Frog: A Novel - Hardcover

Yan, Mo

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0525427988 ISBN 13: 9780525427988

Publisher: Viking, 2015

Synopsis

A NEW YORK TIMES TOP BOOK OF 2015

WASHINGTON POST NOTABLE BOOK

The author of Red Sorghum and China’s most revered and controversial novelist returns with his first major publication since winning the Nobel Prize

In 2012, the Nobel committee confirmed Mo Yan’s position as one of the greatest and most important writers of our time. In his much-anticipated new novel, Mo Yan chronicles the sweeping history of modern China through the lens of the nation’s controversial one-child policy.

Frog opens with a playwright nicknamed Tadpole who plans to write about his aunt. In her youth, Gugu—the beautiful daughter of a famous doctor and staunch Communist—is revered for her skill as a midwife. But when her lover defects, Gugu’s own loyalty to the Party is questioned. She decides to prove her allegiance by strictly enforcing the one-child policy, keeping tabs on the number of children in the village, and performing abortions on women as many as eight months pregnant.

In sharply personal prose, Mo Yan depicts a world of desperate families, illegal surrogates, forced abortions, and the guilt of those who must enforce the policy. At once illuminating and devastating, it shines a light into the heart of communist China.

About this title

About the Author:

Born in 1955, MO YAN is a native of Shandong. He has written ten novels, a number of novellas, and many short stories. He lives in China. HOWARD GOLDBLATT is widely recognized as one of the best translators from Chinese to English and has received the National Translation Award as well as a Guggenheim Fellowship for his work. He lives in Colorado.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

VIKING

Published by the Penguin Group

Penguin Group (USA) LLC

375 Hudson Street

New York, New York 10014

USA | Canada | UK | Ireland | Australia | New Zealand | India | South Africa | China

penguin.com

A Penguin Random House Company

Published by Viking Penguin, a member of Penguin Group (USA) LLC, 2015

Copyright © 2009 by Mo Yan

Translation copyright © 2014 by Penguin (Beijing) Ltd

Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

Translated from the original Chinese edition by Howard Goldblatt

Originally published by Shanghai Art and Literature Publishing House.

English-language edition first published by Penguin Group (Australia) in association with Penguin (Beijing) Ltd

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

Mo, Yan, 1955-

[Wa. English]

Frog: a novel / Mo Yan ; [translated by Howard Goldblatt]

p. cm

ISBN 978-0-698-18266-0

1. Childbirth—China—History—20th century—Fiction. I. Goldblatt, Howard, 1939- translator. II. Title.

PL2886.O1684W32713 2015

895.13’52—dc23

2014038473

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Dramatis Personae

Tadpole and Gugu’s family

GUGU, or WAN XIN, midwife

JIN XIU, cousin of Xiaopao, business partner of Xiao Xiachun

LITTLE LION, Gugu’s medical intern

WAN KOU, aka Eldest Brother, brother of Xiaopao, father of Wan Xiangqun

WAN LIUFU, father of Gugu, soldier and doctor, founder of the Xihai Underground Hospital

WAN MAN, sister of Xiaopao

WAN XIANGQUN, air force pilot, nephew of Xiaopao, son of Wan Dakou

WAN ZU, or XIAOPAO or TADPOLE, nephew of Gugu

WUGUAN, cousin of Xiaopao

YANYAN, daughter of Xiaopao

Chen Bi’s family

AILIAN, mother of Chen Bi

CHEN BI, classmate of Xiaopao

CHEN E, father of Chen Bi

CHEN ER, daughter of Chen Bi

CHEN MEI, daughter of Chen Bi

Other Characters (in alphabetical order)

TEACHER CHEN

DU BOZI, a villager/fisherman

FAN, carpenter

FANG LIANHUA, Wang Jiao’s wife

FLATHEAD, rafter, son of old classmate of Xiaopao

GAO MEN, village beggar

GENG XIULIAN, wife of Zhang Quan

HAO DASHOU, the clay-doll maker

HUANG JUN, aka Melon Huang, hospital director, the son of Huang Pi from Hexi Village

HUANG QIUYA, doctor at health centre, enemy of Gugu

DOCTOR LI

POLITICAL COMMISSAR LI

LI SHOU, son of Teacher Yu, younger schoolmate of Xiaopao

CHIEF LIU, Armed Forces Bureau

LU HUAHUA, village beggar

LU MAZI, civil administration clerk

LÜ YA, brigade commander

POSTAL DIRECTOR MA

NING YAO, commune security chief

QIN HE, brother of Qin Shan, beggar/actor, boat pilot, clay-doll maker

QIN SHAN, commune Party secretary, brother of Qin He

QIU, commune Party secretary (and Qin Shan’s successor)

