What ensues is a dysfunctional family embroiled in a bleak atmosphere of segregation and poverty. The fragmented Canadian family endures the Depression and World War II in dingy Chinatown apartments across Nanaimo, Victoria, and Vancouver, while scattering from one place to the next in search of short-term employment. Although the concubine lives with her lover, Chow Guen, and is separated from Chan, the “family” continues to spend its dinners together. Disturbingly, Hing and Gok-leung grows up with two fathers, while spending their evenings either in the company of their drunken mother or in the supervision of her mother’s associates. Yet amid this desolation, Hing finds solace in her schoolwork; not only does she surge to the top of her classes, she also attains somewhat of a family life through her school friends.
As the novel gradually shifts away from May Ying and Chan Sam, and towards Hing, who by this time, is referred to as “Winnie,” we see that only in adulthood that Winnie enjoys the first tastes of family life. Not only is she engaged in a content marriage with John Chong, her parents, Chan Sam and May Ying, have mellowed in old age, and even agrees to live with her (although not at the same time), and babysitting their grandchildren. In the end, Denise Chong accompanies her mother in their reunification with their other half of the family in China. Although the reunion is rather short, it bridges the gap of over seventy years of separation. More significantly, it is this separation that results in numerous themes of “tension.”
Prejudice produces one such tension in The Concubine’s Children. Racial intolerance between the Chinese sojourners and the existing white population is particularly stark during the early twentieth century when Chan Sam first arrives in Canada. He faces enormous hurdles in overcoming the Canadian immigration restrictions due to the “head tax” of $700 dollars per sojourner. Since finding employment outside of Chinatown is difficult, and next to impossible without “connections” to a Chinese foreman, Chan Sam dreams of “Gold Mountain” hits a barricade as he confronts an even thicker layer of discrimination in the labour market (p.19). When the Chinese do succeed in their search, they are third on the pay scale after the Hindhus and whites (p.19). The living conditions in the segregated bunkhouses are poignantly repulsive, for the Chinese subsists only on “salted fish, rice, and soup” (p.19).
In particular, Chinatown becomes the “laboratory” for discrimination. Segregation is particularly severe during the early 1930s, as “no self-respecting white” desired being seen anywhere near Chinatown; as a result, the Chinese settle and work in “virtual isolation” from white society (p.14). Even the establishment supports segregation, for in 1937, the city council in Vancouver bans Caucasians from working in Chinese stores (p. 96). To add further complexity, exclusionist policies results in the “choking” of Chinatown’s population growth, resulting in a male “bachelor society” in which solitude permeates throughout the gambling dens and teahouses. Disturbingly, waitresses are visited more for sex than the food.
Yet, intolerance persists even after the dissolution of the exclusion acts in 1947; however, this form is defacto rather than structural. In particular, the novel paints the desolate discrimination that Hing faces during her childhood and into her adolescence. Despite her exceptional grades, she is aware that she can never become a doctor, for in the 1950s, “UBC had never admitted a Chinese in medicine” (p.153). Consequently, Hing discards her dreams of university, and reluctantly opts for Grandview’s vocational school. Later, even the principal Mr. Webster is supportive in her decision to quit her tenure at Grandview, stressing that her exceptional marks “wouldn’t necessarily improve her chances at getting a job” admitting that most of his Chinese graduates are often turned away because most simply state “The job is taken” or “We don’t hire Chinese” (p. 163). Unfortunately, Hing and other Chinese of her era face a “glass ceiling” in which aptitude is secondary to ethnicity.
However, prejudice also exists within the Chinese-Canadian community. Underneath the veil of segregation hides a deeper, “seedier” layer of social stratification, in which wealthier families eschew waitresses such as May Ying, who are as reviled as prostitutes of a sub-class, often condescendingly referred to as “kay-toi-neus” (p.25). In one instance, May Ying is forced to break off relationship with Wally, for she is aware of that, as a lowly “stand-at-table-girl,” she is unsuitable for Wally’s wealthy merchant family (p. 103). Such class-consciousness also translates into Hing’s life, for some Chinese parents regard her as simply a “waitress’ daughter” and thus an unbefitting friend for their children. Indeed, “decent” women such as the merchants’ wives rarely venture beyond the walls of their family homes (p. 20).
