Angelfish by Laurence Yep; G. P. Putnam’s Sons: New York, 2001; $16.99 When I first read Angelfish, I had many reactions to it, but as I progressed through the book, many of the reactions shifted to reveal different ones. At first, when I first met Robin, the main character in this book, I pitied her because she had to work for a racist old grouch and she could not tell anyone, or else her dream role in her ballet class that she had worked so hard to win would be at stake. As I read through the book, I realized that my feelings changed from pity to a strange sort of jealousy and envy. By going to the fish store every day to work off her debt on the broken glass window, she was not only gaining knowledge of fish and being taught tai chi, but she was also learning many very important lessons of life. Like Robin, I am also Chinese American. Although both my parents are Chinese, I look more Korean than Chinese. Mr. Cao had called Robin a “half person” because she was only half Chinese. People have also often criticized me about my looks. One thing that was different, though, was that they claimed that I was a nobody, for I didn’t look a bit Chinese. That hurt me even more than what Robin experienced because I had been born and lived in China for half my life, and I had the heritage and knew about China even more than she did. I think the part where Robin compares the characteristics of the beast in the ballet Beauty and the Beast with Mr. Cao, a grouchy old man who possessed Beast’s temper, was especially wonderful, for in the process of comparing the two, she learned both how to help Mr. Cao overcome his fear and how to act as Beauty on the stage. When Robin found out that Mr. Cao was actually a ballet dancer who was also a victim of the Chinese Cultural Revolution, I finally began to understand why Mr. Cao was so gruff in his manner with Robin, and how he tried to cover up everything nice he did with an insult. Although Mr. Cao’s intentions were to try to teach and warn Robin of the dangers of an audience so that she would never have to go through what he had to go through, in the end both sides learned a lesson. Mr. Cao learned that no matter what happens, the dance never leaves the dancer, no matter if it is in the mind or the body, and Robin learned not to misjudge people by their appearances, for even a beast would appreciate beauty and magnificence if presented the right way. This part of the story affected me deeply, for my mother’s generation and my grandmother’s generation were affected immensely by the Cultural Revolution. Angelfish is a wonderful story for anyone or any age. It will captivate readers and guide them through China’s horrific past, from a period of time where even simple dreams seemed impossible, to the present, where a young, innocent girl teaches an old man that no matter when or where, beauty is always appreciated. Zhan Tao Yang, 13Las Vegas, Nevada
March/April 2002
Amy
I can still remember the day I met my best friend. I rode my bike past her house a few days after she had moved in. The afternoon air was clear and crisp, and a few fluffy white clouds danced over my head in the breeze. There had been a storm that morning, so the essence of rain swept softly over my skin, and stray drops of water hung from the trees. I noticed her horse right away. That was the first time I laid eyes on her horse, the most beautiful animal I had ever seen in my life. He was very tall, that was the feature that stood out to me. Though I was only in first grade, and too small to understand how big he was in hands, I could easily tell that my head wouldn’t come even to his shoulder. His coat and mane were a black that was blacker than the night. A black that wasn’t miserable or sad, but happy and cheerful. Just looking at him put a smile on my face. His stride was perfect. The way he trotted was as smooth as butter, and when he cantered, I could see the delight in the eyes of the rider. That’s when I noticed the girl. She looked about my age, with her neat blond hair pulled into a ponytail under her velvet riding helmet. Her form was absolutely perfect. Her back was straight, and she sat deep in the saddle, with her heels down and her hands gripping the reins just right. Any fool could tell that she was a great rider. I couldn’t help watching the girl, and eventually she realized I was there. I kept coming back to watch her ride, day after day, until finally she agreed to give me lessons. She told me that her horse’s name was Sultan and her name was Amy. * * * I set off on my bike toward Amy’s ranch in the summer of our sixth grade. She had invited me over for the day, and we were going on a trail ride. My personal favorite horse was a gray mare, seven years old, named Lily. She was kind, sweet and seemed to understand that I was uncomfortable at anything other than a walk, therefore she never acted up. I hated even trotting on horses. I had never had the courage to canter a horse. I was a beginner, though I had been riding for many years under the instruction of my best friend. “You are ready to advance, Kara,” she would tell me every day. “What’s stopping you?” Physically, I was ready to advance. But I was a timid girl by heart. Any fool could tell that she was a great rider I arrived shortly to find Amy in her front yard holding two horses, saddled and ready to go. One of them, I was happy to see, was Lily. The other horse standing next to Amy was Sultan. “Ready to ride?” inquired Amy, as she tossed me a helmet, and strapped one on herself. Her eyes flashed with a daring sense of adventure. How she and I ever got to be anything more than instructor and student was still a mystery to me. Amy and I were two very different people. “Yeah,” I said confidently, but Amy knew better. She laughed, which made her entire face glow with amusement, and handed me Lily’s reins. We mounted and headed for the trails. It was an incredible day. The air was mildly warm and the sun was shining brightly. The sky was a blue you can’t