Product Description

It was 1994 when Xinran, a journalist and the internationally acclaimed author of The Good Women of China, received a telephone call asking her to travel four hours to meet a woman who had just crossed the border from Tibet into China.

Xinran made the trip and met the woman, called Shu Wen, who recounted the story of her thirty-year odyssey in the vast landscape of Tibet. In Sky Burial, Xinran has re-created Shu Wen’s journey, painting an extraordinary portrait of a woman and a land, each at the mercy of fate and politics. It is an unforgettable, ultimately uplifting tale of love, loss, loyalty, and survival.

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #215116 in Books
• Published on: 2006-08-08
• Released on: 2006-08-08
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Binding: Paperback
• 224 pages

Features

• ISBN13: 9781400095643
• Condition: NEW
• Notes: Brand New from Publisher. No Remainder Mark.
• Click here to view our Condition Guide and Shipping Prices

Review
“Remarkable. . . . Heartwrenching from beginning to end.” –The New York Times Book Review

“Shu Wen’s remarkable story is simply told. . . . Her actions speak volumes.” –San Francisco Chronicle

“This story of one extraordinary woman written by another extraordinary woman will stay with you long after closing the book.” –The Sunday Times (London)

“Lyrical. . . . Illuminates a largely inaccessible country’s hardy people, its communal, religious spirit, and its continuing political struggles with its Communist neighbor.” –Entertainment Weekly

“An unexpected joy. . . . This remarkable novel is an extraordinary tale that is fast-paced and packs quite the emotional punch.” –Tucson Citizen

“Xinran tells the story with spare elegance, doing particular justice to the awesome emptiness and silence of Tibet…. The text paints Tibet as outside time and politics, an elemental backdrop for musing on love everlasting and noble suffering.”
–The Globe and Mail

Praise for Xinran’s The Good Women of China:
“Remarkably evocative, bursting with details that make each account haunting. These stories have all the force of good fiction.”
—The Washington Post

“The Good Women of China is delicate, beautiful, low-key and devastating.”
—Toronto Star

About the Author
Xinran is the author of The Good Women of China, a seminal work about the lives of Chinese women. She was born in Beijing in 1958, and by the late 1980s had become a successful Chinese journalist. In 1997 she moved to London, where she currently writes a regular column in The Guardian.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
1

Shu Wen

Her inscrutable eyes looked past me at the world outside the window -- the crowded street, the noisy traffic, the regimented lines of modern tower blocks. What could she see there that held such interest? I tried to draw her attention back.

"How long were you in Tibet?"

"More than thirty years," she said softly.

"Thirty years! But why did you go there? For what?"

"For love," she answered simply, again looking far beyond me at the empty sky outside.

"For love?"

"My husband was a doctor in the People's Liberation Army. His unit was sent to Tibet. Two months later, I received notification that he had been lost in action. We had been married for less than a hundred days.

"I refused to accept that he was dead," she continued. "No one at the military headquarters could tell me anything about how he had died. The only thing I could think of was to go to Tibet myself and find him."

I stared at her in disbelief. I could not imagine how a young woman at that time could have dreamed of traveling to a place as distant and as terrifying as Tibet. I myself had been on a short journalistic assignment to the eastern edge of Tibet in 1984. I had been overwhelmed by the altitude, the empty awe-inspiring landscape, and the harsh living conditions.

"I was a young woman in love," she said. "I did not think about what I might be facing. I just wanted to find my husband."

I had heard many love stories from callers to my radio program, but never one like this. My listeners were used to a society where it was traditional to suppress emotions and hide one's thoughts. I had not imagined that the young people of my mother's generation could love each other so passionately. People did not talk much about that time, still less about the bloody conflict between the Tibetans and the Chinese. I yearned to know this woman's story, which came from a time when China was recovering from the previous decade's devastating civil war between the Nationalists and Communists, and Mao was rebuilding the motherland.

"How did you meet your husband?"

"In Nanjing," she replied, her eyes softening slightly. "I was born there. Kejun and I met at medical school."

That morning, Shu Wen told me about her youth. She spoke like a woman who was unused to conversation, pausing often and gazing into the distance. But even after all this time, her words burned with love for her husband.

