The Real Story of Ah-Q

"This story is very famous, and also very short. Lu Xun didn’t write much in his life, and wrote both journalism and essays in newspapers, and literature. He was very outspoken in both. If a writer loses his criticism of society, I think that he is afraid to write about the truth. From reading Lu Xun, we can discover how authors must maintain a critical perspective. One half of what Lu Xun wrote was about society, the other half was literature. These two halves are united in The Real Story of Ah-Q . Through it, we can also understand why he wrote such critical essays about the government. So Lu Xun combined political and literary writing very well – which is precisely what contemporary Chinese writers are most afraid of doing. The Communist Party, after it came to power, prevented that type of writing from being publishing. Now, even those writing such essays on the Internet are all in prison. Lu Xun used Ah Q to express the character of China at the time. It’s very representative even of China today. When Liu Xiaobo was arrested, many Chinese writers said it was his own fault and that he deserved it. That is just like Ah Q. Writers like [popular Beijing-based novelist] Mo Yan may show a little criticism of Chinese society in their novels, but when the literary community in China is hurt, as it was with the arrest of Liu Xiaobo, they don’t write about it. They say Liu Xiaobo isn’t an author, he is only concerned with politics. In China there is a contract not to write about politics. If you ask literary writers about politics, they reply that they don’t discuss politics, they just write literature. That’s certainly my opinion."

"Lu Xun, who was active in the early 20th century, is my favourite Chinese writer. His unparalleled insight into the national psyche remains unmatched. His prose is witty, razor-sharp and unflinching in its critique — yet never loses its essential humanity. The title character, Ah-Q, has become a byword in Chinese culture, a living symbol of self-deception, false bravado and the quiet tragedies of the human condition. When we were growing up, my sister and I even used to call our father “Ah-Q” — he was a pretentious man who liked to pose as grander than he really was. Kong Yiji is another example of a character who pretends to be somebody he is not. That’s the enduring brilliance of Lu Xun: he distilled psychological truth into unforgettable characters. Often called “the surgical knife of the Chinese soul,” Lu Xun’s work is a harsh yet necessary mirror. His 1918 short story Diary of a Madman marked the beginning of modern Chinese literature, being the first to adopt the vernacular language and break away from classical conventions. He was a leading figure of the New Culture Movement and remains deeply embedded in Chinese education — his stories are still studied in school. I remember being especially struck by Gu Xiang (“My Old Home”), which explores memory, change and disillusionment through a deceptively simple visit back to one’s hometown. There is no doubt: Lu Xun would not have survived under Mao’s regime. His fierce independence and moral clarity would have made him a target. But precisely because of that, he remains a towering literary and moral figure, whose voice continues to cut through the noise of nationalism, sentimentality and denial."