SESAME TWIST, wife of Yuan Sai

DIRECTOR SHEN, Bureau of Health

COMMANDER SUGITANI, Japanese Army

SUGITANI AKIHITO, mentor to Xiaopao

TIAN GUIHUA, old midwife

WANG DAN, daughter of Wang Jiao, twin of Wang Gan, classmate of Xiaopao

WANG GAN, son of Wang Jiao, twin of Wang Dan, classmate of Xiaopao

WANG HUAN, the bean curd peddler

WANG JIAO, owner of a horse and cart, father of Wang Dan and Wang Gan

WANG JINSHAN, aka OLD WANG, the school cook

WANG RENMEI, daughter of Wang Jinshan, wife of Xiaopao

WANG XIAOTI, Gugu’s fiancé, Air Force pilot, traitor

WANG XIAOMEI, a seventeen-year-old girl from Wang Village, Director Huang’s lover

SECRETARY WU, commune Party secretary, 1980s

WU JINBANG, school principal

XIAO BI, office manager of bullfrog farm, sculptor

XIAO SHANGCHUN, stretcher-bearer in the Eighth Route Army, commune granary watchman, Windstorm Rebel Corps Commander, enemy of Gugu, father of Xiao Xiachun

XIAO XIACHUN, classmate of Xiaopao, son of Xiao Shangchun, entrepreneur

XIE BAIZHUA, restaurant owner

XIE XIAOQUE, the son of Xie Baizhua

COMMANDER XU, Eighth Route Army

TEACHER XUE

YAN, assistant director of the commune

YANG LIN, county Party secretary

CHAIRWOMAN YANG XIN, family-planning committee

YANG XIONG, county chief, son of Yang Lin

TEACHER YU

YUAN LIAN, village Party secretary

YUAN SAI, son of Yuan Lian, classmate of Xiaopao

ZHANG JINYA, Party secretary of Dongfeng village

ZHANG QUAN, from Dongfeng village

BOOK ONE

Dear Sugitani Akihito sensei,

It has been nearly a month since we said goodbye, but I can relive virtually every moment of our time together in my hometown as if it were yesterday. With no concern for age or physical frailties, you crossed land and sea to come to this out-of-the-way spot and engage in literary conversations with me and with local fans of literature; we were deeply moved. On the second morning of the year, you favoured us with a presentation in the county guesthouse auditorium that you called ‘Literature and Life’. With your permission, we would like to publish a transcription of the taped lecture in the local publication Frog Calls, so as to make available to those who were unable to attend in person a chance to appreciate and learn from your use of language.

On the morning of the first day of the year I accompanied you on a visit to my aunt, an obstetrician for more than fifty years, and though she spoke too quickly in her accented Chinese for you to grasp everything she said, I am sure she left a deep impression on you. In your talk the next morning you cited her often in support of your views of literature. You said you came away with an image of a doctor racing across a frozen river on a bicycle; another of her with a medical kit slung over her back and an open umbrella in one hand, trouser cuffs rolled up, as she forces her way through a mass of croaking frogs; yet another of a doctor laughing joyfully as she holds a newborn infant in her hands, her sleeves spattered with blood; and finally one of a doctor with a care-laden face, a cigarette dangling from her lips, clothing rumpled . . . you said that all these mental pictures sometimes come together into a single image and at other times split into discrete fragments, like a series of carvings. You urged local literature fans to create poignant works of art out of my aunt’s life, either in fiction, in verse, or in drama. Sensei, your encouragement has produced a creative passion in many of us. An associate at the county cultural centre has already begun a novel about a village obstetrician, and though my understanding of what my aunt accomplished is much greater than his, I do not want to enter into a competition and will leave the writing of a novel to him. What I want to do, sensei, is write a play about my aunt’s life. On the night of the second, when we were talking as we sat on the kang at my house, I experienced an epiphany thanks to your high praise and detailed analyses, as well as your unique insights into the plays of the Frenchman, Sartre. I want to write, I feel I must write librettos as fine as The Flies and Dirty Hands, with the audacious goal of becoming a great playwright. With your instruction as a guide, I will proceed slowly, without forcing the issue, as patient as a frog on a lily pad waiting for insects to come its way. But when I put pen to paper, it will be with the speed of a frog jumping up to snatch an insect out of the air.

When I was seeing you off at the Qingdao airport, you asked me to send you in letters the story of my aunt’s life. Although she is still alive and well, I could describe her life using such potent metaphors as ‘surging forth magnificently’ and ‘rife with twists and turns’. There are so many stories, and I don’t know how long this letter ought to be, so with your indulgence, I will put my meagre talents to use by simply writing until the time has come to stop. In this age of computers, writing a letter with pen and paper has become a luxury, but a pleasurable one, and I hope that as you read this, you enjoy a taste of olden times.

While I’m at it, I want to tell you that my father phoned to say that on the lunar twenty-fifth, red blossoms burst onto the tree in our yard, the one whose unique shape prompted you to call it a ‘talented’ old plum. Many people came to witness our blooming plum, including my aunt. My father said that a feathery snow fell that day, saturated with a redolence of plum blossoms that cleared the head of anyone who smelled it.

Your student, Tadpole

21 March 2002, in Beijing

1

Sensei, an old custom in my hometown dictated that a newborn child is given the name of a body part or organ. Nose Chen, for instance, Eyes Zhao, Colon Wu, Shoulder Sun . . . I haven’t looked into the origin of this custom, but I imagine it embodied the outlook of ‘those who are badly named live long’. Either that or it evolved from a mother’s thoughts that a child represented a piece of her body. The custom is no longer followed, as young parents have no interest in naming their children in such an unusual way. Local children these days are endowed with elegant and distinctive names of TV characters in dramas from Hong Kong, Taiwan, even Japan and Korea. Most of those who were named the earlier way have adopted more conventional names, most but not all. We still have Chen Er (Ears) and Chen Mei (Brow).

