i’ve heard about an yu before, i have her critically aclaimed book “braised pork” in my to read list. while this one felt very unresolved and vague, i hope her former work is a little bit better.

It took me a long time to get through this book. It is realistically mundane and paints the uncomfortable life of our main character. She is married and living with her mother in law. Her husband travels a lot for work and is hardly ever home even when he isn’t traveling. How did they get married in the first place? Their marriage seems to be lacking any sort of feeling.

From that point things start unraveling. Similar in feel to the yellow wallpaper. I also felt like this might be like crossing paths with a crazy person on the street. I can’t help but wonder what the heck is going on in there?

Lonely or crazy? I can’t tell you.

I also can’t figure out the ending of the book. Maybe it is too literary for me but it just went completely over my head.

Thank you to Grove Atlantic and NetGalley for an advance copy of this book.

This book was a wonderful array of emotions. I picked this up because of the beautiful mushrooms on the cover and to my surprise, they were actually an important theme. I enjoyed thinking about this story even after I finished it.

Professional pianist gave up her carrier in order to get married and have an ordinary happy life. Her husband seems decent enough, although to the protagonist he still feels like a stanger. His mother’s visit doesn’t make it any easier for the two, because the protagonist feels abandoned - like a mother is a mother and you, the wife, barely know what he likes.

This book is literally about music, ghosts and mushrooms. An Yu adapts magical realism in the story, so the book literally begins with a mushroom asking the protagonist to remember them, later we learn it’s a acvivalent of survival.

It’s dificult not to compare it with An Yu’s first book - Braised Pork, which I also reviewed here. In both books we have a good marrige on the outside, a dependant wife being stranger in her own home, a husband with a mystery from the past, half-emtry city, dificult relatioship with parents…

And if the Braised Pork was like “It’s gonna be a lot easier”, Ghost Music is like “Don’t angry, or you’ll grow mushrooms”

My problem with this book is it feels like an essay on anger management, because the protagonist literally says she cannot express how she feels. There are times when her husband tries open up to her and literally asks whether he should come home or not. And instead of voicalizing the problem she prefers to let it go, exept it doesn’t go.

I suspect that both mother and the husband are killed with grief - like, literally, or not, I still don’t know for sure. That’s the problem with An Yu’s books - they don’t stick with you.

Excellent read.

Thanks to Netgalley and the publishers for letting me access this book in exchange for my honest feedback.

I loooved this book omg!! Loooved the vibes, the confusion, the mushrooms?? It left an unsetteling feeling but was also beautiful. The main thème was grief (of a dead person but also of dreams).

On paper, this should have worked to perfection. A young woman who has anxiety and panic attacks while performing, watching world around her blossom, bloom and evolve while her own existential crisis is quietly brewing. There is a lot to unpack at the very start of this story but as it goes on, it slows and relies on the quite brilliant prose to pull through the lull of lack of movement in the plot itself. Though I enjoyed reading this, once finished, it left me little disappointed with way things shaped up.

<i>Thank you to Netgalley and Grove Press for providing me with a free copy of this e-book in exchange for an honest review.</i>

It is important to note that the majority of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the subject matters of the book as well as those detailed in my review overwhelming. I would suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters which contain reflections on grief, mental illness, poverty, the death of a child, parental abandonment, & others.
 
Once upon a time, there was a mushroom. The mushroom coated the world around it in orange dust; coveting the blues & greens like a cannibal. Once upon a time, a little girl was taught to play the piano like a professional pianist. The girl was unable to achieve the marker of greatness in the only skill she fostered within the entirety of her life. Together, the mushroom & the girl flowed through an ether that tethered them to the land; a land covered in orange dust & flowing with orchestrated melodies.

Just as we find ourselves paired together on the page, you & I, so too did the mushroom & the girl find themselves joined in windowless rooms. As much as I would love to sit & write to you about all the ways in which I adored this book, I would much prefer to see you go out & enjoy the piece for yourself. As the girl was once instructed, one must listen to oneself to understand what we endeavour to do. How might I listen to myself when my voice is inside my head & the words I transcribe to you must be written to be read?
 
