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Xi Xi (author), Jennifer Feeley (translator), Mourning a Breast, New York Review Books, 2024. 320 pgs.
What should those of us with cancer do for the world? I think the first thing we should do is to live life to the fullest.
—from "The Swing", 68.
Living with cancer is like living with a demon that, if detected and successfully treated, gets eradicated for the time being, but might appear again in another form later. Those of us who are cancer survivors live with that latter possibility; but do we become diminished by a constant fear of recurrence or do we, as suggested by Xi Xi, embody the aspiration to live life to the fullest?
Xi Xi was the pen name of the Hong Kong author and poet εΌ΅ε½₯ (pinyin: ZhΔng YΓ n; Cantonese: Cheung Yin). Born in Shanghai in 1937, she emigrated to Hong Kong with her parents in 1950. She was a prolific poet, essayist, playwright and author of novels and short stories. She was active in the writing and publishing scene in Hong Kong, which included co-founding Su Yeh Publications, which published the work of other Hong Kong writers. In 2019, Xi Xi was the recipient of the Newman Prize for Chinese Literature. Xi Xi died in December 2022 at the age of 85.
Mourning a Breast was originally published in Chinese in 1992. Xi Xi wanted to document her feelings and experiences dealing with the breast cancer she was diagnosed with in 1989. Jennifer Feeley, the English translator of Mourning a Breast, has also translated two previous books by Xi Xi: Not Written Words and Carnival of Animals (both poetry). In this translation of Mourning a Breast, soon to be released this autumn, the preface (written in June 1992) prepares us for the generous and gracious spirit that infuses the hybrid memoir. There are thirty chapters in this collection, both brief to lengthy; ranging from anecdotal to didactic, with many of them comprising a mix of both. Xi Xi encourages readers to skip certain chapters or to selectively read others, depending on their interests. Many chapters reveal Xi Xi's consciousness, literary associations and metaphors as she struggles with breast cancer. Some chapters focus on factual information about breast cancer, radiation therapy, the role of toxins and nutrition. I am inferring that Xi Xi had a two-fold motivation in publishing Mourning a Breast: to counter the cultural taboo of talking about illness; and to empower cancer survivors and others, in reducing the risk of cancer. As an intellectual and feminist, Xi Xi believed in the importance of disclosure as an antidote to shame and secrecy, and as a necessary component of healing.
I did not have the pleasure of meeting Xi Xi in person; yet through Mourning a Breast, I feel as if I am being given a chance to develop an intimate connection with her. She was an erudite and lively spirit who not only interrogated and investigated art and literature of various eras and cultures, but who was also incredibly curious and interested in people. Whom did she pass by on her various strolls around Hong Kong? What kinds of bodies surrounded her at venues such as the public swimming pool and the hospital? What were they thinking or feeling?
Mourning a Breast is unflinching and unsentimental, yet filled with many tender moments. There are friends such as Ah Kin, a cancer survivor, who serves as an important source of support. Ah Kin shows her support by providing all kinds of practical advice, down to what to eat and what to avoid. These moments of support happen over the phone, and Xi Xi does not meet Ah Kin in person until sometime later. Xi Xi mentions the many doctors, nurses and medical personnel who help her. The textures of Xi Xi's experiences are infused with a whimsical honesty and down-to-earth sensibility. For example, in the chapter "The Bathroom", she writes:
Lying back on the exam table, I felt the doctor tear open the large bandage on my chest, and remove the stitches with scissors, the sound crystal-clear, a clean and neat snip, snip.
How many stitches? I asked.
Twenty-five, he replied.
Twenty-five stitches—that's a long centipede. (48)
In the midst of her anxiety and suffering, Xi Xi turns to books and films; for example, choosing which books to bring with her to hospital for the biopsy.
There are no easy or simple answers when dealing with cancer. Xi Xi expounds on the variety of monsters that have been described in classical Chinese literature, ranging from Songs of Chu, to Classic of Mountains and Seas, Records of the Grand Historian, to A Garden of Anomalies. "I'd lost a breast—I too was a monster formed by lack of organs." ("The Bathroom", 54). The body and its scars become a metaphor as well as a meditation on literature and film.
In "The Swing", Xi Xi talks about her practice of tai chi. In attending regular early morning classes conducted in a sports field near the seaside promenade, she notices a children's playground where there are swings. Sitting on a swing, she first recalls pleasant memories of carefree moments during childhood; but her mind turns to the Akira Kurosawa film Ikiru where the protagonist diagnosed with terminal stomach cancer sits on a swing and sings about the need to enjoy life's gifts, "for there is no tomorrow" (65).
