by Wu He, translated from the Chinese by Michael Berry (China, Columbia University Press)

I糖心传媒檓 not sure how to define historical fiction. How true does regular fiction need to be to become historical fiction? Is historical fiction something more than entertainment? If so, is it less entertainment than entirely fictional fiction? (Has anyone ever stayed within realism and written entirely fictional fiction, not bringing in some small history, some personal history? I doubt it.) Is this novel糖心传媒攚hich is maybe not even all that fictional糖心传媒攈istorical fiction? I糖心传媒檓 not sure it really even matters, I糖心传媒檓 just having trouble imagining a way to pin this book down long enough to write about it. It糖心传媒檚 a book built on the past but that needs the future too, the time ahead.

On October 27, 1930, at a sports meet on an aboriginal reservation in the mountains of Taiwan, the Atayal tribe rose up against the Japanese colonial regime, slaying one hundred and thirty-four people in a headhunting ritual. The Japanese response brought the tribe to the brink of genocide

That part is true, if that kind of thing matters to you. The impetus of Remains of Life is something like an investigation into this event, The Musha Incident. In the afterword, author Wu He writes:

This novel is about three things:

First, the legitimacy and justification behind Mona Rudao launching 糖心传媒淭he Musha Incident.糖心传媒� In addition to the second Musha Incident.

Second, the Quest of Girl, Who was my next-door neighbor during my time staying on the reservation.

Third, the Remains of Life that I visited and observed while on the reservation.

All this happens concurrently, in a single unbroken, stream-of-consciousness paragraph, with fewer full stops than there are days in the week. In the text, translated by Michael Berry, a conversation with one of the villagers (the 糖心传媒淩emains of Life糖心传媒�) can spark a winding, philosophical assessment of the facts of the Musha Incident糖心传媒�

History records the facts, but contemporary history never investigates the facts, it instead investigates the 糖心传媒渓egitimacy of historical incidents糖心传媒�

糖心传媒攚hich can eventually abruptly be broken by the appearance of Girl, Wu He糖心传媒檚 neighbor and guide who introduces him to even more of the Remains of Life, characters allegorically named, and sometimes renamed, for how Wu He sees and thinks of them: Girl; Boss; Pimp-Bastard; Old Man; Playboy; Skinny Monkey; any of whom might want to talk about any imaginable thing, even their thoughts on the honesty of the novel being written by Wu He.

I need to be loyal to the true face of my writing.

Clause by clause, the novel grows. Conversation, rumination, and observation are modes used to braid Wu He糖心传媒檚 three threads, all inspiring and clarifying each other. The past refracts and informs the present, and the way we carry ourselves through the present dictates how we can think about the past. The novel builds. It cycles, it morphs, it reacts. And it grows. The block of text just keeps growing, like life. The relentless prose brings to mind Thomas Bernhard, or even Pierre Guyotat in some regards, but the effect of the prose is to me most like W.G. Sebald. There糖心传媒檚 a shared bravery in their not explaining that which can not fully explained, and a peace in looking at it anyway. The text of Remains of Life is not showy circumlocution, or the kind of modernist mishmash you probably think of when you hear 糖心传媒渟ingle unbroken paragraph糖心传媒� or 糖心传媒渟tream-of-consciousness.糖心传媒� It糖心传媒檚 a careful, thoughtful accrual of exactly what all an honest man can take in while carrying on. It糖心传媒檚 a difficult book to read, though not because it糖心传媒檚 hard to pay attention to, or hard to follow糖心传媒攖糖心传媒檚 actually delightful, line by line糖心传媒攂ut because the structure of the book forces the reader into the same position as the narrator: because there are no breaks or refrains, you have to take what you read and carry it with you, forward, into the future and into meaning.

