The Republic of Wine

streets of Hong Kong, you’ll see that most of them are short and scrawny. In Shandong, where we eat sweet-potato cakes and thick green onions, you’ll have no trouble finding tall people, and even though not every one of our women is a raving beauty, you won’t have any problem finding one. It should be obvious that the nutritional value of those things can’t come close to baked sweet potatoes. Spending that kind of money to eat something that dirty sounds pretty stupid to me. The cruelty of destroying a swallow’s home to get one of the nests moves it beyond stupidity. In recent years, and especially since I’ve been reading your stories, I’ve discovered that the Chinese have indeed racked their brains in the pursuit of new and exotic foods. Needless to say, most of those who have the wherewithal to pamper their palates don’t need to spend their own money to do so, while most people just stuff their bellies with whatever they have at hand. We live in an age of mountains of victuals and oceans of potables, and the petty bureaucrats in your stories are more overweening than Liu Wencai, who dined exclusively on webbed ducks’ feet. This has become commonplace lately. Not many years ago, people still wrote breezy columns or drew political cartoons satirizing this trend, but you don’t even see them anymore.
    But back to the issue at hand. In my view, ‘Swallows’ Nests’ is still too political, and if I were you, I’d empty my belly of every vestige of passion and rewrite it. Gathering swallows’ nests, an ancient and endangered profession replete with mystery and legend, could make a wonderful story. For emphasis, focus on the mystery and the legends.
    My superior has more or less agreed to let me visit Liquorland. But I can’t leave until I’ve finished the draft of my novel. I’ve committed the date of your first Ape Liquor Festival to memory, and will be finished in time to attend.
    I’m returning your manuscript by express special delivery. Please let me know when it arrives.
    Wishing you success with your writing,
    Mo Yan
    II
    Dear Mo Yan
    Your letter and the express special delivery package with my manuscript arrived. You really didn’t have to spend all that money - first-class registered mail would have been fine. A few extra days wouldn’t have made any difference to me, since I am now writing a story I call ‘Liquor Fairy,’ and any changes to ‘Swallows’ Nests’ will have to wait.
    You got so emotional over my ‘Swallows’ Nests,’ even returning to your childhood, when you ate a boiled horse’s hoof, that even if it never finds its way into print, it has already justified its existence - without it, would you ever have written me such a long letter?
    As you wrote in your letter, the nutritional value of swallows’ nests has been greatly exaggerated, and I think the best you can say about it is it’s a bird secretion high in protein. It has no magical properties, for if it did, the few people who eat the things, as many as four or five a day, would surely have found the secret of immortality by now. I’ve eaten it once, just the way I wrote in my story. When you come to Liquorland, I’ll arrange for you to sample some. The actual eating isn’t as important as the experience, of course.
    I’ll try to control my passion better. Given the current state of affairs, no one can stem the raging tide, and when you think about what society has come to, everyone shares the blame. My job has made it easy for me to sample the finest wines and liquors in the world, most of which are nearly as expensive as swallow’s nest. Common folk have probably never seen, let alone tasted, wines like Gevrey-Chambertin and de la Romanée-Conti from France, or Lay and Doktor from Germany, or the Italian Barbaresco or Lacryma Christi. They’re true treasures, every one of them, unquestioned wines of the gods, pure ambrosia. Please come, and make it soon. I may not be able to boast of much, but it won’t be difficult to see that you drink only the best while you’re here. Better that you and I drink the stuff than those corrupt, greedy officials.
    There’s so much I want to tell you, but since you’ll be in Liquorland soon, I’ll save it till we can talk face to face. After we toast each other, we can talk to our hearts’ content.
    I’m enclosing my latest story, ‘Ape Liquor,’ and await your criticisms. I was going to make it longer, but I’ve been so tired the past few days, I