The Vagrants

There was quite some buzz when I first heard of the book. A popular opinion of some Chinese overseas is that, simply put, the author was a sellout. Serving up a skewed history with flavors tailored to the western palate, the author tried to depict China in an unforgivably dark era with unimaginable atrocities committed for the most insignificant purposes. Now that I’ve finished reading the novel, I believe such accusation was completely unfounded.

Even though the author did not grow up in the years when China was paralyzed by the Cultural Revolution--the opening scene of a denunciation ceremony of a female counter-revolutionary took place at the end of the Cultural Revolution, in 1979, I believe she has captured perfectly the social atmosphere of that period. People were made to develop a sixth-sense for detecting minute changes in the political atmosphere and were expected at all times to follow the supreme decrees of the central government. The terrifying events and unflinching details, as well as the motive behind certain atrocities were very credible. An overall sense of despair and withdrawal from actively participating in anything meaningful permeates every facets of human existence; fear became the most efficient and effective moral police with its invisible iron grip tightening around the necks of those who dared to look beyond the boundaries, never hesitating to drain the life and blood out of those who have... Yet traces of humanity, courage, tenderness managed to peek from the most unexpected places.

The author weaved seamlessly an intricate web of events surrounding the central characters. The story climaxed on Ching-Ming, a Chinese festivity for paying respect to one’s ancestor, hereby holding symbolic significance. It's a relief to see little trace of stereotypes of characters for such a volatile and disruptive time. The author carefully cultivated nuanced depth in each character. Gu Shan, whose criticism of Mao would find many supporters in the later years, was in essence, a victim of the environment, a tool used and abused. Teacher Gu, who thought he saw through everyone in this political farce committed suicide at the end. Bashi, a deeply troubled young man who fell through the social cracks, all at once pitiful, cold-hearted yet vulnerable, would face long prison sentence for something he had not taken part in, but there was hope for Nini’s return one day. While reading, I often held my breath because of the despicable things I thought he might do to Nini if and when he got the chance. And he surprised me again and again.

The style of writing is detached, scrutinizing and sharp in a way cold metal surgery instruments lacerate through the flesh, not missing a single detail. Seasonal changes, school aged children playing in the school yards, the townsfolk huddling together and exchanging gossip, scenes big or small, still or dynamic, all came alive as the pages turned. Li writes in fluent English, yet I could almost hear the buzzing animated chatter of middle-aged women in my native tongue.

I was brought to tears within minutes of reading the first chapter, an almost minute-by-minute account of what went on in the psyches of Mrs. and Mr. Gu, whose daughter, Shan was to be executed that day. The couple tried to maintain some sense of continuity with life that they had become accustomed to. Everywhere they looked and avoided looking at, fragments of memory of their little girl's childhood collided with the reality of aging parents having to see their child go out of the world in the most humiliating way possible. When Kai thought of never seeing her son again, she noticed a small toy stuck inside one of her shoes, a prank pulled by Ming-ming, who learned to do this with consistency and persistence of an already strong-willed toddler. She thought to herself, soon he will be pulling this prank on someone else, possibly a grandparent. Measured and controlled, Li's verses skip the melodrama yet making the stark truth more obvious in the bleakest reality.