Scope of the Course: This course is an analysis of the changing literary and cultural patterns in modern and contemporary China. By engaging in close analyses of fiction, poetry, drama and literary thought from the late Qing period to the present, we will trace the changes that have occurred in China beginning in the late 19 th century, throughout the 20 th century and into the 21 st century. The course sheds light on various transforming phases in which the influx of Western thought merges with persisting classical Chinese aesthetics to mold the form and content of modern Chinese literature, especially in fiction and poetry. The class will cover the socialist process in China since 1949 by focusing on key cultural-political movements, leading to the emergence of dissident writers. Simultaneously, the class will impose a genuine emphasis on the continuity of diverging literary practices in Taiwan where modernism is conspicuously and actively attended. We will also explore the unique situation of Hong Kong literature
Editor’s note: Yu and Huters stress the integrated place of writing in Chinese civilization, explaining that the word for writing, wen, also means “culture, civilization, learning, pattern, refinement, and embellishment.” Examining the creation story of Pangu, the authors contrast traditional Chinese aesthetic values to Western aesthetics: Chinese aesthetics reflect a holistic and correlative worldview in which art describes concrete phenomenon, the writer exists in a network of relationships, and literature interprets and resides within the historic tradition.
The Columbia History of Chinese Literature, edited by Victor H. Mair. New York: Columbia University Press, 2001. Pp. xx + 1342. $78 (hardbound). It is difficult enough to write the history of a national literature where this history is relatively short, as in Russian or American literature. The problem becomes exponentially larger with a national literature that spans three millennia, and, measured by sheer volume of text, might well be larger than all other national literatures combined. Yet writing a history of Chinese literature is not impossible. Over the last century, a number of efforts have been made in various languages: many in Chinese, a good number in Japanese, and about twenty in European languages, including a few in English (none of which are mentioned in the book under review). Writing yet another history of Chinese literature has to take this fact into account because each new such history is built-not always consciously-on previous efforts. To a greater extent than is sometimes acknowledged, our own limitations are inherited. In some particular instances we might be successful in transcending this heritage; but for the larger part, we remain confined to it. Each new history of literature inevitably joins the process of canonizing, anthologizing, and tradition-making that is, to no small extent, the very subject under study. Thus, the conventional version of Chinese literary history that matches particular genres with particular dynasties-Han fu ,i, Tang shi * , Song ci *I-J, Yuan quiP , Ming-Qing xiaoshuo KAV /J\TR-is the direct result of such history-cum-canonization. This scheme simultaneously mirrors and confirms the prevalent research interests in Chinese literature, perpetuating the limitations of past inquiry as expectations for future work. Once accepted in a scholarly community, the reproduction of the conventional version reigns as a matter of convenience for all. As the editor of The Columbia History of Chinese Literature (hereafter: CHCL), Victor H. Mair submits that his volume transcends such limitations. In his own characteristic words, offered in the "Prolegomenon" (pp. xi-xiii) and "Preface" (xv-xviii), he declares that his history includes "the latest findings of critical scholarship" (p. xii). It is a work where "the history of Chinese literature is seen through entirely new prisms that transcend both time and genre" (p. xii). It is a volume packed "with as much basic information as possible" (p.xv) and built upon "rigorous marshalling of evidence" (p. xvi). It is also a history that "touches on such matters as the fuzzy interface between ?Chinese Literature: Essays, Articles, Reviews 26 (2004)
In this volume, "Chinese Literature," you will meet great minds among the Chinese literates. Since reading is a form of pleasure that has been enjoyed for thousands of years, literature gives us the opportunity to meet great writers in Chinese history who have distilled their thoughts on life and society. This book will track the development of literature from the pre-Qin Dynasty era to the last monarchal regime, the Qing Dynasty.
