La scrittrice Radhika Jha

Nasce la prima rassegna italiana dedicat ai libri che raccontano l’Asia. Per cominciare a conoscerne, anche “da casa”, i suoi molti e affascinanti volti. Dallo studioso indiano Prem S. Jha ai sinologi Edoarda Masi e Federico Masini. Un pieno di tavole rotonde e incontri

di Simona Maggiorelli

Asia di carta, per conoscere i molti volti di un continente vastissimo e affascinante. E che il nostro sguardo occidentale, troppo spesso, coglie su uno sfondo appiattito, come se fosse tracciato su una mappa medievale. Non parliamo solo delle enormi differenze fra India e Cina ma anche fra le regioni, per esempio, dell’Indonesia o della stessa sterminata Cina. Per cominciare ad aprire i nostri orizzonti, anche “da casa”, è nata da  AsiaticaFilmMediale a Roma, la prima rassegna dedicata a libri asiatici e sull’Asia. Con un pieno di appuntamenti con scrittori e studiosi di primo piano. Ad aprire il ciclo di incontri, al Tempio di Adriano, il 2 novembre è stato Prem Shankar Jha a colloquio con Giacomo Marramao nella tavola rotonda sul libro Il caos prossimo venturo (Neri Pozza), in cui lo studioso indiano analizza il capitalismo di oggi e la crisi delle nazioni. Un dialogo denso e stimolante in cui da economista e filosofo Jha ha messo radicalmente in discussione la semplicistica formula “Cindia” che «crea un incomprensibile ibrido fra due identità che non potrebbero essere più lontane». Così se Jha parla di capitalismo indiano, auspicando «che la rabbia degli esclusi trovi risposte nelle istituzioni democratiche dell’India», nel caso della Cina, invece, lo studioso sostiene che non la si possa assimilare a un modello capitalistico come lo si intende in Occidente. «Certo – spiega Jha – in Cina oggi ci sono imprese private, ma il 52 per cento della produzione è controllata dallo Stato e addirittura il 90 per cento degli investimenti è statale». Ma l’attenzione del festival non va solo a ficcanti analisi politiche del rapido sviluppo che molti Paesi dell’Asia e del Sudest asiatico stanno vivendo. Ad Asia di carta molto spazio è dedicato anche alla letteratura. E mentre l’editore Neri Pozza, da sempre attento alla letteratura indiana, ha presentato a Roma il nuovo, potente e toccante romanzo della giovane scrittrice indiana Radhika Jha, Il dono della dea, la neonata casa editrice Metropoli d’Asia dal Tempio di Adriano lancia la sfida di una collana di nuovi giovani autori che, come fa Shazia Omar in Come un diamante nel cielo, raccontino la vita underground e il vero volto delle città asiatiche. Giunti alla fine,  in così poco spazio,non ci resta che raccomandare i prossimi appuntamenti: il 6 novembre su “il pensiero antico indiano e cinese” e il 7 novembre  la presentazione del primo volume della grande opera che Einaudi dedica alla Cina. Curata da Guido Samarani e Maurizio Scarpari, la raccolta di saggi La Cina verso la modernità sarà raccontata dagli autori e dal sinologo Federico Masini. Mentre Edoarda Masi, per l’editore Quodilibet, presenta il suo Cento capolavori della letteratura cinese e due volumi di Lu Xun.

da left-avvenimenti del 6 novembre 2009

“The Wise Man, The Fool And The Slave” by Lu Xun. Translation is my own.

“Sir!” He lamented, tears streaming from the corners of his eyes. “You know – people don’t have to experience all I’ve gone through. Every day, I don’t know where my next meal is coming from, and the meal I do get is just sorghum. Pigs and dogs don’t want to eat this, not even a small bowl’s worth …”

“That is really moving,” said the wise man, also sadly.

“Of course!” The slave was happy. “But doing work tires me out: early in the morning, I carry water; late at night, I cook food. In the morning, I’m running around; at night, I mill flour. I wash clothes in the morning, hold the umbrella when it’s raining; heat the stove in the winter, and fan [my master] in the summer. I have to prepare white-ear soup all day, and I wait for the master to come back from gambling and the money never comes. Sometimes he even flogs me.”

“Aye, aye…” sighed the smart man, whose eyes were red around the rims, as if he were about to tear up.

“Sir! I can’t go through the motions anymore. I want to find another way. But what other way is there?”

“I … I think your lot will improve.”

“Really? I hope so. I’ve already complained so much to you, and have received your sympathy and comforting words. I feel so much better already. Apparently, reason hasn’t crumbled to pieces just yet.”

However, not long after, he felt ill at ease again and looked for someone else to vent to.

“Sir!” He sobbed as he spoke. “You know – my home is worse than a pig sty. The master doesn’t take me as a human; he treats his dog better than me.”

“Son of a … !” The man began to shout, which surprised the slave. This man was a fool.

“Sir, I live in a rundown little room that’s dank and dark. Plus, there are bed bugs that bite like mad when I sleep. It smells awful, and there isn’t a single window.”

“You can’t ask your master to open a window for you?”

“How could I?”

“Well, then … you just take me there!”

The fool followed the slave just outside his home, and then hit and destroyed part of the mud wall.

“Sir! What are you doing?!” He was shocked.

“I’m giving you a window.”

“That’s unacceptable! My master is going to scold me!”

“Who gives?” And he continued to break apart the wall.

“Somebody! Come! A bandit is tearing down our house! Come quick! Hurry up, or there’ll be a hole soon enough!” He wept, rolling on the ground.

A crowd of slaves gathered around, and sent the fool out of town.

After hearing the yelps, the master slowly came out at last.

