Forgive me but I’ve drunk much wine this evening and grown exceedingly nostalgic. Let’s be honest. There can be no mystery as to why, at my favorite job of all times, my reputation was that of a charming-slash-annoying eccentric. Because of happenstances such as the one in which I found myself expounding on the deep psychological import of this childhood favorite. And on how, once upon a time, there existed children’s books offering more than silly diversion to the wee ones to whom they were read. And I did not hesitate to muse out loud. Within earshot of many a childless millennial. OMG. But, truly, this is a credit to the agency responsible for the congenial and creative atmosphere in which we labored. Because we had somehow struck a sense of authentic fellowship. On some level, we quested after the truth of the human experience — and we did so together. So. When my epiphany struck me with force, in that moment, and begged to be voiced, I did not filter my thoughts for fear of TMI. Indeed, as I recalled my love of this odd little book, I openly shared my wonderment: What is this admittedly strange story about anyway, and why did I insist it be read to me over and over ad infinitum by what must have been a sorely tried mother and father? Because. Unlike many a silly children’s book, this one mattered. In its spare and beautiful pages, depths are sounded, limits tested, and needs satisfied. You see, Ping is a member of a well ordered society. There are few rules and fewer consequences, but upon such slender structure one could absolutely depend. Ping knew — oh how well he knew! — just how he was to behave. One evening, however, being far from the fold at the time of the sun’s setting, Ping realizes he must face a consequence. Rather than do so, he decides to disobey. To rebel, as it were. The last duck aboard the wise-eyed boat that floats the yellow waters of the Yangtze river must endure a smack! On the back! What pain! What indignity! Oh, for shame. So, Ping chooses instead to stay ashore all night, alone. And as the sun rises in the east, our intrepid duckling must voyage upriver in search of his lost family, all the while sampling the rules and morés of sundry societies foreign to him. The one in which birds are enslaved by tight neck rings, paying the master in fish for their keep. The one in which small boys must accept authoritarian viewpoints, in which parental eyes see young ducking as succulent dinner, not sweet companion. These worldly experiences reveal to Ping that which was formerly hidden. Namely, that the system of benefits and consequences under which he had lived — along with his mother and his father and two sisters and three brothers and eleven aunts and seven uncles and forty-two cousins — was indeed the dearest, sweetest, most rewarding in the world. Thankfully, Ping finds both the opportunity and the courage to return, safe and uncooked, to his loved-ones, just the sun sets in the west once more. This time, both the freedoms and boundaries he must face — including a smack on the back now, and perhaps again — are to him only as they should be. And all is well. All is well. All is well.
- Goodreads rating – 4.15
- REVIEW – Shelly L