Ai Weiwei is a name usually associated with massive installations, sunflower seeds made of porcelain, and very public battles with the Chinese government. You probably know him as the guy who dropped a Han Dynasty urn. But Zodiac: A Graphic Memoir isn't exactly that version of him. Or rather, it is, but filtered through the lens of a twelve-year-old boy living in a dugout in the Gobi Desert.
It’s a weird, beautiful book.
Honestly, calling it a "graphic memoir" feels a bit like calling the Sistine Chapel a "ceiling painting." It's technically true, but it misses the soul of the thing. This isn't just a chronological list of events. Instead, Ai Weiwei teams up with illustrator Gianluca Costantini to weave together the twelve signs of the Chinese zodiac with his own life story and some pretty heavy philosophical questions.
If you’ve ever felt like your life was being steered by forces totally out of your control—politics, family history, or just plain luck—this book is going to hit home.
The Gobi Desert and the Art of Survival
The meat of the story starts in a place called "Little Siberia." That’s where Ai Weiwei’s father, the famous poet Ai Qing, was exiled during the Cultural Revolution. We aren't talking about a "tough neighborhood." We are talking about a hole in the ground. Literally. They lived in a dugout.
The memoir captures this childhood with a strange kind of clarity. There's a specific panel where the young Ai is cleaning public toilets. It’s grim. But there’s no self-pity. This is just how life was. The book uses the zodiac: a graphic memoir structure to jump between these memories and the ancient myths that define Chinese culture. It’s a smart move because it stops the book from becoming too depressing. By shifting to the legend of the Great Race or the characteristics of the Pig or the Rat, Ai creates a bridge between his personal suffering and a much larger, timeless human experience.
I think what most people get wrong about Ai Weiwei is that they think he’s naturally a rebel. They think he loves the fight. But when you read about him watching his father burn his own books just to stay safe, you realize the rebellion wasn't a choice. It was a survival mechanism.
Working with Gianluca Costantini
You can't talk about this book without talking about the art. Gianluca Costantini is an Italian artist known for "graphic activism." His style is thin, precise lines. It feels urgent. In Zodiac: A Graphic Memoir, his drawings don't just decorate the text; they provide the emotional heavy lifting.
📖 Related: Big Brother 27 Morgan: What Really Happened Behind the Scenes
The illustrations of the animals are particularly striking. They aren't cute cartoons. They look ancient, almost like they were etched into stone thousands of years ago. This creates a cool contrast with the modern scenes, like Ai Weiwei getting arrested by the police or his time in New York City during the 80s.
The New York Years: Cats, Blackjack, and Warhol
Speaking of New York—this part of the book is a trip.
Imagine Ai Weiwei in the East Village in 1981. He’s got no money. He’s living in a tiny apartment. He’s hanging out with Allen Ginsberg. This is where the "Rat" section of the zodiac comes into play—the survivor, the hustler. Ai spent a lot of time in Atlantic City playing blackjack. He was actually quite good at it. He studied the math. He stayed disciplined.
It’s such a human detail.
We see him at the 1988 Democratic National Convention, not as a political figure, but as a guy with a camera. He’s documenting everything. This is where he learns that "art" isn't just a painting on a wall. It’s an attitude. It’s the act of bearing witness.
One of the most poignant moments in the memoir is his relationship with his cats. If you follow Ai Weiwei on social media, you know he’s a cat person. The book explores this connection—how animals offer a kind of uncomplicated companionship that humans, with all our politics and ego, just can’t manage. It’s a quiet, tender thread in an otherwise loud and chaotic life.
Why the Zodiac Format Actually Works
Usually, when an author uses a gimmick like "the twelve signs of the zodiac," it feels forced. Like they had a 300-page book and tried to squeeze it into twelve boxes.
👉 See also: The Lil Wayne Tracklist for Tha Carter 3: What Most People Get Wrong
But here? It works because Chinese culture is so deeply rooted in these symbols. Each animal represents a year, but also a set of traits and a destiny. Ai Weiwei uses these to explore his own identity. Am I a leader? Am I a follower? Am I the one who speaks out, or the one who hides?
It’s about the "Great Race"
The memoir keeps coming back to the myth of the Great Race—the story of how the order of the zodiac was decided. The Rat cheated. The Ox was hardworking but slow. The Tiger was strong.
Ai uses this myth to talk about the Chinese government and the way power is distributed. He’s basically saying that the "race" is rigged. If you’re a Dragon, you’re expected to fly. If you’re a Snake, you’re expected to crawl. But what happens when you refuse to play your part? That’s the central tension of the book.
Freedom of Expression vs. The State
We have to talk about the 2011 arrest. It’s the climax of the book. Ai Weiwei was held in secret detention for 81 days.
The graphic format is incredibly effective here. You see the two guards who stood over him 24/7. You see the claustrophobia. You see the bright lights that never went out. It’s one thing to read a news report about "human rights violations." It’s another thing to see a drawing of a man trying to maintain his dignity while being watched while he sleeps, eats, and uses the bathroom.
He reflects on his father’s exile while he himself is in a cell. The cycle repeats.
The book asks a really hard question: Is the price of freedom worth the cost to your family? Ai Weiwei doesn’t give a simple "yes." He shows the toll it took on his mother. He shows the worry in his wife’s eyes. It’s messy. It’s complicated. It’s real.
✨ Don't miss: Songs by Tyler Childers: What Most People Get Wrong
The Takeaway for Readers
If you pick up Zodiac: A Graphic Memoir, don’t expect a traditional autobiography. Expect a conversation. Expect to jump through time.
You’ll see the construction of the "Bird’s Nest" stadium for the Beijing Olympics (which Ai helped design and then famously disowned). You’ll see him smashing that urn. But you’ll also see him as a kid, looking at the stars and wondering why his father isn't allowed to write poems anymore.
It’s a book about memory. How we choose what to remember and how those memories shape who we become.
What to do after reading
If you finish the book and want to go deeper, there are a few things you should check out:
- Watch "Ai Weiwei: Never Sorry": This documentary covers a lot of the same ground as the memoir but gives you the raw video footage of the events described. It’s a great companion piece.
- Look up Ai Qing’s poetry: Understanding his father's work makes the "Ox" and "Tiger" sections of the memoir much more powerful. His poem "Dayanhe—My Wet-Nurse" is a good place to start.
- Visit the "Circle of Animals/Zodiac Heads" installation: These are the massive bronze statues Ai created that inspired the book. They’ve traveled all over the world. If there’s one near you, go see it. Seeing the scale of the animals helps you appreciate the scale of the ideas in the book.
- Start your own "Graphic Journal": You don’t have to be a world-famous artist. But try sketching out a memory from when you were ten. Don't worry about it being "good." Just focus on the details—what did the room smell like? Who was there?
The biggest lesson from Ai Weiwei is that your story matters. Even if you're living in a hole in the ground. Especially if you're living in a hole in the ground. Silence is the only thing that truly kills a person. As long as you are speaking, or drawing, or making something, you are still in the race.
Go buy the book. Read it slowly. Look at the lines. Think about your own "animal" and what it says about your path.