In this stunning, introspective novel of loneliness and detachment, two women--Moran, and Ruyu, and one man, Boyang-- are illuminated in the months before and the decades after a tragedy. As teenagers, they banded together in their communal Beijing neighborhood. Shaoai, an outspoken dissident of the Chinese government, was poisoned, apparently an accident, in the shadow of the Tiananmen Square protests. She takes twenty years to die, although the massive deterioration begins early. Soon after this harrowing event, the three friends, in a tacit pact, drift away from one other, circumscribing their adult lives with self-imposed emotional quarantines.
The novel opens in Beijing, and seamlessly alternates in time and place between China and America. As the story examines the lives of Boyang, Moran, and Ruyu, as teens when the tragedy occurred and now as middle-aged adults, their shared parallels of solitude are probed, and the mystery of Shaoai's poisoning is gradually revealed. They haven't spoken to each other in twenty years, and all three are divorced, childless, and detached from passion and fulfillment.
Ruyu, an orphan from the provinces, is sent by her grandaunts at age 15 to live with Shaoai’s parents in Beijing. They want her to get a better education. Shaoai and her friends treat Ruyu with a haughty truculence. Ruyu, however, is an inward girl, lacking social graces, a cipher to others. She is aloof, inscrutable, and privately prays to God. She doesn’t seek others out, much to their frustration.
Boyang and Moran, longtime friends, reach out to Ruyu, who accepts their friendship with a general indifference. She is unused to the community spirit of her new home, where many families convene together in the shared quadrangle. Boyang is the son of wealthy college professors, who he visits on weekends; they left him to be raised by his grandmother while they pursued their ambitions. Moran is the equalizer; she is eager to nurture. For her, life was a series of ideal moments, filled with “a larger dose of joy.” Unfortunately, Shaoia’s poisoning leaves them all contaminated with psychic toxins. As adults, they sought out lives to subvert their memories, at the same time reeling from them.
"Those seeking sanctuary in misremembering did not separate what had happened from what could have happened."
Boyang stayed in Beijing, while Moran and Ruyu left for separate parts of America. All are locked away in prisons they have built for themselves. Boyang, divorced, is a wealthy businessman, getting by in a series of superficial relationships with younger women. Ruyu keeps herself sequestered in a restrained life as an underachiever. Moran, working for a pharmaceutical company in Massachusetts, still keeps in touch with her ex-husband, but divorced him in order to maintain an emotional void. And yet,
“She was afraid of meeting another person like her, but more than that she was afraid of never meeting another person like her, who, however briefly, would look into her eyes so that she knew she was not alone in her loneliness.”
Li’s measured narrative combines finely calibrated characters and elegant, elegiac prose. The tone evoked a grey chill, but not entirely bleak. There was a haze of something brighter around the edges of the story—a wish for redemption and forgiveness. There was sympathy for their guarded enclosures, like a sweet spot buried under their memories and their isolation.
“To know the world, for a child, is to ask questions, but the situation leading to those questions, once answered, are forgotten; having garnered enough knowledge, one enters adulthood only to be confronted by more questions, which, no longer answerable, form the context of one’s being.”