The Big Red Book of Modern Chinese Literature

by Yunte Huang

  “Would it be possible for me to see your monk’s certificate?” It seems that this is more useful than the credentials I have.

  “It’s not a secret document, the Buddhist order doesn’t have secrets and is open to all.”

  He takes from a breast pocket a big piece of folded silk paper with an ink-print Buddha sitting with legs folded on the lotus throne in the top section. It is stamped with a large vermilion square seal. His Buddhist name at initiation, academic achievements, and rank are all written on it. He has reached the rank of abbot and is permitted to lecture on the sutras and to deal with Buddhist matters.

  “Maybe one day I’ll follow in your footsteps.” I don’t know whether I am joking or not.

  “In that case we are linked in destiny.” He, however, is quite earnest. Saying this, he gets up, presses his palms together, and bids me farewell.

  He walks very quickly and I follow him for a while but in an instant he vanishes among the thronging sightseers. I am clearly aware that I am still rooted in the mundane world.

  LATER, WHILE READING an inscription in the Abandon Profit Pagoda, built in the Sui Dynasty, which stands in front of the Guoqing Monastery at the foot of Tiantai Mountain, I suddenly overhear a conversation.

  “You’d best return with me,” says a man’s voice from the other side of the brick wall.

  “No, you should leave now.” It is also a man’s voice, but it is louder.

  “It’s not for my sake, think of your mother.”

  “Just tell her I’m doing very well.”

  “Your mother asked me to come, she’s ill.”

  “What illness is it?”

  “She keeps saying she has pains in the chest.”

  The son makes no response.

  “Your mother got me to bring you a pair of shoes.”

  “I’ve got shoes.”

  “They’re the sports shoes you wanted, they’re for basketball.”

  “They’re very expensive, why did you buy them?”

  “Try them on.”

  “I don’t play basketball now, I don’t have any use for them. You’d best take them back, nobody wears them here.”

  In the early morning, birds in the forest are singing cheerfully. In the midst of the twittering of many sparrows, a single thrush warbles but it is concealed by the dense leaves of the nearby ginkgo tree so I can’t see which branch it’s on. Then a few magpies arrive and make a raucous clamor. It is silent for a long time by the brick pagoda and thinking they have gone I go around and see a youth looking up at the singing birds, his gleaming black shaven head does not yet have the initiation burns made with incense sticks. He is wearing a short monk’s jacket, and the ruddy complexion of his handsome face is unlike the dark yellowish complexions of monks who have been vegetarian for a long time. His young father, a peasant, is holding the new white-soled basketball shoes with red-and-blue striped uppers he has taken out of their box. He is breathing heavily. I surmise the father is putting pressure on his son to get married and I wonder if the youth will take his vows.

  (Translated by Mabel Lee)

  * The “you” in this chapter and the “I” in the next are two unnamed characters of the novel. We may read such a contrapuntal narration as one man’s inner dialogue.

  CUI JIAN

  (1961– )

  Cui Jian, the godfather of Chinese rock and roll, was born to ethnic Korean parents in Beijing in 1961. His father was a professional trumpet player and his mother was a dancer in a Korean minority troupe. At the age of twenty, Cui secured a position as a classical trumpet player in Beijing Philharmonic Orchestra. Inspired by Western rock music (Simon & Garfunkel, the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, etc.) which had found its way into China’s cultural underground, Cui formed a band called Seven-Ply Board in 1984. Two years later, his sensational performance at a concert in Beijing propelled him to national stardom, and the song “Nothing to My Name” became the biggest hit in Chinese history. His first album, Rock ’n’ Roll on the New Long March, was released in 1987. In the post-Tiananmen years, Cui has remained the most popular and politically contentious musician in China, a powerful spokesperson for the powerless silent majority.

  Nothing to My Name

  I keep asking endlessly

  When will you go with me?

  But you always laugh at me.

  I’ve nothing to my name.

  I’ll give you all my dreams,

  Give you my freedom too.

  But you always laugh at me.

  I’ve nothing to my name.

  Oh-o-o-o-oh! When will you go with me?

  Oh-o-o-o-oh! When will you go with me?

  The ground beneath my feet is moving.

  The water by my side is flowing.

  But you always laugh at me.

  I’ve nothing to my name.

  Why do you always laugh?

  Why do I always chase you?

  Do I in your eyes forever

  Have nothing to my name?

  Oh-o-o-o-oh! When will you go with me?

  Oh-o-o-o-oh! When will you go with me?

  I tell you I’ve waited too long.

  I tell you my last wish.

