According to The New Yorker, this is the first novel Buck concerned herself with Chinese of wealth.
I am glad that I did not read it when I was younger. I suppose even ten years ago I might not have understood what she was trying to convey. It is ironic that the priest Andre was considered a heretic by his church in Italy. Yet he housed, brought food and love to orphan girls and he fed and cared for those who could not help themselves. With that good work, no religion and culture would condemn. Compared to him, the traditional missionary Little Sister Hsia was insignificant. It is not that I want to belittle one who left behind her loved ones, country and everything to proclaim the gospel. She gave her entire life up for the love of her God and she was sincere in heart. One preached with words while the other with deeds. Of course deeds outshone words alone!
What Buck portrayed was pre-communist China. I am sure little remain in the China of today. After decades of shared poverty, the gap between the have and the have-not in China widened again. Not being much read in history, I can't tell whether the gap today or seventy years ago was wider. I only know that my ancestors escaped to South East Asia to find a living. Around that time hundreds of thousands left China for many parts of the world. On my father side, his clan spent years clearing virgin jungle to plant rubber trees. On my mother side, my grand parents tapped rubber trees as daily waged labourers. Now, I hear of Chinese nationals robbing restaurants at knife points in the cities. We see China dolls in the big cities as well as tiny towns. I have known a few families and marriages being broken by the wealth seeking Chinese females. At the other extreme, I also have close friends who work in companies and factories owned by Chinese nationals.
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