I don't understand the taste.

Author: Wang Yuewen
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2005-06-01
Features: The book is divided into five parts. Wang Yuewen shares his personal growth, literary beliefs, and life experiences in official circles in the book. Wang reveals that the book is presented in the form of interviews, essentially him speaking for himself. The interviewer "Yidu" in the book is purely fictional, and this setup was intended to make the text less stiff and add a sense of confrontation. Many people became familiar with the Hunan-native writer Wang Yuewen through reading his official circle novels. He relentlessly criticizes the dark side of officialdom, and his sharp writing style leaves a deep impression on readers. However, this time, Wang is about to engage in "self-criticism." In the book, Wang will for the first time reveal many real-life experiences behind his official circle novels, as well as his growth process and literary beliefs. As for the title "I Don’t Understand Taste," Wang explains with a smile, "In Hunan dialect, 'not understanding taste' means being tactless or out of touch with the times. I chose the title 'I Don’t Understand Taste' because many people see my books and myself as often appearing tactless or out of touch with the times, because I am too straightforward and cannot win the favor of certain people."
The son of the village party secretary became the head of the unit, and I became the deputy head. One night, the head suddenly appointed his own brother as the deputy head. I raised my hand to object. The head spoke to me seriously. The organization has given you a glorious task—go behind enemy lines to conduct underground work. I said nothing and took out the pistol tucked in my waist, solemnly placing it in the head’s hands. The head handed the pistol to his brother and then warmly patted my shoulder. The head’s hand was so strong, so warm. In the darkness, I crouched down, creeping along the village’s earthen walls and bamboo fences. Whenever I encountered passersby or dogs, I would quickly hide. I couldn’t let the enemy discover me. At the other end of the village, the battle was raging fiercely.
"I am Wang Cheng, I am Wang Cheng, for the New China, open fire on me!" I so wanted to join the battle! But I couldn’t return to my comrades’ side. I had to do underground work. Suddenly, as if a lightbulb went off, I realized I had been abandoned by the head and my comrades. They didn’t want me anymore. I quickly snapped out of the game. The place I was trapped in was no longer the rear of the enemy but the village lanes filled with the stench of pig manure. I didn’t want to play with them anymore; I wanted to go home and sleep! But what a pity that pistol—it was carved out one stroke at a time while I knelt at the door. But I didn’t dare ask them back for my pistol. The game was still going on. If I went back, I would be branded a traitor and arrested. They would use the game as an excuse, turn the play into reality, and beat me up. Only after dawn, under the bright daylight, could I go back to them with a clear conscience.