THE VALLEY OF AMAZEMENT EPUB

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The Valley of Amazement (Electronic book text, ePub edition) / Author: Amy Tan ; ; Modern fiction, General & literary fiction, Fiction, Books. Tan Amy - The Valley of Amazement - dokument [*.pdf] DEDICATION FOR KATHI KAMEN GOLDMARK AND ZHENG CAO KINDRED SPIRITS EPIGRAPH. Call No: Status: Reserve Title: Item Type: Home Location: VINCENT OVERDRIVE EBOOK, Available with 0 reserves, Reserve Title, EBK, VINCENT LIBRARY.


The Valley Of Amazement Epub

Author:MARCELENE BOURGEAULT
Language:English, French, German
Country:Samoa
Genre:Fiction & Literature
Pages:529
Published (Last):01.12.2015
ISBN:480-2-17466-469-3
ePub File Size:20.68 MB
PDF File Size:13.27 MB
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The Valley Of Amazement is big ebook you need. You can read any ebooks you wanted like The Valley Of Amazement in simple step and you. Spanning fifty years and two continents the valley of amazement sweeps the reader along a deeply moving narrative of family secrets the legacies of traumas . of amazement intl feb 21 posted by anne golon library text id f4d1 online pdf ebook epub library the valley of amazement intl sitein download the valley.

He turned white, gritted his teeth, and fainted, mortally wounded.

His father took him home, and Golden Dove said he would surely die, and later, one of the courtesans said he had and that it was a pity he had never enjoyed any pleasures of the boudoir. With me, Carlotta was different. When I carried her in my arms, she was tender and limp. At night, she purred in my arms, and in the morning, she chirped at me. Her paws would poke out of the fringe as she batted at the feather.

The Valley of Amazement

Together we raced through the maze of furniture, and she vaulted onto tables and chairs, up curtains, and onto the high lips of the wainscoting—to wherever I wanted her to go.

On several occasions, I heard her tell Western newspaper reporters how she secured the place for almost nothing. The grounds and its original four buildings once stretched over one-half hectares, twice what it is now.

The thick stone wall is the original. A legend has been handed down over four hundred years: One of his concubines in the west wing started the fire, and his wife in the east wing died screaming in a circle of flames. Whether it is true, who can say? But any legend is not worth making up if it does not include a murder or two. After the poet died, his eldest son hired the best stonemasons to carve a stele that sat on a tortoise and was crowned by a dragon, symbols of honor reserved for a high official—although there was no record in the county that he had ever been one.

By the time his great-grandson was the head of the family, the stele had fallen and was nearly obscured by tall prickly weeds. This was not the eternal reverence the scholar had had in mind. When his descendants sold the place a hundred years ago for a cheap price, the curse began.

Within a day of receiving the money, his descendant was seized with a firelike pain and died. A thief killed another son. The children of those sons died of one thing or another, and it was not old age. A succession of downloaders also suffered from unusual maladies: reversals of fortune, infertility, insanity, and such. When I saw the mansion, it was an abandoned eyesore, the grounds a jungle of choking vines and overgrown bushes, the perfect haven for wild dogs.

I bought the property for the price of a Chinese song.

Both Westerners and Chinese said I was foolish to take it at any price. No carpenter, stonemason, or coolie would ever step across that haunted threshold. So, gentlemen, what would you do? Give up and count your losses? I hired an Italian actor—a disgraced Jesuit with the dark looks of an Asiatic, which became more pronounced when he pulled back his hair at the temples, the way Chinese opera singers do to give the eyes a dramatic slant.

He donned the robes of a feng shui master, and we hired some boys to pass out leaflets to announce that a fair would be held on the grounds just outside of the haunted villa. We had stalls of food, acrobats, contortionists, and musicians, rare fruits and a candy machine that pulled saltwater taffy.

By the time the feng shui master arrived on a palanquin, along with his Chinese assistant, he had a waiting audience of hundreds—children and amahs, servants and rickshaw men, courtesans and madams, tailors and other purveyors of gossip.

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The feng shui master demanded that a pan of fire be brought to him. He pulled out a scroll and threw it into the flames, then chanted a concoction of Tibetan gibberish while sprinkling rice wine over the fire to make the flames leap higher.

The audience watched him enter where no man dared to go. After five minutes he returned, and the audience murmured excitedly. I grabbed her ringlets and hung on. She screamed, and a dozen fists pummeled my back and another bloodied my lip and knocked out a tooth that had already been loose.

One girl fainted, and the ringleader and her pack scampered off with stricken faces. I picked up the tooth—a former living part of me—and the teacher quickly put a knotted kerchief to my face to stanch the blood, then sent me home in a rickshaw with no parting words of comfort. Mother decided on the spot that I would be tutored at home. Confused, I told her what I had said to the old beggar: Then again, why would I know the word beggar in English when I had never seen an American grandpa slumped against a wall, mumbling with a slack mouth so that I might have pity on him?

