Personal Essays

Why I Write - Boston College Magazine

My humble beginning from growing up in China to coming to America and writing novels in English. Read a companion essay: Why I Write in English.

Yang Huang Recommends - Poets & Writers

I explain how I balance the duties of being a mother, wife, and engineer with the work of being a writer. "When it's time for my creative endeavor, mostly on the weekends, I go to the cave. It is just my desk behind a closed door, but it's the place where I permit myself to be a writer."

Why I Write in English - The Margins

People have often asked me why I write in English. I chose English as my first language to write realistic fiction. Here is my confession: "Wanting privacy in a police state was sheer stupidity"—to tell the stories of my life in China without the threat of censorship, I had to look beyond Mandarin. Read a companion essay: Why I Write.

Craft Essays

Beyond 20 Drafts - The Millions

“Compared to nonfiction, a novel may require more drafts and take longer to get right. Writing a novel is a unique challenge, rather like birthing a brainchild: each book is different and needs as long as it takes.”

Yang Huang on George Eliot’s Middlemarch: Owning up - The Marvelous Paragraph Project

How George Eliot’s Middlemarch changed the way I think about reckoning in fiction: “When a person owns up to their decision, they have the potential to evolve beyond where punishment can befall them.”

Yang Huang Interviews Feng - Women Writers, Women’s Books

I wrote a sort of mini-sequel by time-traveling to the UT Austin campus in 1991 to interview Feng. No one suspected that I was the author arriving on the scene. Feng and I flirted a bit as a creator and brainchild.

Family Perils: A Conversation with Yang Huang and Kirstin Chen - The Margins

I talked with my fellow writer, Kirstin Chen, about histories of the Cultural revolution, betrayal, and the importance of craft.

Yang’s Book Lists

The Best Books on China’s One-child Policy and Tiananmen Square Protests - Shepherd

On this 33rd anniversary of Tiananmen Square protests, I shared several of my favorite books on China’s one-child policy and Tiananmen Square protests, traumatic events that reshaped China forever.

How Cultural Forces Shape Parenting around the World - Pocket

I explore how parents around the globe approach risk-taking, motivation, toilet training, and more.

Berkeleyside’s Favorite Books of 2021 - Berkeleyside

I named several books that inspired and sustained me during this difficult time.

My Good Son: A Selected Bibliography - The Seminary Co-op

I shared and commented on the books that helped me write My Good Son, a novel about the power and cost of parental love.

Stories

A Parent’s Love - Bloom Magazine

Like many of his generation, the most fervent desire of Mr. Cai, a tailor in post-Tiananmen China, is for his only son, Feng, to succeed. Excerpted from the opening chapter of My Good Son.

 “The Gourmet” - Taste

In this short story, a woman pays her parents a visit in southern China and brings a friend along. Excerpted from My Old Faithful.

"My Old Faithful" - Los Angeles Review of Books, China Channel

The botany of a marriage. Excerpted from My Old Faithful.

"The Umbrella" - Literary Hub

"The Umbrella" tells a story how a father picks a favorite child against his better judgement and tries to make up for all his previous failings as a parent. Excerpted from My Old Faithful.

OASIS

(a novel)

Kaier has carried a torch for her childhood sweetheart Lou, who once saved her from drowning in the flash flood. They grow up in Minqin, an oasis in the encroaching deserts. Kaier leaves her hometown to study and become a radiologist. Lou stays behind to fight the dust storms and raise a family in the oasis, which slowly dries up and becomes a desert.

Although Kaier leaves her village, her village has never left her.

Her hometown people become ill from pollution and dust storms. Kaier donates her bone marrow to save Lou’s wife.

Is Kaier finally able to let Lou go?

Chapter One

As Kaier came in through the front yard, she saw her brothers wrestling in the dirt like bear cubs. She picked up Goldie and dusted off his bare legs. Her mother would scold Kaier if he had a scraped knee.

“Why are you so late today?” Her mother pushed straw into the stove with a fire poker. Its tip was glowing red.

“The teacher kept us late,” Kaier lied.

“Go give your uncle a hand.”

Kaier went to the backyard. Goldie’s chubby arms clung to her neck and made it hard for her to breathe. She sat on a stool and laid Goldie in her lap. If she put him down, Woodie would charge the baby and knock him face-down in the dust. She sighed loudly, the way her mother often did in the morning when she thought the children were asleep.

