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Chinese Profiles
Collection of the lives and ideas of a hundred ordinary Chinese as revealed in interviews conducted by Zhang Xinxin and Sang Ye during a year on the road.
- GenresChinaHistoryNonfiction
376 pages, Paperback
First published December 1, 1986
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Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews
June 3, 2012
A unprepossessing but magical little book - like finding a dingy door in the basement that opens up into the immensity of China. The book is a collection of interviews with a remarkably diverse group of Chinese people: from an ex-prostitute to the brother of the ex-emperor, Pu Yi. There are around 50 interviews in all, but some voices stand out for their authenticity and vibrancy. There's the gruff woodsman who hunts tigers for zoos using his bare hands, the bumptious parvenu couple boasting about their wealth and bickering as they devour an enormous meal, the travails of a woman who went blind as a young child and eventually found work as a masseuse, the wisecracking mortician, the beautiful, diffident club singer, and many more.
One common theme to all these stories is the pernicious effect of the Cultural Revolution. Some of these people suffered, some inflicted suffering, a few escaped unscathed. but for all it was a defining, transformative event in their lives.
One stylistic choice of the work deserves note: the voice of the interviewer has been removed - all we hear are the voices of the people telling their stories. But we do hear their reactions to the questions of their absent interlocutor. The effect, interestingly enough, is that the reader is injected into the narrative: there is a sense of interaction that comes from hearing only one side of a conversation and filling in the other side yourself. And the intimacy and matter-of-factness of the interviews evokes memories of the conversations one has as a traveller. In a curious way you take the place of the interviewer and feel as though these conversations are directed at you.
In the course of all these conversations, you develop a very warm understanding of the Chinese people and the world they struggle in. In America, at least, we tend to vilify those communist holdouts, but in these stories, you do get to see the unexpectedly positive feelings the people have for their government. One story in particular stands out. A young girl is sold into prostitution by her dissolute parents in pre-revolutionary china, she succumbs to vice, becomes addicted to heroin, and seems destined to follow a doomed trajectory as old as civilization. Then came the revolution, and she was rounded up with all the other prostitutes to a reeducation camp. Like the rest, she rebels against the sanctimonious communists, imposing their absolute virtues on these world-weary women. But bit by bit she comes to realize she is caught up in something unprecedented in her experience: people who genuinely care for her and want to lead her to redemption. She finds it in herself to accept their offer and her life is transformed. Her love for the party is palpable, and heartwarming. And for a moment, at least, you can believe that its really within our power to make the world a happier, more just, more hopeful place to live and die in.
One common theme to all these stories is the pernicious effect of the Cultural Revolution. Some of these people suffered, some inflicted suffering, a few escaped unscathed. but for all it was a defining, transformative event in their lives.
One stylistic choice of the work deserves note: the voice of the interviewer has been removed - all we hear are the voices of the people telling their stories. But we do hear their reactions to the questions of their absent interlocutor. The effect, interestingly enough, is that the reader is injected into the narrative: there is a sense of interaction that comes from hearing only one side of a conversation and filling in the other side yourself. And the intimacy and matter-of-factness of the interviews evokes memories of the conversations one has as a traveller. In a curious way you take the place of the interviewer and feel as though these conversations are directed at you.
In the course of all these conversations, you develop a very warm understanding of the Chinese people and the world they struggle in. In America, at least, we tend to vilify those communist holdouts, but in these stories, you do get to see the unexpectedly positive feelings the people have for their government. One story in particular stands out. A young girl is sold into prostitution by her dissolute parents in pre-revolutionary china, she succumbs to vice, becomes addicted to heroin, and seems destined to follow a doomed trajectory as old as civilization. Then came the revolution, and she was rounded up with all the other prostitutes to a reeducation camp. Like the rest, she rebels against the sanctimonious communists, imposing their absolute virtues on these world-weary women. But bit by bit she comes to realize she is caught up in something unprecedented in her experience: people who genuinely care for her and want to lead her to redemption. She finds it in herself to accept their offer and her life is transformed. Her love for the party is palpable, and heartwarming. And for a moment, at least, you can believe that its really within our power to make the world a happier, more just, more hopeful place to live and die in.
November 23, 2025
ARE THE CHINESE THE MOST LITERARY PEOPLE IN THE WORLD? i am gonna give this book a kiss right now, ok i kissed it
Philosophy of author:
Sometimes I feel that there really is no point in writing fiction. What is the point in putting in all that effort to disguise a dry jujube stone as a succulent delicacy like sea cucumber? All you really have is that tiny stone, and sometimes you don't even have that. But half an hour's talk, or a few hours' talk, gives you a story, a whole human life, a sculpture that needs no reworking. A few thousand words can express it all. Pull it apart, knead it to pieces, and the favour disappears.