Until I went to school, I had been speaking my peculiar language only in Hidden Jade Path to our four courtesans, their attendants, and the servants. Their syllables of gossip and flirtation, complaints and woe, went into my ear, and came out of my mouth, and in conversations I had with my mother, I had never been told there was anything amiss with my speech. I asked Mother if she had spoken Chinese as a child, and she told me that Golden Dove had given her rigorous lessons.

I then asked Mother if I spoke Chinese as well as the courtesans did.

I asked my new tutor if a Chinese person naturally spoke Chinese better than an American ever could. He said the shapes of the mouth, tongue, and lips of each race were best suited to its particular language, as were the ears that conducted words into the brain. I asked him why he thought I could speak Chinese. He said that I studied well and had exercised my mouth to such a degree that I could move my tongue differently. I worried for two days, until logic and deduction enabled me to reclaim my race.

First of all, I reasoned, Mother was American. Although my father was dead, it was obvious he had been an American, since I had fair skin, brown hair, and green eyes.

I wore Western clothing and regular shoes.

I had not had my feet crushed and wedged like dumpling dough into a tiny shoe. Most Chinese girls learned only how to behave. Mother told me: The Chinese are a fearful lot and thus they have many superstitions.

And I did not do everything a certain way just because that was how it had been done for a thousand years. I had Yankee ingenuity and an independent mind; Mother told me that. It was my idea, for example, to give the servants modern forks to use instead of ancient chopsticks.

Mother, however, ordered the servants to return the silverware.

She said that each tine was more valuable than what a servant might earn in a year, and thus, the servants might be tempted to sell the forks. The Chinese did not hold the same opinion about honesty as we Americans. I agreed. Now if I were Chinese, would I have said that about myself? The only people who could call me Violet were those who could say my name precisely, and they were my mother, Golden Dove, and my tutor. After I changed my name, I realized I could do so whenever I pleased to suit my mood or purpose.

And soon after, I adopted my first nickname as the result of an accident. I had been racing through the main salon and bumped into a servant carrying a tray of tea and snacks, which clattered to the floor.

I was the Whirlwind who blew through the famed house of Hidden Jade Path with my nimbus of fluffy dark hair and my cat chasing the ribbon that had once held my hair in place.

She belonged to me, and I to her, and that was a feeling I had with no other—not even my mother. When I held my kitty, she kneaded her paws on my bodice, snagging the lace and turning it into fishing nets. Her eyes were green like mine, and she had a beautiful golden sheen over her brown-and-black- splotched body. She glowed under moonlight.

Mother gave her to me when I told her I wanted a friend.

A cat would always be loyal, unlike a friend. Mother said she knew that for a fact. Almost everyone in the house feared my pirate cat. She scratched those who chased her off the furniture.

She howled like a ghost when she was stuck inside a wardrobe. If she sensed fear in people who approached her, she bristled and let them know they were right to be scared. Golden Dove froze whenever she saw Carlotta prancing toward her. A wildcat had badly wounded her when she was a little girl, and she had nearly died of green pus fever.

If anyone picked up my kitty, she bit, fast and hard, and if anyone petted her without my permission, her claws flew out. She murdered a seventeen-year-old boy named Loyalty Fang, who came to Hidden Jade Path with his father. I had been looking for Carlotta and spotted her under the sofa.

A boy was in the way and he started jabbering to me in a language I could not understand. Before I could warn him not to touch Carlotta, he reached down and grabbed her tail, and she dug her claws into his arm and peeled off four bloody ribbons of skin and flesh.

He turned white, gritted his teeth, and fainted, mortally wounded. His father took him home, and Golden Dove said he would surely die, and later, one of the courtesans said he had and that it was a pity he had never enjoyed any pleasures of the boudoir.

With me, Carlotta was different. When I carried her in my arms, she was tender and limp. Does this product have an incorrect or missing image? Send us a new image.

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Checkout Your Cart Price. But when revolution comes, she is separated from her mother and forced to become a "virgin courtesan. But her successes belie her private turmoil. Violet's need for answers propels her on a quest of discovery:I picked up the tooth—a former living part of me—and the teacher quickly put a knotted kerchief to my face to stanch the blood, then sent me home in a rickshaw with no parting words of comfort. By the time his great-grandson was the head of the family, the stele had fallen and was nearly obscured by tall prickly weeds.

My mother named me Violet after a tiny flower she loved as a girl growing up in San Francisco, a city I have seen only in postcards. The Valley Of Amazement.

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I was the Whirlwind who blew through the famed house of Hidden Jade Path with my nimbus of fluffy dark hair and my cat chasing the ribbon that had once held my hair in place. For example, Paiboon, Paiboon , and LP glom them together into one 'e' symbol, expecting you to figure out whether to say pt, but we removed this distinction in order to be consistent with the Paiboon used in Paiboon's new dictionaries released in Feb He said that I studied well and had exercised my mouth to such a degree that I could move my tongue differently.

Learning both sounds now will help you a lot when you're trying to look up a new Thai word you've heard in the dictionary.

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