| Title | 彼岸 (The Other Shore) |
| Author | 田威寧 (Tian Weining) |
| Series | 當代名家 |
| Publisher | 聯經出版 |
| Publication Date | 2022/05/26 |
| EAN | 9789570863185 |
| Book Dimensions | Length 21cm × Width 14.8cm × Height 1.5cm / 256 pages |
| Printing | Paperback / 25K / Black and white printing |
Content Synopsis
I have always known the "meaning" of "mother,"
But I do not understand the significance of "mother."
The warmest embrace and the sharpest blade both come from family.
Yet, what people find hardest to face is always themselves.
After an eight-year hiatus, essayist 田威寧Tian Weining confronts the pain of familial writing once again!
Poverty and loneliness were the backdrop of her childhood, and she has spent a lifetime forging these into the intricate patterns of art. I know that my mother once suffered a mental breakdown. After immigrating to Hawaii, she recovered quite well. My aunts and uncles emphasize, 'Your mom is about seventy to eighty percent better now. She went through a really tough time because of your dad!' In the past, the stories my mother repeated endlessly on the phone, her occasional loss of control over emotions—all made me involuntarily zone out or pray for the call to disconnect. Finally, seeing her in person, my mother's mental state was barely within acceptable limits. As for those uncomfortable parts, honestly speaking, they might not be exclusive to my mother. ——田威寧Tian Weining
Following her stepfather's book "Ning Shi," 田威寧Tian Weining centers her narrative around her mother, once again uncovering deep-seated scars buried within her heart. She transforms unspoken moments of her life into prose, offering a bit of tenderness and courage as redemption to fate.
Her mother, unable to endure the pain of her father's infidelity, left Taiwan alone with her younger sisters, who were not yet of school age, to live in Hawaii. The past of separation between mother and daughter became an indelible wound in Tian Weining's heart, one she rarely spoke of but suppressed. Thirty years later, she flew to Hawaii to find her mother, revisiting memories through various objects, sorting through the muddy feelings she had buried for years, unraveling unresolved reasons, and finally understanding her mother's initial decision.
From this shore to the other, 田威寧Tian Weining carefully picks up the clues of unfamiliar, winding, and lost familial connections. With calm and restraint, she sketches details with her pen, stitching together a dense web that retrieves the completeness and gaps of her childhood, flowing quietly and warmly with the tide of time.
Table of Contents
- Preface: Being a Daughter
-
Volume 1: Beyond the Sea
- Family Dinners
- Departure and Return
- Jet Lag
- Comparative Notes
- Mother's Home
- Tears
- Virtue and Vice
- Family Portrait
- Mirror Image
- Rebirth
- A Smiling Buddha
- The Greatest Distance
- Including Me Out There
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-
Volume 2: The Reality of Things
- Necklace
- Eating
- Phonograph
- Light and Shadow
- Change of Heart
- Red Spider Lily
- Cross
- Letting Go
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Volume 3: Propositions of Time
- Graduation Photo Beyond the Line
- Udon Noodles
- Diners
- Taste of Pacific Saury
- Momotaro Tomato
- Bento
- Hindsight
- Record of Years
- Ten Years
- Visitor
- Where's Daddy Going?
- Time Movie Theater
-
Author Biography
Author：
田威寧(Tian Weining) A missionary born in 1979 dedicated to the legacy of 張愛玲Eileen Chang.Tian Weining holds a master's degree from the Department of Chinese Literature at National Chengchi University, with her thesis titled "The Cultural Field Interaction of Taiwan's 'Eileen Chang Phenomenon'." In 2014, she published a collection of essays titled "Ning Shi." She enjoys playing tennis and drinking tea, favoring both Roger Federer and Dario the Cat.
Author's Preface
Preface
My first collection of essays, "Ning Shi," was my "father's book," while "彼岸" (The Other Shore) is my "mother's book." Throughout my years of growing up, my family remained dispersed, and the only place we could gather together was within the pages of my books.
When "Ning Shi" was published, I thought I might never see my father again in this life, and my memories of my mother would forever remain frozen in a blurry image from when I was four years old. Never did I imagine that what I thought was a concluded story would have a sequel, with a prequel added to it.
They say "life is unpredictable," and these four words are etched directly into my bones.
My writings are often classified as fiction, but I have only written essays, with a strong interest in the textures of everyday life and the light and shadow of human relationships. I prefer Ozu Yasujirō over Kurosawa Akira, and I prefer the familiar faces in life whose names we can't recall over those found in textbooks. I know that what appears to be unequivocal must necessarily skip over a myriad of scars, and I also believe that the warmest embrace and the sharpest blade both come from within the family. Yet, what people find hardest to face is always themselves.
I always seem to write when I cannot do otherwise, pouring into my words those moments I carry around in my heart, unable to find a place to settle. My works lack flowery language, intricate structures, or diverse subjects. They do not delve into profound philosophical speculations or grand societal concerns. Instead, they capture those indescribable moments of life—moments that neither shock the heavens nor move the spirits, yet have touched me deeply and are cherished by me.
The chapters collected in "Ning Shi" were written intermittently over the first decade of my writing career. Upon completing the book, I realized that without my father, it would lose all meaning. It was then that I finally confronted the fact that not only did I lack the company of my mother, but I also had almost no memories of her—only one or two blurry images distorted to the point of becoming unrecognizable, as if they had undergone extensive editing with mosaic and voice modulation effects. It was in one of these chance moments that the idea of "searching a thousand miles for my mother" sparked in me, and I immediately understood that the stories belonging to "The Other Shore" would begin from there.
