{"product_id":"the-crazed-isbn-9780375714115","title":"The Crazed","description":"A \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e Notable Book\u003cbr\u003eA \u003ci\u003eWashington Post, Los Angeles times, and San Jose Mercury News\u003c\/i\u003e Best Book of the Year\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHa Jin’s seismically powerful new novel is at once an unblinking look into the bell jar of communist Chinese society and a portrait of the eternal compromises and deceptions of the human state. When the venerable professor Yang, a teacher of literature at a provincial university, has a stroke, his student Jian Wan is assigned to care for him. Since the dutiful Jian plans to marry his mentor’s beautiful, icy daughter, the job requires delicacy. Just how much delicacy becomes clear when Yang begins to rave.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAre these just the outpourings of a broken mind, or is Yang speaking the truth—about his family, his colleagues, and his life’s work? And will bearing witness to the truth end up breaking poor Jian’s heart? Combining warmth and intimacy with an unsparing social vision, \u003cb\u003eThe Crazed\u003c\/b\u003e is Ha Jin’s most enthralling book to date.“Ha Jin takes the lead of ordinary life and turns it into gold. . . . Haunting . . . wrenching. . . . A work that deserves to be immortal.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Washington Post\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“Ha Jin’s empathy for his characters is matched by his unwillingness to give them a break. Reading him is almost like falling in love: you experience anxiety, profound self-consciousness, and an uncomfortable sensitivity to the world—and somehow it’s a pleasure. . . . Like the best realist writers, Ha Jin sneaks emotional power into the plainest declarative sentences.” —\u003ci\u003eThe New Yorker\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“A work of enormous intelligence. Piercing, critical, but leavened by Jin’s understated prose, \u003cb\u003eThe Crazed\u003c\/b\u003e is a substantial addition to the corpus of a great author.” —\u003ci\u003eSan Francisco Chronicle\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“A work of literature, in the highest tradition of Anton Chekhov or Yasunari Kawabata, suffused with an aching purity.” —\u003ci\u003eHouston Chronicle\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003eHa Jin\u003cb\u003e \u003c\/b\u003eleft his native China in 1985 to attend Brandeis University. He is the author of the internationally bestselling novel \u003cb\u003eWaiting\u003c\/b\u003e, which won the PEN\/Faulkner Award and the National Book Award, and \u003cb\u003eWar Trash\u003c\/b\u003e, which won the PEN\/Faulkner Award for Fiction, and was a Finalist for the Pulitzer Prize and the Kiriyama Pacific Rim Book Prize; the story collections \u003cb\u003eThe Bridegroom\u003c\/b\u003e, which won the Asian American Literary Award, \u003cb\u003eUnder the Red Flag\u003c\/b\u003e, which won the Flannery O’Connor Award for Short Fiction, and \u003cb\u003eOcean of Words\u003c\/b\u003e, which won the PEN\/Hemingway Award; the novels \u003cb\u003eThe Crazed\u003c\/b\u003e and \u003cb\u003eIn the Pond\u003c\/b\u003e; and three books of poetry. His latest novel,\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eA Free Life\u003c\/b\u003e is his first novel set in the United States. He lives in the Boston area and is a professor of English at Boston University.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eWar Trash\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003cb\u003eThe Crazed\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003cb\u003eThe Bridegroom\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003cb\u003eWaiting\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003cb\u003eIn the Pond\u003c\/b\u003e, and \u003cb\u003eOcean of Words\u003c\/b\u003e are available in paperback from Vintage Books.1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Everybody was surprised when Professor Yang suffered a stroke in the spring of 1989. He had always been in good\u003cbr\u003e health, and his colleagues used to envy his energy and productiveness--he had published more than any of them and had\u003cbr\u003e been a mainstay of the Literature Department, directing its M.A. program, editing a biannual journal, and teaching a full\u003cbr\u003e load. Now even the undergraduates were talking about his collapse, and some of them would have gone to the hospital if\u003cbr\u003e Secretary Peng had not announced that Mr. Yang, under intensive care, was in no condition to see visitors.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e His stroke unsettled me, because I was engaged to his daughter, Meimei, and under his guidance I had been studying for\u003cbr\u003e the Ph.D. entrance exams for the classical literature program at Beijing University. I hoped to enroll there so that I could\u003cbr\u003e join my fianceé in the capital, where we planned to build our nest. Mr. Yang's hospitalization disrupted my work, and for\u003cbr\u003e a whole week I hadn't sat down to my books, having to go see him every day. I was anxious--without thorough\u003cbr\u003e preparation I couldn't possibly do well in the exams.