Wei’s thoughts were plagued by the book’s many sketches of anarchy and famine. When their own infants mothers would kill and their own daughters fathers would sell, it seemed like death and slavery was better than starvation. Homes pillaged, people hanged, lustful thugs taking the wife of their fellowman—all because the law is lost and the rule of greed has taken over their hearts. The book unveiled these horrors in short and mostly-subtle passages, but Da Wei was left in real distress even as the last page was turned. His own coastal town had come to witness such evils, Da Wei remembered, although his memories of them were obtained from others’ tales and not from his own sight. His mother’s brother had told him of the Japanese garrison that once was just a block away from where he was sitting. There may be severed heads beneath that earth, his grandfather had said. Then, a few kilometers east, the imposing stonework of Fort San Felipe still stands intact to remind the citizens that their historic town is where the Guardia Civil martyred thirteen of their patriots.
And so the sun came to rest and Da Wei turned his mind away from repulsive visions and sought warmth from other parts of the story. A father feeding a tiny morsel to his little daughter; a wife giving all she has to her ungrateful husband; a dear friend dying faithfully by his master’s side. A wife and daughter Da Wei did not have, and a dear friend’s death he prayed to never witness. But as he looked back to those pages, he remembered the tenderness he felt as he read them. A good man’s heart, Da Wei mused, is like fertile earth. It is always willing to give fine harvest.
His brother would come to the house that evening and he thought of what he’d say to him. This only brother of his had read The Good Earth when Da Wei was just a boy. And Da Wei promised that he would read it too. Now, after many summers passed to see the brothers grow, the promise was fulfilled at last.
“It is just like the legends Grandpa didn’t live to tell us,” Da Wei resolved to say. “It’s a simple story, but a meaningful tale.”
The Good Earth
Published by Washington Square Press (2004)
“Da Wei” is a Chinese form of David.
This month’s selection for The Asian Book Group is hosted by Bookie Mee. Please check out her post for links to more reviews.
Next quarter, the group will read Love in a Fallen City by Eileen Chang.
Aaww love the end, David. So is your brother happy that you finally read it?
He’s ecstatic that I’ve FINALLY read it! He kept talking about the different scenes he loved, which are mostly the more comic ones (like O-Lan going straight to the fields just after giving birth!)
PS: It just amazes me how you managed to pick this up just a few minutes after it’s posted! Did you use some kind of radar to watch out for participants? I know that even email alerts doesn’t come that quickly, hehe.
Yea, I have a human radar. Me. Hahaaa.
It seems that I checked my reader at almost the same time you published it (which was a big coincidence too because I know google reader only updates every hour or so? Not immediate anyway.). The pingback email came a minute after that.
Aaw it’s endearing that your brother loves the book so. About going to fields after birth, I believe that really happened in the old times, though it does seem comical today!
Yes, and for that and many other things, I thought O-Lan is the most endearing character in the story (and can I say central as well?).
What a wonderful review! The Good Earth is one of my all-time favorite novels, and I wish I had time for a reread last month. Will you be reading the other books in the trilogy?
Oh thank you JoAnn
I hope I could read the sequels. If I ever find them at the bookstore, I’ll be sure to get them.
Excellent review of this classic work, Mark David!
Your newly designed blog looks wonderful. The black white and gray contrasts well with the colorful book covers.
I love how your posts are often so intensely about your reading experience, Mark David — you give us a window into a particular, lovely moment of your reading life.
I don’t love this particular novel, but I’m gaining a new and valuable perspective from reading the thoughts that you, Claire, & the rest of your readalong group are offering. Thanks for another beautiful post!
You always have such interesting review posts. =)
Like Mee, I loved how you ended the post. It did read like something from a time lost to us of generations past.
I like your story, David. And your careful and detailed analysis of the book. Sorry I don’t have time to join in the discussion on Goodreads this time.
I also just reviewed The Old Capital. I relly liked it and wish I could read the original and not the translation. I think I have the 1987 edition. Is tis this the first or the second edition and are the translations any different? My brief review is at My salon. .
David: Am in a rush. Sorry for the typos.
@Suko: Glad you enjoyed the review. I really did have a hard time finding the right things to say about this book because I almost couldn’t explain why it was so affecting to me... And thanks for your compliments on the site design. I’m still working on it whenever I can (which is usually whenever I get to post something), so I hope in the end it still comes out alright
@Emily: Aww, it’s always my pleasure to hear that these “little windows” offer enough to make you, my dear blogging friends, smile
About the book, I can say that I understand why it’s not easy to appreciate. If they make it into a TV drama here in the Philippines, people could already guess every event before it unfolds, LOL! It’s like a folktale also in the sense that the moral and the plot is so predictable. And I kind of agree with your opinion about the characters as well. But I can say that I simply took the story as Buck’s attempt to portray the reality of the time, which I believe this novel captured so acutely. Thanks a lot for reading our reviews for this book! It’s always nice to exchange thoughts 
@Michelle: Yes, I’m really glad Mee chose this for our first read. I feel like it’s bonded the four of us even more. Really enjoyed discussing this with you dear ladies
@Harvee: Thanks Harvee! I love the fact that you loved The Old Capital. It’s certainly one that will stay as one of my most favorite novels. As I’ve said before, it’s sheer beauty. The entire reading experience made me feel like I was looking at an exquisitely beautiful girl
(PS: Don’t mind the typos Harvee, I make that a lot myself. I’ll have to check my copy if it’s the 1987 translation, but I’m sure mine’s the second edition. You’ll know if it’s the second edition if it contains two introductions).
The Good Earth is one of those “I cannot believe I have never read it books”-I have seen the old movie version of it-great review and I hope I can get to it this year
Great. I think you’ll find it an interesting read Mel
Finally! I have long been absent from the discussions (you know why). But anyway, I love that you create stories instead of typical reviews. These are the perfect exercises for you, so you don’t have to compromise between serious writing and blogging.
Love how your brother super adored this book. I had personal sentiments attached to it as well, despite not really minding the language, which was, did you notice, not the central thing here? It was only about the story, not the language, which somehow obscured itself so as we can focus on the other, more important things instead of thinking literarily?
Welcome back! Thanks for appreciating what I try to do with the reviews
Yes I agree with you, this really is a plot-driven (or message-driven?) story. And I didn’t mind the plain-spoken language as well. I even thought it fit the story. As Mee said, it reads like a folktale.
David, The Good Earth is one of those rare books that has been read twice by me (that rarely happens). Your review, brought back fond memories once again; thank you for that!
It’s my pleasure, Diane. It’s always nice to bring back fond memories of the past