Both my parents departed without saying goodbye, leaving me with the feeling that the story had ended long ago but lacked a true conclusion. Of course, life continued after their departure, seasons passing without the cuckoo's call to mark the time, yet still swaying the pendulum that had always hung in my heart...
Internal serialization
■ Tear
During the final week in Hawaii, my sister had already taken her son back to Taiwan. I made it clear that I didn't want to go anywhere or eat anything, burdened by excess weight and physical exhaustion, just wanting to rest. Clearly disappointed that she couldn't spend more time with my sister, my mother doubled her efforts with me. Every morning, just as I woke up, the doorbell at my aunt's house would ring.
One morning, I heard my mother calling from the yard. I hurriedly turned off the water, wrapped my wet hair in a towel, and rushed to the front door. "I pressed the doorbell for so long, but no one came to open it." "I'm sorry, I didn't hear it. Maybe the sound of the water was too loud. Auntie and uncle went grocery shopping. I was washing my hair halfway. Please wait a moment."
With half-wet hair wrapped in flip-flops, I followed my mother to her house, as if going to a familiar place. Her home was still a bit messy, but I liked the everyday atmosphere. Most of the furniture and decorations in the house were purchased fifty years ago by her grandparents, like what I saw in old American TV shows, from range hoods to gas stoves to cabinets. The clock in that house stopped in the 1970s. "Do you have old photo albums here?" "There were a lot of pictures taken before, but they haven't been taken out for a long time. They're too heavy! Why do you ask?" "I want to see..." Despite my mother's lack of enthusiasm, she still went into the room and, a few minutes later, put a large stack of photo albums in front of me. The album contains old times, mother started almost, though even To Need Husband Feelings Mother Such Believe Deeply Th Day Feel Cannot
Mother's husband is seven years younger than her, a mixed-race American-Japanese who grew up in Hawaii. He fell passionately in love at first sight with a Chinese woman who waited for the bus at their home every day. They married when Mother was thirty-seven, and the following year, her younger sister was born. Mother's mother-in-law, Japanese, married an American official and lived a luxurious life. After her husband's death, she doted exclusively on her only son. Mother's husband began drinking heavily from a young age. Despite living in a mansion, he needed neither a handsome education nor special skills. He spent his days with wine and women, drinking when awake, throwing things when drunk, and sleeping when exhausted. Days passed like this routinely.When the official father-in-law passed away, the young master remained like a child at heart. Shortly after marriage, the Japanese grandmother lost her mind. With ample cash from her bank account, the young master placed her in a full-time care facility with doctors and nurses. Just as the cash was about to run out and the house was to be mortgaged, she passed away—not a moment too soon or too late. By then, the young master had nothing left beyond the mansion he lived in. Having never earned a single cent himself, he started working as a school equipment repairman, earning a meager salary. Mother had to return to work to support the family expenses. A woman who had endured hardship, she now found no struggle in returning to manual labor, treating her stint as if she had dreamt of being a young mistress and had now woken up and needed to get up.Younger sister's childhood birthday parties were held in their own yard, catered by restaurants with entertainment companies setting up play equipment, professional performers, and hosts. Even now in university, younger sister continues living with her parents in the house where she was born, wearing second-hand clothes, bringing lunch every day, and driving a twenty-year-old car of her father's that frequently breaks down, sometimes requiring her to get out and open the engine hood to cool it. If there's someone in this family who can't accept the coach turning back into a pumpkin, perhaps it's younger sister.
Upon her return to the workplace, Mother was hired as a contracted worker at the elementary school her younger sister attended, responsible at the restaurant for preparing and replenishing buffet items, as well as cleaning utensils and premises. After some time, younger sister's classmates commented, "Your mom is emptying classroom trash cans and opening canned foods again. We don't want to eat anything she's touched!" Despite excelling academically, playing the piano well, and dressing like a princess daily, younger sister asked Mother to switch to another school. Mother asked, "Am I embarrassing you here?" She was accustomed to the environment, where the work was simple and the salary sufficient, and she enjoyed seeing her darling occasionally. She didn't want to leave, but if she stayed, her darling would cry every day, saying she was too ashamed to go to school. Under Mother's strict supervision and demands, younger sister excelled in academics and talents from childhood to adulthood, with the family boasting numerous trophies for model students and band members. In one year when younger sister wasn't selected as a model student, tears welled up before she could escape the classroom.
Mother rambled on, as if these were just yesterday's events, while scenes of my childhood crying flashed before me. I was strong-willed as a child and rarely cried, so I still remember those tearful moments. But younger sister's childhood tears seem so distant, so far from me. I suddenly recalled this morning, rushing to finish grooming because of Mother's urgent doorbell, and sitting in the living room on the carpet drying my hair, the hot air and roaring noise of the hairdryer enveloping my head and face. Mother stared at me for a few seconds and said, "Let me help you with that." I immediately turned off the hairdryer and replied, "No need, thanks, I'll do it myself." Her disappointment was written all over her face. When I realized what my refusal meant, I suddenly felt like crying.
In that moment, I remembered a time in upper elementary school when my father, rarely home for dinner, had a partner who prepared a lavish meal for him. He smiled and asked me, "Do you want another bowl of rice?" "No, thanks, I can handle it myself." He chuckled and said, "Give me your bowl, I'll serve you some soup." "No, thanks, I can handle it myself." Suddenly, he set down his chopsticks, looked directly at me, and solemnly said, "You don't have to be so polite, I'm your dad."
...