Henry Li Chinese Literature 248 Harvard University C.T. Hsia’s Flawed Obsession with China In this essay, I want to argue that Chih-tsing (C.T.) Hsia’s message of “obsession with China” was not applied consistently or coherently, for reasons in addition to his own suffering of this obsession and therefore his own hypocrisy. These reasons include his Western-centric approach. I do not believe Chinese writers were overly obsessed with China, and I will argue that any indication they were are perfectly expected, understandable, and excusable given the historical context of the early modern period. At any rate, it was fine for Hsia to make this observation, but he took it too far, sharply condemning Chinese literature for it. This is why I take issue with him. C.T. Hsia was a giant in Chinese literary studies. Scholars then and now credit him with introducing Chinese literature to many figures in the West. Throughout his academic tenure, Hsia displayed a scholarly erudition for many subjects, contributing to the quirkiness of his personality and the memorability of his character. 1 Hsia was born in Shanghai in 1921, studying English literature in college and at Yale, before receiving tenure at Columbia University in 1961. Over the next thirty years, Hsia turned Columbia into “one of the strongest institutions in Chinese literature in Western academia.” 2 His main publications include the monumental A History of Modern Chinese Fiction, published in 1961, and The Classic Chinese Novel, published in 1968, and numerous essays. Scholars today connect the canon of Chinese literature to when Hsia first put forward work by obscure writers 1 David Der-wei Wang, "In Memory of C.T. Hsia" (University of Oklahoma: Chinese Literature Today 4(1), 2014), 110. 2 David Wang, "In Memory of C.T. Hsia." Chinese Literature Today, 110. 1
that have since become literary classics. Most notably, these works include that of Shen Congwen and Eileen Chang. Students remember him for his liveliness, his eccentricity, his humor, his energy, and his many “politically incorrect bombshells.” 3 Hsia would consistently stress the reading of entire genres or an author’s entire corpus as the best way to become truly familiar with the text. 4 As an example, he would always hold up his own extensive familiarity with Western and British literature. He stressed close reading as the most basic way to approach a text. Hsia’s political incorrectness and love of Western literature may suggest controversy during his academic tenure, and this is certainly an accurate indication. David Wang writes that no scholar today can study Chinese literature “without first consulting, challenging, or at least reflecting on his opinions.” 5 In this essay, I seek to do all three. Sources of controversy could include Hsia’s brazen style, which verged on the point of overconfidence. Hsia was an unabashed supporter of American culture, and his politics were uncompromisingly partisan. He was an unwavering supporter of Republican politics, Ronald Reagan, and the American Right. He despised Communism and denigrated the work of Chinese writers under heavy Communist rule. What is so important about these personal views and characteristics is that they translated heavily into how Hsia thought about literature. On this matter, Hsia was very clear. He very much disliked Chinese literature as a whole, and was at times even more cynical towards it than Lu Xun. One of his former students recalled how Hsia found Chinese fiction from the early 3 Charles A. Laughlin, "C.T. Hsia as a Mentor" (University of Oklahoma: Chinese Literature Today 4(1), 2014), 118. 4 Charles Laughlin, "C.T. Hsia as a Mentor,” 118. 5 David Wang, "In Memory of C.T. Hsia." Chinese Literature Today, 110. 2
modern period to be “blunt and unsophisticated.” 6 The technique of Chinese writers was “childish,” and the way they viewed humanity as a whole “lacked depth, offering no deeper insights into the human psyche.” 7 As a whole, Chinese fiction was superficial, mainly because it utterly lacked and seemed not even to care about the larger questions of good and evil that affected the whole of humanity. Such religious questions as original sin and the problem of evil went not just unanswered by Chinese writers, but unquestioned. This was unacceptable to Hsia. Chinese literature was indeed so plainly mediocre that Hsia said its main effects, which flowed from a similarly flawed Chinese religious sentiment, were “superstition, escapism, or a serene Wang Wei-esque self-indulgence.” 