  I want to take your hands in mine

  Then you’ll go with me.

  This time your hands are trembling.

  This time your tears are flowing.

  Perhaps you’re saying you love me

  Tho’ I’ve nothing to my name.

  Oh-o-o-o-oh! Then you’ll go with me.

  Oh-o-o-o-oh! Then you’ll go with me.

  (Translated by Yunte Huang)

  Permissions

  Ai Qing, “On a Chilean Cigarette Package,” from Modern Chinese Poetry by Julia Lin. Published 1972 by the University of Washington Press. Reprinted by permission of Tan Lin.

  Anonymous, “Red Lantern,” from Literature of the People’s Republic of China, ed. Kai-yu Hsu. Copyright © 1980 by Indiana University Press. Reprinted with permission of the publisher.

  Ba Jin, Family, from Selected Works of Ba Jin, Volume 1, Family by Ba Jin, translated by Sidney Shapiro and Wang Mingjie. Copyright © 1988 by Foreign Language Press. Reprinted by permission of the publisher.

  Bei Dao, “Let’s Go,” “The Answer,” “The Red Sailboat,” “Notes from the City of the Sun,” from The August Sleepwalker by Bei Dao, translated by Bonnie S. McDougall. Copyright © 1988 by Bei Dao, Translation copyright © 1988, 1990 by Bonnie S. McDougall. Reprinted by permission of New Directions Publishing and Anvil Press Poetry.

  Bei Dao, City Gate Open Up, translated by Jeffrey Yang. Used by permission of Jeffrey Yang.

  Bian Zhilin, “Fragment,” “Loneliness,” “Evening,” “Dream of the Old Town,” translated by Mary Fung and David Lunde. First published in Renditions Paperbacks, The Carving of Insects, pp. 50, 82, 94, copyright © 2006. Reprinted by permission of the Research Centre for Translation, Chinese University of Hong Kong.

  Bing Xin, Spring Water, Poems 14, 17, 37, 79, 100, 102, 144, from “Selections from Spring Water,” tr. Grace Boynton. First published in Renditions No. 32 (Autumn 1989), pp. 99, 101, 103, 104, 106. Reprinted by permission of the Research Centre for Translation, Chinese University of Hong Kong.

  Bing Xin, A Maze of Stars, Poems 19, 34, 44, 49, 73, 81, 97, from “Selections from A Maze of Stars,” translated by John Cayley. First published in Renditions No. 32 (Autumn 1989), pp. 109, 111–116. Reprinted by permission of the Research Centre for Translation, Chinese University of Hong Kong.

  Can Xue, “Hut on the Mountain,” from Dialogues in Paradise by Can Xue. Translation copyright © 1989 by Northwestern University Press. All rights reserved.

  Chi Zijian, “Night Comes to Calabash Street,” translated by Janice Wickeri. First published in Renditions No. 39 (Spring 1993), pp. 86–95. Reprinted by permission of the Research Centre for Translation, Chinese University of Hong Kong.

  Dai Wangshu, “Rainy Alley,” “I Think,” from Dai Wangshu: The Life and Poetry of a Chinese Moder
nist by Gregory Lee, copyright © 1989 The Chinese University Press. Reprinted by permission of the publisher.

  Ding Ling, Miss Sophia’s Diary, from I Myself Am a Woman: Selected Writings of Ding Ling, edited by Tani E. Barlow. Copyright ©1989 by Beacon Press. Reprinted by permission of Beacon Press, Boston.

  Gao Xingjian, Soul Mountain, translated by Mabel Lee. Copyright © 2000 by Gao Xingjian. English translation copyright © 2000 by Mabel Lee. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins.

  Gu Cheng, “Nameless Flowers,” “A Generation,” “Farewell, Cemetery,” “I’m a Willful Child,” from Nameless Flowers by Gu Cheng, translated by Aaron Crippen. Copyright © 2005 by George Braziller, Inc. Reprinted by permission of George Braziller, Inc., New York. All rights reserved.

  Guo Moruo, “The Sky Dog,” “The Nirvana of the Feng and Huang: Prelude,” “The Street of Heaven,” from Modern Chinese Poetry by Julia Lin. Published 1972 by the University of Washington Press. Reprinted by permission of Tan Lin.

  Hai Zi, “Your Hands,” “Facing the Ocean, Spring Warms Flowers Open,” “Spring, Ten Hai Zis,” from Over Autumn Rooftops by Hai Zi, translated by Dan Murphy. Copyright © 2010 by Host Publications Inc. Reprinted by permission of the publisher.