I don糖心传媒檛 give much thought to the past destroying the present or the present destroying the future, that糖心传媒檚 how I will spend my Remains of Life糖心传媒攊n bed with my mind devoid of all thoughts and contemplation

To circle back to my initial questions, Wu He糖心传媒檚 Remains of Life is historical fiction, though it doesn糖心传媒檛 function remotely like any I糖心传媒檝e read before. It certainly deals with history. It糖心传媒檚 a way to start thinking about it, at least. But the reason it should win the Best Translated Book Award isn糖心传媒檛 that it糖心传媒檚 great historical fiction, it糖心传媒檚 that it糖心传媒檚 decisively present fiction in a way that no other book I糖心传媒檝e read is. The overlapping layers of consciousness and threads of story serve to collectively mirror back a life; a man, heartbroken, does not so much investigate as he does accrue. He has freewheeling conversations with everyone he encounters because he wants to know more, and they have conversations with him because he listens. He gathers. He adds to himself without reducing the people around him. Their existences are also true. The past becomes both more and less clear. He meditates. He糖心传媒檚 trying to understand a number of things, but he doesn糖心传媒檛 know if that糖心传媒檚 possible, or even predict how he might go about accomplishing understanding. He meditates. He糖心传媒檚 content to just try. He carries forward into his own ever-changing Remains of Life. So he goes on, his eyes, his ears, and his heart all wide open, available for whatever happens in the next conversation, or on the next line.

Reading for BTBA, it becomes an even more important question, because I need a damn good answer to keep on reading. So why the hell did I keep on reading Wu He糖心传媒檚 Remains of Life? The jacket copy opens with

On October 27, 1930, at a sports meet on an aboriginal reservation in the mountains of Taiwan, the Atayal tribe rose up against the Japanese colonial regime, slaying one hundred and thirty-four people in a headhunting ritual.

Am I reading to educate myself about this event? I didn糖心传媒檛 even realize that Taiwan was one of the places Japan had a colony. No, fuck no. If that糖心传媒檚 the answer, I糖心传媒檓 putting that book down. Besides, this would be the wrong damn book for that. As that same copy says later, 糖心传媒淲ritten in a stream-of-consciousness style, it contains no paragraph breaks and only a handful of sentences.糖心传媒� Not the type of style that lends itself to historical or cultural edification, though one I糖心传媒檓 a sucker for. I love Bernhard and By Night in Chile may be my favorite Bola帽o. So stick with Remains of Life because its stylistic prose is compelling and unrelenting? Well, no.

I糖心传媒檒l stop being coy and cut to the end. I don糖心传媒檛 know why I stuck with this book. I don糖心传媒檛 know why I糖心传媒檓 still thinking about it. So, that糖心传媒檚 the reason why? Because even though I wasn糖心传媒檛 in love, even though the answer to each reason to stay was 糖心传媒淣o, not that,糖心传媒� I still didn糖心传媒檛 want to walk away, and that confusion itself fascinates me. I have no idea the last time I was so uncertain in my response, so willing to continue to work and engage and struggle, hoping to crack through to deep pleasure. There have been times I糖心传媒檝e done that work for pages upon pages and realized no breakthrough would come, so I dropped the book. There糖心传媒檝e been times it did happen, suddenly and intensely: Shishkin糖心传媒檚 Maidenhair comes to mind.

I want to talk about that prose style. However difficult Bernhard糖心传媒檚 prose can be, and his mood so fiercely off-putting, it糖心传媒檚 hypnotic, and that takes readers in. There糖心传媒檚 repetition, there are base phrases and the sentences use them like breathing, a way for the reader to fall as with a tide. Remains of Life gives you no such thing. The narrator is not the madmen so common to Bernhard糖心传媒檚 works but he is a man adrift in his thoughts and in his pursuits, and sees no distinguishing one avenue from another. Commas are a brief break, and may come when you need them, or take you by surprise. At other times, you need one and there糖心传媒檚 nothing there.