“Don’t sulk, Kaier.” Her third uncle sharpened the knife blade on a whetstone. A rooster sat in dirt with its legs tied.

“I want a baby sister.”

“Here is a secret: Parents always want boys. A daughter is raised to become another man’s wife, but a son belongs to the family. He can look after his parents in their old age.”

He grasped the rooster by its wings and cut off the rope from its feet. Then he bent its head back to hold its beak in the same hand and plucked the soft feathers on its throat. With a quick flick of the knife he slashed its throat.

“If you want a sister, you must ask in a way that your mama cannot refuse.” He held the rooster’s head down to drain its blood. The rooster struggled in vain against his tight grip.

“How?”

“When your mama gives birth, you stay at her bedside and tell her you want a sister.”

“What if she says no?”

“She won’t. Anyway it doesn’t matter what she says. Remember: you say it while the baby is being born.” He sprinkled salt onto the blood to make it gel. “When the rice is cooked, you cannot turn it back into grains.”

Kaier wiped the drool from Goldie’s chin. She never knew that she had disappointed her parents by being a girl. Was it a punishment for a girl to do more chores? Kaier longed for a sister. When they were both older, Kaier and her sister would help with housework and tend to their newest brothers. Then her parents might thank Kaier for her foresight, if they ever learned how she had begotten her little sister.

“You look pretty when you smile.” Her third uncle doused the rooster in boiling water and then began to pluck it. “Who’s your favorite uncle?” He gave Kaier several tail feathers to make a shuttlecock.

“You.” She laid the feathers on the step of the porch. Deep bronze and reddish at the tips, the feathers reflected a green hue in the dusk.

“Who?”

“Third Uncle!”

Sometimes Kaier felt sorry for her third uncle. Since he was childless, he doted on his nieces and nephews. Kaier admired her fourth uncle, a man who was too busy to play with children. He had gone to work in Shenzhen, the booming city in Guangzhou Province. Last year he had sent home a letter. There was a picture of him standing on a suspension bridge, his red collar stiff against an emerald wool vest, his hair blowing in the wind. After seeing it Kaier was reluctant to brush her hair for days. She dreamed of herself as grownup with permed hair and heeled sandals like the Shenzhen girls silhouetted on the bridge.

*    *    *

For weeks Kaier had rehearsed her plan. Her mother’s belly grew so large Kaier expected her sister to burst from the seams of her dress. Her grandparents made Kaier and Goldie stay with them at night, so that her mother could get some rest. Her grandparents’ and parents’ houses, separated by corn and radish fields, were just beyond shouting distance. Often Kaier ran back and forth in the pitch dark, fetching a diaper or sweatshirt for Goldie. She could have run home even if she were blind.

One day in August Kaier helped her grandpa in the radish field. She watered a row of radishes planted in a narrow ditch, built to conserve water. She could almost hear the radish roots suck up water. Their dark green leaves regained vigor in the glaring sunshine. She retreated into the shade of a plum tree. Red clouds gathered over the horizon, like the brilliant scales of a dragon carp. The heat was so intense that the distant mountains seemed to dance in the blue air. Familiar footsteps echoed in the field.

Her father ran toward the house calling for Kaier’s grandma. “She’s ready to have the baby!” he shouted.

Her grandma tottered across the ridge on her bound feet. Kaier dashed for home, skipping in the fields and squashing a few radishes. She couldn’t lose a moment to ask her mother for a girl. At the door Kaier heard a baby crying. She was too late.

The midwife croaked, “Congratulations on your big happiness!”

Kaier felt as if she’d been doused by a basin of ice water. Her legs gave way. She crumpled onto the doorstep and buried her head in her hands. How could her mother pop out a baby faster than a hen laid an egg?

Finally her grandma arrived, huffing and puffing. “Won’t you go inside?”

“It’s a boy again.”

To Kaier’s surprise, her grandma burst into laughter. “It is the will of God. Don’t be cross. Come on inside.”

Kaier didn’t budge.

“You sure are stout,” the midwife cooed inside. “Look at your hands. You can build a house with them!”

Kaier heard her mother laugh, a tired and elated chuckle.

Her grandma opened the bedroom door. “Where is my little grandson?” She clapped her hands.

Their happiness humiliated Kaier. She wanted to hide away and weep. The sun was high, and the desert lay scorched and burning. Rose willows seemed to reach toward the sky in a plea for life-giving water. She turned away from the village and walked toward Reed Marsh. In the cottonwoods along the dry creek, cicadas sounded their high, whirring sounds, like a thousand rattlesnakes. Now and then a woodpecker shrieked among the willows, or a rock squirrel whistled at a sign of danger.

