Wang looks back on her childhood in Inner Mongolia.
Eight-year-old Jin lives in a one-room mud house in a village of 18 homes with her parents and two younger brothers. “In this small space, we ran into each other all the time,” she says. Life isn’t easy: Water is scarce, hunger is constant, and windstorms whip in from the desert. Offering a child’s-eye view, the adult Wang explains it all in a charmingly matter-of-fact voice. She writes with humor and fondness for her childhood home, employing an understated style that conveys entire essays’ worth of insight in just a few words. About her habit of climbing trees, she says that her mother “was afraid I would fall and break my head open, like a melon. Also she worried that I would rip the pants that had taken her so long to stitch. I am not sure which worry was worse.” Each chapter describes a seemingly mundane episode that nevertheless feels fascinating: traveling with her father to fetch water, speculating about—and looking for—the wolves in the nearby hills, enduring a big storm, foraging for mushrooms, awaiting visits from the popcorn man, having a family portrait taken, and more. Readers will be drawn in by Jin’s delightful voice and will become invested in her stories. The text is broken up by warm, black-and-white spot art, rendered in ink and pencil.
Rich with affection, wit, and joy, a captivating peek into Chinese village life.
(authors’ and illustrator’s notes) (Memoir. 7-9)