  He Haiming, “For the Love of Her Feet,” from Stories for Saturday, ed. Timothy Wong. Copyright © 2003. Reprinted by permission of University of Hawaii Press.

  Hu Shih, “The Butteflies,” “Dream and Poetry,” “One Smile,” from Modern Chinese Poetry by Julia Lin. Published 1972 by the University of Washington Press. Reprinted by permission of Tan Lin.

  Hu Shih, “To the Tune of Shengzhazi,” translated by Glenn Mott. Used by permission of Glenn Mott.

  Lao She, Rickshaw, translated by Jean M. James. Copyright © 1979. Reprinted by permission of University of Hawaii Press.

  Li Jinfa, “The Abandoned Woman,” “The Expression of Time,” from Modern Chinese Poetry by Julia Lin. Published 1972 by the University of Washington Press. Reprinted by permission of Tan Lin.

  Lin Yutang, My Country and My People. Reproduced with permission of Curtis Brown on behalf of the Estate of Lin Yutang. Copyright © 1935 The Estate of Lin Yutang.

  Lu Xun, “Preface to Call to Arms,” “A Madman’s Diary,” from Selected Stories of Lu Hsun by Lu Hsun, translated by Yang Xianyi and Gladys Yang. Copyright ©1960. Used by permission of W. W. Norton.

  Mao Dun, Rainbow, translated by Madeline Zelin. Copyright © 1993 by the Regents of the University of California. Reprinted by permission of the University of California Press.

  Mao Zedong, “Changsha,” “Mount Liupan,” “Snow,” from Poems by Mao Zedong. Copyright © 1976 Foreign Language Press. Reprinted by permission of the publisher.

  Mao Zedong, Quotations from Chairman Mao. Copyright © 1972 Foreign Language Press. Reprinted by permission of the publisher.

  Ma Yuan, “Thrirteen Ways to Fold a Paper Hawk,” translated by Herbert J. Batt. First published in Renditions No. 63 (Spring 2005), pp. 109–127. Reprinted by permission of the Research Centre for Translation, Chinese University of Hong Kong.

  Mo Yan, Red Sorghum, translated by Howard Goldblatt, translation copyright © 1993 by Howard Goldblatt. Used by permission of Viking Penguin, a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC, and by permission of the Random House Group Limited.

  Shen Congwen, Border Town, translated by Jeffrey C. Kinkley. Translation copyright © 2009 by Jeffrey C. Kinkley. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins.

  Shu Ting, “To an Oak,” “A Roadside Encounter,” “Assembly Line,” “Where the Soul Dwells,” translated by Eva Hung. First published in Renditions Nos. 27 & 28 (Spring & Autumn 1987), pp. 260, 262, 264; and in Renditions No. 39 (Spring 1993), p. 134. Reprinted by permission of the Research Centre for Translation, Chinese University of Hong Kong.

  Su Tong, Raise the Red Lantern. English translation copyright © 1993 by Michael S. Duke. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins.

  Wang Anyi, Love in a Small Town, translated by Eva Hung. First published in Renditions Nos. 27 & 28 (Spring & Autumn 1987), pp. 184–203. Reprinted by permission of the Research Centre for Translation, Chinese University of Hong Kong.

  Wang Meng, “The Young Man Who Has Just Arrived at the Organization Department,” from Literature of the People’s Republic of China, ed. Kai-yu Hsu. Copyright © 1980 by Indiana University Press. Reprinted with permission of the publisher.

  Wen Yiduo, “The Dead Water,” “Perhaps (A Dirge),” “Confession,” from Modern Chinese Poetry by Julia Lin. Published 1972 by the University of Washington Press. Reprinted by permission of Tan Lin.

  Xiao Hong, Tales of Hulan River, from The Field of Life and Death and Tales of Hulan River by Hsiao Hung, translated by Howard Goldblatt. Copyright © 1979 by Indiana University Press. Reprinted with permission of the publisher.

  Yang Lian, “Norlang,” translated by Alisa Joyce with John Minford. First published in Renditions No. 23 (Spring 1985), pp. 153–158; “Burial Ground,” translated by Pang Bingjun and John Minford with Sean Golden. First published in Renditions No. 23 (Spring 1985), pp. 149–151. Reprinted by permission of the Research Centre for Translation, Chinese University of Hong Kong.

  Yang Lian, “Book of Exile,” Poems 1, 2, 3, from Masks and Crocodile by Yang Lian, translated by Mabel Lee. Copyright © 1990 by Wild Peony. Reprinted by permission of the publisher.