Song Yan is an adult when the reader meets her. She has been married to Bowen for nearly four (4) years & they have just moved into a new apartment as they make room for Bowen’s mother who will be living with them for the remainder of her life. The introductory part of this book held my attention from the very first words & is a study of acute written skill. Yu invites the reader to reflect & wonder; why is Song Yan dreaming of a talking mushroom? Why does she seem trapped in a lucid state whence she can only escape by sleeping?

As I have always stated, reading books that require something more from me than a simple waltz of page flipping, has been my preferred method of consuming literature. I want the author to write a story that I can understand exists even if it is not one I am innately connected with. In this case, I was given more than I bargained for as I found myself intrigued with the significance of mushrooms in Chinese culture as well as the value of dreams, revealing to the mind all that is misunderstood in a waking state.
 
Estimated to be found nearly 2,000 years ago, the Reishi mushroom—also commonly referred to as Lingzhi—was found in the Changbai Mountains. In comparison to the orange mushroom entity that speaks to Song Yan throughout this story, the Reishi mushroom appears both similar in colour & dimension; magical in its properties & yet boasting no claims to any of what the human species has attributed to it. By this, I mean that, within the narrative, Song Yan often questions the mushroom’s presence & dialogue. On both occasions in which she is originally cast into the presence of the fungus, she is explicitly told that the mushroom is not what it appears.

What does it mean to be something other than what one is? Might we believe that those who came across the Reishi mushroom all those centuries ago were at fault for cultivating an entity that survived the frigid conditions of the mountain? Should they have left well enough alone & simply kept on their path? This, at face value, appears to be both inappropriate, insensitive, & a stupid question. However, it does have a purpose. Just as asking why anyone has done anything, ever, might seem preposterous in nature, so too might it seem ridiculous to ponder the essence of our own existence on a playing field whose rules we have yet to be made aware of.
 
Song Yan married Bowen with a crafted idea of who she thought he was & all the things they might endeavour to perform & undertake, together, in matrimony. Yet, people are seldom who we believe them to be. As much as one might long to believe that a mushroom contains an elixir for immortality, our beliefs do not shape reality; we cannot change the stone, & we are not water to the shore. After the years spent together, getting to know each other & legally marrying, Song Yan is thrust into the reality that exists at the periphery of her ideological beliefs about her husband.
The man she believed wanted to pursue the same path in life—being a parent—is an imposter in a business suit. Certainly, it is neither wrong nor right to want to be a parent (in any sense of the word) however, when Bowen perused the relationship with Song Yan he knew that she wanted to be a mother. All the while, Bowen had a child he had abandoned in the province of Yunnan, one he did not know was growing into teenagehood until his sudden drowning in the river. I am getting ahead of myself but, I find it difficult not to skip ahead in the timeline as the majority of this story plays a crass fiddle to our mundane habits.
 
Had it not been for the causal conversation of friends updating each other on the small gossip of communal life & relationships, Song Yan might never have known that ‘Julia’ (pseudonym) existed. She would have never known that Bowen was married, that he was invested in a long-term relationship prior to meeting her & that he ultimately abandoned his pregnant wife, so little did he want to be a parent to any child, let alone one he participated in conceiving. Without the mundane casualty of the character’s approach to habitual tendencies, nothing in this story might have taken place.

Without this conversation, over sweet tea, one might never have known why Song Yan was dreaming of mushrooms. Why did Bai Yu send a crate of mushrooms to a stranger’s address? Who had been sending them to him for all these years? I suppose it is possible that neither of these aspects matters in the grand scheme of things. If we reflect on the value that mushrooms might hold within Chinese culture & the role they play within this narrative, it is easy to see that the fungus holds the cards, & is the dealer & the knowledge keeper. The author intermingles existentialist conversations into the dialogue in such a seamless way one might be left focusing on the mushroom rather than the soul purporting as fungal growth.
 
