Red Sorghum, by Mo Yan

Hat's Off To Mo Yan!

The first thing that struck me in reading this novel was just how well it translated into English. My experience with Japanese and Chinese fiction in translation has never been very satisfactory, and I have generally been left with the feeling that I was missing much of the meaning in the original work. That was not true at all in this translation of Mo Yan's masterpiece, Red Sorghum. The quality of the prose in English is astounding, and of course great credit must be given to the translator, Howard Goldblatt, for this achievement. I suspect though that it is easier to effectively translate a singularly great work of fiction than to translate lesser works, so I think most of the credit probably goes to the author, but whatever the case there is no doubt this translation is a literary classic.

From the very first page one is impelled into this story, and the great cultural gap between America and rural China simply disappears, the reason being that Mo Yan is a brilliant observer of human nature, and human nature is universal. Reading this work I knew these people, which is an amazing thing to communicate across such vast cultural boundaries, and if that had been the works only accomplishment it would been a fine novel, but that is merely the beginning. . .

The narrative has an epic quality (a description bandied about too much by reviewers, but which I think in this case is warranted) that is reminiscent of War and Peace; but in no way does it borrow from that novel. It has a feel quite its own, an intermingling of the rustic and the mythical, of minute observation with panoramic scope, woven together seamlessly and building with inexorable power into something akin to the myths of the heroic age. Yet at no point in this remarkable journey does the story lose its believability!

The setting is a region of rural China dominated by plantations of red sorghum, its great tasseled heads stretching endlessly in the clear country air. This grain is made into wine and distilled liquor, which many of the inhabitants are rather too enamored with, imbuing the atmosphere of the book with a sort of inebreated intensity, a spirit of recklessness, and of passions of all kinds given all too free a reign - which adds to the work's larger than life, quasi-mythical quality.

It is set in the 1930's, a time of two wars waged at once: the Chinese Civil War, and the long brutal war against Japan. As we get to know and even care about these very human, very flawed characters, we also see their gradual rise to greatness through their confrontation with the absolute brutality and unrelenting terror of their times, in a savage and soaring vision of a great people put through the fire of a hellish era. Such is the stuff human nature is made of that we are capable of being debased and heroic, glorious and petty, fragile and indomitable all in the same instant, and it is not just every novelist that captures this, so hats off to Mo Yan, and hats off to Red Sorghum!

Brent Hightower
Copyright 2016 Brent Hightower
21stcenturyperceptions.blogspot.com

"Dead Souls" is Deadpan

In contrast to the gloomy title of the book, "Dead Souls," is actually a whimsical, if twisted romp with one 'Chichikov,' and his manservant, 'Pertrushka,' through provincial Czarist Russia in the mid 19th century. In what must be one of the greatest works of deadpan humor ever written, the entire purpose of Chichikov's extended journey is to buy surfs who've died since the last census, but are still listed on the landowners books, in order to somehow use them as collateral for loans. (He isn't buying the actual bodies of these deceased surfs, of course, just their names from the ledgers.)

The exact plan he has in mind is never more than hinted at in the book, so we're forced to speculate on the nature of the nefarious scheme he's concocting in that little head of his! I say "little head" because though Chichikov is convinced he's very clever, he's really not.

This ludicrous and murky adventure leads them from one farcical encounter to another with a panoply of Russian characters of the time, from the belligerent and impetuous Nozdryov, to various vacuous, self-important officials, to an over the top miser, named Plyushkin, who's gigantic estate is literally collapsing due to his insatiable need to hoard - everything.

Valiantly Chichikov struggles with the endless obstacles to this ridiculous quest with mixed success, and by the time it's over you suspect his whole plan will probably fall through. But no matter, no one really expects to accomplish anything within this hopelessly corrupt and nepotistic imperial order. You feel they are all just going through the motions.

As the book goes on we become aware that this Chichikov considers himself both a patriot and a serious man, and it is this dead pan humor, and the perfectly idiosyncratic way Gogol writes it that set this work apart from so much lesser comedy. Chichikov (and perhaps even Gogol himself!) see nothing either ridiculous, or dishonest, in this ludicrous scheme. An absurd little man, with an even more absurd little manservant whom must content himself with the scraps from his master's table, surrounded by people who's endeavors in life are equally petty, tawdry, and absurd, they seem perfectly content (when they aren't being beaten up or arrested). In fact they are quite taken with their importance. This dissonance, this dissociation from reality is what drives the humor. Humor that is somewhat subtle, but if you are open to it, it will leave you rolling on the floor in stitches.

Gogol, a real eccentric, was said to have taught history at a Russian University, and not to have had the vaguest idea what he was talking about. In later years he determined to make up for his "terrible mistake" of writing Dead Souls and not writing "a great patriotic work to glorify Mother Russia." He spent a decade or so attempting to write that work, and threw the result away. His genius was in seeing the foibles and absurdities of life with a hawk eye and not understanding that himself. Truth and hilarious wit were his instinctive genius as an author, but they were in revolt against his patriotic, pro-czarist, and Pro-orthodox self!

Being a staunch conservative and having written a book widely acclaimed as social satire worthy of Jonathan Swift, did not make poor Gogol a very happy man, and setting out to write the True Patriotic Book about Russia he failed utterly and the disappointment destroyed him. There was never a sadder case of a artist misunderstanding his own genius. Yet it resulted in one hell of a good comedy in 'Dead Souls!'

Brent Hightower
Copyright 2015 Brent Hightower
21stcenturyperceptions.blogspot.com