“There was a bandit who wanted to tear down our house, but I loudly protested, and together, we all threw him out,” he proudly said.

“Not bad.” The master thus praised him.

That day, a lot of visitors came to express their regards. The wise man was among them.

“Sir. The master praised me, for I was meritorious. Before, you said I’d be on the up and up, and I think you had foresight.” He said this, imbued with hope.

“But of course,” the wise man joyfully replied.

奴才总不过是寻人诉苦。只要这样，也只能这样。有一日，他遇到一个聪明人。

“先生！”他悲哀地说，眼泪联成一线，就从眼角上直流下来。“你知道的。我所过的简直不是人的生活。吃的是一天未必有一餐，这一餐又不过是高粱皮，连猪狗都不要吃的，尚且只有一小碗……”

“这实在令人同情。”聪明人也惨然说。

“可不是么！”他高兴了，“可是做工是昼夜无休息的：清早担水晚烧饭，上午跑街夜磨面，晴洗衣裳雨张伞，冬烧汽炉夏打扇。半夜要煨银耳，侍候主人耍钱；头钱从来没分，有时还挨皮鞭……”

“唉唉……”聪明人叹息着，眼圈有些发红，似乎要下泪。

“先生！我这样是敷衍不下去的。我总得另外想法子。可是什么法子呢？……”

“我想，你总会好起来……”

“是么？但愿如此。可是我对先生诉了冤苦，又得你的同情和慰安，已经舒坦得不少了。可见天理没有灭绝。……”

但是，不几日，他又不平起来了，仍然寻人去诉苦。

“先生！”他流着眼泪说，“你知道的。我住的简直比猪窠还不如。主人并不将我当人；他对他的叭儿狗还要好到几万倍……”

“混帐！”那人大叫起来，使他吃惊了。那人是一个傻子。

“先生，我住的只是一间破小屋，又湿，又阴，满是臭虫，睡下去就咬得真可以。秽气冲着鼻子，四面又没有一个窗……”

“你不会要你的主人开一个窗的么？”

“这怎么行？……”

“那么，你带我去看去！”

傻子跟奴才到他屋外，动手就砸那泥墙。

“先生！你干什么？”他大惊地说。

“我给你打开一个窗洞来。”

“这不行！主人要骂的！”

“管他呢！”他仍然砸。

“人来呀！强盗在毁咱们的屋子了！快来呀！迟一点可要打出窟窿来了！……”他哭嚷着，在地上团团地打滚。

一群奴才都出来了，将傻子赶走。

听到了喊声，慢慢地最后出来的是主人。

“有强盗要来毁咱们的屋子，我首先叫喊起来，大家一同把他赶走了。”他恭敬而得胜地说。

“你不错。”主人这样夸奖他。

这一天就来了许多慰问的人，聪明人也在内。

“先生。这回因为我有功，主人夸奖了我了。你先前说我总会好起来，实在是有先见之明……”他大有希望似的高兴地说。

“可不是么……”聪明人也代为高兴似的回答他。

Die moderne chinesische Literatur begann 1918 mit einer grausigen Metapher: Menschen fressen. Die beiden Zeichen lugten in Lu Xuns „Tagebuch eines Verrückten“ hinter all den Büchern der konfuzianischen Tradition hervor, in deren Namen das Volk jahrhundertelang malträtiert, abgestumpft und ohnmächtig gemacht worden war. Die Neuerer kämpften für Demokratie, Wissenschaft und eine volksnahe Sprache, um, wie sie damals sagten, „China zu retten“. Die Reformbewegung mündete in politische Gruppierungen: die nationale Kuomintang und die Kommunistische Partei, die am Ende bekanntlich die Macht errang. Heute, sechzig Jahre, eine Kulturrevolution und eine kapitalistische Revolution später – inzwischen ist das Land so mächtig und für den Westen wichtig geworden, dass die Frankfurter Buchmesse es als Ehrengast einlädt -, findet die chinesische Literatur abermals eine Metapher, um ihr Land zu bezeichnen, nicht weniger archaisch und unheimlich als die für das alte Reich: Blut verkaufen. …

Die Ersten, die nach der Kulturrevolution aus den kollektivistischen Mustern radikal ausbrachen, waren eine Reihe von Lyrikern, die von regierungsamtlichen Kritikern prompt das Etikett „obskure Lyrik“ angehängt bekamen, das sie sich später selbst als Ehrentitel anrechneten. Vor den Hintergrund der gemeinsamen Generationsgeschichte stellten Autoren wie Bei Dao, Meng Ke, Gu Cheng und Yang Lian in ihrer Zeitschrift „Heute“ das einzelne Ich, dessen fragile Erfahrungen sich nicht länger in der Eindeutigkeit des Realismus oder sonst einer Propagandasprache ausdrücken lassen. Die darauf folgende Generation der „postobskuren“ Lyriker wie Ouyang Jianghe, Xi Chuan und Zhai Yongming baut auf dieser Unabhängigkeit auf und treibt die Sprachkritik, bisweilen auch die absurden Elemente noch weiter. Diese jüngeren Dichter sind im Herbst 2009 sowohl in dem Hörbuch „Schmetterlinge auf der Windschutzscheibe“ wie in der Anthologie „Alles versteht sich auf Verrat“ vertreten. / Mark Siemons, FAZ

Title: Double-Sided

Author: Yakitoki [Me]

Fandom: Dynasty Warriors 5

Pairing: LX/OC

[you might notice another one if you know what I mean..]

Rating: K +

Summary: How would you know if the person you tell your secrets to would be the right one? Would it lead to things one way or another?

Genre: Humor

Author’s Notes: This is more like a drabble oneshot of some sort. I’d be glad to continue it though but not now.

