"He who can not draw on three thousand years is living hand to mouth"- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Saturday 29 January 2011

Soul Mountain By Gao Xingjian Translated by Mabel Lee


Denis Molčanov told me that translating Soul Mountain was ‘A headfuck.  It’s not something to read on holiday’.  Everything about this book is difficult to pin down: plot, story, characters, language, the whole works.  If it belongs to a genre than prehaps intellectual traveling remeniscent of W. G. Sebald would be the most appropriate.  It is the story of one man’s journey, actions and occurances- among meditations and explorations- trying to find the mysterous place of Lingshan (Soul Mountain).  However it is not the story of one man, it is the story of you and of I and of she.  It is the story of an unnamed individual broken down into parts on the wilderness of the mountain away from human society. The individual frequently debates wheater it is better to be alone and free or to be consricted and with other people. ‘I have long tired of the stuggles of the human world.’ The indivdual will say but ‘…I am still seduced by the human world, I still haven’t lived enough’ and this dicotomy makes up the core of the book.

Soul Mountain reads like a highly polished notebook with a variety of styles, tones and subjects.  Although it uses chapter numbers these are completely arbitary, you could cut it up and read it at random.

As much as it is about the indivdual it is also about the importance of literature and a discussion of what literature is.  Gao believes that literature should be ‘without –isms’, without a prejudged attitude in favour of any particular polictics or vision or message.  In this respect he achieves his own belife because the book is both personal and aestechtic without simplifying life in any patronising way. 

Not an easy read as there will be parts any reader will not like.  The catalogue of recounted tales of sexual violence early on may sour the rest of the experience as it pushes distaste with each story.  However for one horrible chapter there is another beautiful one, such as the lyrisim of being in the woods at night or joy of talking to a stranger after traveling.

Some may find it inventive and compelling and others, and probably both, will find it aimless and undeveloped.  Whatever people may think of it as a whole there will certainly be one favorite chapter for everyone.

The last chapter happens to be my favorite and in talking to Denis I found out this secrect: The last chapter was written first. 

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