8 As an example, Hsia slammed the famed Tang dynasty Chinese poet Li Bai, regarded by Chinese in later dynasties and eras as a 诗仙, or “god of poetry.” To Hsia, Li Bai’s poems “had no religious feeling, no concern for the human race, preferring to indulge in ecstatic flights of fancy.” 9 Hsia’s pessimism about the prospects of Chinese literature went far and wide, into the past and the future. As a professor of Chinese literature, his student wrote, Hsia should have encouraged students to study Chinese literature. But yet, in a profoundly Lu Xun-like moment, Hsia instead told students to study ancient Greek. He would “not hesitate to advise any college youth to major in Greek.” 10 He also urged students to consider studying nineteenth century Russian literature. Hsia went quite far in his condemnation of Chinese literature. Because it was so shallow, he wrote that it had nothing to do with reality. Therefore, readers would be well advised to avoid Chinese literature. “Better to consume fewer Chinese books, or none at all,” he wrote, “and more 6 Joseph S.M. Lau, "A Humble Scholar" (University of Oklahoma: Chinese Literature Today 4(1), 2014), 120. 7 Joseph Lau, “A Humble Scholar,” 120. 8 Joseph Lau, “A Humble Scholar,” 120. 9 Joseph Lau, “A Humble Scholar,” 120. 10 Joseph Lau, “A Humble Scholar,” 120. 3
foreign literature.” 11 Having no experience in Chinese literature would not be a detriment to anybody, Hsia continued. But yet, all this accumulated damage to Chinese literature meant it could never take a seat at the table of world literature. This was aptly summarized in a 2007 interview with Southern Weekly, which was titled “Only Chinese People Talk About Chinese Literature.” 12 Westerners easily tired of the monotonous, boring features of Chinese literature, Hsia said. This was the reason why Chinese literature “wasn’t going to get big.” 13 In a statement of final damnation, Hsia declared that Chinese literature “hasn’t produced a single book that everyone has to read.” 14 Joseph Lau is correct in his observation that Hsia “sometimes surpassed Lu Xun in the vehemence of his opinions.” 15 But this is ironic due to Hsia’s condemnation of Lu Xun and the very literature he represented. This irony and how it renders Hsia’s message inconsistent and incoherent is the subject of this essay. Of importance to note is Lau’s astute observation that, while “Hsia’s public role was as a professor of Chinese literature . . . in secret he was a Western literature buff.” 16 Hsia’s Western-focused approach to literature is an important point that this essay will duly give consideration to. The main cause for the gaping deficiency in Chinese literature, according to Hsia, was the idea he termed “obsession with China.” To Hsia, “obsession with China” meant that Chinese writers, out of a kind of twisted patriotism and national self-obsession, would constantly focus their literary endeavors on Chinese society and issues most pertaining to China, instead of the world at large. Leo Lee, another former student of Hsia’s, paraphrased this idea that “Modern 11 Joseph Lau, “A Humble Scholar,” 121. 12 Joseph Lau, “A Humble Scholar,” 121. 13 Joseph Lau, “A Humble Scholar,” 121. 14 Joseph Lau, “A Humble Scholar,” 121. 15 Joseph Lau, “A Humble Scholar,” 120. 16 Joseph Lau, “A Humble Scholar,” 120. 4
Chinese authors . . . restrict their critiques to the dark side of Chinese society, not human society in general.” 17 What’s more, Chinese writers did this because they did not have “the perspicacity, and the courage, to transmute the sufferings of China into a metaphor for the condition of modern Man.” 18 This was the key deficiency that left Chinese literature so mutilated and lacking of a place on the world stage. Otherwise, Hsia speculated, “China might occupy a seat at the table of mainstream modern literature.” 