======================================

“Ling Tong…I don’t think this is really worth it…” Mian Rei whispered behind his ear, secretly keeping her gaze at the tall figure from afar.

They both were conspicuously standing as close as they can get to him to make sure that he’s still unknowingly in their presence.

“Ah, c’mon Rei, someone like him?” He rolled his eyes as he looked back at her thereafter, pointing at him with his thumb. Particularly, almost looking like he was giving her a thumbs up which obviously wasn’t the point in this situation. She looked at his gesture and quickly moved it away out of panic.

“No! Don’t do that!” Her eyes filled with dread and fear, tightly holding his hands just to make sure he doesn’t bring it up again and end up causing commotion.

 “W-what?

“He’ll see you!”

“So?” He replied, trying to hide the disgust in his tone. “Seriously, someone like Mian Rei shouldn’t be acting like this…”

Silence drew between the both of them.

“W-well, I-I just don’t want him to see me too.” She whispered after knowing her distracting outrage. Tong noticed that she was still shaking after the outburst. Thankfully, no one was bothered enough to notice.

“That’s all?” He squinted his eyes at her.

She laughed softly. She enjoyed Tong’s indirect humor.

“That’s all.” She replied.

Rei looked up again, fixing her gaze on the mysterious person who was spending his time, speaking to one of the vendors in town. Tong rolled his eyes without her seeing, walking towards the boy, his hands behind his head as though what he was doing wasn’t a big deal.

Rei’s stare didn’t dare to miss what she was seeing and quietly ran towards him, desperately wanting him to stop.

“Oh jeez, Tong! Embarrass me in front of him and I’ll hurt you!”

He knew what was coming and inwardly smirked. Just as soon as she managed to get hold of him, he shouted towards his direction,

“Hey! Lu Xu—!”

Her eyes widened, her mouth open for a silent scream. She held in her every being from tearing him apart.

Out of anger,

Out of embarrassment,

…and probably also out of satisfaction in more ways than one.

=FIN=

(Explanation:  KOEI’s series of “Warriors” games are flashy beat-em-up titles with RPG elements and always feature a very colorful cast of characters.  While maligned by reviewers, they have a cult-following among people who realize that Double Dragon and Final Fight weren’t exactly  Civilization IV in terms of depth either, but were still fun.  With each iteration of the game series, though, the character roster has 9-10 guys who look like they can’t wait to leap into a tent and start giving each other the business.  This is our light-hearted look at the poofiest of the poofters.)

#4.  Lu Xun

Quotes:         

“”I have no time for shriveling cowards! Bring out a real man!”
“You want a piece of me?”
“We worked well together!”

And my personal favorite:

“How careless of me! Although this is where I would have laid a trap as well!”

Weapon:     Dual Short Swords (DW 3-5, Warriors Orochi 1-2),
Single Sword (DW 6)

Known For:     Laying traps, telling people about the times he laid a trap, predicting when and where Sima Yi would be laying a trap, and then showing up.  Talking to Lu Meng about laying traps.  Laying traps WITH Lu Meng.

Usually when I select a character with extravagent eye makeup, earrings, feathered pauldrons, perfect skin, shapely lips, come-hither eyes and wrists so slender that they remind me of a crochety old woman yanking her niece around at the supermarket, the next thing I do is check the manual to see how I can use the Sixaxis controls to make her boobs jiggle.  Not in this case, though, since Lu Xun allegedly has a penis and my interests are ill-founded and awkward. (He may even grow body hair once you level him past 50.) 

A protege of Lu Meng (*wink wink*, *lubing noises*), Lu Xun can lay claim to being bad-ass in early Dynasty Warriors iterations since the developers rolled the dice and he was one of the guys who got lucky and had the death element attached to his best weapons.  Even back then he was dressing in a suspect manner and referring to “breaking through Hu Lao Gate” in tones of speech indicating an obvious double-entendre.

Lu Xun eventually got tired of that outfit (due, one imagines, to multiple incidents not unlike those experienced by Monica Lewinsky) and assumed his current appearence for Dynasty Warriors 6.  His lust for the attentions of  his fellow officers hasn’t diminished in the least, however, (the usual- Zhou Tai stumbles drunkenly into his tent, slurring about “misplacing his scabbard”, just another night in camp outside of Jiang Dong) as evidenced by his statistics at the character select screen:

When he’s not doing his main job of keeping Huang Gai’s weapon safe from the elements, Lu Xun has helped the kingdom of Wu in many battles.  His greatest contribution has probably been somehow keeping fellow Wu Kingdom assbandits Zhou You and Ling Tong off of this list by virtue of his own limitless capacity for scrotum snorkeling.  In particular, it takes a monsterous queer to keep Zhou Yu and his meticulously-kept hair away from the title of “Gayest Wu Officer”, and so Zhou Yu and each one of the other one-note-characterization Wu officers owe Lu Xun a (poorly voice acted) debt of thanks and maybe a ride on one or both of Taishi Ci’s battle rods.

I should leave you with a word of advice if you started masturbating furiously upon seeing the first image in this post, only to subsequently discover that Lu Xun is actually a man.  Don’t worry, it happens to the best of us.  Just take a ride in someone’s pickup truck, play some Madden with a friend, and forget the entire silly incident actually occured. 

The next time you sit down to play a Warriors game, pick someone with hair on his chest and rest easy knowing you’re as straight as they come and you’d never want to bang a dude or use the Sixaxis to manipulate his taut buttocks.

What?  Why are you looking at me like that?

(Pictures and movies for this article courtesy of KOEI Warriors and The KOEI Wiki.)