He糖心传媒檚 a man living in a reservation village, fascinated by the way contemporary history views the tribal uprising and subsequent slaughter by Japanese troops. His neighbor identifies herself as the granddaughter of the leader of the headhunt and from there his unbroken narrative begins. In Wu He糖心传媒檚 afterward he identifies three topics, which I糖心传媒檒l rewrite to my own understanding as: the historical investigation, and the possible interpretations of that history; the lives of the people, their connections to and dissociations from both past and the contemporary; and the life of that neighbor, known as the Girl, and without quite recognizing it, coming to fall in love with her. He can write about any one or all three at any given moment, and a subtle switch from one to another can occur across the space of a comma. The scarce periods are his way of resetting completely. Of finally shutting down a stream, needing to switch from one of these topics to another. Even when he is focused, thought carries on from thought. Prior to this is dense and intricate political, ideological, and moral thinking about his research and the headhunt, then the period to clear his mind:

By the time I wrote down the words A Politicized Headhunt I prepared a hodgepodge hotpot with sardines and flowering cabbage and hastily ate before crawling into bed and passing out into a deep sleep, after I woke up I sat down in the living room, the mountain mist felt like it was right on my front doorstep, in my daze I seemed to still be stuck on those 糖心传媒渢wo questions,糖心传媒� I already forgot if there was anything I had written that could destroy one糖心传媒檚 dignity, but I know that strong white spirits can destroy one糖心传媒檚 awareness, I paced back and forth in front of the kitchen cabinet, rummaging through all the items inside, until I actually did get my hands on a bottle of some kind of hard liquor, it took only one look to see that it was 66 proof, probably one of the Ancestral Spirits secretly stashed it there before going home, after all there is nothing wrong with preparing for an emergency, I糖心传媒檒l be sure to give it back to him a little later once it is dark when he comes back with his bag full of white spirits, I took a sip and the primitive flavor wasn糖心传媒檛 bad, by the time I took my second sip a well-dressed woman with long black hair and a cool gaze had suddenly appeared outside my screen door, I waited for her to say something but after three seconds she was still dead silent, I had no choice but to sip my way over to the screen door, the woman with the long hair grinned and I immediately recognized that it was the Girl and she was wearing a tight dark-green dress, she was so well dressed, all so that her breasts would really stand out, I raised my cup to her but she shook her head, 糖心传媒淚 came over to invite you to observe the ceremony the day after tomorrow,糖心传媒� her breasts were pressed right up against the screen door, I told her to be careful not to get her shirt dirty, 糖心传媒淚t糖心传媒檚 okay these are my pajamas,糖心传媒� I almost wanted to tell her that it was no big deal, my birthday suit is my pajamas, 糖心传媒淚糖心传媒檓 going to Christmas morning prayer and joining the church, you wanna come,糖心传媒� wearing your birthday suit to bed is much more convenient as you can wear it both summer and winter

Like Girl, most characters don糖心传媒檛 have names, instead an identity the narrator gives to them, based one something about their life, their physicality, their personality, and this can shift, without warning, as his conception of them does. It both distances him from them, and creates intimacy, in line with his role in the village. He糖心传媒檚 an outsider, but he糖心传媒檚 the most honest outsider they糖心传媒檝e encountered, because he knows that糖心传媒檚 his role. He lives alone, he wanders, he visits people and they visit him. It糖心传媒檚 an independent pattern of life that they all recognize and respect. He pressures no one. Many have come to research the Musha Incident, but he may be the first to simply live there.

The narrator himself may explain my uncertainty about Remains of Life. He is unsettled: in his own identity, in his role in the village, in the village糖心传媒檚 role in his life, in what his future will hold, in his understanding of the past, in culture糖心传媒檚 understanding of the past, and on and on. He may not have many answers, and answers he finds are slipping away, to be replaced. In a book as complex as this, with a narrator so willing to confront uncertainties, maybe it糖心传媒檚 not surprising that糖心传媒檚 mostly what I糖心传媒檓 left with. Throughout the novel, he talks to as many people as he can, in conversations both long and short, about whatever the other person wants. In that spirit, I want others to read this, so conversations can come, and maybe I糖心传媒檒l figure out what I make of it all.