19 Hsia wanted books that were deep, books that plumbed the depths of the human soul. He cared for universality. The best books were about universal good and evil. He wanted to make Chinese literature great, to finally see it join the family of nations in the circle of modern world literature. In other words, and this is where Lau’s astute observation comes in, Hsia wanted to see Chinese literature act the same way that his cherished Western literature did. Hsia’s previous mentioning of the absence of serious religious questions lends support to this point. He had condemned Chinese religion, which meant he took Western religion to be the standard for which all should aim. If literature flowed from religion, as it should, then China really should have adopted Western religious questions. This explains his previous complaint that Chinese literature lacked notions of original sin or any serious religious questions dealing with the problem of evil. These are all Christian concepts. But Chinese literature usually never conformed to Hsia’s aims. The irony returns in the form of an observation posed by Professor Wang, which forms the starting point for this essay’s investigation. In an interview with the New York Times, Professor Wang stated his belief that, by attacking Chinese literature, which is part of China, Hsia was also suffering from the very same “obsession with China” he attacked in others. “When 17 Leo Ou-fan Lee, "C.T. Hsia and Western Literature: Memorial for a Century" (University of Oklahoma: Chinese Literature Today 4(1), 2014), 116. 18 Leo Lee, “C.T. Hsia and Western Literature,” 116. 19 Leo Lee, “C.T. Hsia and Western Literature,” 116. 5
Hsia attacked modern Chinese literature as suffering from an obsession with China,” asked Professor Wang, “was he too suffering from one even by seeing this?” 20 Significantly, Hsia himself, according to Professor Wang, did not deny this, and even seemed to accept it. “Be that as it may, we still need to open up,” was his reply. 21 Hsia seemed to accept the fact that he was suffering from the very same thing he attacked in others, but he did not think this required an adjustment of principle. Chinese writers – and maybe this now included himself – still needed to open up to the rest of the world and stop their morbid, twisted obsession with their own country. That he himself suffered the same was only further proof of just how far reaching this disease was. To show why Hsia’s “obsession with China” was both applied inconsistently and erroneously, it is necessary to address the essay in which he first introduces the topic. The essay, titled “Obsession With China: The Moral Burden of Modern Chinese Literature,” is the first appendix to the second edition of Hsia’s A History of Modern Chinese Fiction, published in 1971. The period of Chinese literature from 1917 to 1949 was distinguished by its new “burden of moral contemplation” that was an obsessive concern of China as “a nation afflicted with a spiritual disease and therefore unable to strengthen itself or change its set ways of inhumanity.” 22 Hsia observed that every major writer of this period wrote from this perspective, which he termed a kind of “patriotic passion.” Chinese writers, according to Hsia, were very damning of China. To them, the country was morally bankrupt; its people embodied a “callous unconcern with human dignity and human 20 Didi Kirsten Tatlow, “Q. & A.: David Der-wei Wang on C.T. Hsia, Chinese Literary Critic” (New York Times, 2014). 21 Didi Tatlow, “Q. & A.” 22 Chih-tsing Hsia, A History of Modern Chinese Fiction (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1971), 533. 6
suffering.” 23 This relentless focus on what was so direly wrong with China was a patriotic naiveté. Instead, as Hsia’s previous students have said, if Chinese writers “had the courage or insight to equate the Chinese scene with the condition of modern man, [they] would have been in the mainstream of modern literature.” 24 The reason Chinese writers did not equate China with the world was because they had a shallow and naïve understanding of the social conditions elsewhere. For Chinese writers, the West was the source of hope, salvation, and modernization. To sling mud at its illustrious pillars would have “blotted out hope for the betterment of life, for the restoration of human dignity.” 25 Therefore, the Chinese writers remained obsessively focused in their unhelpful, foolish mud-slinging of China. Chinese literature suffered the consequences as a result. Upon close examination, this argument begins to fall apart, for three reasons: hypocrisy, context, and example. Hsia is being hypocritical because, as Professor Wang observed, he is also a sufferer of this “obsession with China,” and therefore has no right to systematically persecute Chinese writers for being this way without also first addressing his own problem. Indeed, the closer one looks, the closer Hsia resembles the very qualities of “obsession with China” he condemns. In order to visualize this analogy, we must visualize the following: Hsia is to Chinese literature what the Chinese writers are to China. The example of Hsia being just as, and if not more so, pessimistic than Lu Xun is a compelling one. Lu Xun sharply damned Chinese civilization, declaring in Diary of a Madman that much of the Chinese populace was composed of reptiles, inhuman wolves and beasts whose destruction at the hands of real, civilized human beings from the West was long overdue. In similar fashion, Hsia damned Chinese literature, declaring it had produced no works that 23 C.T. Hsia, A History of Modern Chinese Fiction, 534. 