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Paperback
First published January 1, 2013
I found the book interesting but quite different from the author’s early, best-known novels. Pearl Buck wrote a total of 43 novels. Since I have not read the author’s later novels, I can’t say if this novel is similar to the later novels. It is noteworthy, however, that Eternal Wonder is set primarily in the United States, although some sections are set in London and Paris and in Korea. Also, the book is set in roughly the 1950s and early 1960s. The novel is not exactly autobiographical, since the main character is a young man, but the story closely follows the birth, education, and early writing career of an author, whose first novel concerns a family in Korea during the years leading up to the Korean War and the division of Korea into North and South. Also, I found certain sections to be didactic, that is, written to make a statement about certain moral and political questions. The author also seemed uncharacteristically prissy and moralistic dealing with sexual matters.
The mindset of an author is already forming at the time of his own father’s death: But now and then a man is born who is more than adaptive. He is creative. He may be a problem to himself, but he solves his problems through his imagination. Once his problems are solved, his mind is free to create. And the more he creates, the more free he is. . . . Of course imagination is the beginning of creation. Without imagination there can be no creation. But I’m not sure that explains art. Perhaps art is the crystallization of emotion. . . . Why did he stay here in this little town, a dot upon the map, his life buried in books, when reality waited for him everywhere in the world? Time enough for books when he grew too old to wander!
A very strong reaction, at age 15, to a homosexual incident with a teacher: He had been wounded, he had been insulted, his body violated— and he had lost the friend in whom he had believed with all his heart and soul. Moreover— and this shocked him to new knowledge of himself— his body, while he slept, had physically responded to the stimulation. He was angry with himself, too. Of course he could not continue now with college. What if Sharpe wanted to explain, apologize, try to establish some sort of relationship again? He, himself, was too embarrassed by his own response to even think of it.
An heterosexual affair with an older woman in England is both too intense and, then, too juvenile: “How quickly you learn! Oh, darling—is this wicked of me? But some woman must teach you, darling—and why not I? Eh, Rann? Why not I? You’re a man—your body a man’s body—so tall, so strong. Haven’t you—known it? Or has your head been so full of your books—” . . . Every experience is the same—it can never be repeated.” . . . Lady Mary needed a male body to stimulate and satisfy her own need. He was young, physically he was in the full fresh vigor of his sexual manhood. Into that narrow passage of her body his strong thrust excited, exalted, and satisfied her. That was all he was to her, an instrument of gratification.
The development of the author continues: His world was still not in himself. Or else, he was only a small single world, however composite, in a world of other worlds, and his undying sense of curiosity and wonder—that powerful inner force that impelled him to every adventure—made him a part of every other world. . . . Books he would always learn from, for people, great people, put the best of themselves into books. Books were a distillation of people. But people would be his teachers, and people were not in schoolrooms. People were everywhere. . . . As it was, it was a human life: birth and childhood, a woman and a man in marriage, children—one dead, one alive. Then death splitting a life in half, and now what was life for this human being except work?
The germination of the first novel. How similar to the germination of The Good Earth?: Soon after the old man began to speak in his imagination, Rann carefully wrote down everything he said. He reported every conversation exactly as he heard it, each detail in the long life of the old Korean. Page after page he wrote, night after night, until he saw in his imagination the old man as he lay dying, his two sons standing by his bed, and Rann wrote what he saw and heard. After this night the old man never came upon his imagination again, and Rann felt somehow satisfied in his knowledge of Korea, his thirst quenched for the first time in his life that he could remember.
The didactic kickers: The more intelligent and civilized members of human society, on the other hand, are using birth-control methods in their effort to control population growth and, so, are slowly breeding themselves out of existence or at least into what is already a serious minority. . . . Perhaps only the racially mixed person can understand the inborn tragedy of so being. . . . No, my dear one, my children would be racially mixed and therefore, more for me than for them— for I could not bear their pain from separation— they must never exist.