Pow!

that can sprout many more novels.

    Luo Xiaotong is a boy who endlessly spouts lies, a boy whose utterances tend to be irresponsible, a boy who gains satisfaction through the act of narration. Narration is his ultimate goal in life. In that muddy stream of language, the story is the conveyor of language and a byproduct of it. What about ideology? About that I have nothing to say. I've always taken pride in my lack of ideology, especially when I'm writing.

    At first there is an element of truth in the story Luo Xiaotong is telling, but that gives way to an improvisation that swings between reality and illusion. Once the narration begins, it establishes its inertia, propelling itself forward, and, in the process, the narrator slowly evolves into a tool of narration. It is not so much him narrating a story as it is a story narrating him.

    The affected tone of the narrator's prattling makes it possible for the ‘unreal’ to become ‘real’. Finding the means to exhibit that ‘affected tone’ is the key to unlocking the sacred door of fiction. To be sure, this is only something I've recently come to realize, and I'm willing to state that candidly even if it is thought of as shallow or biased. Actually, I cannot claim it as my discovery. Many writers have thought the same but have stated it in their own way.

    During the course of writing this novel, Luo Xiaotong was me. He no longer is.

    Mo Yan