24 C.T. Hsia, A History of Modern Chinese Fiction, 536. 25 C.T. Hsia, A History of Modern Chinese Fiction, 536. 7
everyone in the world had to read. Just as Lu Xun declared that Chinese people lacked courage and insight, to the effect that China did not join the family of modern nations, Hsia declared also that Chinese writers did not have courage or insight, and as a result Chinese literature failed to join mainstream modern world literature. Hsia and the Chinese writers were also similar because they both desired modernization for their respective objects. Chinese writers desperately hoped their literature would contribute to the ongoing process of modernization in China. Lu Xun, for one, hoped his own work would stir an awakening in the hearts and minds of his compatriots. They criticized Chinese civilization because it was backwards, and needed desperately to learn from the West. They took the West as their model for improvement – Hsia himself said this, and even derided their “naiveté of faith” for it. But was not Hsia himself the ultimate Western buff? Did not Hsia himself also take the West as the standard to which Chinese literature should strive? Why did he not hold himself to the same standard of “naiveté of faith?” In terms of modernization, Hsia made explicit references in his essay to “mainstream modern literature,” saying that because Chinese literature was not universal, but morbidly self-obsessive, it was not modern in the mainstream. This, too, means that he wished for Chinese literature to become more modern. He desired the same thing as the Chinese writers did. Surely, he could have been more sympathetic to them. Hsia’s argument that Chinese literature was of poor quality because it was too obsessed overlooks another important factor that he mentioned in his essay: context. Chinese writers, in the early modern period, had just come to the brutal realization that, after millennia, Chinese civilization had been overtaken, was desperately backward, and was in dire need of reform. It is altogether understandable and commendable that, when faced with China’s desperate situation, they would use their talents for the communal good, and try to awaken the national spirit by 8
focusing on China. For Hsia to condemn them for doing this is to put the comfortable whims of the literary critic above the fate of the Chinese people. Hsia’s desire for Chinese literature to be more “mainstream” must look ridiculous against the good intentions of Chinese writers desiring the rejuvenation of their people. Hsia writes that the “modern obsession with China’s impotence represents historically a new self-awareness brought about by the long series defeats and humiliations . . .” 26 This is an excellent point; historically, it is extremely valid. It takes into account empathy and concern for the other, instead of constant self-confidence and self-focus – something Hsia was reputed to do in his high-flying academic career. So it makes little sense for Hsia, after explicitly acknowledging that Chinese writers faced unusual historical circumstances, to suddenly come out swinging and attack them for doing something they could probably not help but do. Hsia continues to write sardonically of this “obsessive patriotism,” a testament of Chinese writers’ “continuing obsession with the welfare of the Chinese people.” 27 I certainly do not believe being obsessed with “the welfare of the Chinese people” is a bad thing, especially given the dire historical circumstances that China faced in the early twentieth century. While I give Hsia credit for bringing the “obsession with China” to the attention of scholars and writers, I disapprove of his damnation of Chinese literature for it. When faced with the choice of either the continued welfare of China or the integration of Chinese literature into a vacuously defined, Western- standardized “literature of modernity,” I would choose the former any day of the week. That being said, I do identify with his frustration. Hsia wrote that Chinese literature, enkindled with patriotic fervor, “would today appear unabashedly sentimental . . . ultimately China gets blamed for all its problems.” 28 Hsia was understandably frustrated that Chinese 26 C.T. Hsia, A History of Modern Chinese Fiction, 534. 27 C.T. Hsia, A History of Modern Chinese Fiction, 534. 28 C.T. Hsia, A History of Modern Chinese Fiction, 543. 9