Unresolved ties between the overseas and Mainland Chinese population is another significant premise in The Concubine’s Children. Throughout the story, Chinese in Canada and China are unable to severe their ties with the other, despite their remoteness. The design of Chinatown is a revealing example, for its model is a direct transplant from China. Hence, the emergence of Chinatown in Vancouver concurs with the shifting of Western architecture, giving way to a replica of Canton in which it is comprised of a “dense conglomeration of two- and three story awnings” consisting of Pender, Canton, and Shanghai Alleys (p.24). Yet, cultural transmission is a two-way process, for when Chan Sam is back in China, his life long dream of building his house is not based on existing Chinese designs; rather, Chan’s dream consists of “tall mansions” of Western architecture (p. 75).
Chinese politics becomes a main issue that produces the greatest unity and action in the Chinese community, revealing that the overseas Chinese population is never entirely detached from China. Chan Sam depicts the typical sojourner of the 1920s, for he is consumed entirely in Chinese politics. Even during the bleak years of the Depression during the 1930s, Chan Sam and his acquaintances continue to be consumed in Chinese politics and the only literature they read are Chinese newspapers. Instead of focusing on the more immediate homeland issues such as unemployment relief and equality rights for the Chinese, Chan puts his hopes instead on Chiang Kai-shek and the stabilization of China (p. 61). Despite May Ying and Chan Sam’s growing gulf in their marriage, differences are immediately “papered” during news of the Japanese invasion of China. Instantly, the two are united in fear for their motherland, and hate for the Japanese (p. 97). Hence, though physically separated from China, the overseas population’s sense of nationalism towards their homeland does not dissolve; instead, they meld and solidify into a stronger voice.
In fact, as the war against Japan rages on, the overseas Chinese community assumes the political landscape of China in the 1930’s. Not only the Chinese-Canadians like Chan Sam remit more money back to their native soil, they also organize funds to prop up Chiang Kai-shek’s Kuomintang government. Yet, at the same time, the war spills into Vancouver and across Canada, as Chinatowns organize boycotts against Japanese goods (p. 97). By 1948, when the Communist takeover of China is at near, sojourners such as Chan buys even more bonds to sustain the losing KMT forces, and abruptly, the substance of Chinatown’s conversation shifts from the Japanese war to the Civil War, and of the inevitable Communist conquest (p. 124).
However, cultural transmission is a two-way process. Contrary to the popular belief that Chinese culture followed sojourners into Canada, the novel reveals that Western culture also trails its voyagers back to China. Hence, Chan Sam and his Canadian family are never entirely detached from their Canadian setting despite their physical removal from Vancouver. Chan’s gifts are particularly edifying in this perspective. Amid the primitive farming society, Chan brings with him Western items such as a mahogany Regulator wall clock, Hudson’s Bay wool blankets, Horlick’s malted milk, as well as Canadian salmon (p. 44). Furthermore, on his second trip back to China, Chan brings back more Western items such as a Big Ben alarm clock and RCA phonographs, products that are hardly “practical” in Chang Gar Bin’s agrarian setting
(p. 66).
Familial relations are also significant in the plot. In particular, Huangbo, provides a vivid picture of the tension produced as a result of her separation from Chan Sam. Interestingly, the author intensifies this strain by colouring the mainland family as the more “virtuous” of the two sides. Chong portrays Huangbo’s acquiescent character as “ripe for May Ying’s pickings,” while painting May Ying as the antagonist and muckraker (p. 45). Yet Lee Yen’s testimony that May Ying’s tossed of baby Hing down the stairs is a rather vicious accusation that the author fails to substantiate with credible evidence. Instead, much of May Ying’s character is either comprised of scraps of memories from the author’s mother or statements from people already with biased views towards May Ying. Moreover, Yuen, the other son in China, is depicted as the foil for Gok-leung, May Ying’s adopted son. While Gok-leung is a juvenile delinquent who steals money from his mother and Chow Guen, Yuen is the obedient son who follows his father’s advice of hard work and self-reliance.
Hence, Denise Chong seems to be heavily biased towards her mother’s personal version of May Ying. The novel tends to exaggerate the malignity of her character, using Huangbo as the backdrop for contrasts. Huangbo is described as the model Chinese wife, who is in “bliss” during Chan Sam’s delayed construction of his house, for the longer her husband stayed, “the more fulfilled was her own life” (p. 79). In contrast, May Ying’s sexual life is vividly detailed, during Chan Sam’s stay in China. Ironically, much of Chan Sam’s journey and dream house is built on the back of May Ying’s wages. Yet the author overlooks this detail for much of the novel, and even when she does, she chooses not to bring it up in conversation lest offending her mainland family.
