Within the room, beyond desire

Author: Zhu Zhu
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2004-08-01
Features: It’s not just a good read, but a song of innocence and experience in desire. The story unfolds along the themes of "expectation" or "waiting," with the female protagonist Nan, who could also be any young woman living in the city, waiting for both love and sex to descend upon her. However, this expectation is ultimately severed—sex and love do not come together, and people pass each other by. In an era where love becomes more abstract, desire or sexuality approaches people, becoming a more straightforward issue: pure pleasure? A troubling problem? Profound shame? Perhaps all of the above. But as we engage in physical love, we witness the absence of spiritual care, which has become the root of illness for countless people. There are many ways to read a book, just as there are many ways to look back on a period of time. From a convenient perspective, it’s a book about youth, and it’s quite popular—it’s about the harsh youth. From a perspective of indulgence, it’s about emotions and sex, and what’s particularly appealing is that it doesn’t focus on fortunate emotions or similarly unlucky sex, especially the latter.
Room is a virtual yet overly human character, which is a bit disheartening. Fortunately, many things happen outside of Room. Desire is a real yet overly dehumanized thing, which is quite exciting. Yes, desire hatches various dark and cruel desires within it, and their words grow secretly and crazily, almost replacing the dull, flat characters and becoming the book’s protagonists. What I wrote about is a woman who, at the beginning of the story, was fortunate enough to have someone to pour her emotions into without restraint until they left. In her brief life experience, she hadn’t yet learned how to let the remaining emotions evaporate, so she let herself be soaked in the flesh and the sweat of men. She could allow a stranger to use her in a "one-night stand" way—without love, there is no harm; without desire, there is no disappointment. But what else is there beyond desire? In my novel, the girl falls in love at first sight with a rock guitarist. He calls her foolish. He has no money, no household registration, no diploma. He asks, "Why do you like me?" But she is moved by his music. Behind them is the gray sky of the Huangpu River. He says he will leave because of love. She doesn’t understand, but she still nods. They stay together for a year, and the boy really leaves in a winter full of holidays. He says, "I will cross paths with love." After loving someone, you’re left with a mark that never fades. This is the love I’ve experienced.
I wrote two long novels—is this an attempt at desensitization therapy? I thought I finally could live a good life alone. Last March, listening to Xu Wei’s "Often Strolling," listening to "The Years of Youth, We Couldn’t Help Ourselves," tears streamed down my face. It was a singer we both loved. A flower, even if it falls on muddy ground, is still beautiful.