Chen Er and Chen Mei were the daughters of Chen Bi (Nose), my classmate and my friend. We entered Great Sheep’s Pen Elementary School in the fall of 1960. That was during the famine, and nearly all my strongest memories of the time deal with food. I’ve told the story of eating coal. Most people think I made that up, but I swear on my aunt’s good name it’s true.

The coal was part of a ton of high-grade ore from the Longkou Coal Mine, so glossy I could see my face in it. I’ve never seen the likes of it since. Wang Jiao (Foot), the owner of a horse cart, transported the coal over from the county seat. Wang, a man with a square head, a thick neck and a bad stammer, had a bright look in his eyes when he spoke, his face flushed from the effort. He had a son, Wang Gan (Liver), and a daughter named Wang Dan (Gallbladder). They were twins, and both were my classmates. Wang Gan was tall and well built, while his sister never grew to full size and remained a tiny thing – to be unkind, a dwarf. Everyone said she was so small because her brother had sucked up all the nutrition in their mother’s womb. After school was out, we ran over with our backpacks to watch Wang Jiao shovel the coal to the ground, where it landed crisply on a growing pile. He stopped to wipe his sweaty neck with a blue cloth he’d wrapped around his waist, and when he saw his son and daughter, he shouted: Go home and mow the grass.

Wang Dan turned and headed for home, struggling to keep her balance as she ran, like an infant learning how to walk; a lovely sight. Wang Gan backed up but did not run. He was proud of his father’s occupation. Children these days, even those whose fathers are airline pilots, are not as proud of theirs as he was of his. Wang drove a horse cart whose wheels threw up dust as it rumbled along; an old branded warhorse said to have distinguished itself by once towing an artillery piece was between the shafts, while a bad-tempered mule was up front in a harness, a mean animal known to kick and bite. That aside, it was astonishingly powerful and could run like the wind. No one but Wang Jiao could control it. Though many villagers admired his line of work, they kept their distance from the mule, which had already bitten two youngsters: Yuan Sai (Cheek), son of Yuan Lian (Face); and Wang Dan, who had been bitten and picked up by the head while playing in front of the house. We were in awe of Wang Jiao, who stood over six-two, with broad shoulders, and the strength of an ox. He could lift a stoneroller weighing two hundred jin over his head. But what really wowed us was his skill with a whip. That time the crazy mule bit Yuan Sai, Wang pulled back the brake and, with one foot on each of the shafts, brought the tip of his whip down on the animal’s rump with a crack that drew blood. The mule reacted by kicking out, but then began to quake as its forelegs buckled and its head hit the ground, mouth in the dirt, rump raised ready for another hit. It was Yuan Sai’s father, Yuan Lian, who came to its rescue. It’s okay, Old Wang, he said, sparing the animal further anguish. Yuan was our village’s ranking official, the Party secretary. Not heeding his word was not an option for Wang Jiao. After the crazy mule bit Wang Dan, we eagerly awaited another good show, but instead of striking out with his whip, Wang Jiao scooped up a handful of roadside lime and pressed it against the girl’s head as he carried her inside. The mule did not taste his whip this time, but his wife did, just before Wang kicked his son.

That crazy mule was one of our favourite topics of conversation. Skinny as a rail, the indentations above both eyes were so deep they could accommodate hen’s eggs. Its eyes emitted a sorrowful gaze, as if it were about to howl. How a skinny animal like that could exert such strength was a mystery. We were talking about that as we drew up to the mule. Wang Jiao stopped shovelling coal and glared menacingly, backing us up terrified. The pile in front of the school kitchen grew higher and higher, the load of coal on the cart kept getting smaller. We sniffed in unison at the strange aroma in the air, a bit like burning pine or roasting potatoes. Our sense of smell drew our gaze to the pile of glistening coal as Wang Jiao flicked the reins and drove his cart out of the schoolyard. This time we didn’t chase it out of the yard, as we usually did, even risking the bite of Wang’s whip when we tried to climb aboard to satisfy our desire for a ride. No, we kept our eyes glued to the pile of coal as we shuffled forward. Old Wang, the school cook, wobbled over with two buckets of water on his shoulder pole. His daughter, Renmei, was also a classmate who, much later, would become my wife. She was one of the rare children not burdened with the name of a body part, and that was because her father had attended school. As the one-time head of a commune animal-husbandry station, a careless comment had cost him his job and sent him back to his village. He observed us with a wary eye. Did he think we were planning to raid his kitchen? Go on, you little shits, get out of here! There’s nothing here for you to eat. Go home and suck your mothers’ teats. We heard him, of course,...

About this edition

• Publisher: Viking
• Publication date: 2015
• ISBN 10: 0525427988
• ISBN 13: 9780525427988
• Binding: Hardcover
• Number of pages: 400