The expression of the letters between Chan Sam and his mainland family is quite revealing of the political climate in China as well as its effects on the Canadian side of the family. The earlier letters written by Chan Sam to Huangbo is laced with a heavy Confucian emphasis on the importance of education and filial piety; however, they eventually denigrate into a chain of bland Communist rhetoric by the 1950s. Because Chan realizes his letters are likely to be scrutinized and read by people other than his mainland family, he is careful not to allow his family to be labelled byf suspicious villagers and officials as “Western-minded” (p. 198). Hence, Chan has no choice but to fortify his letters to Yuen as propaganda, such as the hope that “production will increase, that construction will increase, and the people will live well” (p. 198). Despite the great distance that they are apart, the revolution in China “spills” into Canada, and affects the life of Chan Sam almost as significantly as it does to Huangbo and the children.
The notion of land and property permeates throughout the novel. For subsistence and personal pride, the rationale of Chan Sam’s sojourn to Canada is to earn enough money to buy enough property, or mau tin, for his family. When he returns to China during his first trip with May Ying, he is revered as one who has achieved the ultimate dream of “soil underfoot and tiles overhead” (p. 75). Thirty years later, even in Canada, Chan’s mentality never sways, as he continues to pursue land and even insists on Winnie and John’s acquisition of a house between Gladstone and Kingsway Avenue. His attitude is so adamant that he pays nine hundred dollars of the down payment to fulfill his principle.
May Ying’s rebellion against Chan Sam characterizes a dilemma in which her rowdy and untamed personality is in constant conflict with her own Confucian upbringing. While she resents the traditional society in which she lives in, she unconsciously carries much of her conduct according to Confucian principles. As a result, her behaviour for much of the novel represents this convoluted paradox.
Although May Ying is addicted to gambling, drinking, and engaging in sexual liaisons, she nonetheless practices and believes in the Confucian orthodoxy of being an upright mother to her children. Whenever Hing is ill, May Ying never fails to attend to her daughter’s affliction with her medication. Moreover, assuming the proper role of the Confucian mother, May Ying is obsessively strict in May Ying’s associations with boys, and even takes up the role of finding potential husbands for Hing by setting up dates for Hing with other men. May Ying persists in the same mentality in which she is raised in, a world where children are filial and obey their parents unquestionably, and one in which love is secondary to the pursuit of the “suitable” husband with the proper income to support the bride’s family. Even as a grandmother, May Ying proudly lectures her granddaughter the importance of obedience and respecting one’s parents.
Yet, hypocritically, May Ying herself rarely lives up to such chaste precepts. She engages in numerous relationships with men, and even falls in love with the cook Jang Noong, and the gambler Chow Guen. Outrageously, she chases after Chow across Canada just to live with him. As the plot wears on, May Ying increasingly sheds her Confucian responsibilities – first as a wife, then as a woman. Her insurgence against the male-dominated order culminates when she adopts a man’s attire. In dressing up as a man in the gambling dens and in Chinatown, May Ying “makes the statement” that she wants respect and a “rightful” place in a man’s world (p. 123). To justify her dogma, she refuses to be supported by Chow Guen.
However, her pursuit for sexual and gender equality conflicts with her pursuit for a male heir, another Confucian tenet. May Ying’s expectations of “fulfilling her bonds,” and be looked after by a son, and worshipped by later generations, are Confucian in nature; hence, to May Ying, a son confirms her “usefulness” as a woman and mother. In shedding away this layer of reasoning, we see that May Ying remains trapped in a strict arrangement in which traditional values and belief systems are too deeply ingrained to be entirely lacerated. In fact, her obsession for a son inflates when she gives birth to Hing. Not only does May Ying dress Hing as a boy in a photo shoot, she also purchases and adopts a son in Gok-leung. Her partiality extends even into old age, for she spoils only her male grandchildren, Greg, Chris, and Wayne, as she always presents them with gifts, while quietly spurning her granddaughters.
