Last Words from Montmartre

Back of the Book

When the pioneering Taiwanese novelist Qiu Miaojin committed suicide in 1995 at age twenty-six, she left behind her unpublished masterpiece, Last Words from Montmartre. Unfolding through a series of letters written by an unnamed narrator, Last Words tells the story of a passionate relationship between two young women—their sexual awakening, their gradual breakup, and the devastating aftermath of their broken love. In a style that veers between extremes, from self-deprecation to pathos, compulsive repetition to rhapsodic musings, reticence to vulnerability, Qiu’s genre-bending novel is at once a psychological thriller, a sublime romance, and the author’s own suicide note.

The letters (which, Qiu tells us, can be read in any order) leap between Paris, Taipei, and Tokyo. They display wrenching insights into what it means to live between cultures, languages, and genders—until the genderless character Zoë appears, and the narrator’s spiritual and physical identity is transformed. As powerfully raw and transcendent as Mishima’s Confessions of a Mask, Goethe’s The Sorrows of Young Werther, and Theresa Cha’s Dictée, to name but a few, Last Words from Montmartre proves Qiu Miaojin to be one of the finest experimentalists and modernist Chinese-language writers of our generation.

Why You Should Read It

Whilst Miaojin’s reflections may be (quite fairly) judged as unhealthy, there is a form of catharsis the reader gains access to through her relinquishing of shame and guilt, any imposition of morality on her feelings and her actions forgone. The women in the novel swim through the depths of a connection that feels like a deepening resonance, an ancient recognition of one another rather than any affection to project significance onto that is found easily and often, just by virtue of so many people looking. Despite the echoes of ardent love, Miaojin does not rely on a claim to fate to justify the event of the union, but doubles down on agency and the fact of choosing to love something decaying, rotting, ruinous—as a means to transcend beyond the experiences an ordinary life, and a safe love has to offer. Last Words is Qiu Miaojin’s last primal scream, one that resonates with a sincerity that very little since has been able to replicate. There is an element of truth in Last Words from Montmartre—the depth of the lust and the grief, the hatred—all of which is born of love in a way that readers may find uncomfortable. As Jenny Holzer has said, ‘expiring for love is beautiful, but stupid’—Miaojin exercises her agency in choosing to build a shrine to the former that remains incomparable to this day.

Memorable Passage

For a moment during our phone call it was snowing, as I realized the extent of our sorrow. I knew I loved you so much it was like I was practically crying out: Here is the location of the soul I have cared for, and here is the source of all beauty and love, but how heavy, how painful, how heavy, how painful.

About the Author

Qiu Miaojin (1969–1995) was a Taiwanese author whose profound and emotionally charged writings have earned her recognition as a significant voice in contemporary Taiwanese literature. Known for her novel Last Words from Montmartre, Qiu's work explores themes of identity, love, and the complexities of human emotions. Her writing is marked by a lyrical intensity and a deep introspection that transcends cultural boundaries. Qiu's openly queer perspective challenged societal norms, making her a pioneering figure in LGBTQ+ literature. Tragically, she took her own life at the age of 26, adding a layer of poignancy to her literary legacy. Qiu Miaojin is worth knowing for her contributions to the exploration of queer identity and the depth of her introspective prose, which continues to resonate with readers seeking a profound understanding of the human experience.

Further Reading & Watching

“A Crocodile in Paris: The Queer Classics of Qiu Miaojin” by Ankita Chakraborty, Longreads
Love and Death in Montmartre, Evan Chan, 2019