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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During the military-control period, Big Li was interrogated in isolation for over two years, then put into a mental institution for two or three years before being released. Big Li recognized him and grabbed him with his big hands, very strong hands, and looked at him gleefully. The people in his former workplace said he had gone crazy, and that whenever he saw anyone, he would just laugh, and this was exactly how he was. They were blocking the footpath of the narrow street, and people were bumping and knocking into them, but Big Li hung onto him and wouldn't let go, all the time with this silly smile on his face. Unable to keep looking at him, he made some idle conversation, then pulled his arms free and hurried off.

After the disbanding of the Army Control Commission, Danian was handcuffed and arrested for committing "wrong-line errors." He was interrogated by the new army officer, and, afterward, declared his crimes at a public meeting: two people had died by his own hands. In the case of Old Liu, he got together a few thugs at night, and, in the underground room of the workplace building, had tortured him to extract a confession. They had used rubber-coated electrical cables on him, and had pulverized his internal organs.

Afterward, they carried him upstairs and threw him out of a window to make it look like a case of suicide. The other person killed by similar tactics was a Chinese woman who had returned from abroad.

She was given electric-shock treatment, to extract a confession. A transformer with the voltage turned down had been used to get her to confess into a tape recorder that she had been sent by a Taiwanese spy organization. She was forced to give the names of the people she had recruited as well as the people in the upper and lower ranks of the spy organization. The names supplied enabled them to proceed with purging cadres in the opposition faction. The former army officer who had taken part in all this was arrested at the same time.

Wang Qi's husband, who had formerly been denounced as an anti-Party black element, was useful again, and, reinstated in the central apparatus of the Party, now took part in the investigation and punishment of new cases of anti-Party organizations. Wang Qi was promoted, but was the same as before, and seemed to be even kinder. During the army-control period, she, too, had been interrogated in isolation and kept in solitary confinement in a small room of a warehouse for half a year. The hundred-watt globe in the ceiling was kept on day and night. The light switch was outside, and the window had been nailed with cardboard from the outside, with no gaps, so she didn't know if it was day or night. She had to write testimonies over and over on the underground student movement in Beijing, known in those days as Beiping. She said she was disoriented and, if she shut her eyes, she would feel that she was hanging by the feet and spinning upside down. Nevertheless, she said she had been treated leniently and had not been subjected to physical abuse or humiliation. This was probably because she was old, and also because some of her old comrades still held important positions in the army and, to some extent, they had looked after her.

The old cadres had mostly been reinstated to their former positions. However, a small number, like the former Party secretary Wu Tao, were too old; arrangements were made for their retirement when they were exonerated, and remuneration, such as salary and housing and the allocation of work for their children, taken care of.

However, a person like Old Tan, who was not a Party member but an insignificant deputy section-chief with a blemished background, remained at the cadre school doing hard manual labor until cadre schools were abolished and reverted to local governments as reform-through-labor farms for criminals. It was then that Old Tan returned to the capital. He was not old enough to retire, and had to wait around to be allocated some kind of work or other.

Lin had divorced and remarried. Her second husband was a newly appointed deputy department-head, whose former wife had died during the Cultural Revolution.

He began to publish his works, became a writer and left that old workplace. Lin had invited him to her home for a meal. Her second husband who was also there commented on literature, "The disaster that our Party has gone through really should be properly written up to educate later generations!"

Lin was in the living room with them, and there was a maid in the kitchen preparing the food. Lin was among the first to use imported perfumes; it was probably a French perfume, one of the latest by Chanel, or some such famous brand anyway.

He was in the process of getting a divorce. His wife, Qian, had written a letter to the Writers' Association, accusing him of reactionary thinking, but had not been able to produce any evidence. He explained that she had become deranged during the Cultural Revolution and was mentally unstable, and she hated him because he had initiated divorce proceedings. Following the decade of the Cultural Revolution, people wanting a divorce were considerably fewer than those wanting to get married, but divorce was common practice.

The law courts, which had just started to function again, couldn't handle all the cases of miscarriage of justice, and didn't want to create new problems, so he was finally able to extricate himself from the marriage. He apologized to Qian for having committed her youth to the grave. Chairman Mao's Cultural Revolution alone could not be blamed. He himself was also to blame, although this could not compensate her for her lost youth. Fortunately, the anti-Party spy case against Qian's father was suddenly dropped, and she was able to leave the village and return to be with her father.

He received a letter from Lu, which said, "All the good trees of the mountain have been cut down, and there is no place left for a decaying tree." Lu had turned down an appointment to chair the new Discipline Investigation Committee of the local Party. He said he had retired, just like that. He wanted to build a house on the mountain to live out his old age.

A year later, he had the opportunity to travel south for work, and he made a special trip to see this benefactor who had once protected him. He first went to the county town where his old schoolmate Rong was still living in his thatched hut. In the interim, the roof had been rethatched, but it was again due for replacement. Rong now had another son. In the county town, family planning was not as rigorously enforced as in big cities, and the inspector for the family register was an acquaintance. In any case, Rong had already been living there for twenty years, and his wife was a local, so, after a slight delay, the child was given a residential permit. Rong was still working as a farm technician, and his wife was still selling merchandise in the cooperative shop at the entrance to the county town. She had tried to get a transfer to the department store in the little street behind their house; it was closer and would have been ideal for looking after the two small children at home. She had not given the cadre in charge enough gifts, and wasn't successful. Rong was even more taciturn than before, and there were long periods of silence, when they just looked at one another.

The bus from the county town arrived at the little village, and, as always, people started to surge on board before everyone had got off. The bus left, but he didn't go to the little street or the school.

He was afraid of running into people he knew, then being dragged off for a meal or something. It would not do to visit one family and not another, and he thought that if he went from one place to another, it would take a couple of days. He stood at the bus stop and looked around for someone he knew, so that he could ask where Lu had built his house.

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