Me and yana have been playing Dynasty Warriors 6 every day for the past 2 weeks. Now, I’m at home, and am beginning to miss our battles. Yana likes to change warriors but I like to stick to the one and only, Lu Xun. So, this post is for DW6 and Lu Xun fans! I really can’t wait to go back to Shah Alam tomorrow.  FYI, I have even downloaded DW6 soundtrack “spring of the east” yesterday and some Lu Xun wallpapers. Gosh, you guys must think that I am a freak! Whatever! I don’t mind. 

Below is Dynasty Warriors’ soundtrack “Spring of the East”. I really like the song. It gives me hope each time I listen to it. Hope you like it.

“I could have melted in shame with what you’ve done!” my oldest friend Rodrigo would always say when he recounts our first day in high school. Why, I was just so glad to be his schoolmate again after I went to finish my fifth and sixth grade away from the Pilot School where we used to be classmates since first grade! When I saw him at the school entrance, I ran and shouted “Rodrigo!” with all the joys in my heart and embraced him. My voice however was also heard by almost everybody registering at the school entrance that day. And Rodrigo almost melted in embarrassment.

There is always a joyous celebration in meeting old friends. Lu Xun’s “My Old Home” however was a tragic story of expectantly meeting a friend only to find out that he had learned the difference between their social statuses and thus acting very much not as expected of him.

The story opens as Lu Xun, a newly posted public official goes back to his old home town, after thirteen years, to sell out their house and other things that cannot be taken to their new residence far away. While packing he reminisces his memories with his friend Runtu, son of a part-time servant who came and stayed in their house for a month to help with their New Year’s preparation. He remembers how excited he was to meet this boy because Runtu was said to be little Lu Xun’s age. Runtu was excited to see many new things when he came to town and Lu Xun would marvel at Runtu’s accounts of wild birds, watermelon, seashore, hedge hogs, as Runtu lived by the sea. Basically, Lu Xun’s new found friend reports to him the many wonderful things about the world outside their house that he didn’t know existed.

A reader who came from the countryside would be proud of Runtu’s spontaneous reporting of “provincial” things outside the town to little Lu Xun. His innocent depiction of watermelons and birds and the sea left the aristocratic child wondering of what more is there outside their walls.  Reading Runtu reminds me of our banana hunts, mountain hikes, and early morning swims by the shore in my hometown. How proudly I retell to my city friends now, how we bought for Php5/kilo freshly caught fish by the seashore on weekends, how we hunt for young coconuts and bananas in open haciendas, and how we hike hills and waterfalls during summer. Yes, the city has many things to boast too but the joys of living in a provincial town if far more organic than that of the city’s.

After the New Year’s preparation, Runtu went home but the two children sent gifts to each other hoping to visit each other one day. However, they were not able to see each other again. Lu Xun was sent to school far away from his hometown. Thirteen years after Lu Xun is back in town to finally say good bye to their old home for good. His mother told him that Runtu would still ask for him every time he visits town. When Runtu came to visit him, he bows and greeted him “Master”.

Lu Xun wrote “I felt a shiver run through me; for I knew then what a lamentably thick wall had grown up between us.” I say exactly the same as this scene made me cry. I know that I had to consider the culture and time when this story was made. But I choose to blame this chaos to the injustice brought by social classes.  They could have thrown their arms and kissed each other because it’s a reunion they both have looked forward to for years! Instead Runtu, grown up and aware his lower social class bows to Lu Xun as a servant bows to a master. Lu Xun, not knowing how to react couldn’t say anything. He wrote this encounter in the most painful tone – the most painful reunion I have ever read.

Runtu introduced his son Shuisheng to Lu Xun, his mother, and his nephew Hong’er. Runtu asks Shuisheng to pay respect to Lu Xun by bowing but the little boy won’t. This, Runtu, is due to the little boy’s first experience to see so many new faces as it was his first visit to town. Lu Xun’s mother tried to discourage Runtu’s being very polite as he and Lu Xun were childhood friend. Again, Runtu excused himself for not observing social classes when they were young and not aware of it and refuses to be casual before his childhood friend whom he now calls “Master.” Hong’er and Shuisheng were instant friends as they were of the same age among old people. Reading both Shuisheng and Hong’er brings back images of Runtu and Hong’er thirteen years ago.

After saying all goodbyes Lu Xun, his mother, and Hong’er boarded a boat for their new residence. While on the boat, Hong’er expectantly asks “Uncle, when shall we go back?” When asked why he asks, Hong’er says “Well…Shuisheng has invited me to his home…” The boy’s question, however, was not answered.
The story closes as Lu Xun’s boat sails to their new residence. Lu Xun ends his narrative as dark and depressing as it started. His highly romantic way of writing intensified the sad ending of yet another friendship (between Shuisheng and Hong’er) that would probably not be, yet again.

Social classes may be said to be a basis for peace and social order in society – a creative innovation of the civilizations.  But the most engaging challenge among those who reflect on the patterns of cultures and civilizations is how man will deal with his own monuments in order to leave a legacy that will leave an imprint that will outlive himself – memories of great overcoming relationships!

Aside from its wine and stinky tofu, Shaoxing is especially famous for the writer and intellectual, Lu Xun. The whole historic quarter of the town is devoted to his memory. Here, the boats in the canals form a pretty backdrop to the various Lu Xun museums dotting the area.

Just by showing our passports at the ticket office, we got a free combination ticket to see all the various museums. They were pretty much a few houses with exhibits showcasing the different aspects of Lu Xun’s life. One of them displayed various portraits of Lu Xun’s family.

Here’s a rather depressing charcoal of his father.

And a dour facsimile of his paternal grandfather.

His mother, from whom he takes his pen name, looks very kind and maternal.

Sadly, I can’t say the same for his scary dragon-lady lookalike grandmother.