If my perceptions, my story, cannot be different from those of these hundred people, of a thousand people, of ten thousand people, or if they are the same as everyone else's, writing fiction is pointless, really pointless.
Quotes:
If you're going to be somebody the first things you need are the courage and ability to look reality in the face.
Love is mysterious, not just the mechanical reflection of superiority.
When the girl you love pleads with you it has a magical power.
When one of a pair of martens dies the survivor won't mate with another one. They've got real feelings - not like people. When people have had enough of sleeping with one partner they go off and find another.
Only in evil is a man clever and refined.
I'm his dad, but he's my boss: he costs me eighty yuan a month.
But then, one evening the son of the family I knew very well raped me. The whole family was there and they helped him. Several of the girls who went to Inner Mongolia as educated youth met this fate.
You have to understand that whoever lives by catching tigers will one day be killed by a tiger.
At liberation, us poor folk were so happy we could hardly stand it. Suffering people are always hoping for a change of dynasties, if for nothing else.
I love the open spaces, and the fact that there's never anybody there. I know how the colours and the scenery change with the seasons there. That place is like my own private nest. I'll take you there some day. I clear a little space in the middle of a field and make a little nest for myself. It's surrounded by a thick wall of tall weeds. There's a little patch of sky above my head, and when I lie back I can hear the wind rustling through the grasses. I like to read there, and paint. If a couple comes by, I always make a point of getting out of their way. When it snows, the sky turns grey and the earth is covered with a beautiful white blanket. When I look up at the black branches without any leaves on them, I feel like I'm the only person in the whole wide world.
As a kid, he used to sit alone by the side of the river and watch boats come and go. My mother told me that he would constantly ask himself questions such as: What's it like to be at the other end of the river? What's it like at the other end of the earth?
At first I wanted to go on picking and choosing, but I picked and chose men and they did the same with us. Then I saw that even my two sisters, for all their ability, felt frustrated with their home life, so I stopped. He'll do. We'll probably settle soon.
I don't really care if other people understand me or not; all I want is for them to acknowledge my existence. It's difficult because lots of people think I'm eccentric or mad. Mad people are still people, but just because they're mad they're excluded from the human race.
I don't want anyone to rely on me, but I do want to rely on a man. I don't know how to explain it. Life is a puzzle. The average man in China wants a suitable wife and the sort he wants is a doll who will hang around his neck. But she must be a working doll, so she'll bring in her own grain coupons and her own wages. That's how I see it and I think that it is the tragedy my generation has to face.
So they sent me a female blind student, who was three years younger. We practiced day and night to prepare for performances at folk music concerts. One day around noontime, I was taking a nap. 1 felt something moving on my face. At first, I thought it was a fly, and tried to chase it away with my hands. Then, I touched a soft hand, the fingers caressing my nose and my eyes, sending burning sensations all the way to my heart. I reached out my hands and touched her as if I were in a dream.
Yes. Prettiness, this is my advantage, my "capital". But I always seem to like the people who don't take any notice of it. The pity is I don't have anything else to give. No. nothing.
--
I am penniless. I have no luck with money at all. That's my fate.
But my dick is not willing to accept fate. That stuff down there is the only hard spot in my body. The more seeds I plant, the more likely it is that I can change my fate and fortune. Also, unlike you city folks, we peasants don't have money to go visit the nightclubs. In the evenings, when it's dark and boring, we have nothing else to do except to pin our wives down and go "nightclubbing." If you are not extra careful, accidents will happen. Your wife's stomach will get big again. Who do I blame? My wife badly wanted a son. The more she wanted a son, the more damn daughters she bred.
--
Unfortunately, far too many people want to get rich but far too few really want to escape from the wilderness of poverty.
There can be no purely objective record. Portrait-painters portray not only the sitters but themselves. Hyper-realist portraits are no different from photographs, but their main purpose is to express the painters themselves.
When we started making these runs, there were as many signboards and arrows by the road as there are now, all indicating some work site. Now a lot of those signboards have gone — the building's finished; but new signboards and arrows have appeared. Look there — in a few months this new signboard will be another huge building. That's how fast things are done in Shenzhen! In the special zone everyone can think big, work to make his dream come true. All those arrows aren't just pointing to work sites, they're pointing to an ideal.
