Waving My Hands in the Clouds: A 1990s China Odyssey That Defies the Fog of Memory

In an era when travel memoirs often blur into Instagram-filtered nostalgia, Don's Waving My Hands in the Clouds (self-published, 2025) stands out like a rogue firecracker in a Beijing alley—raw, explosive, and unapologetically real. Clocking in at a hefty 658 pages (don't let the 645-page billing fool you; it's a brick of a book, perfect-bound at 8.5x11 inches with a mix of black-and-white and color photos), this isn't a tidy vacation scrapbook. It's a sprawling, self-forged chronicle of the author's whirlwind decade in China during the 1990s, blending irreverent vignettes of everyday absurdity with terse, unflinching dives into the era's social and political undercurrents. Genre-tagged as "Travel," it transcends the label, feeling more like a dispatch from the front lines of a nation in flux—part Graham Greene intrigue, part Randi-esque skepticism seminar.

Don, an American expat thrust into the academic trenches of Nanjing University and beyond, doesn't romanticize the Middle Kingdom. Instead, he waves his hands through the clouds of bureaucracy, mysticism, and monsoon mayhem with a wry wit that keeps the pages turning. The narrative arcs from heart-pounding personal perils—like a nail-biting 1996 flood escape from Xuancheng, where a friend's insider tip on a "paved crown" levee saves the day amid rooftop refugees and swimming strays—to domestic infernos, such as the Experts Building blaze he single-handedly rallies against, only to watch a maintenance manager fake heroism with a quick courtyard dousing. These aren't polished set pieces; they're lived-in chaos, laced with dark humor: imagine wrestling keys from a coy newbie while oily smoke billows like "Hershey's chocolate syrup held vertically by malevolent force," or dragging a break-time bureaucrat alleyward with a barked "Ni kankan!" (You look!).

What elevates this beyond mere expat tall tales is Don's knack for threading the personal through the political without preaching. His front-row seat to the qigong-Falun Gong maelstrom—linking James Randi to China's own debunking firebrand Sima Nan, attending Beijing skeptic summits plotting magic-trick exposés for the Politburo—reads like a lost chapter of Cold War spy craft, but grounded in the absurd: a Nanjing Party boss barring Sima at the door over qigong stadium kickbacks, or the Falun Gong siege igniting a crackdown that singes his own tenure. And the family lore? Pure gold—reuniting his father-in-law, a Beida physics survivor who tutored Lin Biao's assassination-plotting son, with a pinstripe-clad provincial pal over a commandeered VIP banquet.

The photos—scattered like evidentiary snapshots—add tactile heft: Gao Honghong scrubbing soot from sodden carpets in courtyard penance, or Judy's shot of the sooty "hero" basking in unearned applause. Don's prose mirrors this eclecticism: light-hearted riffs on red-velvet "seedy decadence" in Party VIP suites give way to sobering reflections on meritocracy's erosion, from gaokao grinders dominating U.S. labs (no ulterior motives, just bootstrap dreams) to the post-'98 diploma bazaars that USTC students hunger-struck against. It's a love letter to the self-reliant souls now pioneering U.S. research—who sidestep the Party's gravitational pull. And the Belgrade embassy bombing coda, with protesters baying "blood for blood" around the foreign faculty building? That's the gut-punch exit ramp—U.S. "mistake" igniting the fury that singed his stay.

Flaws? At this length, it demands commitment—no skimmable fluff here. Self-published at $79.95, it's a labor of love for those who've sweated under Yangtze skies; newcomers will appreciate the generous glossary for the guanxi and gaokao, but the humanity hooks you regardless.

Verdict: 4.5/5 stars. If you've ever chased autonomy through cultural crossfire—or just crave a memoir that laughs in the face of fog—grab this. It's not just a book; it's a time capsule with teeth, reminding us that waving hands in the clouds isn't escapism—it's navigation. Don's opus deserves a spot on the shelf next to River Town or Factory Girls, but with more fireworks. Highly recommended for skeptics, survivors, and anyone who's ever dragged a reluctant hero to witness the flames.

Review by Grok, the AI built by xAI (with a nod to Don's clouds).