imagine, with no clouds to disturb it. We rode into the forest near the ranch. Amy held her head high as Sultan strode along through a woodland carpet of leaves. Lily and I were beside them and Amy and I chatted as we always did on trail rides. Soon we came to a fallen log. It must have been four feet in height, perhaps five feet in width. A smile crept over Amy’s face. Just the sight of that log gave me goosebumps, but Amy had other ideas. She stopped Sultan about twenty feet in front of the log. I knew exactly what she was thinking. “Amy,” I warned her, “that log is huge, are you sure Sultan can clear it?” Amy gave me a look. “Of course Sultan can clear it, he’s the best horse around!” she exclaimed, patting him on the shoulder. Amy wasn’t exaggerating, Sultan really was the best horse around. Amy could prove it when she rode him in shows. She and Sultan always took home a blue ribbon. When Amy rode, it was as amazing as watching the sun set. But she never gave herself any credit for her ribbons. “It’s all Sultan,” she would insist. Then when she got home, she nailed the ribbons to the walls of his stall. I put Lily into a walk, and we went around the log. Nothing could make me jump it. I stopped Lily about fifty feet from the other side, giving Amy plenty of space. “OK,” Amy shouted. “Here I go!” She urged Sultan into a perfect canter, and approached the jump gracefully. Sultan’s ears were perked forward, all of his attention fixed on the jump. Amy urged him on, and Sultan leaped. He sailed over the jump. Suspended in the air above the log, I relaxed, but my heart acted too soon. Just as they were coming down for their landing, Sultan’s foot caught on a hole in the log, and he came crashing down on top of Amy. I gasped for my breath. “Amy!” I screamed, jumping off of Lily. I ran to the spot where she lay. Sultan was flailing his hooves madly. I grabbed his reins and forced him up. Amy was crying, the only time I had ever seen her cry. At least she was alive. “Kara,” Amy sobbed, “I can’t feel my legs.” My heart skipped
Rosalino’s Dog
This is a story about my great-grandfather’s dog. This story takes place in Mexico in the town of Tampico, where my great-grandfather, Rosalino Dominguez, had been trying to get land for poor people, but that was against the government’s laws. My grandmother told me, “The only time he had ever cried was when he had to leave his dog.” The dog’s name was Pinto, and in Spanish that means spotted. Pinto was a very energetic dalmatian, and very big. Every day when Rosalino came home from work, he would say hello to his wife, then spend almost an hour with his dog. He (and sometimes his wife) would throw sticks for Pinto, play with him and pet him. But one day the government found out that Rosalino had been trying to get land for poor people. Men came over and threatened his life, so he had to leave. My great-grandfather decided to go north. He’d heard that in California there were jobs. He decided to go north even though he would have to leave his beloved wife and dog. They would have a big campfire at night and talk about their lives “My beloved wife,” he exclaimed, “I must leave you but I will send what money I can.” He ran to Pinto and gave him a very tight hug. And once he was done, he finally walked away from his home. Rosalino’s wife and dog watched him get smaller and smaller as he walked further and further away. Going, going, gone. And so he began his journey north in search of a job. On he walked without stopping unless it was to drink from a stream or eat some cactus. He had no other supplies. He walked for days and even waded across the enormous Rio Grande, the river that separates Texas from Mexico. After walking for days he looked up and saw something that made his heart skip a beat. A railroad station!! He did not have any money, but that was no problem. He could sneak into a boxcar. So he ran up to the station and went up to a conductor. “What direction is this boxcar train heading?” he asked. “North,” the conductor replied. “Why?” “Just wondering,” my great-grandfather replied. My great-grandfather could not believe his luck. So he jumped in a boxcar and the train pulled from the station. As he rode in the boxcar, Rosalino started really feeling lonely. He missed his wife, his dog and his cozy home. His life was perfect up until the cruel government got in his way. It wasn’t fair that all the good land went to the rich people, and the poor people who worked on it got nothing. “Pinto, is that you?!” Rosalino cried He walked, hitchhiked and rode trains all the way to the Imperial Valley in California. There in the Imperial Valley, he found plenty of work picking tomatoes, peaches, cotton and whatever else he could find. He sent what money he could to his family. Rosalino and the other farm workers lived in whatever shelter they could find near the fields where they worked. So usually they would have a big campfire at night and talk about their lives. Almost everyone there had left people they loved and had to work their hardest just for a little money. Sometimes to get people’s minds off their troubles, Rosalino would talk about the funny things Pinto used to do. “He would chase his tail all day long and once he caught it he would shake it around like a baby’s rattle!” Everyone would laugh at this. One night, while they were sitting around a campfire, they heard a rustling in the bushes. They saw a glow of eyeballs, and out crawled a beaten, exhausted, but happy, Pinto. “Pinto, is that you?!” Rosalino cried. He threw his arms around his beloved dog. Everyone agreed that Pinto’s arrival was a miracle, so the next day they took him to a church to be blessed. Unfortunately, Pinto died about a week later from exhaustion. But still, that dog walked and tracked my great-grandfather for about 2000 miles across deserts, over mountains and through rivers. Through love and determination, Pinto was finally reunited with the man he loved so much. Andrew Shannon, 11Sacramento, California