writers, in the urgency of their quest for modernization, resorted to simple, unsophisticated literary tactics that, when compared to Western techniques, were shallow and superficial. But this is a literary problem, and not a cause for damnation of their entire effort. After all, Chinese writers had just begun to write in that special, modern style. Lu Xun broke the ice with his Diary of a Madman, and other writers soon began to follow. I find it again understandable that the fledgling literary techniques of China’s pioneering writers would at first not compare favorably with the developed literature of the West. Just as China was backward, so Chinese literature was correspondingly backward. Only gradual development and cross-cultural learning would, as time wore on, advance the Chinese literary style. Hsia could have, again, been more sympathetic and understanding. He was right in that China needed to “open up” more to the West. In the meantime, however, just like Lu Xun, Hsia was trapped in useless bouts of poisonous cynicism. But the third, decisive reason that Hsia’s damnation of Chinese literature for its obsessiveness falls apart is that Hsia’s critical reviews of Chinese novels are inconsistent. His standard varies from novel to novel, and some books that he highly praised – Rickshaw Boy being the perfect example – in fact shared the very same qualities that in other books had led him to give negative reviews. In order to understand the inconsistency of Hsia’s criticism, it is necessary to explore a sampling of his reviews. He stated once in an essay that the cohesive organization of a novel was very important to him, so we know that organization was one of the qualities he looked for in a literary work. 29 Hsia wrote in his reply to Professor Prusek’s attack that another most important quality was that literature “should not merely adorn or affirm ideals, [but that] it should test them in the actuality of the concrete human situation.” 30 In the same essay, Hsia gives as an example 29 Chih-tsing Hsia, C.T. Hsia on Chinese Literature (New York: Columbia University Press, 2004), 37. 30 C.T. Hsia, C.T. Hsia on Chinese Literature, 54. 10
the work of Yu Ta-fu, which he calls “blemished by touches of sentimentality and compositional carelessness . . . exaggeration . . . inconsistencies in the text resulting from one sentimental excess canceling out another.” 31 In general, Hsia condemned Chinese writers as a whole because the “Chinese scholar-novelist is ultimately little differentiated from the common man (and the commercial novelist) in moral outlook if not in religious faith . . . he often appears quite unintellectual.” 32 Based on these review summaries, it may seem valid to take Hsia at his word and corroborate his earlier statements that he searched for deep, soulful literature that was sophisticated in technique and asked powerful questions concerning the universal human condition. On the opposite end of the spectrum was the literature Hsia so unsympathetically despised: shallow, sentimental, morbidly patriotic literature focused on China. Given his damnation of the entire Chinese genre, it may seem unintuitive at first that Hsia could have been a fan of any Chinese literary work. And yet, he was an enormous advocate for Eileen Chang and Shen Congwen, writers who have since been unequivocally welcomed into the canon by scholars and writers in the West and China alike. For one work, however, Hsia gave unusually warm praise: Rickshaw Boy, or Camel Hsiang-tzu, written by Lao She and published in 1937. Hsia described the novel, “written on the eve of the Sino-Japanese War,” as the “finest modern Chinese novel up to that time.” 33 Coming from Hsia, who declared that Chinese literature had produced nothing that everyone in the world should read, this is quite surprising. What were the qualities of Rickshaw Boy that made it a first rate novel for Hsia? Let us take a closer look. Hsia devotes an entire chapter of his book A History of Modern Chinese Fiction to Lao She. A clue of Rickshaw Boy’s critical success comes immediately in the chapter’s introduction: 31 C.T. Hsia, C.T. Hsia on Chinese Literature, 82. 32 C.T. Hsia, C.T. Hsia on Chinese Literature, 192. 33 C.T. Hsia, A History of Modern Chinese Fiction, 187. 11
