When I was seven, I knew exactly who I was: a thoroughly American girl in race, manners, and speech, whose mother, Lulu Minturn, was the only white woman who owned a first-class courtesan house in Shanghai.
This is the opening sentence of the story, told in narration by Violet, dated Shanghai: 1905-1907. She goes on to explain that the origin of her name traces to a flower found in San Francisco beloved by her mother when she was a child growing up there. She then immediately proceeds to inform the reader that she gradually grew to despise her name. The reason she gives is that the way Violet was pronounced by the courtesans sounded similar to a Chinese word popular in Shanghai that was said about things you desired to dispose. And so, in just two paragraphs, the reader learns a substantial amount of information about the narrator, her mother, historical backstory, the singularly idiosyncratic place she worked and how others working there looked down upon her. Pretty efficient writing.
As a courtesan, you must work toward the Four Necessities: jewelry, furniture, a seasonal contract with a stipend, and a comfortable retirement. Forget about love. You will receive that many times, but none of it is lasting. You can’t eat it, even if it leads to marriage. And unless you become famous, you would become another of many concubines—and not Second Wife, but maybe Fourth Wife, Fifth, Sixth, or worse.
Chapter 4 is subtitled “Etiquette for Beauties of the Boudoir” and, below that, is described as the chapter “Wherein Magic Gourd advises young Violet on how to become a popular courtesan while avoiding cheapskates, false love and suicide. It turns out to be every bit as depressing as the little addendum indicates. Essentially, it is Magic Gourd instructing a young girl in preparation for becoming a prostitute. Oh, sure, a courtesan is hardly the same as a skid row hooker in terms of the presentation, but ultimately it all comes down to the same job.
At the age of eight, I was determined to be true to My Self. Of course, that made it essential to know what My Self consisted of. My manifesto began the day I discovered that I had once possessed an extra finger on each hand, twins to my pinkies.
These extra digits play an enormous role in the life of Violet despite the fact that she has no actual memories of their existence. The twin pinkies may have been superfluous and perhaps grotesque in the eyes of others, but they were hers. They belonged to her, they were a part of her and they were literally ripped away without consent or knowledge. How can one make it to an understanding of “My Self” when one is working within a societal construct in which you are what others insist you are? Well, of course, that is the basis for the entire novel so it really would not behoove things for that question to be answered here.
