Lunar New Year Tribute to Two Asian American Trailblazers
Locating the grave of Edith Eaton took me well over an hour. By the time I discerned the cluster of black granite tombstones I’d seen previously in archival photos overhung by branches of a Northern red oak, daylight was all but drained from the overcast sky at the latitude of 45.5°N, at four o’clock in the afternoon.
My family sheltering from the cold in the car, husband, children, and members of the extended clan, had humored me as we drove around the cemeteries on Montreal’s Mont Royal, braked often to survey the ground, only to continue driving around some more. They were fast approaching the brink of their patience. Cousin P in particular was eager to escape this hill before dark, before whatever resided here had a chance to haunt her in realms both physical and imaginary.
At one point, I almost gave up the search myself, trudging through slushy snow and crackling leaves, up and down endless rows of headstones. Perhaps Edith did not want to be found on this particular day, before I had perused more of her oeuvre.
I “discovered” Edith Maude Eaton (1865–1914) during a period of personal soul-searching of what it means to be Asian American. To look for answers, I turned to anthologies by Asian American writers and encountered my first piece by Edith under her nom de plume Sui Sin Far (Chinese…
