HEART SUTRA

Subversive satire of the collision of Chinese state bureaucracy, academia, and religion.

Yan turns from the village settings of many of his earlier novels to a campus in the heart of Beijing. In the heavens above the National Politics University, his allusive yarn opens with a pointed exchange between deities: Buddha asks Jesus whether he’d like help coming down from the cross, the Dao asks whether he’d like to go higher, and Jesus responds, “I am at this location that is neither high nor low, and when people see me, they see the suffering people must endure.” That life involves suffering is a point on which all can agree, and so, too, do the proponents of China’s five major (read "approved," or perhaps better, "tolerated") religions, engaged in a perpetual round of tug of war. The only real winner there, Yan notes, is the political machine behind the religious training center, just as the house always wins at gambling. They should be battling along with their peers, but Gu Mingzheng, a young Daoist, and Yahui, an 18-year-old Buddhist nun, are smitten with each other. Alas, star- and doctrine-crossed, things don’t go easily for the two, especially when a shadowy god—perhaps Old Scratch himself—called Nameless starts tinkering with mortal affairs, driving one principal character to suicide and Yahui to the point of madness, about which she says, “My shifu always said that religion is the domain of the mentally ill, and whoever is perceived as being mentally ill on account of their religious belief is a true disciple.” It’s no hallucination when the assembled gods come calling with an offer to transcend earthly travails, but instead Yahui settles down with Gu in a nondescript Beijing neighborhood. Notes Yan in an afterword, “I hoped to write a small self-aware novel about how, when holiness and secularity meet, they have no choice but to kiss.” And so they do.

Picaresque, but with serious matters of faith, love, and political wrangling at its fast-beating heart.