The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down

The second book we read (for the book group at school) as a possibility for a text for the freshman to read for next year is The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down, by Anne Fadiman. I must admit that I suggested this book, so I was definitely biased for it. As I read it, I was reminded that it really is a brilliant book, although I don't think it is right for our freshmen. We have yet to discuss it at school, and I'll be really interested to see what people think of it.

This book is an account of the medical case of Lia Lee, a young Hmong girl who has a severe case of epilepsy. Anne Fadiman is most thorough in her research, and interviews Lia's family, doctors, social workers, neighbors, anyone who has worked with or knows of the case. What it turns into is a really bad case of culture clash. The Hmong consider epilepsy, and the seizures that come with it, almost an honor, and a chance to interact with the divine. The American medical community interpret the situation much differently. The language barrier and cultural differences essentially make it unable for the two parties to communicate effectively, even when an adequate translator can be found.

The book becomes an examination of cultural differences as much as a medical story. At times it is almost comical to see how people can approach a situation from completely opposite sides, then you realize that a young woman's life is in the balance, and it becomes intensely sad and frustrating.

The Hmong of Merced to not sacrifice dogs, which they know are protected by American law and custom- though some of them, like the victim of the dab of Bear Creek that Nao Kao told me about, may have wished that they could... To sacrifice a cow, as the Lees did, is a rare and important event. It was the first time they had done so during their six years in the United States. Lia's cow cost $300, a monumental sum for a family of nine who were living on $9,480 a year, plus food stamps. When I asked Nao Kao where the money had come from, he said, "Lia had her own money from the government." It took me a moment to understand: he had bought the sacrificial cow with three and a half months' worth of Lia's Supplemental Security Income, a use to which federqal disability assistance had probably never before been put.

Because Nao Kao had no way of transporting a live cow to East 12th Street, he bought one form an American rancher who lived near Merced, had it slaughtered, and, with the help of some of his clansmen, cut it in pieces small enough to stuff into plastic garbage bags that fit on the floor and in the trunk of his cousin's subcompact car. After they returned home, a txiz neeb performed the ritual chant that accompanied his journey to the realm of the unseen. During the chant, the cow's severed head was sitting on the Lees' front stoop, welcoming Lia's soul. When I asked the Lees whether any American passersby might have been surprised by this sight, Foua said, "No, I don't think they would be surprised, because it wasn't the whole cow on the doorstep, only the head." Nao Kao added, "Also, Americans would think it was okay because we had the receipt for the cow."

Throughout the book, I found myself asking how I would handle the situation if I were the doctor, the nurse, or the social worker. In hindsight, the reader can see all their mistakes, but I don't honestly think I could/would have handled it any differently. Fadiman is straightforward in showing how foreign (in all senses of the word) the Hmong culture is to that of Americans, and I think she does an excellent job of being honest, yet fair to both sides. The immigrant experience in America is presented in a way that really made me open my eyes.

I once went to a conference on Southeast Asian mental health at which a psychologist named Evelyn Lee, who was born in Macao, invited six members of the audience to come to the front of the auditorium for a role-playing exercise. She cast them as a grandfather, a father, a mother, an eighteen-year-old son, a sixteen-year-old daughter, and a twelve-year-old daughter. "Okay," she told them, "line up according to your status in your old country." Ranking themselves by traditional notions of age and gender, they queued up in the order I've just mentioned, with the grandfather standing proudly at the head of the line. "Now they come to America," said Dr. Lee. "Grandfather has no job. Father can only chop vegetables. Mother didn't work in the old country, but here she gets a job in a garment factory. Oldest daughter works there too. Son drops out of high school because he can't learn English. Youngest daughter learns the best English in the family and ends up at U.C. Berkeley. Now you line up again." As the family reshuffled, I realized that its power structure had turned completely upside down, with the yougest girl now occupying the head of the line and the grandfather standing forlornly at the tail.

Dr. Lee's exercise was an eloquent demonstration of what sociologists call "role loss." Of all the stresses in the Hmong community, role loss- the constellation of apparent incompetencies that convinced Lia's mother she was stupid- may be the most corrosive to the ego.

Although I'm not convinced that this is going to fit exactly what we want our freshmen to read as a class, I would recommend this book to anyone. It's positively enlightening and frustrating, all at the same time, and it's near impossible not to get caught up emotionally in the book.