Here’s Lu Xun’s badly maintained bedroom. Shame on them for leaving the room to bare wire and damp floors. I couldn’t get close enough to get a good photo, the hordes of tourists kept pressing in around me.

And out we popped into the open, where there was a singer performing Cantonese opera, of all things. Of course, everyone had to take photos and I certainly wasn’t an odd one out here.

The domestic tourists came in packs and there really was no fighting them. Just go with the flow and all will be well. Take copious photos just like the rest of them.

Children are well-pampered here, especially if they’re out on a trip with their family. Here, this little boy poses for a picture, channeling Lu Xun as a child. He sat at his grandmother’s feet listening to her many folk tales. Some of these stories subsequently went on to influence his works.

It’s just as well that entry was free. It took us about two hours to finish the entire complex, then we went off to search for more food to eat and more wine to buy (and drink).

I’ve been meaning to write something the past couple of days but it’s been crazy busy. I’ve had 2 essays and 2 tests this week on top of all my usual crap. On of them was on The True Story of Ah Q by Lu Xun. It was an interesting and entertaining novella but I just couldn’t care enough about the essay to make it all that good. The second was about explicit memory for my psych recitation. The paper was only worth 5 points and I think I did a fairly good job on it. At least a job woth 5 points.

On Tuesday I wore the armor to World Regions. It got a great reaction. People keptasking to take their pictures with me and I got called up on stage. The audience was full of camera phones and digital cameras. Who takes a digital camera to a lecture? Anyway, by the end of the lecture, the armor was killing me. The crotch on the abdominal plate was killing my pelvis, my shoulder was on fire, the helmet was driving the nose piece of my glasses into my sinuses, and the straps that keep the sleeves from moving were cutting into the skin between my thumb and index finger. I thought the lecture was only going to be 50 minutes so I was pretty happy when it was almost over but then he kept going for another 25 minutes. I wanted to put myself out of my misery.

Yesterday, I ran some errands and did some shopping. I was only going to look for a snack cause I’m going back up to NOVA tomorrow but I ended up buying a ton of junk food. Ice cream, Cadbury cream eggs (delicious), danish, these pre-mixed root beer float drinks (alright but not as good as the real thing). I also ran into Michelle, a girl from work at the store and gave her a ride home. We used to work together all the time but now she hardly works and they are all different days from me. She had actually called in sick that day which I thought was kind of disappointing but it’s par the course for her.

I was thinking about it recently and all my posts (when I do) have been me whining about stuff in my life. There is very little socially relevant stuff or news commentary. I want to try to add more of that type of material to future posts. I’ll probably just start posting whenever I find myself yelling at a news article or something.

A while back, I embarked on a project designed to provide me with a working knowledge of world literature by the time I’m ninety. I like to call it ‘Project: Well-Read B4 Dead’.  Every so often, using a complex system incorporating informed opinion, astronomical charts and the I Ching, I select a book that I may not necessarily be drawn to just on personal taste, but is undoubtedly very good. Hopefully, once the project is complete, I will be able to say, ‘now, I truly know literature’, and expire, content.

This time round, I read Diary of a Madman and Other Stories by the early 20th Century Chinese author, Lu Xun. There’s always a danger when reading what is clumsily known as world literature (and I say this fully aware that English language writing is ‘world literature’ to others) that however good the author is, that their writing is just too tied up with the historical and social specifics of their time and place of creation to be able to communicate that much to those not overly familiar with them.  A case in point would be some of the later writings of Borges, which are so tied up with Argentinian history and identity, getting through them requires a lot of dedication and patience with translator’s footnotes.

With the writings of Lu Xun, you need the footnotes. He wrote during a relatively short historical moment, in which China gradually moved away from being a feudal society, a sometimes violent process of modernisation that ultimately resulted in the Communist Revolution led by Mao. Fortunately, the footnotes in William A. Lyell’s translation are absolutely excellent, as is his conversion of the author’s colloquial Chinese into American English (Example: ‘Let that be a lesson, you fucker!’)

Lu Xun’s principle concern was highlighting the things that China needed to discard in order to move forward, such as superstition and the social injustices that traditional hierarchies inflicted on those at the bottom of the heap. Consequently, a lot of his stories follow the blueprint of much literature of the Left of this period, which is, essentially, ‘bad things happening to poor people’ (see the short stories of Jack London for an American variant on this).

Conditioned by the sentimental feel-good structure of more recent stories of poverty and woe, I kept on waiting for the initial grim set-up to be turned upside by some unexpected good fortune. In Lu Xun, however, the good fortune never arrives, and things turn out just as badly as you fear they might. Grim reading, perhaps, but then no one ever brought about social change by telling people that everything will magically be all right if you just wait around long enough.

Not all the short stories are this bleak, however (and even the bleak ones have a sad, stark beauty that rescues them from wrist-slashing territory). Others are more ambiguous, with a balance of elements so subtle it sometimes wasn’t until a full twenty-four hours later that I saw how they added up to actually constitute a story.

Indeed, there’s quite a variety of tone. ‘The Story of Hair’ quirkily details how the recent history of China is reflected in trends in hairstyles. ‘Mourning the Dead’ is a beautiful and sad love story that’s crying out for a film version and a Best Foreign Language Picture Oscar. ‘Village Opera’, meanwhile, is an autobiographical piece that weirdly mirrors my childhood experience of a Radio 1 Roadshow with Peter Powell.

Perhaps Lu Xun’s writing is most immediate, however, when he’s writing about madness, a theme he returns to several times (insanity induced, of course, by the strictures of an unfair society). Here’s an older translation of the Gogol-inspired title story of the collection. Why not give it a go?

