Book Name: Do Not Say We Have Nothing A Novel
Writer: Madeleine Thien
IN A SINGLE YEAR, my dad left us twice. The first run-through, to end his
marriage, and the second, when he ended his own life. That year, 1989, my
mother traveled to Hong Kong and let my dad go in a graveyard close to the
Chinese fringe. A short time later, upset, she hurried home to Vancouver
where I had been distant from everyone else. I was ten years old. Here is
the thing that I remember: My father has an attractive, imperishable face;
he is a sort however despairing man. He wears glasses that have no edges
and the focal points give the impression of hovering not long before him,
the most slender of shades. His eyes, dull earthy colored, guarded and
uncertain; he is just 39 years of age. My dad’s name was Jiang Kai and he
was brought into the world in a little town outside of Changsha. Later on,
when I learned father had been an eminent professional piano player in
China, I thought about the manner in which his fingers tapped the kitchen
table, how they pattered across ledges and along mother’s delicate arms
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