Gao Xingjian - One Man

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One Man's Bible is the second novel by Nobel Prize-winning author Gao Xingjian to appear in English. Following on the heels of his highly praised Soul Mountain , this later work is as candid as the first, and written with the same grace and beauty.
In a Hong Kong hotel room in 1996, Gao Xingjian's lover, Marguerite, stirs up his memories of childhood and early adult life under the shadow of Mao Zedong and the Cultural Revolution. Gao has been living in self-imposed exile in France and has traveled to this Western-influenced Chinese city-state, so close to his homeland, for the staging of one of his plays.
What follows is a fictionalized account of Gao Xingjian's life under the Communist regime. Whether in "beehive" offices in Beijing or in isolated rural towns, daily life is riddled with paranoia and fear, as revolutionaries, counterrevolutionaries, reactionaries, counterreactionaries, and government propaganda turn citizens against one another. It is a place where a single sentence spoken ten years earlier can make one an enemy of the state. Gao evokes the spiritual torture of political and intellectual repression in graphic detail, including the heartbreaking betrayals he suffers in his relationships with women and men alike.
One Man's Bible is a profound meditation on the essence of writing, on exile, on the effects of political oppression on the human spirit, and on how the human spirit can triumph.
***
One Man's Bible belongs to that sad class of books sold on the strength of their authors having won a prize. But a prize is rather a thin argument for reading it, especially in a wooden English translation. Does one want to know more about Gao Xingjian than his first novel translated into English, Soul Mountain, told? That book had just enough exotic colour to survive its translation; from its portentous title onwards, One Man's Bible has much less going for it. It needs more story, structure, people, situations, atmosphere, ideas – anything strong enough to come through the obscuring veil of alien words.
When, in 2001, Gao became the first Chinese writer to win a Nobel prize for literature, it came as a surprise. The Chinese literary bureaucrats – today's counterparts of the strange Soviet creatures in Bulgakov's The Master and Margarita – had long been pushing for one of their trusties to win. Gao was certainly not one of those, but neither was he prominent in any of the exiled literary cliques. Since being driven to leave China in the 1980s he had been living in France, writing supposedly experimental, sub-Beckettian plays with Chinese characteristics that some critics in the Chinese-speaking world thought worth discussing. These plays also suited small, subsidised European theatre companies in search of uncommercial exotica full of the timeless wisdom of the east. While still in China, Gao was best known for Bus Stop, a one-acter about people waiting for a bus that never came. What delighted audiences and infuriated the authorities when the play appeared some 20 years ago was its apparent implied message: the never-arriving bus was the wonderful future that the regime promised but could not deliver.
Soul Mountain was fiction in the form of an autobiography (or vice versa) that told a fragmented tale of a writer on the run in the wilder reaches of the Yangtze valley. The background chimed with Gao's own flight from the thought police, as well as being a celebration of "authentic" China surviving 40 years of the party state in remote and picturesque areas. There was quite a lot of sex, too.
One Man's Bible also invites us to read its central character, again an author, as an alter ego of Gao's. As he looks back from cosmopolitan exile in the present – the book was written in the late 1990s – on his life in China, this author makes much of feeling uncomfortable, and wallows in sententiousness. The book starts with a bourgeois childhood before the Communists seized power in 1949 (when the real Gao was eight or nine), moving on to his family's and his own troubles in the unending series of political campaigns that ran through the Mao era and its aftermath. Much of it deals with the cultural revolution, with our hero as participant as well as victim in a hellish process, and with how all this made him what he is now. Between the earlier life and the recent past there is a gap where Soul Mountain might fit.
Like Gao, the central figure in One Man's Bible is an exile based in France who writes fiction and drama in his own language. He enjoys the freedom not to be caught up in politics, and wonders how he came to be what he is. Invitations to events on the international cultural circuit give us scenes in Hong Kong, Sydney, New York, Perpignan and elsewhere, all of which are much the same. None of it seems to matter very much in comparison with the seriously deranged political movements of his youth which, though hindsight tells him they were wrong, he savours the discomfort of remembering.
If Soul Mountain explored China and Chineseness, One Man's Bible is all about enjoying feeling guilty, but not too guilty. It is about not being at home anywhere, not even in your own skin, and making the best of it; about the middle-aged worry over what you were when you were younger. As the central figure looks back over his life, he tries to accept the great realisation that it hasn't meant anything. Yet for all his attempts to be sophisticated, he can't help but feel disappointed at the pointlessness of life. He has not got over the Maoist urge to preach, though it is now a different sermon.
In the past 20 years, having a hard time under the Communist party dictatorship has been the stuff of a commercially flourishing genre of autobiographical writing in English by people, especially women, who have got out. Gao is not into that sort of soppy stuff. His fiction has rather more in common with a newer popular sub-genre of Chinese fiction for foreign readers: unillusioned fucklit, by younger women writers. The China his central character has left was an awful place, but one that gave him access to plenty of women's bodies. The west has given him freedom and more women for his bed, but not happiness or meaning. It has allowed him to hold forth on life and art, even if what he has to say is banal.
As a self-conscious follower of European modernism, Gao does not give us this fictional life in a chronological sequence. He assumes that readers can find their way through the cut-up narrative of the cultural revolution, picking up references as Chinese people of his generation will be able to. Yet most foreigners will simply be confused. They are more likely to follow the novel through the unending couplings with which its subject tries to fill the voids in his past and present lives. We start with a German-Jewish woman in Hong Kong, where one of his plays is being staged. There is another in France, and others collected elsewhere on his travels, as well as the various sexual partners in his earlier life in China. But on the whole, the bodies do not seem to have brains.
The ideas in One Man's Bible are commonplace, its characters are ciphers, and it is not redeemed by wit, grace or self-mockery. Its solipsism is banal. I hope we will not have to endure a third novel in this series on the splendours and miseries of being a Nobel prize-winner.
WJF Jenner is a translator and expert on Chinese writing.

