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Pearl Sydenstricker Buck was born in Hillsboro, West Virginia, in 1892, “but fate, in the shape of two missionary parents,” she wrote, “intervened before I was able to protect myself.” When Buck was three months old, her parents, Southern Presbyterian missionaries, returned to China, where they had spent much of the previous decade, and brought Buck with them in a basket. “I have a big brother in college who is coming to China to help our father tell the Chinese about Jesus,” a six-year-old Buck wrote the Louisville-based Christian Observer from their home in Chinkiang. “I wrote this all myself, and my hand is tired, so goodbye.”
In 1911, Buck attended college in the United States, and then returned to China, in 1917, as a professor and Presbyterian missionary. She and her husband, John Lossing Buck, were in Nanking during the 1927 Nanking Incident, and remained there until 1933, when she went to Cornell to study for a master’s degree. During these years, she broke with traditional missionary doctrine, and described William Ernest Hocking’s 1932 report on American missionary work, Re-Thinking Missions: A Laymen’s Inquiry After One Hundred Years, which argued against proselytizing an exclusively Christian theology, as “the only book I have ever read that seems to me literally true.”
Buck’s novel, The Good Earth (1931), received the Pulitzer Prize. In 1933, Harper’s published a lecture delivered by Buck in November 1932 to a Presbyterian audience at the Astor Hotel. The answer to the article’s titular question, “Is There a Case for Foreign Missions?,” is a qualified yes: “I have seen missionaries, orthodox missionaries in good standing with the church—abominable phrase!—so lacking in sympathy for the people they were supposed to be saving,” Buck wrote, “so scornful of any civilization except their own, so harsh in their judgments upon one another, so coarse and insensitive among a sensitive and cultivated people that my heart has fairly bled to shame.”
Among her more than eighty other works of fiction and nonfiction, Buck wrote a biography of her father, Fighting Angel (1936), and of her mother, The Exile (1936). In 1937, she garnered a place on J. Edgar Hoover’s “Book Review Section,” devoted to writers deemed subversive by the FBI, joining the company of James Baldwin, William Faulkner, Edith Wharton, John Dos Passos, and William Dean Howells, among other regular Harper’s contributors. She won the Nobel Prize in Literature the following year.
Buck, who opposed communist rule in China, asked both the U.S. and Chinese governments if she could join Richard Nixon on his February 1972 visit. “Dear Miss Pearl Buck,” a Chinese envoy replied. “In view of the fact that for a long time you have in your works taken an attitude of distortion, smear and vilification towards the people of new China and its leaders, I am authorized to inform you that we cannot accept your request.” She died on March 6, 1973 in Vermont. Nixon eulogized her as a “bridge between the civilizations of the East and West”; her tombstone, as per her request, bears her name only in Chinese characters.
I recently spent a semester teaching writing at an elite liberal-arts college. At strategic points around the campus, in shades of yellow and green, banners displayed the following pair of texts. The first was attributed to the college’s founder, which dates it to the 1920s. The second was extracted from the latest version of the institution’s mission statement:
The paramount obligation of a college is to develop in its students the ability to think clearly and independently, and the ability to live confidently, courageously, and hopefully.
Let us take a moment to compare these texts. The first thing to observe about the older one is that it is a sentence. It expresses an idea by placing concepts in relation to one another within the kind of structure that we call a syntax. It is, moreover, highly wrought: a parallel structure underscored by repetition, five adverbs balanced two against three.
Percentage of Britons who cannot name the city that provides the setting for the musical Chicago:
An Australian entrepreneur was selling oysters raised in tanks laced with Viagra.
A naked man believed to be under the influence of LSD rammed his pickup truck into two police cars.
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“Shelby is waiting for something. He himself does not know what it is. When it comes he will either go back into the world from which he came, or sink out of sight in the morass of alcoholism or despair that has engulfed other vagrants.”