Within his work, published in 1891, Oscar Wilde’s “The Soul of Man Under Socialism” depicts one of his most utilized citations: “To live is the rarest thing in the world; most people just exist, that is all.” A casual jaunt through the internet might see various approaches to the same position posited. For example, Benjamin Franklin is quoted as saying: “Dost though love life? Then do not squander Time; for that’s the stuff life is made of.” (1746), & “Lost Time is never found again.” (1747). What does it mean to perplex the transition of our lives? Do we genuinely have the ability to understand the invisible passage of sunshine & moonlight?

These citations are but a few that exists amidst a multitude; of people reflecting on their mortality, & their inability to regain what is passed. Song Yan’s life fits chiefly into this discussion as she has spent ample time reflecting—on her own purpose & how the essence of who she was raised to be is not, in fact, who she actually is. Might she regain the time lost to practices that saw her miss out on learning the basic skills required of a homeowner? Might she be able to regain the time she is losing now, missing holidays & sharing in musical pursuits with her parents? Who are we if what we believed about ourselves is not as true as the actuality of our existence in the world?
 
The girth of the events that take place within this book revolves around a set series of chance occurrences. Lucky is Song Yan to live in a country where Taoism has prospered so that she might not feel overwhelmed by a speaking fungus. Perhaps, this same story might play out as a Horror in another part of the world; a grafting disease growing in a dream that is, in fact, the waking state of the main character. On the other hand, maybe had Song Yan been exposed to more of life, as she longingly wishes she had been, might she view this strange occurrence as both the fiendish transformation of her life & the invasive species that tricked a young boy into the riverbed.
 
There are ample ways to interpret this story, just as there are hundreds of aspects to take away from the plot & the approach that the author has taken to gift each reader a piece of themselves; a part of their immortal thoughts transferred, through ink splotches for our gluttonous pleasure.

When all is said & done, I will read this book again, many, many times. I will watch for the orange glow in the floorboards alerting me of a stranger in my home; a demon in my own mind. I will anticipate the revelation of essence & ponder the ties that I hold between who I am when I am quiet & the presence I bring when I perform. This story will hold a special place in my mind just as the tedium of mushroom deliveries shed light into a distinctly sheltered relationship between people, themselves, & the voice of music hidden in the soul of life itself.
 
Thank you to NetGalley, Grove Atlantic, & An Yu for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!

Thank you Net Galley for a copy of this book in return for an honest review.

Ghost Music begins with the story of a woman, Song Yan, coming to terms with multiple changes in her life, including her mother-in-law moving in with her. While her husband is away on business, Song Yan receives a parcel to her apartment filled with mushrooms from her mother-in-law's home province. They take this delivery and the subsequent ones as a way to bond over traditional recipes.
Song Yan's story continues with stories of her piano students and her decision not to pursue a career as a full-time musician.
While I enjoyed this story, I became frustrated with the lack of character development of the secondary characters and of Song Yan herself. I felt like the author gave a very surface-level explanation of her emotions throughout the novel, despite going through some very traumatic experiences. Overall, it was a quick read and I enjoyed the journey.

To sum up how I felt about this book: I literally forgot that I finished it and had to go back and double check that I did, indeed, finish the final chapter.

'Ghost Music' was philosophically speaking, a beautiful read, but like most philosophical things in my life, I spent most of it feeling out of the loop. I didn't dislike it - there were many aspects of this book that I love to read about: complex relationships (familial and romantic), grief of relationships/people, the removal of rose colored glasses, etc., but I feel like much of the writing was so whimsical that I really couldn't grasp the deeper meaning.

Unfortunately, I don't feel as though I was the right audience for this book. I'm having a hard time figuring out whether this book was good or bad, so I'm going to say that this book just was, and sometimes that's okay.