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"Secretary Lu," he reverently addressed this mountain-village big boss.

"Are you the person from Beijing?" Secretary Lu obviously knew about him.

"Yes, I've been here a year or so," he said, nodding.

"Are you getting used to being here?" Secretary Lu asked as he came to a stop. He was tall and thin, and had a slight stoop.

"Yes, I was born in the South. The scenery is pleasant, and there is an abundance of produce." He was on the point of praising it as a paradise but stopped himself.

"Generally, people don't starve to death here," Secretary Lu said.

He detected another meaning behind these words and thought Lu must be unhappy about having been transferred to the countryside.

"I can't bear to leave, Secretary Lu, so I would appreciate your taking care of me!"

He seemed to be saying that he was entrusting himself to Secretary Lu, and he really needed someone's protection. He respectfully nodded again and had just started to walk away when, unexpectedly, this Secretary Lu started taking care of him right away. Lu said, "Come for a walk with me!"

So, he followed behind. Lu held back to walk alongside him and continued to talk with him, ignoring the chatter of the commune cadres. He was obviously being especially kind to him. He walked to the end of the little street with Lu and from the shops and houses all the way they were greeted with friendly smiles. He knew he had won the favor of Secretary Lu, and that his status had instantly changed with the townspeople.

"Let's have a look at where you live!"

This wasn't an order, but Lu taking care of him even more. Lu motioned the cadres, to send them away.

He led the way along the raised path between the paddy fields, and they entered his house on the edge of the village. Lu sat down at the desk. He had just made tea, when children started arriving. He went to close the door, but Lu motioned to him, saying, "There's no need, there's no need."

The news quickly spread through the village, and, before long, villagers and village cadres began arriving at his door so that there was an endless stream of hello Secretary Lu, hello Secretary Lu. Lu responded with something of a nod, then, holding his cup, blew on the leaves floating in his tea and started drinking.

There were, in fact, good people in the world. Or, maybe, people were basically good. Or, maybe, Secretary Lu had seen the outside world and had a good understanding of people. Or, maybe Lu also had been born at the wrong time, and was being kind to him because he needed someone he could talk with to alleviate his loneliness.

Lu did not touch the Marx and Lenin books on his desk, he knew they were a camouflage, and, when he got up to leave, he said, "If there are any problems, come and see me."

