let me take you down...

Some books you read not for the experience of reading them, but for the information within. Such is the case with Gulbahar Haitiwaji's memoir, How I Survived a Chinese "Reeducation" Camp: A Uyghur Woman's Story. As the title suggests, this is a first-person account of Haitiwaji's experience in Xinjiang, where she was subjected to "reeducation" on suspicion of terroristic activity. This book was written with the help of Rozenn Morgat and Haitiwaji's daughter Gulhumar, and translated from French by Edward Gauvin.

 

To quickly summarize for anyone unaware, the Uyghurs (also spelled "Uighur") are an ethnic minority in China, inhabiting the northwestern region of Xinjiang, which is quite large. They are predominantly Muslim, and speak Uyghur, a Turkic language, and frequently have more culturally in common with neighboring Kazakhstan and Tajikistan than with the Han in eastern China. For many decades, the Chinese government has viewed Uyghurs with suspicion and since the 1950s has continually ramped up levels of surveillance against Xinjiang. I wrote a paper on this situation in graduate school several years ago concluding that China is enacting a slow genocide against Uyghurs, with the intent of fully wiping out their culture.

 

Uyghurs are subjected to relentless video surveillance, intrusive police home visits, regularly summoned to the police station for interrogation without any suspicion of a real crime, forcibly sterilized. and punished for any excessive displays of religiosity such as wearing a hijab or visiting mosque too frequently. Some years ago, "reeducation schools" entered the picture.

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I first read The Goblin Emperor by Katherine Addison last year, but I never got around to reviewing it, in part because I didn't know what to say about it. My friends had loved it, and while I'd found it enjoyable, I was still percolating on what I liked (or didn't!) about it. Listening to The Witness for the Dead, a book in the same universe, got me thinking about TGE again, so this month I gave it a re-read. This time, it all clicked.

 

This book is truly such an enjoyable read. The basics of Maia's tale are not unfamiliar—a seeming nobody is thrust into a position of power no one ever expected them to have—but Addison puts her own fascinating spin on it. It has the same feeling I got from The Witness for the Dead, where the story prioritizes doing the right thing and many if not most of the characters in it are striving to be good people (whatever that means for them). It makes a nice contrast to the very selfish, dark fantasy where you know from the start every character is just in it for themselves (and I do enjoy those too, not to say one is better than other!) The protagonist Maia in particular is put in any number of positions where he could misuse his power for personal gratification—such as imprisoning or executing his abusive former guardian, Setheris—but he, with conscious effort, chooses differently. That is not the kind of person—not the kind of emperor—Maia wants to be. And honestly—there is very gratifying fantasy, particularly today, in the idea of someone obtaining power and being committed to some kind of principles of proper governance, of having some code of honor above their own personal enrichment.

 

  

 

 

 

 

On Monday I finished The Once and Future Witches by Alix Harrow, about a trio of sisters in the American city of "New Salem" in Massachusetts in 1893 who take it upon themselves to revive witches' magic.

 

The Once and Future Witches dovetails historically with the movement for women's suffrage, creating some parallels between seeking the right to the vote and seeking the right to practice magic. I would have liked to have seen this carried more through the latter half of the novel, but I suppose I can see why it wasn't, particularly given it would be another nearly thirty years before the passage of the 19^th Amendment granting women the right to vote. The suffragettes played a long game. 

 

The core focus of the novel is sisterhood, both blood and otherwise. Harrow presents a beautifully wounded and layered portrait of siblinghood in the relationship between the three protagonists: Bella, the oldest; Agnes, the middle child; and Juniper, the youngest. Raised without a mother (she passed birthing Juniper) under the thumb of their abusive and alcoholic father in rural poverty, all three girls learned early on what they would do to ensure their own survival. And while there is great love between them, there is also great hurt, and by the start of the book, the three are not on speaking terms. Harrow did a great job with the complexity here, and watching their relationships develop and begin to heal was very enjoyable.