Su Tong

This is an absolutely fabulous book. I considered buying it in Japan but set it down because the price (about $20) was too high to gamble on an unknown author. What a shame, because the paperback would have been worth that much indeed. Tong sets his narrative in a mythical kingdom in an mythical China, a device which works perfectly by allowing the characters' pathos and motivations to assume a universality of which they wouldn't otherwise be capable in true historical fiction (see: Anchee show more Min). The narrative is gripping and the characters fully rounded, and all of this is done with a minimum of words. Like all good books in its vein, it greatly clarified for me why people in certain positions in classical China behaved as they did, and this without being in the least didactic. "My Life As Emperor" also has the most solid, lucid translation into English I have ever run across, and although I still hope to read it in the original one day, I can honestly say that I was never once aware that I was reading something that hadn't originally been written in English. Read this book. show less

It's hard to read a book by a modern Chinese writer set in classical times without looking for a political message about today's Chinese rulers. But if that's what's happening here, the message is a nuanced one. Duanbai is not an evilly intentioned ruler, but he is careless, lazy, and essentially there by chance. He is mainly interested in doing what he wants rather than trying to run the country well, he can be capricious and also violent - in one incident, he thinks a couple of courtiers show more are laughing at him so orders that everyone who laughs in the palace must be slapped. But a big part of the violence and brutality at court comes from the power struggles of others, rather than anything Duanbai himself is imposing. There are also indications that the rulers of neighbouring states are just as bad. You could take this either as a cynical view that everyone is as bad as each other, or perhaps an argument that this is inevitably what absolute power will lead to. Another interesting thing in the book is how weak the Emperor is - not just in the sense that he is a weak ruler, but also that he cannot always do what he wants. His beloved concubine, for example, is done for by palace intrigue, despite his urgent attempts to protect her.

Although this is a historical novel, it's not set in a specific time: it's more of a fable. Nevertheless, Su Tong does a good job of building an atmosphere of looming doom. He also manages to portray the boy emperor in a way which is not completely unsympathetic, although he never really becomes a fully rounded character.

Sample: Singing and dancing in the Xie Palace masked the reality that spring was on its way out. As before, another sort of gunpowder hung in the air amid the redolence of face powder, rouge, fallen petals and new lotuses: it was the smell of interminable battles in the women's quarters at the rear of the palace. show less

This is an epic tale of three characters, Baorun, Liu Sheng and the "Fairy Princess," who live in a small town in China. Each section of the book focuses on one character but their stories are interwoven throughout. The three were childhood acquaintances (not really friends) who had a pivotal encounter one day that affected their lives. Now they all owe some type of debt to each other. Each choice that is made, affects a new course in life. Baorun has an obsession with knot tying which lands show more him in trouble. Liu Sheng comes from a well-to-do family but has problems with self-control. The "Fairy Princess" came from very humble beginnings but has always believed she was destined for greater things. Baorun's grandfather is also a main character throughout who thinks that he has lost his soul through an injury in the top of his head. Did he really lose his soul? Or is it old-age dementia....mental illness? There are many references to ancestral ghosts who come back to haunt the living. Or is it just the characters' own consciences gnawing at their own souls? You'll find some humor as well as darkness in this book. Su Tong was a joint winner of the Mao Dun Literature Prize for this novel in 2015. I did have trouble following some of the English translation since it was very much a British English translation. The word choice and phrasing was a little stiff and unusual for an American reader. show less

Why bother (re-)telling a story?

If most of the volumes of the myths series so far have struggled to do anything but rehash the same tired Greco-Roman mythology, Chinese novelist Su Tong's (Raise The Red Lantern) contribution to the Canongate Myths series at least adds a different perspective. It's apparently based on the tale of Binu, the wife of a man conscripted to build the Chinese wall, who walked all the way across China to make sure he had something warm to wear when winter came, only show more to end up crying over his grave.

"Different" doesn't necessarily mean "good," though.

There's no denying that there's a story very much worth telling at the heart of this. Criterion #1 to re-telling an old myth to a modern audience must, of course, be that the myth still has some sort of value as a story, and Su Tong (who's a citizen of the People's Republic and lives in Beijing) certainly mines this one well. There's a great project to be built, ordered by the king whom almost nobody has seen in person and who only shows up in the story by dying, for which the people are expected to sacrifice everything and not complain; the worst crime one can commit (short of planning to assasinate the king or disobeying the local ruler) is to cry. Especially if you're a woman.

They had stolen her package, stolen her body, and finally they had stolen her grief, her tears, and her right to die.

Damnit, it's positively Orwell with a Confucian twist as Su Tong follows Binu across China, running into people from all walks (and rides, and leaps, and crawls) of life, leading up to a finale that I'm sure would make a cracking scene in a movie.

And yet. One would think criterion #2 for a successful re-hash of an old story would be to make not only the themes but also the characters come alive, so that the reader can identify with the story and not only understand but feel its relevance. Now, in fairness, it's possible that there's just a cultural gap at work here. Maybe the numerous side plots are in fact allusions to stories I've never read, and maybe Tong puts a clever spin on them and uses them to add another layer to what, to me, looks like a lifeless story, full of clumsy "magic realism" that never feels real, and populated by flat, one-dimensional characters. Our heroine never does anything but weep - bucketfulls, literally - and declare how much she needs to get to her husband, and none of the dozens of supporting characters she meets along the way serve any purpose but to provide video game-like obstacles and clues in a way that would make Paulo Coelho proud. And it goes on like this for far too long, veering back and forth the affairs of peasants and kings without ever really making any of them matter despite going into excruciating detail time and again.

I can see why Tong bothers re-telling the story of Binu. I'm not entirely sure if I should have bothered reading it, though. As an allegory, it works; but like Binu's husband, it ends up crushed under the weight of far too much stone serving no purpose but to keep people out. show less