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bodily humors, book review, China, class differences, cultural taboos, doctor, feminism, healer, historical background, historical fiction, Lisa See, literary fiction, mansplaining, sexism, sixteenth century, wealth and seclusion, women's medicine, women's role
Review: Lady Tan’s Circle of Women, by Lisa See
Scribner, 2023. 342 pp. $28
When Tan Yunxian is eight years old in 1469, two events shake her life: her mother dies, and her Grandmother Ru, with whom she now lives near the city of Wuxi, sets out to teach the girl all she knows about medicine. Since Grandmother Ru and her husband are renowned healers, that’s a gift and a responsibility. And grandfather, though he holds certain views about women and their capacities, doesn’t object.
There’s no way Yunxian will ever be a doctor, however. Such a role and title are reserved for men. But men may not physically examine a woman; to treat a female patient, a doctor must sit behind a screen while a female go-between relays his questions to the patient and her replies.
Moreover, there are proscriptions against doctors touching blood, so that what we would call obstetrics and a good portion of gynecology are off limits to them. That, however, doesn’t prevent them from knowing more than any woman about such matters. Talk about mansplaining; and naturally, they’re often wrong.
Consequently, Grandmother Ru and her young granddaughter, if she learns enough, have both a crucial niche to fill as unofficial doctors to women and a struggle to practice what they know within a strict patriarchal society that punishes outliers. The conflict emerges in myriad ways for Yunxian and lends this remarkable novel its driving force.
As the narrative amply demonstrates, much of a woman’s existence in late fifteenth- and early sixteenth-century China implies health hazards, whether in multiple childbirths amid splendor or in menial labor, to say nothing of the accompanying stresses. Since traditional Chinese medicine considers bodily humors to derive strongly from emotions, the anger, depression, or hopelessness women swallow hurts them and must be treated.
What a tremendous burden falls on Yunxian, then. In a way, she’s fortunate to come from an upper-class background of scholar-officials who’ve served the imperial government with distinction. But her position implies extra responsibility, not least to live beyond reproach so that her family’s reputation remains sterling. She must tread carefully.
In a brilliant stroke, See gives her a lower-class friend, Meiling, a midwife’s daughter, of whom Grandma Ru approves, an unusual setup. But if that strains belief, the friendship furnishes a terrific vehicle for See to reveal the tensions of competition, class difference, and separate paths of life ordained for each girl to follow.
Yunxian lives secluded within a family compound, whether her father’s, her grandfather’s, or her future father-in-law’s, whereas Meiling inhabits the outer world, unprotected by wealth or social influence, yet able to witness everyday marvels forbidden to her more fortunate friend.
Not surprisingly for someone of independent mind, Yunxian yearns for a glimpse of the outside world in the home of Master Yang, her father-in-law:
I’m passing through the fourth courtyard when Second Uncle comes hurrying in my direction. As Master Yang’s second brother, he is the second most important person in the household, tasked with many duties and responsibilities. I lift my sleeve to cover my face and avert my gaze until he’s gone past. I don’t say a word and neither does he, but his forceful strides stir the air, causing my sleeves and skirt to billow. Not for the first time I wonder what it would be like to be a man, moving with determination, going beyond the gate, when I’m not permitted to peek through a crack in the wall, if one were even to be found.
As this paragraph suggests, Lady Tan bursts with impressive physical and historical detail, none of which is extraneous. Yunxian was a real historical figure and left behind a book describing some of her medical cases, but that’s only a springboard. The novel penetrates her world so deeply and intricately, it feels lived in, entirely authentic—and my, it’s complicated. There are rules for everything, such as hiding one’s face and not speaking to the brother of one’s father-in-law, and there are reasons for a home to have four or more courtyards.
It’s breathtaking, this cultural, political, and social portrayal of imperial China through a gendered lens. And to her resounding credit, the author rescues nobody. Grandmother Ru might be idealized, a little, but she’s anything but sunny. Yunxian and Meiling have their flaws, jealousies, quarrels, and resentments.
Most importantly, feminist though she is, Yunxian accepts that a woman’s role is to produce sons, obey her husband, and see that her daughters’ feet are bound properly so as to make them marriageable. (If you’re squeamish, as I am, you’ll skip over the passages that describe how the binding takes place.)
Yunxian is unusual for her time, if not extraordinary, but she’s very much of her time. She may figure out ways to evade certain rules, but she chooses them carefully, and her subversion has to do with treating women medically, not the grand social order. As such, she’s completely believable.
Lady Tan’s Circle of Women is historical fiction at its best. I highly recommend it.
Disclaimer: I obtained my reading copy of this book from the public library.