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Just now, Ying Peng, the Party secretary of our department, had called me to her office. On her desk an electric fan was\u003cbr\u003e whirring back and forth to blow out the odor of dichlorvos sprayed in the room to kill fleas. Her gray bangs were\u003cbr\u003e fluttering as she described to me my job, which was to attend my teacher in the afternoons from now on. Besides me, my\u003cbr\u003e fellow graduate student Banping Fang would look after Mr. Yang too; he was to take care of the mornings.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Well, Jian Wan,\" Ying Peng said to me with a tight smile, \"you're the only family Professor Yang has here. It's time for\u003cbr\u003e you to help him. The hospital can't provide him with nursing care during the day, so we have to send some people there.\"\u003cbr\u003e She lifted her tall teacup and took a gulp. Like a man, she drank black tea and smoked cheap cigarettes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Do you think he'll stay in the hospital for long?\" I asked her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I've no idea.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"How long should I look after him?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Till we find somebody to replace you.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e By \"somebody\" she meant a person the department might hire as a nurse's aide. Although annoyed by the way she\u003cbr\u003e assigned me the job, I said nothing. To some extent I was glad for the assignment, without which I would in any case go\u003cbr\u003e to the hospital every day.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e After lunch, when my two roommates, Mantao and Huran, were napping, I went to the bicycle shed located between two\u003cbr\u003e long dormitory houses. Unlike the female students, who had recently all moved into the new dorm building inside the\u003cbr\u003e university, most of the male students still lived in the one-story houses near the front entrance to the campus. I pulled out\u003cbr\u003e my Phoenix bicycle and set off for Central Hospital.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The hospital was in downtown Shanning, and it took me more than twenty minutes to get there. Though it wasn't\u003cbr\u003e summer yet, the air was sweltering, filled with the smell of burning fat and stewed radish. On the balconies of the\u003cbr\u003e apartment buildings along the street, lines of laundry were flapping languidly--sheets, blouses, pajamas, towels, tank tops,\u003cbr\u003e sweat suits. As I passed by a construction site, a loudspeaker mounted on a telephone pole was broadcasting a soccer\u003cbr\u003e game; the commentator sounded sleepy despite the intermittent surges of shouts from the fans. All the workers at the site\u003cbr\u003e were resting inside the building caged by bamboo scaffolding. The skeletonlike cranes and the drumlike mixers were\u003cbr\u003e motionless. Three shovels stood on a huge pile of sand, beyond which a large yellow board displayed the giant words in\u003cbr\u003e red paint: AIM HIGH, GO ALL OUT. I felt the back of my shirt dampen with sweat.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Mrs. Yang had gone to Tibet on a veterinary team for a year. Our department had written to her about her husband's\u003cbr\u003e stroke, but she wouldn't be able to come home immediately. Tibet was too far away. She'd have to switch buses and\u003cbr\u003e trains constantly--it would take her more than a week to return. In my letter to my fianceé, Meimei, who was in Beijing\u003cbr\u003e cramming for the exams for a medical graduate program, I described her father's condition and assured her that I would\u003cbr\u003e take good care of him and that she mustn't be worried too much. I told her not to rush back since there was no magic\u003cbr\u003e cure for a stroke.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e To be honest, I felt obligated to attend my teacher. Even without my engagement to his daughter, I'd have done it\u003cbr\u003e willingly, just out of gratitude and respect. For almost two years he had taught me individually, discussing classical\u003cbr\u003e poetry and poetics with me almost every Saturday afternoon, selecting books for me to read, directing my master's thesis,\u003cbr\u003e and correcting my papers for publication. He was the best teacher I'd ever had, knowledgeable about the field of poetics\u003cbr\u003e and devoted to his students. Some of my fellow graduate students felt uncomfortable having him as their adviser. \"He's\u003cbr\u003e too demanding,\" they would say. But I enjoyed working with him. I didn't even mind some of them calling me Mr.\u003cbr\u003e Yang, Jr.; in a way, I was his disciple.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Mr. Yang was sleeping as I stepped into the sickroom. He was shorn of the IV apparatus affixed to him in intensive care.\u003cbr\u003e The room was a makeshift place, quite large for one bed, but dusky and rather damp. Its square window looked south\u003cbr\u003e onto a mountain of anthracite in the backyard of the hospital. Beyond the coal pile, a pair of concrete smokestacks\u003cbr\u003e spewed whitish fumes and a few aspen crowns swayed indolently. The backyard suggested a factory--more exactly, a\u003cbr\u003e power plant; even the air here looked grayish. By contrast, the front yard resembled a garden or a park, planted with\u003cbr\u003e holly bushes, drooping willows, sycamores, and flowers, including roses, azaleas, geraniums, and fringed irises. There\u003cbr\u003e was even an oval pond, built of bricks and rocks, abounding in fantailed goldfish. White-robed doctors and nurses\u003cbr\u003e strolled through the flowers and trees as if they had nothing urgent to do.