The Dissident
  • The Dissident
  • The Dissident

The Dissident

3.2 4
by Nell Freudenberger

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"Yuan Zhao, a celebrated Chinese performance artist and political dissident, has accepted a one year's artist's residency in Los Angeles. He is to be a Visiting Scholar at the St. Anselm's School for Girls, teaching advanced art, and hosted by one of the school's most devoted families: the wealthy if dysfunctional Traverses. But when their guest arrives, the Traverses… See more details below


"Yuan Zhao, a celebrated Chinese performance artist and political dissident, has accepted a one year's artist's residency in Los Angeles. He is to be a Visiting Scholar at the St. Anselm's School for Girls, teaching advanced art, and hosted by one of the school's most devoted families: the wealthy if dysfunctional Traverses. But when their guest arrives, the Traverses are preoccupied with their own problems. Cece - devoted mother and contemporary art enthusiast - worries about the recent arrest of her son, Max. Unable to communicate with her husband, Gordon, a psychiatrist distracted by his passion for genealogical research, she turns to Gordon's wayward brother, Phil. Meanwhile, seventeen-year-old Olivia Travers is just relieved that her classmates seem to be ignoring the weird Chinese art teacher living in her pool house - at least until a brilliant but troublesome new student appears in his class." The dissident, for his part, is delighted to be left alone. His relationship to the 1989 Democracy Movement and his past in a Beijing underground artists' community together give him reason for not wanting to be scrutinized too carefully. The trouble starts when he and his American hosts begin to see one another with clearer eyes.

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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
Freudenberger fulfills the promise of her 2003 collection of short stories, Lucky Girls, in her expansive first novel. Yuan Zhao, a Chinese performance artist entangled in the subversive community of the Beijing East Village (an artist enclave located in Beijing's "industrial dump"), moves to Los Angeles for an exhibition of his work and to teach studio art to gifted students at the St. Anselm's School for Girls. Upon arrival at the Traverses', his host family, Zhao finds himself in a domestic minefield: Cece Travers, the family matriarch, is having an affair with her brother-in-law, Phil. Meanwhile, her children fumble through adolescence, and her husband, psychiatrist Gordon, phones in his familial obligations. Freudenberger juxtaposes Zhao's early artist days in the East and his unrequited love for the woman he left behind with his solitary life in Los Angeles, where he grows obsessed with a Chinese art student. Under a blanket of cultural misunderstandings and xenophobia, Freudenberger tackles big questions about art: what makes an artist; how artists and writers borrow from each other; and how they appropriate details from the lives of their friends and families. Freudenberger sometimes missteps into humdrum Hollywood satire and uninspired relationship drama, but Zhao is distinctly fresh; it's when describing his journey that Freudenberger's novel takes flight. (Sept.) Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information.
Library Journal
This first novel from Freudenberger, who made a critical splash with the story collection Lucky Girls in 2003, focuses on CeCe Travers, matriarch of a rich (and richly dysfunctional) Los Angeles family, and her prestigious houseguest, a visiting artist from China teaching for a year at the upper-crust St. Anselm's School for Girls. Yuan Zhao is as complicated as he is renowned for his paintings and subversive politics, but by casting him as a pet Dissident, the Traverses miss an opportunity to connect with a troubled soul. For his part, the artist is so bewildered by the self-absorbed inhabitants of this not-so-brave new world that he stumbles into dangerous social territory. Energetic, witty writing sparkles throughout a story with much satiric potential, but sketchy characterizations and passages of tedious exposition prevent its delivering fully on its promise. Still, when Freudenberger is good, she is very good, and she remains a writer to watch. Purchase for comprehensive fiction collections.-Starr E. Smith, Fairfax Cty. P.L., VA Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
Cultural exchange breeds more misunderstanding than enlightenment in this ambitious debut novel from the author of the collection Lucky Girls (2003). When its title character Yuan Zhao arrives from China in Beverly Hills, the differing reactions of his host family ironically underscore his uncertain status as an artist subjected to political persecution (for his involvement with a subversive arts magazine and proscribed performance art). Fortyish matron "Cece" (Cecelia) warmly welcomes an opportunity to lavish on a deserving guest affection declined by husband Gordon (a psychology professor and bestselling author), with whom she languishes in a sexless marriage. Their teenagers Olivia (an ardent student of dance) and Max (a possibly suicidal underachieving malcontent) scarcely register any life beyond their own introverted orbits. Gordon's brother Phil, a globetrotting egotist and unworthy lover of superior women (including the guilty Cece) masquerades as a hotshot scriptwriter while doing what he does best: ruin other people's lives. The character seemingly best suited to understand and communicate with "the dissident," Gordon's sister Joan, is a successful novelist for whom human relationships are more a source of material than a sphere she'll consent to inhabit. The complex interrelations of these variously beautiful, privileged people form a fascinating counterpoint to the moving story of Yuan Zhao's embattled apprenticeship and largely wasted life (for, despite the respect of people who believe his existence more meaningful than their own, he struggles with the nagging knowledge that "There was a time . . . when I might have made sacrifices for art, and chose not to." The book issignificantly flawed, by awkwardly handled exposition and several uncomfortably close echoes of Jonathan Franzen's The Corrections. Still, its vivid characters and page-turning plot make it a more than commendable first novel.
Francince Prose
“Ambitious, entertaining new novel. . .”
Boston Globe
“An impressive novel…lucid, unpretentious, and often witty…Freudenberger is the real thing.”

