The tune was simple enough, but to pronounce the words with the correct Izzi intonation was grueling.
“Why is this all in English?”
"Endless night, won't you clear off/with the coming dawn?"
Work is being done, but a machine is doing it; I have a translation, but where is the translator?
While Jia offered a unique cross section of a crucial turning point in Chinese history, the novel was also laced with such sappiness as to make it all but impossible to read for a modern reader weaned on postmodern irony and detachment.