All in all, I’d say reading it was a valuable experience.  I feel stretched and satisfied.  Now I’m just off to find something where unexpected good fortune makes everything all right in the end.

We ended up getting between 4 and 5 inches of snow last night. They cancelled my morning Civil War class and my evening film screening. That just left a 50 minute class around noon. I should have used that time to take care of the papers that I need to write this week but I didn’t. I did finish the novella that one is based on so at least that got done.

The story in question is The True Story of Ah Q by Lu Xun for my Modern Chinese history course. It’s a pretty short story and the translation is full of hilariously modern terms like “shitty” and “sluts”. It’s alittle more blue then I expected.

Tomorrow is the day that I wear the armor to that class. I’m pretty nervous about it and have some doubts. I don’t doubt wearing the armor in public, I’m just afraid I’m gonna freeze my balls off. With all the snow out there, it’s gonna be cold and slippery and I’m kinda concerned. I wasn’t planning on a long troop but it may get unpleasant. I might try to wear my coat over the armor for the walk up. I would move it to Thursday except I’ve got so much stuff to do that day and the next week is Spring Break. I’ll probably just suck it up and go.

Currently listening to: Of Montreal – For Our Elegant Caste

I was reading portions of a Chinese history book for a class, and on the side they had this story:

I dreamed I was in the classroom of a primary school preparing to write an essay, and asked the teacher how to express an opinion.

“That’s hard!” glancing sideways at me over his glasses, he said: “Let me tell you a story -

“When a son is born to a family, the whole household is delighted. When he is one month old they carry him out to display him to the guests — usually expecting some compliments, of course.

“One says: ‘This child will be rich. ‘ Then he is heartily thanked.

“One says: ‘This child will be an official. ‘ Then some compliments are made him in return.

“One says: ‘This child will die. ‘ Then he- is thoroughly beaten by the whole family.

“That the child will die is inevitable, while to say that he will be rich or a high official may be a lie. Yet the lie is rewarded, whereas the statement of the inevitable gains a beating. You. ..”

“I don’t want to tell lies, sir, neither do I want to be beaten. So what should I say!”

“In that case, say: ‘Aha! Just look at this child! My word…. Oh, my! Oho! Hehe! He, hehehehehe!’ “

“Diary of A Madman” was Lu Xun’s first literary work.  This short story contained an introduction written in classical Chinese, and a body written in vernacular Chinese.  Did Lu Xun have the intention to intensify the tension between vernacular and classical Chinese?  The 1910’s and 1920’s were the fiery decades when scholars like Chen Duxiu and Lu Xun emerged into the literary scene to promote a literary revolution.  How did the difference between the classical Chinese introduction and the vernacular Chinese body influence the reader’s perspective in looking at the madman in the diary?

First, the introduction revealed that the diary was written by the madman himself and was edited by an editor (madman’s friend).  From the language used in the introduction paragraph, the reader perceived an authoritative tone from the editor, who used classical Chinese and medical terminology.  There had always been a stereotype that classical Chinese was a superior language over vernacular Chinese, as classical Chinese had been used throughout difference Chinese dynasties as the official and aristocratic language.  Moreover, the editor’s use of medical terminology revealed his professional knowledge in medicine.  Such knowledge seemed to elevate the editor’s status among commoners.  With the combine use of both classical Chinese and professional terms, the editor implanted an authority over the reader, and thus influenced them to believe in him.

This influence became crucial when the reader read on to the body of the diary.  The body, written in vernacular Chinese, immediately became second-grade when compared to the introduction paragraph.  Being told by the authoritative editor that the diary was written by a madman, the reader naturally thought that the diarist was insane, and treated the events described as absurd.  The editor had clearly altered the way the reader thought.  The introductory paragraph had put in a preliminary perspective into the reader.  This perspective was so powerful and authoritative that it controlled the reader’s thinking throughout the whole story.  The reader now had a biased view that the diarist was insane.

On the other hand, the reader would take a different point of view if the introduction did not exist.  Without the introduction, the reader would look at the diary in a whole new light: the diarist was a sane person living in an insane world.  From the events described in the diary, people around the diarist were all cannibalistic.  Without the preliminary idea of the diarist being mad, the reader perceived a totally different perspective in looking at the diary.

For the Chinese, the word 吃苦 harbors deep meaning. To eat bitterness refers to being able to endure hardship and suffering without complaint. Famous 20^th century Chinese writer, Lu Xun, exemplifies what it means to 吃苦in his short story titled “New Year’s Sacrifice”. In the story, the main character visits his home village during the Chinese New Year. He has a disturbing interaction with a character known simply as “Xiang Lin’s Wife”, who had become the village vagabond after living a difficult and tragic life. The crux of the story lies in how the villagers ostracized Xiang Lin’s wife because of her sufferings. Lu Xun’s story makes a critical observation on how Chinese people handle suffering.

Anyone growing up with traditional Chinese parents would know that the Chinese abhor waste, in particular wasting food. China experienced at least 1,828 major famines between 108BC-1922AD, averaging out to about one per year over that time period. Currently, China is going through an extreme makeover, giving the agrarian country an urban facelift. China’s march toward modernism is also part of her campaign to erase the scars of her famished past. But scholars and casual observers often cite concern over China’s blind march toward modernism and its adverse effects. Projects such as the Sanxia dam and the explosion of new urban centers are two examples commonly criticized for their disregard of environmental and cultural effects. More often than not, China’s modernization efforts involve huge opportunity costs which are ignored simply because they do not fit the country’s agenda.

