2. I once heard Big Mouth Zhao, a student at the Lu Xun Academy of Literature, say that Dragon and Phoenix Lucky Together is a classic Cantonese dish. Its ingredients are poisonous snakes and wild chickens (needless to say, in this age of cutting corners, there’s a very good chance that river eels and domestic chickens have taken their place). For your Dragon and Phoenix Lucky Together, however, you use the external genitalia of male and female donkeys. Who would dare dip his chopsticks into that? I’m concerned that this dish, given its blatant bourgeois liberalization potential, might not be accepted by literary critics. Currently, some popular ‘heroes’ in the literary field are intent upon finding ‘smut’ in literary works, with their dog-keen noses, eagle-sharp eyes, and a magnifying glass. It’s hard to escape them, just as a cracked egg can’t be safe from a fly looking for a place to deposit its maggots. Ever since writing ‘Ecstasy’ and ‘Red Locusts,’ I’ve been coated with the stinking saliva they spit on me. Adopting a battle strategy from Gang of Four days, they scrutinize my works by taking them out of context, attacking a single point without taking the whole text into consideration, ignoring the functions of those ‘unsavory details’ and their particular settings. Instead of focusing on a text’s literary value, they employ biological and moral viewpoints to wage a violent assault, and deny me the opportunity to defend myself. Therefore, based on personal experience, I urge you to choose a different dish.
3. Now about Yu Yichi. I’m deeply interested in this character, although you didn’t devote much space to describing him. The portrayal of dwarfs is not uncommon in literary works, either in China or abroad, but few could be considered typical. I hope you’ll utilize your talent to memorialize this dwarf. Didn’t he ask ‘you’ to write his life story? I believe this would be a fascinating ‘biography.’ He’s a dwarf who, born into a literary family, has read all the classics and is well versed in statecraft, yet has endured decades of humiliation. Then, through some magic intervention, he enjoys a meteoric rise, obtaining wealth, fame, and position; now he vows to for all the beautiful women in Liquorland.’ But what sort of psychology motivates this grandiose boasting? What sort of psychological transformation occurs in the process of acting upon this grandiose boast? What sort of mental state is he in after carrying out this grandiose boast? Behind all these questions lie numerous brilliant stories; why not try your hand at one or more of them?
4. As to the opening of your story, please forgive my directness, but it reads like meaningless grandiloquent gibberish. The story would be tighter if you deleted it altogether.
5. In the story, you characterize the father of the twin sister dwarfs as a leader in the Central Government; if you intend this to be viewed positively, the higher his position, the better. But your works frequently reveal derogatory criticism toward those in power, and that’s a no-no: society is shaped like a pagoda, getting progressively smaller toward the top; that makes it easier to link the characters in your story with real-life people. If someone from the top of the pagoda were to set his sights on you, it would be a lot worse than a head cold. So I suggest that you give the twin dwarfs a less illustrious background and their father a somewhat diminished official position.
These are just some random jottings, filled with contradictions. Disregard what I’ve written after you read it, and don’t be too conscientious. In this world, one should never be too conscientious about anything; it’s a sure path to bad luck.
I think it’s best to send your masterpiece ‘Donkey Avenue’ to Citizens’ Literature; if they turn it down, I can always recommend another magazine.
I’ve written several chapters of my long novel The Republic of Wine (tentative title). Originally I thought I’d have no trouble writing about liquor, since I’ve been drunk a time or two. But once I started, I encountered all sorts of difficulties and complications. The relationship between man and liquor embodies virtually all the contradictions involved in the process of human existence and development. Someone with extraordinary talent could write an impressive work on this topic; unfortunately, with my meager talents, I reveal my shortcomings at every turn. I hope you’ll expound more on liquor in future letters. That might serve as an inspiration to me.
Wishing you
Good Luck!
Mo Yan
IV
Donkey Avenue, by Li Yidou
Dear friends, not long ago you read my stories ‘Alcohol,’ ‘Meat Boy,’ and ‘Child Prodigy.’ Now please accept my next offering, ‘Donkey Avenue.’ I ask your indulgence and consideration. The irrelevant comments you have just read, in the view of literary critics, must not be inserted into a fictional work, for they destroy the integrity and unity of the work. But, since I am a doctoral candidate in liquor studies, one who daily views liquor, smells liquor, drinks liquor, who embraces liquor kisses liquor rubs elbows with liquor, for whom every breath of air is an act of fermentation, I embody the character and the temperament of liquor. What does nurture mean? This is what it means. Liquor infatuates me until I am incapable of following rules and regulations. Liquor’s character is wild and unrestrained; its temperament is to talk without thinking.
Dear friends, come with me as I pass through the elaborate arched gate on my way out of Liquorland’s Brewer’s College, leaving the liquor-bottle-shaped classroom building behind, and leaving the liquor-glass-shaped laboratory building behind, and leaving the intoxicating aroma of smoke billowing from the smokestack of the college-run winery behind. ‘Put down your bundle and travel light,’ as you walk along with me, sharp-eyed and clearheaded, always knowing where we are and where we’re going; we cross the beautifully carved China fir footbridge over Sweet Wine stream, putting the gurgling water, the water lilies floating on the water, the butterflies resting on the water lilies, the white ducks playing in the water, the fish swimming in the water, the fishes’ feelings, the white ducks’ moods, the floating duckweed’s ideas, the flowing water’s somniloquy… all that behind us. Please note: The main gate of the Culinary Academy entices us by sending exquisite aromas toward us! That is where my aging mother-in-law works. Not long ago she went mad and has been at home ever since, hiding day and night behind black curtains, where she does nothing but write letters of exposé and denunciation. So we leave her for the moment and ignore the fragrant aromas drifting over from the Culinary Academy. There is compelling and eternal truth in the saying, ‘Birds die in pursuit of food, man dies chasing wealth.’ In times of chaos and corruption, men are just like birds, to all appearances free as the wind, but in fact, in constant peril from traps, nets, arrows, and firearms. OK, your noses have been contaminated by the smell, so quickly cover them with your hands and leave the Culinary Academy behind, following me on the slant down to the narrow Deer Avenue, where you can hear the cries of deer, as if they were grazing on wild duckweed. Shops on both sides of the street have hung deer antlers above their doors, their crisscrossing points creating a forest of spears or a grove of swords. We walk on the ancient path paved with slippery, moss-covered flagstones, between which green grass pokes out. Watch your step, don’t trip and fall. Carefully, cautiously, we weave in and out, until we turn into Donkey Avenue, where the street beneath our feet is also paved with flagstones that have been worn smooth over time by blowing wind and pouring rain and rolling wheels and galloping hooves, rounding the edges and making them smooth as bronze mirrors. Donkey Avenue is slightly wider than Deer Avenue; its stone slabs are covered with filthy, bloody water and blackened donkey hides. It is also more slippery than Deer Avenue. Ebony crows caw-caw as they limp along the street. This is a treacherous spot, so be careful, everybody, and walk only where you’re supposed to. Keep your bodies straight and plant your feet firmly. Don’t let your eyes wander, like some farmboy on his first trip to the city. If you do, youll likely fall and make a spectacle of yourself. There’s nothing worse than falling. Getting your clothes dirty will be the least of your worries if you wind up breaking a hip. Like I said, there’s nothing worse than falling. Why don’t we give our readers a break by resting before we walk any farther?