FOREWORD

      BY SYLVIA LI-CHUN LIN

      My mother was a wonderful storyteller. On summer evenings, when it was too hot to stay indoors, my sisters and I would hose down our cement front yard with cool water. Then, after dinner, we would spread straw mats on the ground, bring out a chair for our mother and a tin of coiled mosquito incense, and lie on the mats, looking at the twinkling stars as my mother told us many of her stories. One of her favorite stories was called The Gentleman Snake, a Chinese version of the Beauty and the Beast. Whenever we asked her to tell this story, she would first say that we’d heard it so many times that our ears were probably filled up with it. But then she would slowly wave her palm leaf fan and begin the story, complete with interruptions—silly questions and comments—from us:

      “A long, long time ago, there was a merchant who had three daughters. One day he was going on a business trip and asked what they wanted him to bring back. The first two wanted beautiful clothes and fancy jewelry, while the youngest one asked for nothing but the first pretty flower he saw on his way home.

      [“Mom, why does the youngest daughter want only a flower?” I asked.

      “Because she likes flowers.”]

      “The merchant finished his business in the city and found the gifts for his first two daughters before setting out for home. But he did not see any flowers, let alone a pretty one. Just when he was despairing over the likelihood that he would have to disappoint his favorite daughter, he saw a great mansion encircled by a high, red-brick wall, over which the most beautiful flower he’d ever seen was hanging.

      [“Mom, what kind of flower was it?” I asked.

      “I don’t know.”

      “Was it a rose?”

      “I don’t know.”

      “What does it matter? Why can’t you just listen to the story?” one of my sisters said.]

      “He ran over and picked the flower, and