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Product Details

HarperCollins Publishers
Publication date:
Product dimensions:
6.12(w) x 9.00(h) x 1.37(d)

Read an Excerpt

The Dissident

A Novel
By Nell Freudenberger

HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.

Copyright © 2006 Nell Freudenberger
All right reserved.

ISBN: 0060758716

Chapter One

I was not meant to be a dissident. I was not supposed to live outside of China. I never intended to be a guest, for an entire year, in the home of strangers, dependent on their charity and kindness. Who would have imagined, watching me grow up in Harbin--sitting quietly with my father in our old apartment behind the Russian church, or clutching my mother's hand as she haggled good-naturedly with Old Yang over the price of scallions--that I would wind up in Los Angeles, living in the guest room of people who could not find the province of Heilongjiang on a simple English map?

I am tempted to say it was an accident. Certainly I would not have gotten involved in politics, or in the artistic community of the Beijing East Village, had it not been for my cousin, also an artist--I will call him X. (Because of his continuing activity in China, I am forced to conceal his identity here.) But it also began with my mother, who always hoped I would become a famous artist and go abroad, and with my father, who sent me to have drawing lessons with his old friend, the painter Wang Laoshi. Quite possibly it began with Wang Laoshi, who saw my early efforts, and encouraged me to pursue absolutely any other profession.

But I hesitate to putresponsibility on others. In the end it's my fault that I am so easily persuaded. I have always been impressionable, skilled at mimicry. I am, as my teacher admitted, a brilliant copyist. On paper, I could reproduce Audubon's and Bada Shanren's birds; I could make my mother laugh by imitating the gestures and mannerisms of people we knew (for example, my father's postprandial expression of despair); even the pronunciation of foreign words was not difficult for me. In school, English was my best subject, not only because of this talent for imitation but because of my mother, who had been born in Seattle, Washington, and much later became a teacher of Business English at the Harbin University of Science and Technology.

My mother went to China for the first time in 1953, three days after her twelfth birthday, when her parents decided to return to their motherland and do their part for the glorious new People's Republic. My grandfather, an electrical engineer with the Boeing company, had been deeply honored by a personal invitation from Zhou Enlai. As it turned out, however, my grandfather's timing wasn't good. A little more than a decade later, my grandmother and my mother were sent to separate "cadres' schools" to be reeducated, while my grandfather eventually went to a much harsher place--a work camp in the Great Northern Wilderness--where he died, six years before I was born.

When I told this story--as if it had happened to distant relatives rather than to my immediate family--my American hosts were horrified. I think they were also a little thrilled by the tragic irony: it was as if, Cece Travers said, my relatives had been American Jews, returning unknowingly to Germany in 1939. I couldn't explain to the Traverses that a Chinese person did not think of the 1960s and '70s in this way: that those years represented a perversion of our own ideals, some of which we still cherished, rather than an atrocity visited on us from outside. The fact that my relatives had been in a work camp was enough for Cece. "Perhaps they aren't telling you everything," she said, in a way that made it clear she thought I was being callous about the sufferings I described.

In fact the opposite was true. I had my reasons for concealing my background from the Traverses, but I have never been comfortable telling the story of things that happened before I was born. I always feel that I'm making things up. In Los Angeles, I found out how much easier it was to tell my own history as if it belonged to someone else: at the end of my account, I was surprised (and a little proud) to find tears in the eyes of my American audience.

After the end of the Cultural Revolution in 1976 (and incidentally my birth, in 1975) my mother became an English teacher, if a reluctant one. Her former passion for literature, in particular the Romantic poets, was not relevant to the business English courses she was assigned, and she never returned to the original poems and translations she'd begun as a university student in the early 1960s. Her talents as a teacher were thus primarily focused on me, so that by the time I was in high school, I already spoke English more fluently than my classmates and even my teachers. My mother and I used to laugh at the book I used in school, Idiomatic English, which purported to teach us how to speak like real Americans. The book was full of dialogues between John, Mary, and (inexplicably) someone named "Batty," of which the following is an approximate but unexaggerated example:

John: I am thinking to get a gift for our friend Batty. Monday is her birthday. A necklace or a bracelet would truly fit the bill.

Mary: No one knocks on the gift horse's mouth. But you had better not have a chat with Batty before the big day. That is to say, you are a chatterbox. You will certainly let the cat out of the bag.

John: Mary, you are a strict taskmaster! Why do you say that I am a bean-spiller? I am as silent as the mouse, and also the grave.

Mary: Because right now, John, you are talking my ears off!

When I finally met my cousin X in Beijing, I found him studying from this same textbook, practicing John, Mary, and Batty's lines quite seriously. This was midway through my first year at Beijing Normal, when my cousin still imagined he might go abroad and study. He had come to . . .


Excerpted from The Dissident by Nell Freudenberger Copyright © 2006 by Nell Freudenberger. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Francince Prose
“Ambitious, entertaining new novel. . .”

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