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Shabby as Mr. Yang's room was, having it was a rare privilege; few patients could have a sickroom solely to themselves.\u003cbr\u003e If my father, who was a carpenter on a tree farm in the Northeast, had a stroke, he would be lucky if they gave him a bed\u003cbr\u003e in a room shared by a dozen people. Actually Mr. Yang had lain unconscious in a place like that for three days before he\u003cbr\u003e was moved here. With infinite pull, Secretary Peng had succeeded in convincing the hospital officials that Mr. Yang was\u003cbr\u003e an eminent scholar (though he wasn't a full professor yet) whom our country planned to protect as a national treasure, so\u003cbr\u003e they ought to give him a private room.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Mr. Yang stirred a little and opened his mouth, which had become flabby since the stroke. He looked a few years older\u003cbr\u003e than the previous month; a network of wrinkles had grown into his face. His gray hair was unkempt and a bit shiny,\u003cbr\u003e revealing his whitish scalp. Eyes shut, he went on licking his upper lip and murmured something I couldn't quite hear.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Sitting on a large wicker chair close to the door, I was about to take out a book from my shoulder bag when Mr. Yang\u003cbr\u003e opened his eyes and looked around vacantly. I followed his gaze and noticed that the wallpaper had almost lost its\u003cbr\u003e original pink. His eyes, cloudy with a web of reddish veins, moved toward the center of the low ceiling, stopped for a\u003cbr\u003e moment at the lightbulb held by a frayed wire, then fell on the stack of Japanese vocabulary cards on my lap.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Help me sit up, Jian,\" he said softly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I went over, lifted his shoulders, and put behind him two pillows stuffed with fluffy cotton so that he could sit\u003cbr\u003e comfortably. \"Do you feel better today?\" I asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"No, I don't.\" He kept his head low, a tuft of hair standing up on his crown while a muscle in his right cheek twitched.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e For a minute or so we sat silently. I wasn't sure if I should talk more; Dr. Wu had told us to keep the patient as peaceful\u003cbr\u003e as possible; more conversation might make him too excited. Although diagnosed as a cerebral thrombosis, his stroke\u003cbr\u003e seemed quite unusual, not accompanied by aphasia--he was still articulate and at times peculiarly voluble.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e As I wondered what to do, he raised his head and broke the silence. \"What have you been doing these days?\" he asked.\u003cbr\u003e His tone indicated that he must have thought we were in his office discussing my work.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e I answered, \"I've been reviewing a Japanese textbook for the exam and--\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"To hell with that!\" he snapped. I was too shocked to say anything more. He went on, \"Have you read the Bible by any\u003cbr\u003e chance?\" He looked at me expectantly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Yes, but not the unabridged Bible.\" Although puzzled by his question, I explained to him in the way I would report on a\u003cbr\u003e book I had just waded through. \"Last year I read a condensed English version called \u003ci\u003eStories from the Bible\u003c\/i\u003e, published by\u003cbr\u003e the Press of Foreign Language Education. I wish I could get hold of a genuine Bible, though.\" In fact, a number of\u003cbr\u003e graduate students in the English program had written to Christian associations in the United States requesting the Bible,\u003cbr\u003e and some American churches had mailed them boxes of books, but so far every copy had been confiscated by China's\u003cbr\u003e customs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Mr. Yang said, \"Then you know the story of Genesis, don't you?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Yes, but not the whole book.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"All right, in that case, let me tell you the story in its entirety.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e After a pause, he began delivering his self-invented Genesis with the same eloquence he exhibited when delivering\u003cbr\u003e lectures. But unlike in the classroom, where his smiles and gestures often mesmerized the students, here he sat unable to\u003cbr\u003e move a muscle, and his listless head hung so low that his eyes must have seen nothing but the white quilt over his legs.\u003cbr\u003e There was a bubbling sound in his nose, rendering his voice a little wheezy and tremulous. \"When God created heaven\u003cbr\u003e and earth, all creatures were made equal. He did not intend to separate man from animals. All the creatures enjoyed not\u003cbr\u003e only the same kind of life but also the same span of life. They were equal in every way.