On a chilly night in December 2012, Chinese novelist Mo Yan made an acceptance speech in Stockholm when receiving a Nobel Prize in Literature. It was a big event for him, and may even be a bigger one for the politically smart Prize Committee.
Mo Yan is an excellent storyteller, and so excellent that he can make up any stories out of thin air.
In his acceptance speech, for instance, he recalled some past incidents and recited some quotes from his late mother. But those who claim to have better knowledge of Chinese history and reality said many of his accounts are purely fictional.
So what? Mo Yan is a master of fiction which is why he received the prize.
Back to his Nobel Prize night. In the speech, Mo Yan entertained his audience with a fantastic tale of seven gangsters.
“Bear with me, please, for one last story, one my grandfather told me many years ago,” urged Mo Yan during his Nobel lecture.
The story goes like this (with a twist though): During a wild storm that occurred once in a century, seven gangsters known as the Gang of Seven, took refuge in a rundown temple. But the thunder rumbled violently, sending fireballs to bombard the dilapidated building.
The gangsters were terrified. One suggested, “Somebody among us must have offended Heaven and this guy ought to leave the temple.”
All insisted they were innocent. The leader of the gang thus proposed they should determine who must leave by throwing their hats towards the entrance. The one with the hat flying out of the gate would be kicked out.
Six hats were blown back by the strong wind from outside but one flew out of the door and hit a guy running in the rain.
The hat happened to belong to the leader and, immediately, he leapt into the air and announced that he had discovered who was really guilty. “It’s not anybody among us in the temple but the guy just passing by!”
So the gang of seven issued a joint statement accusing the guy outside of bringing threats to their lives in the building, and in response, they rushed to shut the temple gate.
The guy in the rain quickly ran away.
“I’ll bet you all know how the story ends,” said Mo Yan in Stockholm eight and a half years ago. “As soon as the gang of seven bolted the door from inside, the rundown temple collapsed.”
It seems Mo Yan might not just be a fiction creator but also a prophet.
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Thank you. In my view, Mo Yan is just a typical “old dirty man” that you can find in any human community in the world. His work hardly reflects the external world he lives in but the filthy, cruel and bitter inner world he possesses.
What is so interesting is that Swedish man Göran Malmqvist, a half-baked Chinese literature specialist who could not even write Chinese property but had close economic relations to Mo Yan, would bother to translate Mo’s works and recommended him for Nobel Prize (although a bullshit prize that is driven by political and personal motivations). The two must have a lot in common.
What also fascinates me is that there are a sizable of Chinese women (mainly so-called literature or art lovers) who adore Mo Yan. To me these women are just like those Chinese females who follow Tibetan Lamaism (many are female singers or actresses).
If they don’t know what they actually adore and follow, I would question their intelligence; and if they do know, I would have a serious doubt about their integrity.