"I was seventeen when the Communists took control of the whole country in 1949. I remember being swept up in the wave of optimism that was flooding China. My father worked as a clerk in a Western company. He hadn't been to school, but he had taught himself. He believed strongly that my sister and I should receive an education. We were very lucky. Most of the population at this time were illiterate peasants. I went to a missionary school and then to Jingling Girls College to study medicine. The school had been started by an American woman in 1915. At that time there were only five Chinese students. When I was there, there were more than one hundred. After two years, I was able to go to the university to study medicine. I chose to specialize in dermatology.

"Kejun and I met when he was twenty-five and I was twenty-two. When I first saw him, he was acting as a laboratory assistant to the teacher in a dissection class. I had never seen a human being cut up before. I hid like a frightened animal behind my classmates, too nervous even to look at the white corpse soaked in formalin. Kejun kept catching my eye and smiling. He seemed to understand and sympathize with me. Later that day, he came looking for me. He loaned me a book of colored anatomy diagrams. He told me that I would conquer my fear if I studied them first. He was right. After reading the book several times over, I found the next dissection class much easier. From then on, Kejun patiently answered all my questions. Soon he became more than a big brother or a teacher to me. I began to love him with all my heart."

Shu Wen's eyes were so still -- locked on something I couldn't see.

"Everybody admired Kejun," she continued. "He had lost all his relatives during the Sino-Japanese War, and the government had paid for him to go to medical school. Because he was determined to repay this debt, he worked hard and was an outstanding student. But he was also kind and gentle to everyone around him, particularly to me. I was so happy . . . Then Kejun's professor came back from a visit to the battlefields of the Korean War and told Kejun of how the brave soldiers who were hurt and crippled in those terrible battles had to do without doctors and medicine, how nine out of ten of them died. The professor said he would have stayed there to help if he hadn't thought it his responsibility to pass on his medical knowledge to a new generation, so that more hospitals could have trained surgical staff. In war, medicine was the only lifeline: whatever the rights and wrongs of combat, saving the dying and helping the wounded were heroic acts.

"Kejun was deeply impressed by what his mentor had told him. He talked to me about it. The army was in desperate need of surgeons to help its wounded. He felt he ought to join up. Although I was frightened for him, I didn't want to hold him back. We were all suffering hardship at that time, but we knew it was for the greater good of the country. Everything was changing in China. Many people were packing their bags and heading for poor rural areas to carry out land reform, or going to the barren, uninhabited borderlands to turn the wilderness into fields. They went to the northeast and northwest to look for oil, or deep into the mountains and forests to fell trees and build railways. We regarded separation from our loved ones as a chance to demonstrate our loyalty to the motherland."

Shu Wen didn't tell me where Kejun's first army posting was. Perhaps she didn't know. What she did say was that he was away for two years.

I asked her whether she and Kejun wrote to each other. Shu Wen gave me one of her hard looks that made me ashamed of my ignorance.

"What kind of postal system do you imagine there was?" she asked. "War had created enormous upheaval. All over China, women were longing for news of husbands, brothers, and sons. I was not the only one. I had to suffer in silence.

"I heard nothing from Kejun for two years. Separation was not romantic, as I had imagined -- it was agony. The time crawled past. I thought I was going to go mad. But then Kejun returned, decorated with medals. His unit had sent him back to Nanjing to take an advanced course in Tibetan language and medicine.

"Over the next two years our love grew stronger. We talked about everything, encouraging and advising each other. Life in China seemed to be getting better day by day. Everybody had a job. They worked not for capitalist bosses but for the government and the motherland. There were free schools and hospitals. We were told that, through Chairman Mao's policies, China's economy would catch up with those of Britain and America in only twenty years. We also had the freedom to choose whom we would marry, rather than obeying the choices of our parents. I told Kejun about how our friend Mei had, to everyone's surprise, married Li, an unsophisticated country boy, and how Minhua, who seemed so meek, had eloped with Dalu, the head of the student council. Their parents had come to the university to complain. But I didn't tell him how, while he was away, I had had other admirers, and people had advised me not to pin my hopes on a man who risked death on the battlefield."

"When Kejun finished his studies, we decided to get married. He was awaiting orders from the military headquarters in Nanjing. I was working as a dermatologist at a big Nanjing hospital. In the eyes of our friends, many of whom had children, we had already waited late enough to marry. Kejun was twenty-nine, I was twenty-six. So we applied to the Party for permission. Although my father found it difficult to get used to the idea of free choice in marriage, he was very fond of Kejun and knew I had made a good decision. In any case, if I delayed marriage any longer, he would lose face. My older sister had already got married and had moved to Suzhou, taking my parents with her.

