Mao's Last Dancer - Li Cunxin

Li Cunxin is Mao’s Last Dancer – the last of the performing ballet dancers who trained under Madam Mao’s unorthodox curriculum, which combined the staunch militarism of Communist China with the grace and elegance of European ballet. As a peasant boy, and the sixth of seven brothers, Li’s life seemed predetermined by his birth – and indeed all his brothers remain in the village they were born, Li being the only one who escaped from certain impoverishment. Li’s account of his childhood is far from picturesque; marred by starvation, a lack of everything, and the horrors of the Cultural Revolution, the collective experience of Li’s peasant commune is indicative of the desperation and malevolence which enveloped all of China at the time. As with ‘Wild Swans’, I could not help but flinch and wince at the harrowing recollections of human evil which formed a young boy’s memories.

Following years of brutal training, Li has the rare opportunity to study in America with the Houston Ballet. And here is where Li’s masterful storytelling has the ability to take one from the dark well (an analogy from the story) into the expansive sky of the west. This is by far my favourite part of the story; as Li enters the foreign land of the west, he is not only amazed by what he discovers, but such discoveries also begin to undermine his strict and life-long Communist indoctrination. Li discovers America and its little luxuries with such naive innocence that one cannot help but delight in rediscovering the mundane, everyday comforts along with the earnest young man. The warmth of a shower, the satisfaction of a full stomach, the inhibitions of free speech, and of course the marvellous workings of ATMs, where “money comes out of walls!”

While the blurb of the book tells how Li was randomly chosen to train as a ballet dancer at Madam Mao’s Beijing Dance Academy, his dedication and commitment, driven by devotion to his family and the real belief that he could help them through his dancing, were anything but whimsically attained. Indeed, more than an account of the atrocities which characterised China, or the difficulties Li endured to succeed in his profession, or even the stark differences between east and west, this is a story about family. The brightest moments, the ones which dulled even the most painful of circumstances, were those which saw Li’s family, particularly its matriarch, band together to support each other. Li’s unflagging determination to be reunited with his family, despite his deflection, is inspiring and speaks volumes of the capacity for a child to return his parents’ unconditional love. And when Li’s mother, upon hearing his voice after years of estrangement, proclaims, “Ohh, my son! I never thought this day would come before I leave this world. How happy I am...I can die peacefully now,” I could not control the tears.

There is much more I could write about this story. However, this will have to suffice. This is an honest and humble account of one of the few lucky individuals who escaped Mao’s China, but never forgot his roots.