Modern China’s most memorable period of吃苦 was the Cultural Revolution under Mao Zedong. Many Chinese who survived this era recall it as a bad dream. During this period huge numbers of Chinese were publicly humiliated, wrongly imprisoned, tortured, executed, stripped of their property, or sent to work in the country side. In the aftermath of the situation, the victims and oppressors of the Cultural Revolution are reunited. They silently bear their grudges or burdens of guilt, since revenge would only bring more pain. Today’s China strives to escape the pattern of eating bitterness through the shaping of a modern China.

So who can blame the Chinese, who are sick and tired of constantly eating bitterness? Their discontent manifests itself in through current generation of “little Buddhas” raised by contemporary Chinese families. Parents pour tons of affection, money, and food on their single children. This results in a generation pre-Madonna’s running around China compensating for the deprivations of their parents generation. Modern China rushes to leave China of the past behind, and along with it the turbulence and hardship that defined the former. The decades of turbulence and hardship experienced by the country during the mid 20^th century, Chinese are utilizing the current period to make up for lost time. All they want for this generation is to be able to forget their troubled past. Just the villagers wanted to forget Xiang Lin’s wife on the eve of a prosperous new year…

Dave Liang y su obra “The Shanghai Restoration Project” (2006) son los elegidos de esta semana. Un cúmulo perfecto de jazz, hip-hop y electrónica, construido a partir de una aleación de ambientes orientales sobre paisaje occidental, que ha sabido traspasar las fronteras de los estilos músicales.

Rascacielos, pequeñas luces que caen como gotas de lluvia, una mujer asiática que parece caminar sobre las aguas; si la música de Dave Liang tuviera forma sería algo muy cercano a lo que el diseñador Kenzo nos propuso en la campaña publicitaria de 2007 que algunos recordarán.

Pero si algo tiene la música de Liang es la capacidad para crear imágenes o historias. A través de las notas podemos viajar por toda la historia china del siglo XX: el viejo Shanghai (Introduction 1936) de curiosas bandas de jazz al calor del comercio con Occidente; la edad de oro de la Literatura china moderna de la mano de Lu Xun en la canción que lleva el mismo nombre;  la ciudad del vicio que podemos vislumbrar en las películas de los 40 y 50  (Babylon of the Orient) o el espíritu de un pueblo (Old city) que conserva aún sus raíces bajo la fachada de los grandes edificios vanguardistas.

Es verdad que la música de Liang recupera algo de aquel alma de los puertos orientales en los que bullían los comerciantes de occidente y Asia se desperezaba con las nuevas comunicaciones; sin embargo, no estamos ante una falsa recreación sino que, con sus maravillosas atmósferas electrónicas, Liang nos ofrece una interpretación de la historia y se anticipa al futuro: el gigante chino que habla de tú a tú con las grandes potencias de Occidente.

Más allá de todas estas cuestiones meramente estéticas, The Shanghai Restoration Project es uno de esos discos que no pueden dejar de escucharse y que merecen, sin duda, un lugar en nuestros oídos.

Más datos: The Shanghai Restoration Project.

Depuis que j’ai quitté ma province pour Beijing, six ans ont filé en un clin d’oeil. Durant ce laps de temps, la somme de ce qu’il est convenu d’appeler les grands évènements – affaires d’Etat d’envergure nationale – dont j’ai été le témoin de mes yeux ou de mes oreilles est loin d’être insignifiante, mais aucun d’entre eux n’a laissé des traces en moi et, si je voulais essayer de définir leur influence sur ma personne, je dirais tout au plus qu’ils ont aggravé ma morosité – pour être franc, ils m’ont appris chaque jour davantage à avoir piètre opinion des gens.

Cependant, un petit évènement m’a frappé et a été capable de secouer cette morosité, ce qui fait qu’aujourd’hui encore j’en garde le souvenir.

C’était durant l’hiver de la sixième année de la République [1917], le grand vent du nord faisait rage et la nécessité de gagner ma vie m’avait contraint à me trouver dans la rue dès le matin. Je n’y rencontrai quasiment personne mais réussis, avec beaucoup de mal, à trouver un tireur de pousse à qui je demandai de me conduire à la porte S. Peu à peu, le vent diminua, les nuages de poussière qui avaient recouvert l’avenue furent balayés, la laissant nette et propre, et l’homme accéléra sa course. Tout à coup, juste avant la porte S, un bras du véhicule accrocha quelqu’un, que nous vîmes s’effondrer lentement à terre.

La victime était une femme aux cheveux grisonnants et aux vêtements en loque. Elle avait surgi en angle droit du bas-côté de la route, juste devant nous. Le tireur du pousse avait déjà réussi à l’éviter, lorsqu’un des pans de son gilet ouaté en lambeaux, qui flottait dans le vent, se prit dans le brancard du véhicule. Heureusement, l’homme ralentit aussitôt, sinon elle aurait été brutalement renversée et c’était une chute à se rompre le cou.

Elle s’était affaissée sur le sol et le tireur s’était arrêté. À mon avis, la vieille femme n’était pas blessée. De plus, il n’y avait pas de témoins. Je m’énervai contre lui : il en faisait trop, au risque de s’attirer des ennuis, et de me mettre en retard. Je lui lançai :
- Ce n’est rien ! Continue !

Il ne me prêta pas attention ou peut-être ne m’avait-il même pas entendu. Il posa les brancards, aida la vieille femme à se relever doucement et, la soutenant sous le bras pour assurer son équilibre, lui demanda :
- Comment vous sentez-vous ?
- Je me suis fait mal.