"Our wedding was celebrated in true 'revolutionary style.' A high-ranking political cadre was the witness and friends and colleagues wearing little red paper flowers were our escorts. For the refreshments we had three packets of Hengda cigarettes and some fruit candies. Afterward we moved into the hospital's married quarters. All we owned were two single wooden plank beds, two single quilts, a rosewood chest, a red paper cutout of two 'happiness' characters, and our marriage certificate decorated with a portrait of Chairman Mao. But we were ecstatically happy. Then, only three weeks later, Kejun's call-up papers arrived. His unit was to be posted to Tibet."

"We hardly had time to absorb the news before he left. The army arranged for me to be transferred to a hospital in Suzhou so that I could be close to my parents and sister. We hadn't requested a transfer but the Party organization said that it was only right that army dependents should have their families to look after them. I threw myself into my work so that I didn't think about how much I was missing Kejun. At night, when everyone else was asleep, I would take out Kejun's photograph and look at his smiling face. I thought all the time about what he had said just before he left: that he'd be back soon because he was anxious to be a good son to my parents and a good father to our children. I longed for him to return. But instead I received a summons to the Suzhou military headquarters to be told that he was dead."

We sat in silence together for some time. I did not want ...

Customer Reviews

An amazing tale of friendship, vast lands and sorrow
Now here is an epic story of love, friendship, courage and sacrifice. Set in Chinese-occupied Tibet and based on a true story, Xinran's extraordinary second book takes the reader right to the hidden heart of one of the world's most mysterious and inaccessible countries. In March 1958, Shu Wen, a young woman and doctor learns that her beloved husband, an idealistic army doctor, has died while serving in Tibet not even a hundred days after their marriage. Unwilling to accept this as fact, she sets out to find out what happened to him by joining his regiment in Tibet. For over twenty years she walked, searching for her husband on a life-changing journey through the Tibetan countryside that leads her to a deep appreciation of Tibet in all its beauty and brutality. Sadly, when she finally discovers the truth about her husband, she must carry her knowledge back to a China that, in her absence, has experienced the Cultural Revolution and changed beyond her ken. Xinran has done an amazing job in depicting the vast Tibetan landscape to us. Surely you too will cry as I did when nearing the end of this amazing must read!

Learn about Tibetan life
My book club selected this book, and I was dreading the "love story" purported in the title. But this is actually a pretty neat story about Tibetan life, and since it's supposedly based on a true story, I'm assuming it's pretty accurate. I knew nothing about nomadic Tibetan culture and their environment (except what I've seen in movies), and I enjoyed being introduced to it in novel form. I also enjoyed reading the Tibetan take on the Dalai Lama conflict between China/Tibet. The book is simply written and plot slow at times, and since it is a translation, I suspect some things might have been lost. I didn't have too much of a problem with the writing, but I didn't care for all the coincidences that occur toward the end. I'm assuming this is where the book is very LOOSELY based on reality. Overall, I do recommend it.

In this book the Chinese invaders are not the bad guys
I've always been interested in reading books about Tibet. And so I gladly embraced this 2004 novel by Chinese journalist Xinran. A mere 224 pages, it is a fast read and a romantic adventure. Supposedly based on a true interview the author had with an old Chinese woman who spent 30 years in Tibet, this is the story of Shu Wen, a newlywed in 1958, whose young doctor husband was reported dead in Tibet. The details of his death were not clear and Shu Wen wanted to find out the truth. And so she signed up for the Chinese Communist Army, one of the few females in the group who traveled to Tibet under spartan military conditions with the hope of finding out what happened to her husband.

It took her 30 years to find out the truth. But that was only after she spent most of those years living with a family of Yak herders and befriending a former wealthy Tibetan woman who taught her to survive in the harsh landscape. I loved the part of the book which introduced the family and the Tibetan lifestyle. It also gave humanity to the Chinese invaders who saw themselves as bringing a better life to the people who seemed backward to them and much too steeped in religion. This made interesting reading. The author's language is simple and its clarity had the perfect tone to describe Tibet through this Communist Chinese woman's eyes.

In this book, the Chinese are not the bad guys. And the theme made their conquest of Tibet inevitable. Less effective was the plot because it's hard to believe. There are just too many coincidences. And it's much too romantic. But then again, this is a novel.

Sky Burial's point of view was rather refreshing because it didn't demonize the Chinese. And for that reason think it will best be enjoyed for those who can view it in context.