Everyone has at least one historical period they’re especially intrigued by, and any book from that era (or about it) gets snagged up and read. For me, one of those times is 20th century China. Years ago I read a biography that sparked my interest, and a friend with the same fascination fed the fire with many suggestions. Since then, I’ve been hooked.
The stories that come out of there are always remarkable, and “Mao’s Last Dancer” (Penguin Publishing Group; 2005, 481 pages) was no exception. From peasant to professional ballet dancer, Li Cunxin shares his fascinating life story, and I can’t recommend it enough.
Cunxin grew up in the small rural village of Qingdao. His childhood was one of total impoverishment, grueling work, and constant hunger; and that, sadly, is a very common story for those who lived in Maoist China. Like many other memoirists from this time, he also shares the experience of being brainwashed by the incessant government propaganda. So much of his education was marked by this — in part because of coercion, but also because Mao had essentially become a deity, and the cult that surrounded him was fervent. The first words Li Cunxin learned to write in school were praises of Mao; most classes consisted of recitations of Mao’s phrases .Even when he attends the dance academy, political involvement is in almost equal demand to dance.
Because of the poverty and lack of freedom under Communist rule, opportunity didn’t really exist for the Li family. Options were extremely limited, and financial status dictated everything, even marriage. The government made most life “choices” for you: employment, residence, and child amount. But an unheard of chance at a future for Cunxin came when recruiters of Madame Mao’s dance academy traveled through Qingdao. Thanks to the providential nudging of a teacher at school, Cunxin was selected, giving him the opportunity for ambition in a way no one of his status could dream of. And so, at the young age of 11, he left home for the first time in his life to attend a school in a distant city where he’d learn to dance ballet.
As if the poverty of Cunxin’s life couldn’t be more felt, his culture shock at Beijing drives it home. There, at the academy, the cafeteria provided enough food for Cunxin to be full. But not just the amount, the kind of food: fruit, eggs, and even meat! Those were rarities back home. Cunxin recalls times his family was blessed with food like that, but there was never enough for everyone, so family members pretended they weren’t hungry to avoid anyone feeling guilty or not enjoying it. Here was one of many times I cried in Cunxin’s story. Just a young boy, now able to eat his fill and actually have nourishment, and all he can imagine is how wonderful it would be to share it with his family.
His struggles with homesickness brought many tears to my eyes as well. He’d curl up with his niang’s (mother’s) quilt, smell the familiarity of home, and cry himself to sleep for many months. He would run and climb up the willow trees to tell them all of his sorrows and heartbreaks, feeling more at home in nature than in his academy room. All I could think about during these chapters was my nephew of the same age having to leave home and be independent in a completely new and foreign environment. I was continually amazed at the mature perspectives and priorities Cunxin had and all the sacrifices he made not only for his personal goals, but also for what he believed was just and right.
Besides the novelty of decent food, there wasn’t anything cushy about his time in the academy. His classes were backbreaking and demanding. Yet, Cunxin pushed through injuries, both emotional and physical, with an incredibly admirable determination and drive. His responses to hardship were unique and strong; always persevering and staying true to himself. There are many moments, so normal for them but unheard of to my American ears, that make the book difficult and sad to read, but Cunxin’s zeal for life and love of family make it even harder to put down.
The writing style is simple and direct, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. There’s something about the straightforward language that makes the story’s beauty shine through all the more. The depth of Cunxin’s love for his family, friends, teachers, and dance spoke for themselves, and his passion was evident in every choice and action he made.
My friend’s mom puts it best. She says she reads this book whenever she needs a reminder that her problems aren’t that bad. I walked away from this book with that same perspective change. Truly, my problems aren’t anywhere near to what some people suffer. Yet, books like this reveal something more: I can strive for the same endurance and hope that kept Cunxin persevering throughout his life.
This was a book I was sad to see end. The characters are endearing, and you quickly become attached to their lives, wanting to know more of what happens to everyone. Fortunately, I just found out that his sequel memoir was published this month.
(Anna Barren is a book lover and teacher. annab4376@gmail.com.)