Hsia writes that “Lao She remains until his novel Camel Hsiang-tzu the staunch believer in a simpler patriotic injunction that each Chinese should perform his chosen duty to the best of his ability in order to rid China of her stagnation and corruption.” 34 This indicates that Hsia believes Rickshaw Boy to be a turning point in how Lao She “graduated” from the simple, morbidly China-obsessed writing that plagued his entire genre. Rickshaw Boy, in Hsia’s eyes, finally shook off the China focus and turned to mainstream modern subjects such as universalism, good and evil, and religion. Rickshaw Boy was such an improvement that Lao She’s novel immediately preceding it, Divorce, “was still very much the individualist, castigating the Chinese people for their cowardice and admonishing them toward greater heroic endeavor.” 35 In other words, what Hsia found really compelling about Rickshaw Boy was Lao She’s realization of “the futility of individual effort.” 36 Futility is indeed an accurate way to the describe Rickshaw Boy. In the novel, the protagonist, a rickshaw puller, tries his utmost to make it as a member of China’s poor working class. His name is Hsiang-tzu, and he does as much as is humanly possible to save money, buy his own rickshaw, and work his way out of the backbreaking life of destitution he suffers. He is polite to customers, treats his competitors in the rickshaw business with utmost respect, and generally does well in every manner. But this is not enough. Society steps in, and Hsiang-tzu loses the rickshaws he bought from years of backbreaking savings. Gradually, Hsiang-tzu loses the integrity, determination, and strength of his former self, falling into such bad habits as gambling and drinking that he had previously despised and avoided. He loses respect, becomes more and more bedraggled and treacherous, and, by the time the novel concludes, has become an ugly shell of who he once was. 34 C.T. Hsia, A History of Modern Chinese Fiction, 165. 35 C.T. Hsia, A History of Modern Chinese Fiction, 180. 36 C.T. Hsia, A History of Modern Chinese Fiction, 182. 12
The message Hsia takes away is summarized by a quote from the novel: “The once respectable, ambitious, dreamy, self-centered, individualistic, strong-bodied, and great Hsiang- tzu . . . didn’t know when or where he would bury himself, bury that degenerate, selfish, and unfortunate product of a sick society . . .” 37 Hsia writes that this indicates Lao She “has apparently come to the conclusion that, in a sick society, it requires some form of collective action to improve the lot of the proletariat.” 38 Hsia celebrates the novel’s philosophical turn and its “dissatisfaction with the patriotic formula of heroic individual effort” through obsession with China. 39 This and the novel’s powerfully universal scenes that make the reader “scale a high peak of modern Chinese literature to look down on naked human experience in all its horror and fury, without any attendant sentimentality, didacticism, or melodrama.” 40 These are the reasons why Hsia pronounced it the finest novel China had thus far produced. But a close look at the novel and an understanding of its wildly popular reception in the West serve to undermine Hsia’s analysis and expose the inconsistencies of his “obsession with China” argument. Rickshaw Boy certainly does show the futility of the protagonist’s own individual effort, highlighting the corrupt society and the need for all Chinese to come together for national rejuvenation. Yet this message is startling familiar. It is no different from the “obsession with China” that Hsia charges all Chinese writers. After all, Lao She could not be more obvious that the society Hsiang-tzu lives in, China, is corrupt. Even Hsia openly declared this in his chapter. Just because the novel’s literary style has been dressed up does not mean its focus on China has shifted. Hsia may declare that the novel rids itself of sentimentality and throws itself into the universal questions of “naked human experience.” But sentimentality is a 37 C.T. Hsia, A History of Modern Chinese Fiction, 185. 38 C.T. Hsia, A History of Modern Chinese Fiction, 185. 39 C.T. Hsia, A History of Modern Chinese Fiction, 188. 40 C.T. Hsia, A History of Modern Chinese Fiction, 186. 13
