Another novel completed under Te Papa Tupu Program, the six-month intensive writing program sponsored by The Māori Literature Trust, Te Waka Toi and Te Puni Kōkiri (with help from Huia Publishers), Zhu Mao (2011) has a red cover and an even redder content.
Though I had had it on the shelf a bit earlier than Bugs, its bloody China kind of red cover discouraged me from picking it up. Even the fact that red has always been my color cannot help.
There is a reason behind the red cover. The author Mark Sweet traveled to China in the 1980s and found the setting of the story at Wudangshan, the birthplace of Chinese martial art Tai Chi. Though he enjoyed his trip and inspiration, why he left New Zealand in the first place was not as enjoyable. As 'Zhu Mao by Mark Sweet' (10 October 2011) quoted from the author himself, he was fleeing from the country's outright rugby racism. A hot blood; no wonder the cover.
Unexpectedly this red story touched me.
Ever since the first page, I felt like to finish the journey Zhu Mao (or Scott Warren the kiwi) is taking to return his wife's ashes to her native country China, and a similar journey he took twenty years ago when he met his wife May as well as the person he truly adored but lost to a death penalty - he witnessed the execution-, Sam, the (ex-) husband of May.
The author alternates between these two journeys separated by almost two decades, but I rarely have problems knowing when, where and who to follow.
Twenty years ago, Zhu Mao visited China to learn Tai Chi. He was a serious student. The author did such a good job explaining every movement of Tai Chi that anyone aspiring to become a martial art master would be so inspired by his description and start from his words. It's like learning Yoga or Pilates at home from a DVD or a TV show. That's how vivid his descriptions are.
But there is much more to just Tai Chi. There are the movements of chi in and out; the kernel of virtue in learning how to fight; the environs where Tai Chi was learned; and mostly the people Zhu Mao met along the way, who as a whole evokes a complex China. It shows how Zhu Mao learned to see beyond concrete buildings the intricate inner architecture of a human heart.
I am amazed by the number of things I can learn about China from Mark Sweet's novel, and am even more surprised at finding this process of learning about a country (and a subject) that I always dread isn't dull or repellent at all. Instead, I want to go to Wudanshang myself; I want to experience the life on Heavenly Pillar Peak, not so much for learning Tai Chi, but for locating the serenity of the heart. I would follow a yoga master to such an extent. I know I would.
Though the Maori element is not so obvious, Zhu Mao is still a good read. At least, it gets me more and more interested in the stories finished under Maori program. It indicates the quality of Maori literate writing is increasing with a proper dose of official encouragement. I would pray for the same blessing for Taiwan's indigenous writers, so more can share their good stories.
The author alternates between these two journeys separated by almost two decades, but I rarely have problems knowing when, where and who to follow.
Twenty years ago, Zhu Mao visited China to learn Tai Chi. He was a serious student. The author did such a good job explaining every movement of Tai Chi that anyone aspiring to become a martial art master would be so inspired by his description and start from his words. It's like learning Yoga or Pilates at home from a DVD or a TV show. That's how vivid his descriptions are.
But there is much more to just Tai Chi. There are the movements of chi in and out; the kernel of virtue in learning how to fight; the environs where Tai Chi was learned; and mostly the people Zhu Mao met along the way, who as a whole evokes a complex China. It shows how Zhu Mao learned to see beyond concrete buildings the intricate inner architecture of a human heart.
I am amazed by the number of things I can learn about China from Mark Sweet's novel, and am even more surprised at finding this process of learning about a country (and a subject) that I always dread isn't dull or repellent at all. Instead, I want to go to Wudanshang myself; I want to experience the life on Heavenly Pillar Peak, not so much for learning Tai Chi, but for locating the serenity of the heart. I would follow a yoga master to such an extent. I know I would.
Though the Maori element is not so obvious, Zhu Mao is still a good read. At least, it gets me more and more interested in the stories finished under Maori program. It indicates the quality of Maori literate writing is increasing with a proper dose of official encouragement. I would pray for the same blessing for Taiwan's indigenous writers, so more can share their good stories.
No comments:
Post a Comment