If only the pigs did not have robe killed,"" Su-Ling thought, ""pai-pai would be perfect. But if the pigs were not killed, there could not be a feast."" And if his pig, his beautiful pig were killed, how could he and his pig be the happy ones at pai-pai, as he had boasted to Yang-Yang? While Yang-Yang busies himself carrying food to fatten his pig for the competition day and night, even drapes him in white mosquito net to keep him safe, Su-Ling goes about the village talking about his pig, and playing. How Yang-Yang wins the prize and Su-Ling reaps the satisfaction climaxes a clever, credible little tale--but it's only an anecdote sustained by wondering what Su-Ling is up to and interspersed with delightful line drawings which in their profusion and detail approximate a visit to a village in Taiwan, the home of the artist. The author has been there too, and she writes with unaffected precision and unforced gaiety. A nice book altogether, with nowhere much to go: little story plus lots of text means few readers.