Je pensai : « J’ai vu comment tu es tombée lentement. Comment aurais-tu pu te faire mal ? C’est des histoires ! C’est révoltant ! Le tireur exagère, vraiment ! Mais puisqu’il court de lui-même au devant des ennuis, qu’il s’en sorte tout seul ! »

Mais lui, en entendant la plainte de la vieille femme, sans hésiter une seconde, l’avait saisie à nouveau sous le bras et l’emmenait pas à pas. Surpris, je levai vivement les yeux pour voir où il se rendait. Un bureau de police ! Le vent avait fait rentrer tout le monde à l’intérieur et le tireur de pousse soutenant la vieille femme se dirigeait vers la grande entrée.

J’éprouvai alors subitement une impression étrange, comme si cette haute silhouette couverte de poussière était en un instant devenue plus grande. Et, plus elle s’éloignait de moi, plus elle grandissait , à tel point que je devais la regarder d’en bas. En même temps, elle semblait prendre sur moi un ascendant assez puissant pour extraire de sa pelisse le “petit” moi qui s’y cachait.

En cet instant, toujours assis dans le pousse, j’avais perdu tout ressort. Je restai comme paralysé, incapable d’un mouvement et même d’une pensée, jusqu’au moment où, voyant un agent de police sortir du poste, je descendis enfin de mon siège.

L’agent vint à moi et me dit :
- Prenez un autre tireur. Celui-ci ne peut plus vous conduire.

Sans réfléchir, je saisis dans ma poche une grosse poignée de pièces et la lui tendis.
- Donnez-lui cela, dis-je.

Le vent était complètement tombé, l’avenue très calme. Je marchai et, tout en marchant, je réfléchissais. J’avais presque peur que ma pensée ne s’arrêtât sur moi-même. Mis à part ce qui s’était passé avant, que signifiait cette grosse poignée de pièces ? Une récompense ? Mais avais-je compétence pour juger le tireur de pousse ? Je ne savais que me répondre à moi-même.

Maintenant encore, cette affaire me revient à l’esprit de temps à autre, me plongeant dans un pénible effort de réflexion sur ma propre personne. Les grands évènements politiques et militaires de ces dernières années ont eu sur moi le même effet que « Le maître à dit … », ou « On lit dans le Canon des Poèmes … », et autres enseignements que j’ai appris lorsque j’étais petit, dont je serais incapable aujourd’hui de réciter la moindre bribe. Seul ce petit évènement continue de hanter mon esprit, parfois plus net encore que sur le moment. Il m’enseigne à avoir honte de moi, il me pousse à devenir meilleur, accroissant du même coup mon courage et mon espoir.

Lu Xun, 1919

Like fast bowlers, cities hunt in pairs. Washington, D.C., is about power, New York City is about money. New Delhi is about power, Bombay is about money.

And so it is with Beijing and Shanghai.

In the second of a six-part series, “Our Man in China” T.J.S. George writes of a high-brow Shanghai the world has long forgotten, distracted by the glare of high-rises and high-tech.

***

By T.J.S. GEORGE in Shanghai

They say Beijing is all about power while Shanghai is all about money.

Two factors combined to make Shanghai that way. First, the city was “internationalised” by marauding European traders in the 19th century. Second, the Shanghainese are the banias of China, money-savvy masters of business.

Shanghainese language, Shanghainese cuisine, Shanghainese self-confidence, Shanghainese view of life—everything about the Shanghainese make them different from other Chinese. Today Shanghai is recognised as China’s smartest city as well as its financial capital, its industrial heartland, its fashion centre, the “Paris of the Orient.”

This has led to a waning of awareness about Shanghai’s cultural credentials.

The fact is that at one point this port city was also China’s intellectual centre. It was where modern literature took root. It was where the communist movement found its initial acceptance at the masses’ level. Prominent signboards in the city centre today mark the place where the First National Congress of the Chinese Communist Party was held.

It is rather like Coimbatore putting up road signs proclaiming “This is where the Communist Party of India Marxist held its Party Congress in 2008.”

One of the world’s most famous halls for performing arts is the Shanghai Art Theatre featuring French design, German construction, a Japanese stage and American acoustics. The re-birth of the arts in post-Mao China took place in this theatre—a re-birth that reminded the world that Shanghai was the capital of China’s performing arts in the 1920s and ’30s.

Shanghai’s young generation has taken to Western pop music in a big way. But they are a demanding lot. When the American band, Backstreet Boys, recently visited Shanghai, local fans complained that the “boys” had grown old and that the sound effects were poor. For an American saxophonist’s concert last month, ticket prices ranged from 100 yuan (above Rs 600) to 1280 yuan (about Rs 8,000). Half the hall was empty.

Perhaps it is in literature that Shanghai’s past glory shines best. In early 20th century, the City witnessed the birth of a literary revolution. It was led by a man who is venerated today as an icon of China, Lu Xun. Two things were special about him. He questioned everything and considered nothing above criticism. His satirical writings ridiculing Confucian ethics became powerful hits with the masses.

Lu Xun was also the inventor of a new form of written Chinese. Till then all writing was in classical Chinese which only scholars would follow. Lu Xun boldly discarded this language and developed a new style of common man’s Chinese. It made him a popular hero.

Lu Xun was a political activist, a founder member of the League of Leftwing Writers set up in 1930. His radicalism suited the burgeoning communist movement and the party leadership took full advantage of his popularity.

Perhaps Lu Xun was lucky that he died young of tuberculosis in 1936. Had he lived into Mao’s China and the upheavals of the Cultural Revolution, his story might have been re-written by the party.

As it happens, he is celebrated as modern China’s greatest writer.

In a Shanghai suburb there is what is known as a Cultural Celebrities Street. The big attraction there is a bronze statue of Lu Xun. The inscription on it is written by Mao Zedong.

Trees on the sides of his grave were planted by Chou En-lai.

Tomorrow: Beijing and the Olympics

Illustration: Li Yitai/ courtesy Spencer Museum of Art, University of Kansas