THE SEVENTH DAY

In this melancholy view of the afterlife, dying without a burial place leaves a man in limbo, where he revisits his life through memories and the spirits he encounters.

The life story of Yang Fei begins, like Yu's 2009 epic, Brothers, on a toilet, a hole in the floor of a China train. The character’s mother, near term, is kneeling over the aperture when she gives birth through it and faints. The infant is found and raised by a kindly railroad switchman, and their relationship, as the boy matures, finds and loses the love of a woman and returns to see his father through a final illness, is the novel’s sweet center. Other committed couples will appear with various ties to Yang Fei, including two bickering chess players who are skeletons (limbo is flesh-optional) and recall the titular siblings of the previous novel. Yu Hua may be saying something about the persistence of love beyond death. He is certainly commenting, often acerbically, on how life and death are valued in contemporary China, where a young woman dies while trying to get the attention of her boyfriend, who then dies after selling a kidney to buy her a burial plot. Officials manipulate death tolls from a store fire to avoid embarrassment. A couple weary from work fails to heed the warning that their building is being demolished. Unwanted infants and fetuses are dumped in a river. The novel’s hero enters life as an apparent turd. He leaves life, by the way, because he is too engrossed in reading a newspaper account of his ex-wife’s suicide to absorb the panic around him in a restaurant that soon explodes from a kitchen fire.

Compelling moments and black humor go some way toward relieving the lugubrious funk of this episodic work, which might adapt well as a one-man show for John Leguizamo but falls short of being a fully realized novel.