Children were not supposed to come to Reed Marsh by themselves, as it was infested with mosquitoes, snakes, and lizards. A woman had drowned herself there a decade ago. Villagers said her ghost came out after dark. When Woodie wore her out sometimes, Kaier threatened she would take him to Reed Marsh. That would make him behave for hours.

Kaier sat on the grassy slope. Hot tears flooded her eyes. She didn’t wipe them. As tears brimmed over, her vision regained momentary clarity. Yellow flowers blossomed on the riverbank. Reeds, taller than a house, wavered in the breeze. Catkins flew in the air like goose feathers.

“Will I be your lame donkey forever?” Tears stung her eyes.

She had no sister to play with or share her burdens. She might as well be a third parent to her brothers, who enjoyed their privileges of being boys. Now the family would fuss over the new baby. Her only rewards were chores and responsibilities.

“I’m not your slave, baby.” She wiped her nose on her sleeve. “What will you ever do for me? It’s unfair.”

In the pond, a dozen ducklings swam alongside their parents. One duckling headed into the lily pads. Suddenly there was a loud snap and splash in the lily pads. The water swirled, then quieted down, and all was as before. A snapping turtle might have clamped down its sharp jaws on the hapless duckling. A mallard lifted off the water and burst into the air.

Kaier couldn’t help being born the eldest daughter. What if she made herself disappear? Her parents would have to manage for themselves. Then they might regret to have taken her for granted.

She heard reeds rustling and looked behind her. Where the reeds parted, a naked boy with a shaven head appeared. He held up his trousers, each leg tied up in a knot. Seeing her, he squatted down and took out mallard eggs from inside the makeshift bag. He was taller than Kaier. His ribs indented his brown skin like the surface of a washboard. Kaier wasn’t embarrassed to see a naked boy. At home she bathed all her brothers.

But the boy didn’t look like her brothers. Despite his thinness, he had a wide face, a strong nose, and thick lips. He wrung water from his pants, then pulled them on, and tied the cloth rope around his waist. He collected a bundle of dried reeds, sunning over the sand. He struck a sickle against a flint, and finally lit the straw. He put a few eggs in the fire and added dry reeds.

“You want one or what?” he asked.

She shook her head. The boy appeared to be from a poor family, since villagers who kept hens didn’t eat mallard eggs. He had collected more than a dozen eggs. He couldn’t take them home unless he took off his pants again. How far could he get without being seen?

“I can help you.” She patted her empty pockets.

He glanced at her. “I’m going to eat them all.”

“You’ll get sick.” Kaier sniffled. She didn’t feel like crying anymore.

“Yeah? Watch me.” The boy pushed an egg from the fire with a stick. He cracked the shell on a rock, peeled the egg, and ate it with hardly any chewing. He stiffened for a moment but didn’t burp aloud.

“Is it good?”

He pushed out another egg from the fire and poured water on its shell to cool it, so that it could be peeled easily. “You tell me.”

Kaier knew she shouldn’t accept food from a stranger, but it was from a boy her own age. She peeled the egg and ate it. The yolk was a little runny, so it went down easily.

“Not bad,” she said. “It would taste better with a little salt.”

With a gust of wind, leaves from the oleaster tree drifted down into the river. Some blew like miniature boats across the surface. Birds flitted back and forth among the creosote bushes, cottontails running restlessly. Clouds clustered in the sky. Puffs of dust danced in the wind. Fallen leaves slowly sank to the river bottom.

“It’s going to rain,” the boy said with a hand over his brows.

Kaier didn’t mind getting wet. Since it was as hot as a bathhouse, a splash of water might be fun. Did anyone miss her at lunch? She could make them wait a little longer. The boy put some raw eggs in his pocket and then disappeared into the tall reeds.

“Are you going home?” She tried to sound calm, hearing the echo of her voice.

On the opposite bank, a dog leapt up from the sand dune. It barked sharply as a flash of lightning leapt in the sky, illuminating the interior of the cloud like a lantern.

“I told you it’s going to rain.”

Kaier was so happy to see him again she almost threw an arm around his shoulder. “Don’t go,” she said.

“Are you crazy? It’s going to flood.” He collected the rest of eggs in his pockets. His pants sagged on his thin frame.

“Where are you going?”

