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In case you missed it, last week Can Xue was This is so well-deserved—Can Xue is a treasure—and proof positive that the New Yorker has good literary taste. (Especially on the Page Turner blog.)

The only other thing I want to say is that the author of this piece, Evan James, discovered Can Xue when a reading copy of Frontier arrived at Three Lives, where he works as a bookseller. Intrigued by the cover, he picked it up and fell into Can Xue’s mesmerizing, layered, world. Then he pitched this piece, read everything, talked to everyone, and wrote a great article about a giant of world literature. Booksellers are the best.

That’s all I have to say, so here’s a longish quote:

Can Xue takes pride in her total commitment to what some have described as ���Ĵ�ý�difficult���Ĵ�ý� literature. ���Ĵ�ý�Everyone knows the experiment in fiction I have been conducting for over thirty years has been an experiment without an escape route,���Ĵ�ý� she recently wrote, in ���Ĵ�ý�A Short Piece on Experimental Fiction.���Ĵ�ý� I was reminded of this characteristic statement while reading Frontier, in which one senses the rigorous forward motion of Can Xue���Ĵ�ý�s technique forming her vision as the narrative develops. One of the most intriguing relationships in the book is between Liujin and a dark-skinned man from Africa who goes by the name of Ying and who works at the Design Institute. From one of their early encounters���Ĵ�ý�a walk around the landscape by the Institute, during which they talk about subjects including snakes, Liujin���Ĵ�ý�s mother, and ���Ĵ�ý�a rag-picker who���Ĵ�ý�s been circling around this office building for more than ten years���Ĵ�ý����Ĵ�ý�I sensed an affection in their often gnomic exchanges, a mutual fascination and tenderness. Ying���Ĵ�ý�s connection to Africa ignites Liujin���Ĵ�ý�s imagination; she is filled with ���Ĵ�ý�complicated feelings.���Ĵ�ý� But Can Xue is soon dancing on to other characters, and when Liujin next encounters Ying, a few years have apparently passed. He looks ���Ĵ�ý�older and a little humpbacked,���Ĵ�ý� and the two talk as reunited friends. The scene, like many others in Frontier, unfolds in a strange and intimate way: Ying���Ĵ�ý�s voice is ���Ĵ�ý�as soft and pleasant as before,���Ĵ�ý� but his conversation feels abstracted. (���Ĵ�ý�Ever since the old director died, work has turned into a hobby for everyone. This institute of ours hasn���Ĵ�ý�t had a leader for a long time: it���Ĵ�ý�s more a concept that���Ĵ�ý�s leading us,���Ĵ�ý� he says.) Ying appears again, briefly, near the end of the book, but none of the relationship���Ĵ�ý�s ambiguity is resolved. By that point in the novel, any conventional resolution would have felt like a betrayal anyway. The open-endedness of Frontier, its sprawling tapestry of intricately interconnected phenomena, becomes its own pleasure, which also feels like a surrender.

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