Adult fiction. Surprisingly effective debut novel about the repercussions of a young woman's execution in a smallish town in China during the Cultural Revolution. Tells not only the story of the mother and father of the punished "counterrevolutionary" but also the neighbors, the neglected girl, the lonely child, the town idiot, and many others--each story is engrossing in its own way. ( )

> Un beau jour de printemps, par Yiyun Li. — Le premier roman de Yiyun Li met en scène des âmes opprimées, impuissantes à défier un régime où Lénine est devenu le complice du père Ubu.
La nouvelle recrue des lettres chinoises écrit en anglais et se nomme Yiyun Li. Née en 1972, elle a grandi à Pékin avant de s'installer aux Etats-Unis, où elle a fait des études de médecine. Alors que Belfond vient de publier quelques-unes de ses nouvelles (Un millier d'années de bonnes prières), voici son premier roman, Un beau jour de printemps, qui met en scène des âmes opprimées, impuissantes à défier un régime où Lénine est devenu le complice du père Ubu. Nous sommes dans une petite ville de la Chine profonde, Rivière-Fangeuse, en 1979, au moment où l'on annonce l'exécution de Gu Shan, une ancienne garde rouge passée dans le camp de la dissidence. Toute la population devra assister aux séances de dénonciation de la "contre-révolutionnaire" et c'est un décervelage collectif que décrit Yiyun Li, même si certains de ses personnages - la mère de Gu Shan ou la speakerine de la radio officielle - vont essayer de résister... Un roman à la Kadaré, qui démonte remarquablement les rouages de la machine totalitaire post-maoïste.
—L'Express

This book was rough. I expected the characters to be outcasts, as the title suggests, but they were mostly just terrible people. I'm sure it shared stories that needed to be told, but I personally didn't find the cold writing style effective. ( )

It's 1979, Chairman Mao has been dead for a few years, and a counter-revolution is bubbling up. In the provincial city of Muddy River, the citizens are called to a ceremony to denounce one of their own, a young woman named Gu Shan, prior to her execution, for counter-revolutionary activities. Shan had already been tried once and sentenced to jail time, but her retrial several years later ended with a death sentence. Dragged onstage by two guards, she appears frail and almost catatonic, her throat covered with bloody bandages. We learn that her vocal cords have been cut to prevent her from making a public statement. Later we learn that this is not the only horror she experiences: her kidneys were harvested for transplant into a party leader (the actual reason for her retrial and death sentence), and her body is brutally desecrated after her execution.

Shan's life and death stand at the center of this novel as the author reveals the effect on the people of Muddy River. There are her parents, Teacher Gu and his wife; the Huas, a childless vagrant couple who has taken in abandoned girls, only to have them snatched away by government plans; Nini, a 12-year old born with a deformed face, hand, and leg, the unloved third daughter in a family of six girls; Bashi, a spoiled, socially awkward outcast teenager with a history of pestering little girls; Tong, a young boy who dreams of winning the red scarf and becoming a party hero; Wu Kai, beautiful former actress, now a news reader who is assigned to speak at the denunciation ceremony; and her adoring husband, Wu Han, a rising government official who has gotten a boost from his parents, prominent party members. All of these people are in some way touched by Gu Shan and her tragic ending, their individual stories all in some way overlapping. Her parents, of course, suffer the greatest loss, and their marriage is tested as Teacher Gu tries to get on with life and follow the rules while his wife's grief propels her towards reckless decisions. Others whose crimes may be as slight as having been in the wrong place at the wrong time suffer the same (or worse) consequences as those organizing a protest denouncing Gu Shan's fate.

This is not an easy read. Yijun Li does an incredible job of depicting the constant state of paranoia in which citizens of Communist China lived, never quite sure who to trust or what they could or could not say. It's a cruel reminder of the dehumanization of totalitarian regimes, and a reminder to us all of how lucky we are to live in a democracy and that we must be vigilant to preserve it in the face of radical political ideologies. ( )

An intriguing portrait of life in the aftermath of China's cultural revolution. The general poverty and grimness is interesting enough, but the most fascinating parts deal with how the elite live in constant fear of being suddenly forced out - or worse - in the musical chairs of Chinese politics. ( )