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e What kind of Genesis is this?\u003c\/i\u003e I asked myself. \u003ci\u003eHe's all confused, making fiction now.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He spoke again. \"Then why does man live longer than most animals? Why does he have a life different from those of the\u003cbr\u003e other creatures? According to Genesis it's because man was greedy and clever and appropriated many years of life from\u003cbr\u003e Monkey and Donkey.\" He exhaled, his cheeks puffy and his eyes narrowed. A fishtail of wrinkles spread from the end of\u003cbr\u003e his eye toward his temple. He went on, \"One day God descended from heaven to inspect the world he had created.\u003cbr\u003e Monkey, Donkey, and Man came out to greet God with gratitude and to show their obedience. God asked them whether\u003cbr\u003e they were satisfied with life on earth. They all replied that they were.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"'Does anyone want something else?' asked God.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Hesitating for a moment, Monkey stepped forward and said, 'Lord, the earth is the best place where I can live. You have\u003cbr\u003e blessed so many trees with fruit that I need nothing more. But why did you let me live to the age of forty? After I reach\u003cbr\u003e thirty, I will become old and cannot climb up trees to pluck fruit. So I will have to accept whatever the young monkeys\u003cbr\u003e give me, and sometimes I will have to eat the cores and peels they drop to the ground. It hurts me to think I'd have to\u003cbr\u003e feed on their leavings. Lord, I do not want such a long life. Please take ten years off my life span. I'd prefer a shorter but\u003cbr\u003e active existence.' He stepped back, shaking fearfully. He knew it was a sin to be unsatisfied with what God had given\u003cbr\u003e him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"'Your wish is granted,' God declared without any trace of anger. He then turned to Donkey, who had opened his mouth\u003cbr\u003e several times in silence. God asked him whether he too had something to say.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Timidly Donkey moved a step forward and said, 'Lord, I have the same problem. Your grace has enriched the land\u003cbr\u003e where so much grass grows that I can choose the most tender to eat. Although Man treats me unequally and forces me to\u003cbr\u003e work for him, I won't complain because you gave him more brains and me more muscles. But a life span of forty years is\u003cbr\u003e too long for me. When I grow old and my legs are no longer sturdy and nimble, I will still have to carry heavy loads for\u003cbr\u003e Man and suffer his lashes. This will be too miserable for me. Please take ten years off my life too. I want a shorter\u003cbr\u003e existence without old age.'\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"'Your wish is granted.' God was very generous with them that day and meant to gratify all their requests. Then he turned\u003cbr\u003e to Man, who seemed also to have something to say. God asked, 'You too have a complaint? Tell me, Adam, what is on\u003cbr\u003e your mind.'\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Man was fearful because he had abused the animals and could be punished for that. Nevertheless, he came forward and\u003cbr\u003e began to speak. 'Our Greatest Lord, I always enjoy everything you have created. You endowed me with a brain that\u003cbr\u003e enables me to outsmart the animals, who are all willing to obey and serve me. Contrary to Monkey and Donkey, a life\u003cbr\u003e span of forty years is too short for me. I would love to live longer. I want to spend more time with my wife, Eve, and\u003cbr\u003e my children. Even if I grow old with stiff limbs, I can still use my brain to manage my affairs. I can issue orders, teach\u003cbr\u003e lessons, deliver lectures, and write books. Please give their twenty years to me.' Man bowed his head as he remembered\u003cbr\u003e that it was a sin to assume his superiority over the animals.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"To Man's amazement, God did not reprimand him and instead replied, 'Your wish is also granted. Since you enjoy my\u003cbr\u003e creation so much, I'll give you an additional ten years. Now, altogether you will have seventy years for your life. Spend\u003cbr\u003e your ripe old age happily with your grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Use your brain wisely.'\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Mr. Yang paused, looking pale and exhausted, sweat glistening on his nose and a vein in his neck pulsating. Then he said\u003cbr\u003e dolefully, \"Donkey, Monkey, and Man were all satisfied that day. From then on, human beings can live to the age of\u003cbr\u003e seventy whereas monkeys and donkeys can live only thirty years.\"A Novel","brand":"Vintage","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46302470996197,"sku":"NP9780375714115","price":18.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780375714115.jpg?v=1767738863","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-crazed-isbn-9780375714115","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}