sign of a literary beginner, and Lao She by this point is presumably no beginner. As to “naked human experience,” I admit there are scenes that speak to powerful characterization and universal human suffering, but the focus on China, the “obsession with China,” is again very obvious. Let me offer some passages from the novel as examples. In a scene highly reminiscent of the infamous photograph of passive Chinese civilians watching the beheading of a compatriot by the Japanese, Lao She writes that many spectators had lined up along Peking streets to watch the execution of a corrupt official. “The shouts of the people were like waves on the ocean; those in front rushed back to meet those behind. Everybody turned their mouths down and complained to each other. They were all disappointed. He was only a little monkey like that after all! And he was so floppy and blah!” 41 This is a sardonic passage worthy of Lu Xun’s biting sneer. The tone makes fun of the foolish hordes of Chinese people shouting and squeezing each other to have a good look at a man sentenced to death. The society is obviously sick. Instead of pitying or exhibiting any other human concern for the imprisoned man, the Chinese here are actually disappointed at his emaciated, “blah” frame. While the sarcasm is more sophisticated as literature here, the underlying point is that Rickshaw Boy has an “obsession with China” as much as Lu Xun did. So, why the double standard? Another example is that Hu Niu, the protagonist’s wife, has a rich father who abandons her for eloping with a mere rickshaw puller. The father cannot stand that a “country bumpkin” will make off with his daughter and his estate. “I wouldn’t give her one red cent!” he declares. 42 The “red” in the marriage money is a direct emphasis on the Chinese custom of the whole affair. That Hu Niu’s father will not give her any financial support for the marriage is a link to the sorry 41 She Lao, Rickshaw: The Novel Lo-tʻo Hsiang Tzu (Honolulu: University Press of Hawaii, 1979), 243. 42 Lao She, Rickshaw, 140. 14
state of this Chinese situation. Of course, Hu Niu ends up dying during childbirth, mainly due to lack of funds for a visit to the hospital. Instead, a self-declared ceremonial healer swindles the couple out of the last of their money. So, again, in this unfortunate affair, a fundamentally corrupt Chinese society is to blame. Rickshaw Boy, though better written, still has every “obsession with China,” but Hsia practically swooned over it. Why the double standard? In closing, I want to propose a reason that highlights Hsia’s complexity as a human being. Literary critics are human after all, with subjective biases that cannot be hidden. Rickshaw Boy, unlike the vast majority of Chinese literature in the early twentieth century, was a big commercial success in the West. Given Hsia’s Western-centric approach to literature and his absolute fawning over American culture and everything American, it is perhaps altogether unsurprising that Hsia would highly praise Rickshaw Boy, despite it very obviously being “obsessed with China.” Hsia had his complexities, hypocrisies, and inconsistencies, just like everyone else. His observation of Chinese writers’ “obsession with China” is unequivocally a great one, and has influenced much academic debate for decades. One only wishes he were less harsh about Chinese literature; such awful criticism is unwarranted. 15
Works Cited Hsia, Chih-tsing. A History of Modern Chinese Fiction. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1971. Hsia, Chih-tsing. C.T. Hsia on Chinese Literature. New York: Columbia University Press, 2004. Lao, She. Rickshaw: The Novel Lo-tʻo Hsiang Tzu. Honolulu: University Press of Hawaii, 1979. Lau, Joseph S. M. "A Humble Scholar." Chinese Literature Today 4, no. 1 (2014): 119-121. Laughlin, Charles A. "C.T. Hsia as a Mentor." Chinese Literature Today 4, no. 1 (2014): 118. Lee, Leo Ou-fan. "C.T. Hsia and Western Literature: Memorial for a Century" Chinese Literature Today 4, no. 1 (2014): 115-117. Tatlow, Didi Kirsten. "Q. & A.: David Der-wei Wang on C.T. Hsia, Chinese Literary Critic." Sinosphere Q A David Derwei Wang on CT Hsia Chinese Literary Critic Comments. January 3, 2014. Wang, David Der-wei. "In Memory of C.T. Hsia." Chinese Literature Today 4, no. 1 (2014): 110-111. 16
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Henry Li