That’s the name of Moyan’s book.

I Never Expected It to Be the 2012 Nobel Prize in Literature

Actually, when I downloaded this book, I did not think too much about it. I only remembered that it was the work that made Mo Yan famous. I maintained my excellent habit of never watching trailers, never reading reviews, and barely even reading summaries. From the first second I opened the book, it took me three days to finish all three thousand pages.

When I was reading the first two chapters, I could still put the book down and do other things. At what point did my eyes become unable to leave this story? Probably when Father Malory died.

The scene that day was described so vividly that I did not even know how to react. Shangguan Lu fell onto the grave mound at the moment when she had the most hope. Her lover killed himself after being humiliated, and she was gang raped by her own people. Just as I held my breath, thinking that she would surely take revenge or hurt herself in response to such humiliation, the story turned to her doing everything she could to raise nine children.

No transition, no foreshadowing, no emotional description. It simply passed like that.

It was not until the end of the story that I could more or less understand the groundwork behind this choice.

Hatred. How could she not hate? It was only that she had been betrayed too many times. She no longer knew where to begin hating. She only knew that staying alive was the only way out, the only revenge. How many people can think like this? How many people can avoid having their vision blinded by their own hatred? Thinking of this, I felt ashamed of how repeatedly I had complained about the unfair circumstances of my own birth. The upheavals and turning points throughout Lu’s life were closely connected to the era, but almost all of them could have been foreseen, because her resilience, forcefulness, and capability ran through her entire life.

Almost all the stories in the book happened before I was born. What little familiarity I had with certain elements of the story also came from history books, film and television, and the occasional oral accounts of older family members. Yes, it seems they have barely ever talked about these things. I wonder whether they ever talk with people of their own generation about those fucked up things.

Among the children, apart from Jintong, who narrates in the first person, the one who shocked me most was the third sister, Lingdi. Because her story was so bizarre, I could not stop thinking about the meaning behind this metaphor. Was it meant to demonstrate the reverence for feudal superstition at the time? Was it meant to make the plot more exciting and attention grabbing? Was it meant to remind the reader once again that this story was fictional? Perhaps it was. Perhaps it was none of these things. Maybe, from Jintong’s perspective, everything was real. Third Sister really was the Bird Immortal. Otherwise, how could she survive without eating or drinking? She also truly loved Birdman Han. Otherwise, why would she transform into the animal he loved most? But I feel that it was not worth it for her. No one tried to understand her. No one tried to tell her that everything would get better. No one firmly stood by her side and told her that it was the world that was wrong. Sun Buyan’s appearance destroyed everything. Perhaps it was because he was mute that he physically fashioned himself into someone who looked tough, but he must have been someone who lived only in his own world. If you ask me, he was the real Bird Immortal. Completely indifferent to human emotions and entirely without compassion for human fragility. If that is not an immortal, then what is? I hate it so much. Someone as pure as Third Sister was betrayed by the person she loved so deeply. Birdman Han decided to be with Eldest Sister almost the moment he returned. How damned he was. When Lingdi transformed into a bird and fell from the cliff, she probably never expected Birdman Han to be the hunter who pulled the trigger.

My feelings towards Eldest Sister are complicated. I can understand almost every decision she made. As the eldest daughter in the family, she was the first child to be born surrounded by blessings, and at the same time, the child burdened with the most unreasonable expectations. She should have been a boy. She should have been obedient. She should have looked after her younger brothers and sisters. She should have been sensible. She should have become a role model for everyone. But she refused. I admire her because she dared to stay true to her own choice and elope with Sha Yueliang. I despise her because, during a time of political upheaval, she left her only daughter to be raised by her mother, who was already under enormous pressure. I praise her because she risked returning home to take her daughter away for Sha Yueliang. I condemn her because she married Sun Buyan for physical pleasure. I weep for her because, during the famine, she remained unyielding and struggled to survive alongside her mother. I am astonished by her because, after everything she had experienced, she still fell in love with Birdman Han like a little girl, living together and dying together. She tried so hard to break free from every expectation, yet inevitably fell into one trap after another in life. I feel afraid and helpless about my own life. I cannot imagine the choices I would make when facing all of these circumstances. Would I be able to stay alive? Would I be able to trust anyone again? Would I be able to carry everything with me and run away with the person I love as though it were the first time?

It seems that love is not part of the narrative of this book at all. The despairing feudal superstitions and cultural traditions, the unpredictable turmoil of the era. This world is too big, so big that it cannot see such tiny love. Yet this world is also too small, so small that everyone in this town lives their life around love. No description could ever exaggerate the grandeur and vastness of maternal love. Maternal love is not only for one’s own children, but for all the children in the world. I will never forget the shock and grievance I felt when I first read about Lu stealing food. Love for one’s children is simply love. It is love that asks for nothing in return. It is infinitely forgiving love. It is love that gives up one’s life. The love between women is also one of the greatest kinds of love in this world. I have never believed that all women are naturally sensitive and considerate of others. It is this unfair world that has forced women into this corner illuminated by a spotlight. We are unseen while being seen by everyone. Those who do not possess these “good girl” qualities are viciously attacked, lectured by everyone, pointed at, framed, and murdered. And then you say that this is simply our nature. Only women understand the hostility we face, but we do not even dare to step forward. We gain a pitiful sense of satisfaction and superiority by viciously condemning these “negative examples,” because apart from that, we have no value. Every piece of jewellery inside the pipa is an accusation written in blood and tears, yet you decide to extract the most hypocritical value from it while turning a blind eye to everything else.

Everything about Jintong feels inexplicable to me. His obsession with breasts makes me uncomfortable and makes me laugh. As a woman, I place myself in the position of every woman examined under his gaze. In his eyes, women are merely tools of reproduction. He enjoys the beauty of this sexual organ and the wonder of breast milk, without caring about the person to whom those breasts belong. His life of accomplishing nothing is not unexpected either. Outstanding looks paired with a dull and mediocre mind deserve only a life like this.