Philosophy of author:
Sometimes I feel that there really is no point in writing fiction. What is the point in putting in all that effort to disguise a dry jujube stone as a succulent delicacy like sea cucumber? All you really have is that tiny stone, and sometimes you don't even have that. But half an hour's talk, or a few hours' talk, gives you a story, a whole human life, a sculpture that needs no reworking. A few thousand words can express it all. Pull it apart, knead it to pieces, and the favour disappears.
If my perceptions, my story, cannot be different from those of these hundred people, of a thousand people, of ten thousand people, or if they are the same as everyone else's, writing fiction is pointless, really pointless.
Quotes:
If you're going to be somebody the first things you need are the courage and ability to look reality in the face.
Love is mysterious, not just the mechanical reflection of superiority.
When the girl you love pleads with you it has a magical power.
When one of a pair of martens dies the survivor won't mate with another one. They've got real feelings - not like people. When people have had enough of sleeping with one partner they go off and find another.
Only in evil is a man clever and refined.
I'm his dad, but he's my boss: he costs me eighty yuan a month.
But then, one evening the son of the family I knew very well raped me. The whole family was there and they helped him. Several of the girls who went to Inner Mongolia as educated youth met this fate.
You have to understand that whoever lives by catching tigers will one day be killed by a tiger.
At liberation, us poor folk were so happy we could hardly stand it. Suffering people are always hoping for a change of dynasties, if for nothing else.
I love the open spaces, and the fact that there's never anybody there. I know how the colours and the scenery change with the seasons there. That place is like my own private nest. I'll take you there some day. I clear a little space in the middle of a field and make a little nest for myself. It's surrounded by a thick wall of tall weeds. There's a little patch of sky above my head, and when I lie back I can hear the wind rustling through the grasses. I like to read there, and paint. If a couple comes by, I always make a point of getting out of their way. When it snows, the sky turns grey and the earth is covered with a beautiful white blanket. When I look up at the black branches without any leaves on them, I feel like I'm the only person in the whole wide world.
As a kid, he used to sit alone by the side of the river and watch boats come and go. My mother told me that he would constantly ask himself questions such as: What's it like to be at the other end of the river? What's it like at the other end of the earth?
At first I wanted to go on picking and choosing, but I picked and chose men and they did the same with us. Then I saw that even my two sisters, for all their ability, felt frustrated with their home life, so I stopped. He'll do. We'll probably settle soon.
I don't really care if other people understand me or not; all I want is for them to acknowledge my existence. It's difficult because lots of people think I'm eccentric or mad. Mad people are still people, but just because they're mad they're excluded from the human race.
I don't want anyone to rely on me, but I do want to rely on a man. I don't know how to explain it. Life is a puzzle. The average man in China wants a suitable wife and the sort he wants is a doll who will hang around his neck. But she must be a working doll, so she'll bring in her own grain coupons and her own wages. That's how I see it and I think that it is the tragedy my generation has to face.
So they sent me a female blind student, who was three years younger. We practiced day and night to prepare for performances at folk music concerts. One day around noontime, I was taking a nap. 1 felt something moving on my face. At first, I thought it was a fly, and tried to chase it away with my hands. Then, I touched a soft hand, the fingers caressing my nose and my eyes, sending burning sensations all the way to my heart. I reached out my hands and touched her as if I were in a dream.
Yes. Prettiness, this is my advantage, my "capital". But I always seem to like the people who don't take any notice of it. The pity is I don't have anything else to give. No. nothing.
--
I am penniless. I have no luck with money at all. That's my fate.
But my dick is not willing to accept fate. That stuff down there is the only hard spot in my body. The more seeds I plant, the more likely it is that I can change my fate and fortune. Also, unlike you city folks, we peasants don't have money to go visit the nightclubs. In the evenings, when it's dark and boring, we have nothing else to do except to pin our wives down and go "nightclubbing." If you are not extra careful, accidents will happen. Your wife's stomach will get big again. Who do I blame? My wife badly wanted a son. The more she wanted a son, the more damn daughters she bred.
--
Unfortunately, far too many people want to get rich but far too few really want to escape from the wilderness of poverty.
There can be no purely objective record. Portrait-painters portray not only the sitters but themselves. Hyper-realist portraits are no different from photographs, but their main purpose is to express the painters themselves.
When we started making these runs, there were as many signboards and arrows by the road as there are now, all indicating some work site. Now a lot of those signboards have gone — the building's finished; but new signboards and arrows have appeared. Look there — in a few months this new signboard will be another huge building. That's how fast things are done in Shenzhen! In the special zone everyone can think big, work to make his dream come true. All those arrows aren't just pointing to work sites, they're pointing to an ideal.
July 6, 2022
A true gem. A slice out of a period of transition in China and what it is was like for ordinary citizens at that time.
Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews