"Isn't hate merely the result of wounded love?" 
 This is one of those instances where I realized midway through a book that I'd read it before. Granted, my first encounter must have been at about the age of 13, and I'm certain I got entirely different things out of it on this go around. 
 The Joy Luck Club is a succinct yet poetically constructed smattering of short stories, dipping its literary toe into the waters of mother-daughter relationships between first and second generation Chinese Americans. The non-fiction feeling premise centers around Waverly Jong, whose mother, Lindo, has recently died from an unforeseen brain aneurism. Waverly is asked to fill her mother's vacancy at a Mahjong game table in the company of her mother's friends, all of whom have stories to share from both their experiences in China, and regarding their wounded relationships with their children. At its heart, this collection is about women caught between two worlds--two dramatically different cultures. 
 The story-telling scenario is a compelling setup. Waverly is clearly adrift after her mother's death, though their relationship was often strained by the divide of their personalities, linguistics, and perceptions. Early on she makes clear the hold her mother's passive-aggressive manipulation had over her, though this type of pushiness seems to come from a cultural rather than malicious place. She insinuates that many misunderstandings arise from her mother reading too much into words and situations, and Waverly not reading into them enough. But it's the unfinished business her mother has left behind that may ultimately be their best source of unity and understanding. 
 I believe it is significant to point out that the short story fragment that roused my memory involved Lindo telling Waverly about the twin babies she was forced to abandon on the side of the road during her near death-march flight from a Japanese besieged city during World War 2. I recall that particular story striking me at a deep and poignant emotional level even amid my adolescent fog. As a mother now myself, it engrossed and--for a mercifully short while--wrecked me. 
 My only complaints are more structural in nature. The individual stories between the different women weren't as distinct as I would have liked, and I sometimes became confused as to who was giving their account. I also found it a bit regrettable that the Mahjong table was used for such a vivid setup, but then all but forgotten. It seemed a lost opportunity to use the game as a touchstone, theme, or tool for symmetry. 
 The author's voice is strong, her prose lilting, and the cultural and historical aspects irreproachable in merit. The ending offers a bittersweet yet satisfying sense of closure. All in all I'd recommend this book for its universal relatability regarding complex maternal relationships, as well as a point of empathy regarding Chinese-American heritage.