  Yu Hua, “On the Road at Eighteen,” from The Past and the Punishment by Yu Hua, translated by Andrew F. Jones. Copyright © 1996 by the University of Hawaii Press. Reprinted by permission of the publisher.

  Yu Jian, “File 0,” translated by Maghiel van Crevel. First published in Renditions No. 56 (Autumn 2001), pp. 24–56. Reprinted by permission of the Research Centre for Translation, Chinese University of Hong Kong.

  Zhao Shuli, “The Unglovable Hands,” from Literature of the People’s Republic of China, ed. Kai-yu Hsu. Copyright © 1980 by Indiana University Press. Reprinted with permission of the publisher.

  Zhou Zuoren, “Reading in the Lavatory,” from Selected Essays by Zhou Zuoren, translated by David E. Pollard. Copyright © 2006 The Chinese University Press. Reprinted by permission of the publisher.

  Zhu Ziqing, “The Moonlit Lotus Pond,” translated by Howard Goldblatt, from The Columbia Anthology of Modern Chinese Literature, eds. Joseph Lau and Howard Goldblatt. Copyright © 2007 by Columbia University Press. Reprinted by permission of the publisher.

  Acknowledgments

  As befits a project grappling with a nation’s collective memory, this book would not exist without the collective efforts of many people who have helped me in various ways and whose names I cannot possibly all list here.

  I owe an enormous debt to my editor at Norton, Alane Salierno Mason, who first approached me with the idea of doing this book and since then has expertly and patiently guided me through the long, at times tortuous, process of putting together an anthology with an ironic, yet deadly serious, title. I also want to thank Glenn Mott, who has always done more than his share as an agent and a friend in making my dreams possible. As a gifted poet and translator, Glenn has contributed invaluable work to this volume.

  Since this book relies on translation, I want to express my profound admiration for the trailblazing work by Julia Lin, Yang Hsien-yi and Gladys Yang, Sidney Shapiro, Howard Goldblatt, Mabel Lee, Eva Hung, Jeffrey Kinkley, David Pollard, and others who have made modern Chinese literature what it is today in the English-language translation. These pioneers are followed by other equally talented and devoted translators, including Gregory Lee, Timothy Wong, Jeffrey Yang, Tani Barlow, Michael Duke, Bonnie McDougall, Mary Fung, Madeleine Zelin, Andrew Jones, Aaron Crippen, Dan Murphy, Lucas Klein, Andrea Lingenfeller, and Fiona Sze-Lorrain. It is my fortune to be able to include the works by many of these translators but my deep regret having to leave out some selections due to the complexity of copyright clearance.

  It especially pains me to drop two of my favorite works, Love in a Fallen City by Eileen Chang and Fortress Besiege
d by Qian Zhongshu. Despite my repeated attempts and desperate pleas, the literary executors who control the rights for these works declined to oblige. I also encountered insurmountable roadblocks erected by the arcane system of subsidiary rights in China, demands for unreasonable fees by some English-language publishers, and the incompatibility between American and Chinese practices of copyright protection.

  Difficulties notwithstanding, I have enjoyed the support, assistance, and encouragement from the following friends, fellow travelers, and editors at various journals and publishing companies: Jianhua Chen, Yiye Huang, Bei Dao, Xi Chuan, Zishan Chen, Dongfeng Wang, Yu Xinqiao, Theodore Huters and Stephanie Wong at Renditions, Peter London at HarperCollins, Sam Moore at Penguin, Kelsey Ford at New Directions, Angelina Wong at Chinese University of Hong Kong Press, Elizabeth Clementson at W. W. Norton, Michael Duckworth at University of Hawaii Press, Ryan Mita at Beacon Press, Greta Lindquist at University of California Press, Liz Hamilton at Northwestern University Press, Norah Perkins at Curtis Brown Group Ltd., Peter Froehlich at Indiana University Press, Kit Yee Wong at Anvil Press Poetry, and Michael Purwin at Columbia University Press. I especially want to thank my college friend and now an editor at People’s Literature Publishing House in China, Helen Liu, who gave me a key to the mystery of the Chinese publishing world. I am also grateful to Tan Lin, who generously granted me the permissions to reprint some of his late mother’s pioneering work.

  Last but not least, I want to thank my father, who allowed me to pursue a career in literature, an opportunity which was denied to him when he was a young man in Mao’s China. I initially agreed to take on this book project because I wanted to pay tribute to him and millions of other struggling Chinese souls who, despite the perils, have never stopped dreaming.

  ALSO BY YUNTE HUANG

  Charlie Chan: The Untold Story of the Honorable Detective and His Rendezvous with American History