MY SHANGHAI NEIGHBOURS

Marcus Fedder’s My Shanghai Neighbours is an intriguing blend of fiction, philosophy, and satire, set against the intimate backdrop of a Shanghai *Xincun* (a kind of communal compound). What first looks like a neighborhood drama quickly reveals itself to be something more layered: a tapestry of eccentric characters, personal betrayals, and cultural tensions, all stitched together with dark humor and philosophical musings. At its heart, the novel is character-driven. We meet Laowen, a retired engineer who once designed fountain pens and now spends his days smoking cigarettes, reading Goethe and Kant, and avoiding his wife. His relationship with Jing Zhang, a black-and-white cat who seems to understand both German and philosophy, provides some of the novel’s most delightful and absurd moments. Their odd companionship, which includes Laowen reading *Faust* aloud to the cat, or pondering Heidegger’s *Dasein* while Jing Zhang purrs, captures the novel’s ability to balance comedy and melancholy. When Laowen reflects, “Silence is Dasein,” it’s both ironic and oddly moving. The book thrives on contrasts: intellectual musings bump against neighborhood gossip, personal histories bleed into political traumas, and the ordinary (cooking, smoking, fixing lightbulbs) becomes charged with hidden meaning. Take Jing Zhang’s revenge after being castrated: he masterminds a campaign to have all the neighborhood cats use Comrade Bo’s garden as their litter box. It’s petty, hilarious, and strangely profound in how it mirrors the human characters’ own cycles of resentment and quiet rebellion.

Themes of memory, silence, and revenge ripple throughout. Laowen’s decision to stop speaking after a stroke becomes a form of protest and self-preservation. Lanfen, his wife, uses cooking pork (which she knows he hates) as her subtle revenge. Their son Muyang drifts through life with misplaced affections and questionable choices, while neighbors like Mrs. Bo embody the persistence of ideology, clinging to Maoist slogans long after their relevance has faded. In every corner, Fedder captures the pettiness, resilience, and absurdity of ordinary life in extraordinary political and cultural circumstances.

Stylistically, Fedder writes with a dry, playful voice. His sentences often weave philosophical reflections into everyday events. For instance, Laowen muses on *Faust* and Heidegger while smoking, while Jing Zhang, ever the feline philosopher, contemplates the indignities of castration. This blend of the profound and the ridiculous keeps the tone light even when the subject matter veers into betrayal, loss, or disillusionment. Readers who enjoy novels rich in character studies, like those of Yiyun Li or even Milan Kundera, will find My Shanghai Neighbours rewarding. It’s perfect for readers interested in contemporary China, but it avoids heavy-handed political analysis. Instead, it focuses on the private lives of individuals, their quirks, and their quiet acts of rebellion or resignation. Cat lovers, too, will appreciate the unusual narrative role of Jing Zhang, who often sees more clearly than his human counterparts. In the end, My Shanghai Neighbours is a book about neighbors who spy, resent, comfort, and misunderstand each other, but also about the larger question of how people carve meaning out of the contradictions of daily life. With its mix of wit, poignancy, and philosophical depth, it leaves you reflecting on your own neighbors, your grudges, and maybe even your household pets.