The chapter "Butcher Ding" refers to a tale credited to the Chinese philosopher Zhuangzi, where Butcher Ding is so skilled that he doesn't "see" the cow visually anymore but does his butchering from his intuitive skill that has accrued from years of experience. Xi Xi takes to learning and practicing tai chi sword forms, appreciating the practice as a form of physical therapy. She also expands the metaphor of wielding the sword to using language as a weapon, as exemplified by the poet Du Fu. Xi Xi interweaves such philosophical reflections with anecdotes such as noticing buildings near the back of the park. The tall buildings are likely gas silos next to low-rise buildings from which a noticeable stench was noticed. Xi Xi deduces that the latter must be slaughterhouses. The observation of these adjacent structures leads Xi Xi to reflect on their relationship: "The gas drums and slaughterhouse were tall and short neighbours, seemingly unrelated, but they subtly echoed one another" (77). They remind Xi Xi of Nazi Germany's gas chambers. Various forms of slaughter, including that of animals for human consumption, could be more easily ignored by virtue of them being concealed within unremarkable looking buildings: "Slaughtering thousands of animals in broad daylight was a quiet business" (78). It is an arresting reminder that slaughter—of animals and humans—are still occurring on a massive scale in our contemporary world.
Xi Xi confesses that, as a younger person, she had not known that cancer was not contagious. Her experience of having breast cancer leads her to realise that some people shun cancer survivors as if we have become monsters or monstrous because of the blight on our bodies. What was the extent of the public's knowledge back in the 1980s? Were cancer patients treated as lepers in the Middle Ages?
While candid about her suffering, Xi Xi also regards physical challenges as opportunities to reflect on larger issues. As she astutely points out in "The Third Kind of Eye", most people are only interested in outer appearances. The exceptions would be medical personnel who investigate what is within bodies. Machines that scan bodies are compared to a third eye, or another form of seeing. "Dream Factory" takes us through the gritty realities of radiation therapy. She becomes interested in supernatural horror films and science fiction films, such as Nosferatu, films about Dracula and Frankenstein, and Alien in which the heroine fights off alien creatures. Xi Xi observes that the various characters in certain movies represent "a collective unconscious aspiration in ordinary people toward a dream-like transcendence of this finite life" (126).
If cancer is an attack or assault on the body, then different kinds of allopathic medical treatment as well as traditional Chinese medicine (TCM) might be regarded as counterattack responses (in the chapter "Counterattack"). The next chapter "Magic Bullet" discusses radiation therapy and its impact on cells in the body. The next two chapters "Gallantly Delivering Through Thick and Thin" and "Hunan Lotus Seeds" continue the description of radiation treatment with a more anecdotal focus on medical personnel and other cancer patients she encounters.
Xi Xi's tone changes to being more didactic in chapters that address diet and nutrition and her search for healthy foods; for example, in "Math Time", "Thrice Striking the White Bone Demon", "Treasure Hunt", and "Marvelous Tales of Fruits and Vegetables."
In "Eastern Depot", Xi Xi compares cancer to the Ming dynasty secret police known as the Eastern Depot—a metaphor for the kind of invisible ongoing psychological and physical torment cancer patients endure through both treatment, recovery and the uncertainty of whether cancer might appear again. Living with an immunocompromised system translates into an ever-present awareness of one's vulnerability to pathogens and viruses in public spaces.
Recovery after radiation treatment for Xi Xi involves a quiet, reflective life interspersed with follow-up medical appointments to check on her health. She comments on her mother's frail condition as an eighty-year-old, losing consciousness temporarily and falling: "When a person grows old, they are subjected to cruel treatment reminiscent of the Eastern Depot" (208).
"Daifu Di" refers to her paternal aunt's residence. Xi Xi's description of the layout of rooms at the residence evolves into a description of Chinese medicine practised over the years and how it has become relatively ignored with increasing reliance on Western allopathic medical approaches since the twentieth century. It is said that TCM approaches are unscientific, and hence lack efficacy. But it is fascinating to learn that smallpox inoculations were practised in China as early as the Ming dynasty, one of many signs of the early wisdom of traditional Chinese medicine. Xi Xi expresses a growing appreciation for what TCM approaches might offer her and others as a support for cancer recovery.
The last chapter in Mourning a Breast, "Looking Good" is a mini anthropological and literary tour of depictions of the female body across various cultures and times (e.g., the Pyramids of Giza; a sculpture depicting the goddess Artemis). What do breasts signify? A standard of beauty, according to the male gaze? Is womanhood only valued because of our ability to nurture others? Or is power possible for females who live outside of conventional expectations—smart, strong, resembling angels who are beyond gendered definitions?
Zhuangzi's original story of Butcher Ding is embedded within a chapter called "The Secret of Caring for Life" (Burton Watson, trans., Zhuangzi, Basic Writings, 2003). Xi Xi passionately reminds us in Mourning a Breast to apply skills, intuition and wisdom acquired through experience, to care for life and to live life to the fullest.
How to cite: Kwa, Lydia. "Living Life to the Fullest: Xi Xi's Mourning a Breast." Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, 27 May 2024, chajournal.blog/2024/05/27/mourning.
Lydia Kwa has published two books of poetry (The Colours of Heroines, 1992; sinuous, 2013) and five novels (This Place Called Absence, 2000; The Walking Boy, 2005 and 2019; Pulse, 2010 and 2014; Oracle Bone, 2017; A Dream Wants Waking, 2023). A third book of poetry from time to new will be published by Gordon Hill Press in Fall 2024. [All contributions by Lydia Kwa.]
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