A surrealist fiction novel that follows a former concert pianist-now-piano-teacher as she receives a package of mushrooms from a world-famous musician that disappeared. Trying to quench the aching thirst for inspired and thrilling fervour, being numb from the hollowness of a passion lost and scrubbed down by time, not knowing what to do with life without something to live for—these are some of the ideas I gleaned from this novel. Considering the existentialist nature of this novel and the languid pace of the plot, I find that the ending is befitting.

Thanks to Netgalley and Grove Atlantic for providing me with the e-ARC in exchange for an honest review.

🇭🇰 "Ghost Music" - An Yu

😊 Many thanks to #netgalley and #groveatlantic for letting me read an ARC of this one.

🍄 Song Yan is a failed concert pianist turned piano teacher, living in Beijing with her husband and mother-in-law. One day, a package arrives filled with rare mushrooms, which leads her down paths of discovery and bonding.

🎹 This is a book of quiet contemplation and different threads, from Song Yan's desire to have children against those of her husband Bowen, to the mysterious pianist Bai Yu and his success (in contrast with Song Yan's experience). There's ruminations of facing our own limitations, family life, and a character study of someone who gives up their only dream to start a "normal" life, and the effects this has.

💭 There are elements of the surreal and supernatural (we see a talking mushroom before we meet the lead character, for example), and this won't be one for those who like their endings tied up with a bow. I found it an interesting and melancholic experience, written in a way that makes reading it a breeze, but not something that stuck with me after I finished it. I had a similar experience with An Yu's previous book "Braised Pork" as well, so maybe it's just me?

❓Have you read any of An Yu's work? What did you think?

I was charmed by the opening few pages of Ghost Music, by the strange orange mushroom asking only to be remembered. I would call this book literary horror. It's frightening in the "why are these strange things happening to me" rather than the blood and gore horror. There is lots of philosophical thinking, lots of references to classical music and a double mystery of why the protagonist's husband keeps so many secrets and why is she compelled to keep seeking out a concert pianist who may or may not be a ghost.

Just like in real life, there are no clearcut answers to the protagonist's questions.

Ghost Music doesn't have any monsters to slay at the end, but it does have a wonderful ghostly mood. I felt like I was also trapped in the stifling warm room full of orange glowing mushrooms.

Thank you to @netgalley #netgalley and @groveatlantic for the #arc of @anyuwrites latest novel #ghostmusic

I wanted to based my review on the similaries between this book and a number of #harukimurakami books, but I don't think that does #anyu justice, as she is a writer in her own right and is making amazing waves herself.

For me this book was about relationships, life events and the inevitable changes that come around throughout our lives. I loved the magical elements and the references to music which made me think of #murakami and the way she writes reminds of me of a number of great authors that I read. The book is laid out in a time line of sorts I think and records various events, mostly mundane but it captures you and you want to keep going and find out more about the character's life.

This is the second book I have read from #anyu and I cannot wait to see what she writes next.

#books2022 #fiction #books #reading #translatedfiction #translatedgems #bookstagram

'Ghost Music' is about grief, identity, and search for meaning. Even though I liked how experimental the narrative is, the fantasy-aspect of the story made it difficult for me to follow Song Yan's existential crisis. The narrative was almost too symbolic for me.

Ghost Music is a book that might be a bit difficult to get into, but once I got into the slow and slightly dreamy atmosphere, I enjoyed it as a slightly (ok, probably more than slightly) whimsical Chinese version of a breakdown.

On a factual level, it could be a rather cliché story. Song Yan had a career as a professional concert piano player. She gave it up when she married Bowen, who is a successful executive at a car company in Beijing. She’s giving piano lessons to kids, but this is only waiting until she has her own kid(s). As in many Chinese families, Bowen’s mother has joined them from the countryside to live with them and be taken care of by her daughter in law. But you see that the typical Chinese upper middle class dream is not working. Bowen doesn’t want kids. Bowen’s mother is not abusive but Song Yan and she just ignore each other.

