Read the first pages of Xi Xi’s Mourning a Breast (trans. Jennifer Feeley)
Read the preface to Mourning a Breast, a multi-genre, auto-fictional work in which the cult Hong Kong writer Xi Xi (1937–2022) tries to make sense of her experiences with breast cancer – of diagnosis, illness and treatment. First released in China in 1992, it is published in English for the first time with translation by Jennifer Feeley.
Dear reader, when you open this book, are you standing in a bookstore? You’ve come to the bookstore today to have a look around and see if there are any books that pique your interest. You stumble upon Mourning a Breast – hey, what’s this book about? There’s no one around, so you casually pick it up. Out of all the books here, you just happen to flip through the one titled Mourning a Breast. Is it the word ‘breast’ that grabs your attention, though you feign otherwise? At this very moment, when you think of breasts, what comes to mind?
This is a book about breasts. Breasts are the subject matter, though I suppose the content may be rather different from what you’re envisioning. More than two and a half years ago, on a bright summer day, after this narrator had been swimming without a care in the world, she stood in the shower of the pool changing room and found a small lump in her breast, no bigger than a peanut. Soon after, it was confirmed to be breast cancer. This book tells the story of losing a breast. There are no melodramatic or sensationalist characters or plot twists. If this isn’t the book you’re looking for, carry on and good luck. However, I don’t intend to lose you, reader, so come on, why not buy a copy of Mourning a Breast while you’re at it, since on many levels, you and this book are actually quite closely connected? Are you a woman? May I ask how old you are? Please forgive me for being so presumptuous. Regardless of your age, the very fact that you can read these words is enough for you to be at risk for breast cancer. Let me put it this way: You’re just like the narrator of this book, living freely and happily in the world. There’s so much you’ve yet to do. The world is your oyster. Yet you’re completely unaware that there’s a tiny alien taking shape inside of you, scheming to supplant and devour you. That’s the demon known as cancer.
The twentieth century is coming to an end. In this era of cutting-edge science and technology, cancer is growing more and more rampant. The number of people suffering from cancer is steadily increasing, while patients’ ages are dropping to alarming lows. Are you a teenager in school? You say: I’m only sixteen – what do I have to worry about? Well, let me tell you, last year I came to know a breast cancer patient who was only twelve years old. Breast cancer is unpredictable. By the time you discover it, it’s likely that a tumour has already formed, leaving you with no choice but to part with the breasts that we women hold dear, and from then on, there’s no escaping death’s shadow. However, breast cancer is still considered one of the most fortunate forms of cancer, as it exhibits clear signs, can be surgically removed, and is also preventable. Eating well works wonders, and thanks to the miracle of modern medicine, we can keep on living for a considerably long time. Mourning a Breast aims to discuss precisely these matters and was written to help you – not from an expert’s viewpoint but from the perspective of a patient sharing her course of treatment, along with assorted reflections on her illness. A while back, a long-lost friend came across some selections from this book that had been published here and there. She started examining her own body, and lo and behold, she found that she also had breast cancer. Luckily, it was detected early; time is of the essence in treating this type of disease. If after reading this book, you begin taking better care of your health and paying attention to the various signals your body emits, then it won’t have been written in vain.
Of course, I hope you won’t get sick. Though birth, aging, illness and death are inevitable for everyone, I don’t want you ever to have to deal with cancer. Yet as the median age of the population increases, and the earth is desecrated day after day, we must psychologically prepare for the worst. Your elderly grandmother, mother, sister, friend or colleague could get cancer. If such an unfortunate turn of events were to occur, what would you do? Sever ties with them because you’re scared? Or lend a hand in the face of hardship? Mourning a Breast also touches upon these issues. Sick people don’t need your pity, but your concern and assistance can give them emotional comfort and help support their fight against the disease.
From another angle, disclosing the disease is also a form of self-healing for patients. The Chinese have always been a people who are secretive about sickness and hesitant to seek medical treatment, concealing illness, especially of this kind, and considering it a taboo subject. As a result, not only the body but also the soul ends up sick. Psychiatrists treat illness by making patients aware of unconscious mental blocks, then confronting and resolving them. Your narrator openly details her illness but doesn’t dare claim to smash any taboos, though this nevertheless can be considered self-help. The term ‘mourning’ actually suggests that while we can’t undo the past, we can focus on the future and hope for rebirth.
Or maybe, you there in the bookstore, you are a man. You may laugh and say: Breast cancer is something that only happens to women – what does it have to do with me? I’m sorry, but you’re mistaken. Breast cancer is like the sun, shining on women and shining on men as well. Moreover, by the time it’s detected in men, it tends to be more serious. No person is an island; you’re a man, but you may have a mother, sister, and possibly a wife or a lover – if your other half gets breast cancer, what will you do? While your attitude reveals your personal feelings and standards, I suspect that our fear and avoidance of cancer are due mainly to ignorance. Clinging to ignorance is also an incurable disease.
When all is said and done, this is a book written using a range of literary techniques. Some friends regard it as a novel, and others as a collection of essays. Dear reader, you’re welcome to categorise it however you’d like; this time, it’s up to you. It’s just that the life of the modern person is so hectic, and work is demanding. In your free time, take a walk in the country or by the sea, breathe the fresh air, swim, play ball games and look after your body. Perhaps it’s not worth spending too much time reading this book – you’re better off just flipping through a few chapters and choosing the ones that most interest you. If you’re curious about cancer, skimming seven or eight paragraphs of ‘The Doctor Says’ or ‘The Flying Guillotine’ is more than enough. Where appropriate, I’ve inserted prompts throughout the book so as not to waste your precious time. If you’re a self-preoccupied manly man, then scanning the section ‘Beards and Brows’ should suffice. If you’re a doctor, how about giving ‘Daifu Di’ a try? If you don’t like words and prefer looking at pictures, simply turn to the last few pages of the book – at first, there were only images, but I added some text, as I worried that staring solely at images might lead to a new kind of illiteracy. Are you someone who is hunched over a desk all day and enjoys sitting at home reading? ‘The Body’s Language’ was written just for you. We place too much emphasis on knowledge, at the expense of ignoring our bodies. Without a body, how would the soul have a place to rest? Are you about forty? Maybe ‘Maths Time’ is just what the doctor ordered – once you reach adulthood, you need to take responsibility for your own health. Is there a constant dull ache in your stomach? Have you packed on a few pounds? Are you chronically fatigued? Are you overworked? Please cherish your body and pay attention to your diet.
Maybe when you open this book, you’re sitting at home. Are you one of my real-life friends? You’ve turned to this book not because you’re in the mood for a story but because you’re wondering how I’ve been doing these past couple of years. Dear friend, I’m grateful for your concern. I’m actually quite blessed. The past two years of my life have been like a magic-realist novel, a blurring of dream and reality, as though I’m under a spell, my entire being an ethereal fiction, whereas the city, streets and friends within are all real. Yet am I not fortunate compared to someone who’s paralysed in bed, stuck in a vegetative state or afflicted with AIDS? I can still enjoy walking down the street and taking in the scenery, read some books, write a few words, and on good days, I can even take short trips. I don’t need to worry about putting food on the table, nor do I have to go to work. What more could I ask for? In these times, I’ve found I have far more friends than I realised, who treat me better than I ever could have imagined. I’m touched by the outpouring of care and support. Indeed, it’s because of friends that I’m reluctant to leave this world. I’m but a very cowardly person, no braver than anyone else. Thank you, friends, for rebuilding my confidence. I’ll live my life to the fullest.
— Xi Xi, June 1992
