The Carpathians - University of British Columbia

observable patterns in nature and in language.
Significantly, the "white" in the title of
the collection scarcely reverberates in subtle
allusion to the referent which one would
expect. Rather, the title is the name of the
third subsection, where white is the white
of winter sky, of old age, of the pale face of
the moon "numb with a mummy's happiness",
of hospital sheets which make one
feel snowed in, of frost before dawn, of
breath that flakes like snow, of shards of ice,
of stars glinting like ivory, of a memory
made of snow, of the glare from the white
rising sun. Most movingly, in 'Paper', the
white line is the white space on the printed
page which figuratively signifies the literal
meaninglessness of the nonetheless vital
social convention: "You can't deny the truth
of salutation or address—/there is nothing
but white between the lines." And in the
final poem, 'The Line', the extended figure
of the fishing line and of fishing sustains a
complex comparison with the poetic line,
which itself metonymically represents the
poem, and the poem itself, verbal expressivity.
The speaker concludes with this
rhetorical question, "... How would it feel,
knowing/at last, what the poem really/is,
to lack the line to speak?" The reviewer
nonetheless replies: Masterfully varied
explorations in the rhythmical subtleties of
syllabic verse, there is no such lack in these
impressive lines.
The Real Goddess
Alan Cumyn
Waiting for Li Ming. Goose Lane Editions, n.p.
Reviewed by Sandra Filippelli
The Eastern female has long been viewed as
a figure of exotic beauty and mysticism in
both life and art. The mis/appropriation of
such a goddess figure by the Western male,
lacking fundamental knowledge of her
engendering culture, is not new, either.
Sinophiles comprise one group which does
not make light of the issue of the involvement
of foreigners with Chinese nationals,
especially within China's closely guarded
borders; indeed, the subject is virtually a
moral imperative.
In Alan Cumyn's novel, Waiting for Li
Ming, the protagonist, Rudy Seaborn, does
untold damage while adrift, as his name
suggests, in a sea of emotional naivety and
cross-cultural ignorance in the People's
Republic of China. Regrettably, the chilling
repercussions of his actions do not become
apparent to him until he is back in Canada
watching the events in Tiananmen Square
unfold on television when he discovers that
his girlfriend, Li Ming, the woman whom
he passionately awaits to join him in
Canada, has become one of the bolder
players in the demonstrations.
Cumyn's shifting narrative, altering
between Rudy's first person account of his
life in China and his still confused, yet
vastly more self-reflective third person view
from Canada the year after he returns
home, augments the character's slow but
gradual process of self-realization.
Although this structure works as a kind of
endistancing technique, enhancing perspective,
in the early stages of the narrative,
the abrupt scene changes are somewhat offputting;
as June 4th and the birth of his
playwright friend Lou's baby loom nearer,
however, the dramatic shifts become more
fluid and suspenseful. The birth scene itself
is perhaps the most absorbing part of the
narrative, particularly since it occurs on the
night of June 4th and since Lou is the primary
catalyst in Rudy's internal journey.
Cumyn's descriptive writing does exquisite
justice to the novel. He captures the
ambiance of China, the impenetrable haze
of otherworldliness, the unbreakable "bubble
of cultural glass and steel" separating
the Chinese from foreigners, and the mysterious
scrutiny of watchful eyes, ambiguous
shapes forever looming in the shadows.