The Opposite of Fate

Оглавление

Amy Tan. The Opposite of Fate

Title Page. The Opposite of Fate. Amy Tan

Dedication

A NOTE TO THE READER

FATE AND FAITH

THE CLIFFSNOTES VERSION OF MY LIFE

HOW WE KNEW

A QUESTION OF FATE

FAITH

CHANGING THE PAST

LAST WEEK

MY GRANDMOTHER’S CHOICE

THINLY DISGUISED MEMOIR

PERSONA ERRATA

SCENT

AMERICAN CIRCUMSTANCES AND CHINESE CHARACTER

FISH CHEEKS

DANGEROUS ADVICE

MIDLIFE CONFIDENTIAL

ARRIVAL BANQUET

JOY LUCK AND HOLLYWOOD

Didn’t Anyone Warn You?

The Blow-by-Blow

I Take a Meeting

Seminar in Screenwriting

I Learn to Argue

The Asian Question

The Truth About Disney

Mr. Wang, I’m Ready for My Close-Up

Quiet on the Set

I Cried My Eyes Out

I’ve Learned My Lessons

STRONG WINDS, STRONG INFLUENCES

WHAT SHE MEANT

CONFESSIONS

PRETTY BEYOND BELIEF

THE MOST HATEFUL WORDS

MY LOVE AFFAIR WITH VLADIMIR NABOKOV

LUCK, CHANCE, AND A CHARMED LIFE

INFERIOR DECORATING

ROOM WITH A VIEW, NEW KITCHEN, AND GHOSTS

RETREAT TO REALITY

MY HAIR, MY FACE, MY NAILS

THE GHOSTS OF MY IMAGINATION

A CHOICE OF WORDS

WHAT THE LIBRARY MEANS TO ME

MOTHER TONGUE

THE LANGUAGE OF DISCRETION

FIVE WRITING TIPS

REQUIRED READING AND OTHER DANGEROUS SUBJECTS

ANGST AND THE SECOND BOOK

THE BEST STORIES

HOPE

WHAT I WOULD REMEMBER

TO COMPLAIN IS AMERICAN

THE OPPOSITE OF FATE

Footnotes

Gratitude

Praise for The Opposite of Fate

About the Author

By the Same Author

Copyright

About the Publisher

Отрывок из книги

With love to Lou DeMattei, who knows the fiction and nonfiction of my life, as well as all that cannot be put into words.

Title Page

.....

In my memory, which I admit can be subjectively poor and riddled with a wild imagination, I recall that our sessions with the Ouija board were often accompanied by eerie signs that ghosts were indeed in the room. It would suddenly become not just cold but windy. A flower would snap from its stem as if in answer to an important question. A sound would be heard in the distance—first by my mother, then by me—seemingly the voice of a crying woman. And once the board rose in the air several inches, my fingers still attached to it, then crashed to the floor. That is what I remember, although logic tells me it was the result of either hysteria or peanut butter stuck to my fingertips.

Besides using the Ouija board, my mother continued to find advice in other, less traditional places. One time she looked under the kitchen sink, where she stored cleaning products. She was cleaning the kitchen after dinner, and my little brother and I were watching TV nearby. I saw her pick up a can of Old Dutch cleanser and stare at it as if it possessed the lucidity of a crystal ball. “Holland,” she announced to us. “Holland is clean. We moving to Holland.”

.....