Then the whimsical arrives under the form of rare mushrooms sent regularly and anonymously to Song Yan. Mother and daughter in law bond over the mushrooms and cook them for Bowen night after night. But it’s only the beginning of the surprises. Song Yan’s life will soon spiral into a full blown crisis.

The novel’s pace is a bit uneven, and some readers might be disturbed by the absence of neat character arch and plot resolution. It might be that the author couldn’t choose between realism and full oniric fantasy, and so the novel remains on the brink all along. Despite this weakness I enjoyed this discovery in Chinese literature and will look if my local library has An Yu previous translated novel, Braised Pork.

Thanks to the publisher and Netgalley. I received a free copy of this book for review consideration

At the beginning of the book Ghost Music by An Yu, Song Yan states (to paraphrase), one of the most important part of being a musician is listening to yourself as you play: something she wasn’t taught as a child. Once she entered university to study piano, “I (Song Yan) realised then how much more difficult it is to change behaviour developed through the years than it is to adopt an entirely new one.” This could sum up the overall theme of this book.

Song Yan is a young woman who trained to be a concert pianist, but wound-up teaching piano. Her father was a famous pianist; someone whose opinion possibly meant too much to her. He taught her to not perform with emotion but to play like the virtuoso Bai Yu (something not attainable to a child). She has learned that she should never display emotion, especially anger, and lives a life of silence neither expecting or giving anything beyond the surface existence of life.

Things begins to change when she receives a package of mushrooms that talk to her about existence; that we are not who—or what—we appear to be. That we want to be remembered, to be seen; to leave some type of footprint, or legacy. This philosophy--the antithesis of Song Yan’s way of living and thinking—brings about a change to how she imagines and experiences her marriage, her chosen profession, and the world around her.
Obviously, the mushrooms are a surreal element in this book. They appear sporadically through this otherwise realistic novel. The book is divided into sections, like a piano sonata: some have a lively tempo, while others have a sedate quality. This is how Song Yan’s life is laid out to us: like the spinning and development of a musical element.

I would like to thank Netgalley and Grove Press (first published in the UK by Harvill Secker) for the opportunity to read and review this lyrical novella.

Ghost Music by An Yu. Release scheduled for November 2022 - thanks to Net Galley @netgalley for letting me read a digital ARC of this book.
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Ghost Music is a dreamy, loosely-plotted, character study of a melancholy woman in Beijing who gave up her career as a concert pianist when she was married. She doesn't understand why her workaholic husband refuses to have a child, and her life is further complicated when her mother-in-law comes to stay with them. The book is contemplative and surreal, with mysterious packages of mushrooms and ghostly characters.
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"Solitude is tolerable, even enjoyable at times. But when you realise that you’ve given your life to someone, yet you know nothing but his name? That kind of solitude is loneliness. That’s what kills you.”
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#ghostmusic #anyu #braisedpork #recommendedread #bookpost #bookreview #netgalley #bookrecommendation #bookstagram

“Solitude is tolerable, even enjoyable at times. But when you realise that you’ve given your life to someone, yet you know nothing but his name? That kind of solitude is loneliness. That’s what kills you.”


Not having had the best experience with An Yu’s Braised Pork I was intrigued but wary of this second novel of hers. Similarly to Braised Pork, Ghost Music is a sparsely written surreal tale that manages to explore weird and existentialist avenues while also remaining tethered to the daily minutiae comprising the main character’s every-day life (preparing meals, eating, etc). The narrative is characterized by a murkiness that obfuscates our understanding of the events and experiences that are being recounted, the line between reality and dreams becomes increasingly blurry so we soon find ourselves struggling to differentiate between what is real and what is an illusion. I won’t lie and write that I understood what was going on in this book, because I did not. While reading Ghost Music my eyebrows were fixed in a perpetual perplexed frown. Yet, those elements and scenes that mystified and confused me were also the ones that intrigued me. Silences, ghosts (figurative and non), music, and pasts that haunt, are the motifs running throughout Ghost Music. The narrative’s juxtaposition between the bizarre and the mundane brought to mind David Lynch and the work of Hiroko Oyamada. The dreamy atmosphere, the off-beat, and sometimes absurd, character interactions, as well as the fantastical ‘ghost’ storyline, resulting in a unique reading experience that is guaranteed to confuse and confound you.

