By Wang Lianxin of China Peace Publishing House

Brief introduction：

From the perspective of a child， this book tells the story of a young girl returning to the countryside with her parents. She is frightened on the bumpy road， and along the way， she picks beautiful wildflowers by the fields and roadsides. In the countryside， she teases dogs， chases after geese and watches pigs. It seems that the most important thing is to be together with her family – her cousins. This work keeps the readers in suspense from beginning to end. We do not know the purpose of the narrative until all the people climb up the mountain ... The suspense of the story conveys the author’s thoughts on folk culture， family， reunion and homesickness.

About the author：

Wan Wan is a young writer for picture books， graduated from the Central Academy of Fine Arts in 2007. The original picture book Blacky is Lost won the Honorable Mention Award of the Second HsinYi Picture Book Award; the illustration Childhood Memory won the second prize among domestic professionals of the “2017 Original Illustration Exhibition of the Chen Bochui International Children’s Literature Award”.

When I was 6 years old， one day someone suddenly came to my home and said something to my mother. I saw my mother was panicked and tongue-tied. She stopped the work in hand， took me with her and rushed the entire way.

It was my 86-year-old grandfather who passed away.

Putting on mourning clothes and a white scarf， amid the miserable crying and deafening suona horn， I bid farewell to my grandpa in a daze.

From then on， every year on the Qing Ming Festival， the Spring Festival， the Hungry Ghost Festival， the anniversary of grandfather’s death and birthday， aside more important occasions， such as moving and entering high school， my mother will take my elder brother and I back to my uncle’s house for sacrifices， firecrackers， paper money and so on. During these occasions， we walk through the winding paths， arrange a bowl of meat， a glass of wine and burn piles of paper money to offer to him in his after life. Sometimes， we set off fireworks， pull up the overgrowing weeds and prepare delicious dishes whilst sending our blessings to the deceased. During such times， I often hear my mother mumbling to herself.

Year after year， I have learned a lot of stories about my grandpa from my mother’s mumbling during such rituals. Up to now， I can still remember how he was arrested when he was young， and about the grievances between him and his nephew as his adopted son. The figure of" him walking on crutches under the eaves flashes before my eyes. My grandfather was over 80 years old when I was born. He was not well and I spent little time getting along with him， so I had little fondness for him. However， through these stories， I have come to know him well. Due to these rituals my grandpa has always been an old man with stories that show a life full of vivid details in my mind rather than just a forgotten “Grandpa”.

During my junior year at college， my 92-year-old grandmother met her end. My grandmother was the only elderly person in the world who gave me the feeling of being spoiled when I was a child. I was a boarder in middle school， and I could only visit her during the holidays， and winter and summer vacations. She was almost 90 then， her vision was a little blurry， and she could not hear clearly. However， she was still worried that I did not have enough to eat and wear when living alone. Every time she saw me， when my uncle and aunt were away， she would quietly take me to her bedroom. Then she tremblingly took out a large stack of banknotes that she kept under her bed sheets ? those were what aunts or cousins gave to her when they called in on her， and sometimes she would give me something to eat. I always took it happily. I never told her the banknotes had already become cents， and the delicious food she reserved for me had already expired.

Twenty years have passed. Every time I think of my grandmother’s chuckling， innocence and subtle pride， whether I am in a crowded subway or a clamorous party， I will lower my head and close my eyes in order to hold back my tears.

More often， I am tied up and she begins to fade from my memory. Still， the moment I open my eyes in the morning， I will always think of her all of a sudden on every Chinese New Year’s Eve， the Qing Ming Festival， the Hungry Ghost Festival， and the Double Ninth Festival. I will also think of those days when I sweep the tomb with my mother and offer sacrifices to her at home.

The ritual is etched in the depth of my soul so that my grandmother always has a special place in my heart. There are some specific moments， when I can be a pampered and carefree child rather than a middle-aged adult worried about children， work， and the burdens of everyday life.

This may be one of the reasons why Wan Wan’s Back to the Countryside impressed me. It shows us the value and significance of the custom of tomb sweeping in a modern society in which many of the traditions get left behind. Perhaps young children today do not know the reasons why they have to make an arduous journey back to the countryside， to walk those long and winding roads， set off firecrackers， and murmur something to the deceased who never hear it. However， through such stories， maybe someday they will cherish the times when they returned to the countryside and， when they grow up， they may even miss these rituals and the significance they hold.

Back to the Countryside

Wan Wan

China Peace Publishing House

September 2019

39.80 （CNY）