I Deliver Parcels in Beijing

I cannot figure out why I liked this book, or why I kept reading it for 300 pages.

It’s a memoir of a Chinese guy and the 19 different jobs he holds over a decade or so. As the title would suggest, none of these jobs are notable or glamorous. None are his “passion” and only one or two promise any kind of future. Mostly, they’re all just jobs, and many of them are gig work that he has to string together on his own.

Delivering parcels is only one of them. He works as a bicycle salesman, a gas station jockey, he opens a clothes store and a deli, etc. None of the jobs make him happy, though some are fleetingly pleasant. Mostly they’re all a grind while he tries to scratch out a living.

Although China is the most well-known “Communist” nation on Earth, the author tells a story of unbrindled capitalism. Far from a state-run Utopia, China is apparently just as selfish and cutthroat as the rest of the world, as lots of people try to get rich off the backs of people lower than them.

The book is simple, humble, and matter-of-fact (credit to the translator; the author doesn’t speak or write English), and is notable for not being particularly… well, notable. It’s just a memoir of work, with a few passages about the philosophy of being alive and trying to make a living.

That’s it. But for whatever reason, I couldn’t put it down.

And neither could a lot of other people – the book has sold 2 million copies in China, and has elevated the author to international status. In the book, he talks of how he loved writing and wished he could do it full time.

So, I guess that all worked out for him in the end.

Book Info