Denise Chong’s background as an economist provides a unique dimension to the novel. She sketches for us not only the evolution of the twentieth century global economy, but also how its fluctuations affect both the China and Canada, while trickling down into the lives common people on both sides. In 1935, a desperate American Congress, it devalues its currency and “artificially” raise the prices of silver in order to lift itself out of the Depression (p. 60). Consequently, silver not only “flowed” out of China in catastrophic intensity, causing exchange rates to fall, it resulted in the ultimate collapse of the urban economy; at the same time, the Canadian is devalued (p. 60). Hence, this forces Chan Sam to augment his regular remittances to Huangbo, for one dollar in 1933 perishes into only one-fifteenth of what it had been in 1930 (p. 60). However, China’s economy recovers in 1935 due to the KMT government’s substitution of its silver-based currency with a managed currency. The added optimism subsequently strengthens Chan’s resolve to elongate his stay in Chang Gar Bin, while leaving the concubine in Canada with the responsibility of financing the completion of his house.
The Communist conquest of the mainland also adds further complexity to China’s economic landscape. Though it severs “official” ties with non-Communist countries, the CCP actually encourages remittances from its overseas Chinese, for its disconnection of trade links actually makes it keen in getting its “hands on foreign currency to meet its balance of foreign payments” (p. 188). To remedy its dilemma, overseas remittances had to be routed through an “Overseas Chinese Affairs Commission,” which fixes a low rate of exchange into official Chinese renminbi, rather than going through existing banking institutions in Hong Kong (p. 188). Hence, the author uncovers the inevitable ties between politics and economics, and the effects they have on the population at large.
However, The Concubine’s Children ends on a rather poignant tone. Despite the family’s reunion half a century later in 1987, we see the continuation of the same struggles since Chan Sam’s journey into Canada in 1913. In spite of the KMT’s pledge for “modernization” and the Communists’ attempts at deconstructing traditionalism, much of the Confucian social structure and fiscal paucity lingers. Ping, who is by now an old lady, finally discloses to Winnie that because she is a woman, “I have no say and I can’t speak out” (p. 257). Ping still toils in poverty because her male sibling Yuen inherits much of the remittances from Canada as well as the family possessions during the years of the Communist revolution (p. 257).
Concurrently, the pursuit for a better life never fades. Yuen’s reasons for moving his children out of China parallel the urgency and idealism that Chan Sam and other sojourners of his era brought to North America one hundred years earlier. Yuen’s hopes remain in the West, where as he explains, “the roots of the tree will grow downward and the leaves will be luxuriant” for his future generations (p. 260). Moreover, the father’s arrangements to hastily marry off his daughter to an older man in Panama eerily resemble May Ying’s forced marriage with Chan Sam seventy years earlier. Hence, patriarchal authority and female subservience reverberates resiliently in the present as it has in the past.
Hence, Denise Chong’s The Concubine’s Children offers unique insight into Chinese-Canadian political, economic, social, and cultural relations that cover much of the twentieth century. The novel renders a complex and often touching glimpse into the lives of a fragmented Chinese family living in two similarly structured yet geographically distinct societies. In particular, tensions evolve and persist in this family over fifty years of separation, and ties are never completely severed despite temporary suspensions in communication and long passages in time.
Hence, I highly recommend The Concubine’s Children, particularly to those who are not familiar with Chinese-Canadian culture. For myself, the novel made a profound influence on me. Like Denise Chong, I am also of Chinese-Canadian descent, and seen first-hand some of the trials and tribulations of discrimination in Canadian society. The novel is also particularly fascinating in that it also illustrates the evolution of Vancouver. The setting is particularly personal in that I have strolled the same streets in Chinatown as well as the same aisles in Woodwards that Chan Sam once had.
Moreover, my great grandfather himself spent his adulthood in the same manner as Chan Sam. He, too, suffered the lonely sojourn into Canada without the knowledge of a word of English, while leaving his wife and children behind in Guangdong. At the time, he also faced the quandary of giving up his dreams of “Gold Mountain” and returning to China lest Canada close its borders forever. Yet in the end, he stayed in Vancouver, and is buried in the same Mountain View cemetery as Chan Sam. Both men were born in 1888, and died only two years apart. With a tiny population of only a few thousand during the years of exclusion, perhaps the two men even met at one time or another in Chinatown. Whatever the possibilities, this novel has made an indelible impression on me, and has fulfilled many of the previous inquiries that I had about the experiences of early Chinese Canadians.
Bibliography
Chong, Denise. The Concubine’s Children. Penguin Books: Toronto, 1995.