Candy [ペーパーバック]

It appears that one of the publishing world's latest minor crazes is to indulge the whining, self-absorbed, oh-so-shocking musings of China's disaffected youth culture. Wei Hui's SHANGHAI BABY, Chun Sue's BEIJING DOLL, and Mian Mian's CANDY are the undeserving recipients of far too much attention (and far to much of the precious few translation resources devoted to serious Chinese literature) for books whose only raison d'etre is their ostensible shock value from having originated in mainland China. The formula is simple: write explicitly about sex and drugs, use a few four-letter words, get banned by Beijing, and get published in the West as underground novels.

Regretably, CANDY wastes the talents of a potentially good writer on material that's been said and done a hundred times before. Mian Mian demonstrates flashes of stylistic brilliance and acute observational powers, but the dreary repetitiveness and pointless trite meanderings of her story overwhelm the merits of her work. Her structural devices of changing narrative perspective from first to third person not only fail to enrich her novel, they actually amplify its shortcomings. Her main character, Hong, is just as boring and childish whether we listen to her voice or hear another character talking about her.

In place of an exposition of life in modern urban China, Mian Mian gives us a story of a music and drug culture centered on distinctively unlikable protagonists. Her Shanghai world is populated by artist wannabes, semi-educated, superficial, and over-pampered childen who would rather sleep and drink and go clubbing than deal with the real world. It's China starring Paris Hilton and Jessica Simpson - gag me! Even worse, her story tells us next to nothing about Shenzhen or Shanghai (what other reason would anyone have for reading this book?). Change the characters' names to Cindy and Bill, and CANDY would feel like it was set in London or Los Angeles, or even Louisville for that matter.

Aside from its author being from China (although she no longer lives there), this book offers nothing new, nothing that hasn't been said before about the turgid, angst-ridden lives of disaffected post-adolescents who haven't yet realized they are post anything. Mian Mian's characters - walking cliches spouting tired references to Jim Morrison and Kurt Cobain - demonstrate that present-day Chinese culture, the world capitol of intellectual theft and brand piracy, cannot even experience rebellion and disillusion with originality. CANDY is the novelistic equivalent of a pair of counterfeit Nikes.

At times, the book lapses into literary spells that are unintentionally self-parodying:

"Die in the prime of youth, and leave a beautiful corpse: what an intensely beautiful dream that was."
"The only meaning in my life was that my life was meaningless."
"Sometimes, merely getting into the bathtub would make him start to cry....He wondered, If the shower had eyes, would it be sad?"
"Never forget who you are (even if you end up having a lot of money someday)."
"The world was changing, and I felt as though I no longer had any heroes....I'd long ago stopped wondering about the difference between blue skies and suffering."

Ouch, ouch, ouch!! Speaking of suffering, save yourself the experience and skip CANDY. Listen to some Nirvana with an Alannis Morisette chaser, watch "Trainspotting" or "Sid and Nancy" or "Beavis and Butthead" and you'll get the same message a lot quicker. If you really want to read about life in China, try Chen Ran (A PRIVATE LIFE), Ma Jian (RED DUST), Geling Yan (THE LOST DAUGHTER OF HAPPINESS), Lan Samantha Chang (INHERITANCE), or any of Mo Yan, Yu Hua, Hong Ying, Gao Xingjian, or Ha Jin.

2 Stars for artistic potential and the hope that next time, Mian Mian looks further than her own navel for something to write about.

That bizarre time between realizing your childhood slipped out the back door and adulthood just sucker punched you. Mian takes the reader through this transitional period and sometimes left me wondering if she would live to tell the ending. Im still wondering how one takes such realities as love, death, music, suicide, depression, rehab, mental institutions, addiction, AIDS, prostitution, and forgiveness and makes you feel as if you have experienced them all first hand at that very moment. Painfully honest, euphoric, and absolutely breathtaking. This isnt just a "look at modern Chinese culture", Mian allows a front row seat to her soul.

This book was a sensation in China, because it depicts for the first time the youth drug scene in that country.

The main character of the book left her family at a very young age and lives a kind of hippy life in different cities in China. She jumps from lover to music to drugs in an unending circle, looking for some happiness.

This novel is a kind of diary but, unfortunately, it has no plot. As a matter of fact, the author added a number of scenes to the book after the first edition. It should be easy to add another hundred pages.
Into the bargain, it is a magnified example of what an author should not do: dozens of pages of expressions of her emotions. But that is not the aim of art (writing). A writer should arouse the interest and the emotions of the reader, not express his own. After a few chapters this novel becomes boring. One litany of lamentations is enough.
One can feel sorry for her, but one does the same when one sees real junkies in the street.

By the way, this subject had already been better covered in the West (W.S. Burroughs).

Two stars for the courage to write about this subject in China.