The Good Women of China

Existe en Français : CHINOISES  Xin ran (piquier poche)

What would you do if you started having strangers tell you their life stories by the hundreds, daily? Xinran, a radio journalist in China found herself in that predicament, four months after her first show. To read a hundred letters a day would mean little time for other things, but Xinran was not one to skim these matters by. Instead, inspired by what she read, Xinran started a late night show for women to call in and share their experiences. This, by itself was no mean feat in a society where journalistic autonomy was unheard of and where the airing of domestic problems in public was frowned upon.

But little did Xinran expect the torrent of letters and calls she received. Women from all walks of life, all levels of society, and all over the country, starting revealing to Xinran their most personal worlds. Such revelations shocked Xinran so much so that she decided they must be told. Names were changed, places and identities kept secret, and only the stories remained true. Thus, the book 'The Good Women of China, was born, but this is more than a collection of life accounts. It reveals the extraordinary lives of women whose heart wrenching stories were almost never heard.

This passage taken off "The Good Women of China" relates how Xinran found an unforgettable story locked inside a dubious parcel.

The Girl Who Kept A Fly As A Pet

The impact of my ten-minute women's mailbox slot went far beyond my expectations: the number of listener's letters increased to a point where I was receiving over a hundred a day. Six university students had to help me with my post. The subject matter of the letters was becoming more varied too. The stories I read had taken place all over the country, at many different times during the past seventy or so years, and came from women from very different social, cultural and professional backgrounds. They revealed worlds that had been hidden from view to the majority of the population, including myself. I was deeply moved by the letters. Many of them included personal touches such as press flowers, leaves or bark, and hand crocheted momentos.

One afternoon, I returned to my office to find a parcel and a short note from the gatekeeper on my desk. Apparently, a woman of about forty had delivered the parcel and asked the gatekeeper to pass it on to me; she had not left a name or address. Several colleagues advised me to hand the parcel to the security department for inspection before opening it, but I resisted. I felt that fate could not be second-guessed, and a strong impulse urged me to open the parcel at once. Inside was an old shoebox, with a pretty drawing of a human-looking fly on the lid. The colours had almost completely faded. A sentence had been written next to the fly's mouth: 'Without spring, flowers cannot bloom; without the owner, this cannot be opened'. A small lock had been cleverly fitted to the lid.

I hesitated: ought I to open it? Then I spotted a tiny note which had clearly been pasted on recently: 'Xinran, please open this.'

The box was filled with yellowing, faded pieces of paper. Covered in writing, the pieces of paper were not uniform in size, shape or colour: they were mostly scrap paper of the kind used for hospital records. It looked like a diary. There was also a thick recorded delivery letter. It was addressed to Yan Yulong at Production Team X, Shandong Province, and was from someone called Hongxue, who gave as her address a hospital in Henan Province. The letter was postmarked 24 August 1975. It was also open, and written at the top of it were the words: 'Xinran, I respectfully ask you to read every word. A faithful listener.'

Since I did not have time to look at the scraps of paper before I went on air, I decided to read the letter first:

More of that can be read on 'The Good Women of China' by Xinran, published by Random House.