For the protagonist of Ghost Music, An Yu’s follow-up to her acclaimed debut Braised Pork, life in Beijing with husband Bowen is as predictable “as the phases of the moon”. That is, until Song Yan’s mother-in-law moves in. Along with her luggage, Ma brings “with her everything [Song Yan] didn’t know about Bowen”. Secrets from his past are exposed, including traumas, an ex-wife and a child. Song Yan learns that she never really knew her husband; in turn, home no longer feels like home, and her sense of self deteriorates.
In part, this novel is about grief. Song Yan isn’t grieving for the husband she thought she knew, but for a past version of herself. Before marrying Bowen, she trained as a concert pianist; the life she previously “gave” to the piano, she has “given to him”. This trade of musical performance for domesticity is symbolised in the transition her hands have made: “It wasn’t until we started dating that I learned to cook. I stopped caring about cutting my fingers or burning my hands.” Now Song Yan becomes haunted by the life she could have led – the pianist version of herself. Here is where the “ghost” of the title comes in. Out of the blue, Song Yan receives a letter from Bai Yu, her father’s favourite pianist, presumed dead for years; she starts playing again; and she begins to dream of an orange mushroom that talks to her, and which yearns to listen to Chopin.
