100 Books Like Wealth and Power

A brilliant account of the two Opium Wars showing how they have been remembered in particular ways in order to make modern political points. Lovell shows us how political operators on both sides used the question of the opium trade to further their own interests. It exposes the nasty business of imperialism but also takes down a lot of myths about the wars. The book allows us to see the conflicts both in terms of what happened at the time, and how views over those events changed over the following century and a half. She explores the international history of opium and how it became linked with racist representations of Chinese overseas and how this continues to affect relations between peoples and governments today.

A great place to start to understand the long history of connections between East Asia and the rest of the world. Thirteen chapters take the reader from the Mongol Empire in the thirteenth century up to the end of the Second World War. Each follows a particular person and their encounters with peoples of Inner and Central Asia, Europe, and Africa. They show how many things that historians have assumed to be ‘Chinese’ were borrowed from foreigners. Even the idea of the Great State, the framework through which later Chinese emperors used to describe their realm was taken from the Mongols. They also allow us to remember the ‘messiness’ of history with pioneers and villains on all sides.

This is a jewel of a book. It takes a strange coincidence and weaves it into a wonderful tale of world history. It explores the lives of three Scotsmen, all called George Smith but not related, who traded in Asia during the eighteenth century, a crucial time for the development of the East India Company and ties between East and West. It really opens a window into the lives of these pioneers and brings this neglected history alive. In particular, it complicates the usual story of the East India Company by showing how it was a force for stability in trade with China and it was the ‘free traders’ taking inspiration from people like the economist Adam Smith back in London, who upset the relations and created the conditions for the nineteenth-century Opium War.

Very few people outside China have even heard of Yuan Shikai, the last prime minister of the Qing Empire who became president of the Republic of China before briefly declaring himself to be a new emperor. If it hadn’t been for Yuan, however, China would look very different today. He held the country together for a few crucial years after the revolution but then took some decisions that split it apart. He has been vilified ever since as a buffoon and a dictator, but this book asks us to take him seriously as a neglected and important figure in China’s transition. Although the book focuses too much on trying to decide whether Yuan was a good or bad person, it does what it promises and ‘reappraises’ an important life.

In this book, I admire how author Vanessa Hua blends intimate storytelling about one teenager into a vast historical saga—drawing on her research skills as a journalist, a background we have in common. In this coming-of-age tale about a secret enclave of pampered and abused teenage girls, I could see why Mei was lured by a promise with feminist allure: that girls can become heroes.

My life experience told me she would get used, yet I loved Mei’s awakening: an idealist transformed into a sexual slave sharpens her wits against Chairman Mao’s even as she becomes his prey, then must use all she’s learned to save herself. Mei’s story is a wake-up call about the dangers women face when societies decline and the price we pay to become heroes.

Numerous studies have confirmed that China’s Great Famine was man-made, its architect Mao Zedong. Yet, many of those affected do not blame Mao for what happened to them.

Still, in today’s China, many, including those affected by the catastrophe, worship Mao. The presence of such a ludicrous act is attributed to the communist regime’s mythicizing Mao and meantime censoring any media exposing Mao’s immense cruelties.

This book by Chen helps uncover and make explicit the testimonies of those involved in the human catastrophe. The book also exposes testimonies concerning political violence before and after the famine, which is very beneficial for one to ponder over why political violence and man-made tragedies recur in contemporary China and whether China by itself is capable of ensuring similar tragedies never again occur.

When Chairman Mao initiated the Cultural Revolution in China, Margaret Zhao and her family became enemies of the state. This memoir is full of hope, humor, and love despite the horrific situation of this young girl attempting to survive while many were doing everything to destroy her and her family.

I’m fascinated by how this true story describes the evils of communism in contrast with the opportunities provided by Western Civilization and capitalism. I also find it encouraging that someone could go through such terrible situations, always fearing for the life of herself and her family, and still hold so much optimism that she would one day find her way to America and freedom.

I wrote my book because I love historical fiction that explores the person behind the myth. In that genre, Becoming Madame Mao is a tour de force. It’s no beach read, but who expects the Communist Revolution to be easy? Personally, I’ll never forget this portrait of Madame Mao—a poor girl who claws to the top, discarding lovers and husbands, performing opera, promoting and denouncing communism, and holding life-long grudges. Frankly, I’ve seldom felt so shocked, riveted, and immersed in a person, culture, and history. Her rocky, passionate relationship with Chairman Mao and the power she wields staggered me. While it’s not for the faint of heart, I highly recommend this best-in-genre book, especially to those who admire The Sympathizer, by Viet Thanh Nguyen.

My future husband and I read excerpts of this book as undergraduates—great preparation for our post-graduation trek into China. We were determined to track down his great-aunt in Chengdu—no mean feat in the late 80s, given the absence of cellphones and internet.

A cover blurb notes this book is in the “tradition of Orwell and Solzhenitsyn” but I’d point instead to Heller (Catch-22) for context on China’s Cultural Revolution. “Chairman Mao is a Rotten Egg,” for example, reveals strategies that made sense when we met my then-fiancé’s great aunt. She shared how her husband was thrown in jail given his training as a doctor, and how she responded to the Red Guards who had come for him: “Good! Take him away,” she feigned bravery, “he’s a pain.” They brought him back two days later.

I was fortunate to have met Da Chen when he was keynote speaker for our high school’s annual teen writer’s conference. I had read and recommended to my AP World History students his riveting Colors of the Mountain. 

He was warm with students and staff, regaling my class with stories of life in post-Mao China. Da Chen’s interest in people is evident in his engaging Colors of the Mountain. A tale of triumph against all odds, Da Chen’s memoir chronicles how he and his family survived China’s Cultural Revolution (1966-1976).

Despite the harshness of the times, Da Chen tells his story with uncommon grace and humor. I return to his work time and again, not just for preparation in teaching 20th-century China, but also for personal inspiration.