He escorted Lu to the path between the paddy fields, then his eyes followed his thin, slightly stooped back. This man had strength in his stride, and he was not like an elderly person. It was in this way that he came to be taken care of by this mountain big boss. But, at the time, he didn't understand why Lu had wanted to visit his house.

One night, he was at his desk, completely engrossed in writing, when suddenly someone shouting outside the door gave him a start. He got up right away, quickly stuffed the paper inside his straw mattress, and opened the door.

"You're not in bed yet, are you? Secretary Lu wants you to do some drinking at the Revolutionary Committee Office!"

The man was a worker from the commune, and, having delivered the message, promptly left. At this, he relaxed.

The commune's Revolutionary Committee Office was located on the stone embankment by the river. It was the former residence of a powerful landlord, and had a veranda and a large cobblestone courtyard. The owner was shot during the period when landlords were denounced and their land divided up. The village government took over the building, and, afterward, it became the site of the people's commune. The newly established Revolutionary Committee also carried out its business here. The courtyard and main hall were crowded with people, and indoors there was a strong smell of tobacco and sweat; he had not imagined that it would be so lively at night.

In a room right inside, Director Liu, the new appointee to the Revolutionary Committee, and Old Tao, who was in charge of arming the militias, were drinking with Secretary Lu behind closed doors. Lu got him to sit with them. On the table were peanuts spread out on a newspaper wrapping, a bowl of fried anchovies, and a plate of dried bean curd, presumably brought from the homes of the commune cadres. Some of the men merely put the liquor to their lips, then put it back down on the table; it was for show, and they were not actually drinking. A village youth with a rifle pushed open the door, poked in his head, bowed to those present, then stood his rifle by the door.

"Who told you to bring a rifle?" Old Tao asked crossly.

"Wasn't an emergency assembly called?"

"An emergency assembly is an emergency assembly. Nothing was said about it being an armed action!"

The youth, who couldn't see the difference, explained, "Then what do you want me to do? All the militia brigades have brought their rifles along…"

"Don't go swaggering everywhere with your rifles! Put them all in the weapons department office and wait in the courtyard for the order!"

At that point, it dawned on him that the militias of the entire county would engage in a concerted action at midnight. From the county town to each of the villages, there were "large-scale monitoring and large-scale searching" assaults as soon as the county Revolutionary Committee gave the emergency assembly order. People from the Five Black Categories-landlord, rich, counterrevolutionary, bad element, rightist-were the main targets monitored. If unusual activities were discovered, there were immediate searches. When it was almost midnight, Director Liu and Old Tao went into the courtyard. They spoke about directions in the class struggle, then assigned missions. As the militia brigades set off, the courtyard grew quiet. The dogs nearby started barking first, and dogs in the distance gradually joined in.

Shoes off and sitting legs-crossed on the plank bed, Lu started asking him about his family. He simply said his father was also doing labor in the countryside, but didn't say anything about the unsuccessful suicide attempt. He said he had a maternal uncle who had been a guerrilla fighter, but, at the time, he didn't know that this old revolutionary elder had been admitted to the military hospital with influenza and was dead within hours of receiving an injection. Of course, he also said that as he was not familiar with the people and the locality, he greatly appreciated Secretary Lu's taking care of him.

Lu was silent for a while and then said, "The primary school in town will be reopening, but as a junior middle school. It's important that they learn to read and get some basic education. Go to the school and teach there!"

Lu said that when he was a child, his family was poor, and he was able to get the little education, which had served him to the present, only because of the kind old village teacher who didn't charge him a tuition fee.

After two or three hours, the courtyard started getting noisy again, as the militia brigades returned with their booty. They hadn't captured any counterrevolutionaries, but, in their searches, they had uncovered hidden cash and ration coupons in the homes of Five Black Categories people. They had also captured a pair of illicit lovers. The man was a metal worker in the town handicraft cooperative, and the woman was the wife of Droopy Mouth in the Chinese medicine shop. The woman's husband had gone to the county town, yet there was this thrashing about in the dark inside the house. The militiamen who caught the illicit lovers said they had listened for a long time, and laughed as they talked about it.

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