Reviewed by Rod McLary
William Faulkner once said The past is never dead. It’s not even past. And this new novel by Australian Chinese writer Isabelle Li exemplifies that quote as she sets out the story of Mr Zhao, his carer Sister Fu and his son Jr. They live in Shenyang in Northeast China at the time of the Covid pandemic.
In four parts narrated by the different characters from their particular perspectives, the novel not only tells their stories but imbeds the narrative in Chinese history and culture and the personal histories of each person.
Mr Zhao and Sister Fu are both burdened by family tragedy and grief when they first meet in Ward Four for Senior Officials where Mr Zhao is a patient and Sister Fu works as a cleaner. Mr Zhao’s wife died some years previously and he has a difficult and tempestuous relationship with Jr. Sister Fu’s childhood was marked by sexual and physical abuse and an unplanned pregnancy at age 18 which caused the final fracture in her relationship with her parents. Her husband died some twenty-three-years ago.
Ward Four has a clear expectation that every patient is to have a twenty-four-hour carer while in hospital but Mr Zhao refuses until he asks Sister Fu who stood among (the other cleaners) like a crane above the chickens [74] to accept the role – which she does. So together on Mr Zhao’s discharge, they move into Mr Zhao’s apartment where the air was stale and the room smelled of dirt and grease [16]. As Sister Fu brings order and cleanliness to Mr Zhao’s home, his mind wanders through his family history and the many regrets he has. The telling of his family history allows for an exploration of recent Chinese history and cultural practices which add a depth and breadth to the narrative beyond the purely personal. And in particular, the iteration of cultural practices creates a sense of intimacy in the interactions between Sister Fu and Mr Zhao and Jr,
It is grief however which binds the characters together. It is grief that leads to Mr Zhao saying: I cried a lot in the empty house, howling to the pitiless, indifferent world [73]; and with considerable insight, he says of Sister Fu: She’s apparently living with burdens of the past. There may have been some profound damage [116]. But together, a friendship marked by mutual respect and caring develops between Sister Fu and Mr Zhao as they negotiate a shared life within the constraints imposed by Covid.
In the final section of the novel, the narrative returns to Sister Fu as she tells of the impact of the pandemic on both the broader community and their small household. And this encapsulates one of the strengths of the novel – the ability of the author to write equally eloquently of the external and the intimate.
The Northern Tomb is a beautifully written novel effortlessly merging Chinese culture and history and the travails of those who lived through major upheavals in the social fabric with the deep closeness of family life and the intimate – and inevitable – family tragedies which beset us all. Although slim in volume, it is a novel which carries a gravitas and towards its conclusion a sense of hope and deep affection.
Well recommended.
Isabelle Li is based in Sydney and has published in anthologies and literary journals. Her collection of short stories – A Chinese Affair – was published by Margaret River Press in 2016. Isabelle is a fellow of Varuna [the Australian National Writers House] and was the inaugural winner of the Mascara Bundanon Writer’s Residency.
The Northern Tomb
[2026]
by Isabelle Li
Puncher and Wattmann
ISBN: 978 1 9230 9982 1
$32.95; 206pp