There was no answer. A moment later, the reeds down the riverbank parted. The boy went away whistling a tune. Kaier was disappointed he didn’t say goodbye.

“Go on home, scaredy cat.” She poked the hot ashes with a stick and found an egg he left behind. She sat under the tree and ate the egg.

It didn’t taste half as good as the first egg. In fact, it almost made her gag. A roar of thunder rolled over the distant mountains and boomed across the flats. The branches of oleasters and rose willows waved in the wind. Swirls of dust ran like elfin figures along the flats and washes. Where the sky had been blue and blindingly bright, clouds now shut out the sun.

“Would anyone care if I died?” Kaier started crying again.

For the longest time she had not shed a tear at home. If Goldie or Woodie cried, she coaxed them back to laughter. If Goldie wanted to rip out her hair, she had to let him, so that her mother wouldn’t scold her for being negligent. Now Kaier was free to cry where no one could hear her.

Lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating the greenish undersides of the clouds. Thunder rattled and banged. The wind rose in gusts, veering and whirling. Then the rain began, drop by drop at first, then two at a time—huge drops that splattered on the ground and raised little puffs of dust. Kaier stopped crying, fascinated by the grandeur of nature that dwarfed her inner turmoil. The rain saturated every inch of the oleaster under which she sat. The downpour was so heavy it seemed as if the air were entirely replaced by rain.

Her feet soaked in a puddle. The rain whipped her body harder than anyone had ever hit her. Rivulets formed on the ground, snaking in and out among rocks and plants. The rivulets joined, cascades rolled across the slopes, and sheets of water gathered in the flats. Within minutes, half-grown rivers were bolting across the desert floor. They reached a dry channel that had not carried water for months. White-capped, turbulent, and muddy, the water stampeded down the arroyo, sweeping everything before it.

Kaier headed for home. Wading knee-deep in floodwater, she was bombarded by hailstones. The driving stones tore the leaves off trees and punctured the tough skins of the cactuses. She took shelter under a sheet rock. All around her were helpless creatures. Jackrabbits cowered in their shelter, and for once the woodpecker sat quietly in its hole. Insects folded their wings tightly, clinging to stems and twigs. She thought of the woman who had drowned herself in the marsh. Perhaps she hadn’t been able to swim, like Kaier.

She felt a tap on her shoulder. A pair of thin brown arms reached toward her. “Follow me, to the high ground!” The voice was shrill but familiar. She recognized the gourd head floating upon raging waters.

“But I can’t swim!”

“Grab this!” A thick branch was offered to her.

She held onto it and leapt into the water. Her feet couldn’t touch the bottom. The torrent swelled. Large sections of land were swept away, with dry, powdery earth subsiding into the torrent like a pinch of salt in a boiling pot. Water plunging down the arroyo tore away bushes along the banks. As the land caved in, all animals living there went with it. Mice and rabbits tried vainly to swim in the seething waters. Wasps and lizards were swept by, struggling desperately or already dead.

Tangled up with a yellow-speckled snake, Kaier was so frightened she thrashed about to pluck it off her chest, but its scaly plump body wrapped around her elbow. Did she slice her palm on its teeth?

“Don’t let go!” the boy shouted.

Before he finished, Kaier sank into deep water.

She gulped water while watching the surface of the water drift slowly away. She trashed madly and heard splashing, the boy yelling for her to answer. She could see him each time she came up for another frantic breath. Kaier was supposed to be home, rejoicing in the birth of her baby brother. How stupid she was to let herself drown! By the time the boy found her she knew there was no way he was going to reach her in time. Too exhausted to kick, she pretty much gave up and let herself slide under for the last time, went limp as a dishrag, giving herself over to the flood dragon.

Just when she had relaxed and allowed the water to enter her nose, mouth, and ears, she felt a hand grabbing her hair. Up, up, up, she went and then her head broke the surface. She gagged and puked and drew in great lungfuls of sweet hot August air, while her extremities locked up, all her energy focused on getting air in and out.

“Let me go! You’ll drown us both!” The boy’s voice was muffled by gurgling. She threw her arms around his neck and held on for dear life, still sputtering and spouting water. But he was sinking. “You’re choking me. Loosen up!” She wouldn’t listen but applied herself to him like a trembling second skin.

Just then something pounded on her head. Thunder rang in her ears. She felt a tentative peace once she gave up and just let go. After taking in a double lungful of water it seemed that death would not be so bad. It was not peace she experienced, so much as resignation. The water turned black as ink.