By Qiu Miaojin, Ari Larissa Heinrich
An NYRB Classics Original
When the pioneering Taiwanese novelist Qiu Miaojin devoted suicide in 1995 at age twenty-six, she left at the back of her unpublished masterpiece, Last phrases from Montmartre. Unfolding via a chain of letters written through an unnamed narrator, Last Words tells the tale of a passionate dating among younger women--their sexual awakening, their sluggish breakup, and the devastating aftermath in their damaged love. In a mode that veers among extremes, from self-deprecation to pathos, compulsive repetition to rhapsodic musings, reticence to vulnerability, Qiu's genre-bending novel is at as soon as a mental mystery, a chic romance, and the author's personal suicide note.
The letters (which, Qiu tells us, should be learn in any order) bounce among Paris, Taipei, and Tokyo. They show wrenching insights into what it skill to reside among cultures, languages, and genders--until the genderless personality Zoë appears to be like, and the narrator's religious and actual identification is remodeled. As powerfully uncooked and transcendent as Mishima's Confessions of a Mask, Goethe's The Sorrows of younger Werther, and Theresa Cha's Dictée, to call yet a few, final phrases from Montmartre proves Qiu Miaojin to be one of many most interesting experimentalists and modernist Chinese-language writers of our generation.
Translated through Ari Larissa Heinrich.
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Additional resources for Last Words from Montmartre (New York Review Books Classics)
Sample text
The firm of Jenkins and Coldbourne were experts in gaining access to premises, photographing and replacing documents. They had done a number of these jobs for Lord Westfield with exemplary efficiency. "No, I want you to go and take the courses. " "They'll smell me out on the E-meter, if you'll pardon the expression, Sir; they have this lie-detector, Sir. You can't beat it, Sir. my wife took a personal efficiency course at the London Center and that's how I got into it. " "That reads, what do you think this could mean.
But the stronger hippies were strengthened and their eyes blazed while the embattled police and landed gentry flung themselves forward. " And now the two hosts are approaching each other. Then a sound like falling mountains... "The Tip! The Tip! " A wall of gray mud, twenty feet tall, is sweeping into the valley. Next shot shows a lunar landscape of fluid slag. Against the icy blackness of space, the ghost face of Ali smiles.
I must up-stat myself," he told himself, firmly. "I'll make a report to Ethics". He swayed and steadied himself on a tree. Silver spots boiled in front of his eyes. He turned a corner, and there, just ahead, a knot of people. Accident, fight perhaps, here was a chance to prove himself. Perhaps he could save a little girl from dying of burns with a brilliant touch-assist. '" And while the Wogs think that over he is past them and right up to the front where he sees some hippies fighting with local youths and landed gentry.