“Loss came in all shapes and forms, but it hadn’t occurred to me until now that you could lose the things you never had.”


Our narrator is Song Yan, once a promising concert pianist, and now a piano tutor to young kids. She and her workaholic husband live together in a flat in Beijing. Bowen is remote, distracted, and quick to shut down any conversations about the possibility of children.
Bowen's widowed mother, who is from the province of Yunnan, later joins them. Soon after they begin receiving parcels of mushrooms native to Yunnan. Song Yan and her mother-in-law form a tentative bond by cooking these together. Tensions rise when Song Yan’s mother-in-law begins to blame her for her lack of children. Song Yan receives a letter that leads her to Bai Yu, a renowned pianist who disappeared years before, and here the story becomes even more fantastical. Song Yan also learns more about Bowen's past, and this widens the rift between them.
Another bizarre addition to Song Yan’s life is a recurrent dream involving a ghostly mushroom that may be trying to reveal something vital to her.

“I’d always known that I was on my own, that I existed as a person separate from others, but to accept that fact—to walk a solitary path without fear—took a whole other kind of bravery.”


As I said before, I did not really understand a lot of what was happening (why it was happening, how it was happening, what it would lead to). Still, there was something about the dreamlike quality of Song Yan’s experiences that held my interest. I was both drawn to and weirded out by the bizarre elements and aspects of her story. While the narrative does tackle familiar themes such as grief, trauma, and memory, it does so in an unfamiliar, uncanny even, way. I was unsure of where Song Yan’s story would lead her, and that was part of the appeal to me. This uncertainty and not-knowing what was real or not, and the direction of her story. The tone retains this detachedness that makes it hard to come to know the characters, but again, this is what ultimately made them interesting to me. Bowen is a particularly frustrating character, especially in how cold he is towards Song Yan. Yet, I also felt a modicum of sympathy towards him, when we learn more about his past. Bowen's mother loses importance after the mid-way mark, which is a pity as I thought that the friction between her and Song Yan had potential. Still, I liked how Yu explored Song Yan's loneliness, her sadness, and her melancholy. I also appreciated the different types of silences depicted in her narrative and their effects (on a person's wellbeing, on a relationship, on someone's impression of another person).

The characters' opaqueness and obliqueness really fit with the surreal themes and imagery that are underlining Song Yan’s narrative. I will definitely give this a re-read and hopefully, that will enable me to understand wtf was going on more. Nevertheless, I was still able to like Ghost Music, in particular the contemplative nature and dreamlike quality of Song Yan's narration.

What happens when you loose your identity? When your job doesn't reflect who you are and when you get no connection anymore with friends nor family? This existentialist crisis is what the protagonist Song is facing. She is a young woman trying to find her own self in the middle of Beijing. Her slow breakdown starts when she receives a parcel with mushrooms that are not meant for her, but she can't return them as there is no sender information. This starts a series of events, some real and some in a dreamlike realm that will throw her off and send her in a full nervous breakdown after which she will reach a state of acceptance and even happiness.

In a strange way and despite the fact that Song lives in a culture that is extremely different of mine, I immediately felt connected to her and certainly in the parts where she describes her relation to her performing the piano. Never have I read about the immens fear one can have performing, not afraid of the public or the music, or the fear of tripping over some notes, but something much more feral. I have had that same fear as a young adult, and I did quit playing the piano because of it., and I never had the words to describe why that happened. Until now.

I absolutely loved the prose, beautiful but also very restrained and I was often reminded of some magic realism that I've read as a young adult, certainly the Flemish authors Johan Daisne and Hubert Lampo and also a bit of Isabel Allende. An absolute 5 star read, that I can truly recommend !