The Literary Field of Twentieth Century China

Michel Hockx

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2019
• Topic: History
• eBook ISBN:
  9781136813887
• Subtopic: 20th Century History
• Index: History

At least since the late nineteenth century onwards, Chinese literature as a form of cultural production has been taking place within a specific social space, including writers, critics, journalists, editors, publishers, printers and booksellers. Focusing on people as well as on texts, and looking at what writers did as well as at what they wrote, the essays in this volume draw a vivid and variegated picture of Chinese literary life throughout the modern period. The book treats differences between periods, but also traces the continuities that have characterised modern Chinese literary practice and its discourses from the beginning to the present, including ties of allegiance, utilisation of 'the people' and appropriation of the west. The book places modern Chinese literature firmly within its socio-historical context, thereby increasing the reader's awareness of the hidden assumptions behind literary production. In doing so, it opens new perspectives on Chinese culture as a whole, and on literature as a cosmopolitan concept.

Chapter One

An Act of Violence

Translation of Western fiction in the late Qing and early Republican period

Wang-chi Wong

In his preface to his son’s Shakespeare translations, Victor Hugo wrote:

When you offer a translation to a nation, that nation will almost always look on the translation as an act of violence against itself. […] To translate a foreign writer is to add to your own national poetry; such a widening of the horizon does not please those who profit from it, at least not in the beginning. The first reaction is one of rebellion. […] Who could ever dare think of infusing the substance of another people into its own very lifeblood? (Lefevere 1992: 18)

From Hugo’s point of view, a translation was often received as an act of violence, as it would constitute a threat to existing literature in the reception culture and hence a threat to those who had benefited or were then benefiting from their control of the existing literature. On the other hand, however, translation can in some cases also be purposefully turned into an act of violence by the translators to serve special, usually political purposes. It can be made into an innovative, if not a subversive, force to overthrow the long-established literary ‘norm’, in order to bring in new elements that might fit into the translators’ agenda and contribute to its advancement. In this article, I analyse the translation of foreign fiction in China during the late Qing and early Republican Period from the above two points of view: that it was received as an act of violence and that it was manipulated as an act of violence. In both cases, I shall argue, emphasis was laid on the translations and the receptor party, rather than on the originals and the source.

The rise of translation

Translation has a long history in China. With its vast area and a large number of races, China had been conducting translation among the different peoples within her own boundaries since the early Zhou, long before the guilao (‘foreign devils’) came to pay tribute to the Imperial State. Nevertheless, throughout history, there were frequent intrusions of cultures from outside China. The import of Buddhism, started from as early as 122 BC, was by far the most important. For its part, Christianity was first introduced into China in the Tang period.¹ Both made a tremendous impact on Chinese culture.

Before the last decade of the nineteenth century, however, translation of foreign literature was never recognised as an important enterprise in China. This situation is easy to explain. For centuries, China had held, at least the Chinese so believed, an undisputed supremacy in literature and culture over other countries. That was why she was able to assimilate Buddhism without any great difficulty; even Christianity, when it was first brought into China, met little opposition, as the Chinese were confident enough that foreign cultures would not constitute any threat and could be absorbed easily. It was in the final years of the Qing Dynasty that the Chinese began a large-scale translation campaign of Western literature.

The year 1842, in which China was, for the first time, defeated by a Western power, in the First Opium War, has often been taken as a turning point in Chinese political history, after which she was said to have entered into a new era, the ‘early modern’ period (jindai). The defeat in the Second Opium War confirmed unmistakably that China did not possess sufficient military strength to fight the foreigners. Progressive gentry began to call for reform, and they started to realise the importance of translation in order to bring in ‘the strong points of barbarians to control the barbarians’. Nevertheless, at this initial stage, what they wanted to learn from the West was mainly on the military side, such as the building of battleships, the use of guns and at most, the training of armies. Although a number of Western works were translated and there was even the establishment of government translation organs such as the Tongwenguan, people paid no attention to literature, and the three main categories of works translated during this time were religious writings, books on sciences and applied sciences, and books on history, politics and laws (Hu 1993: 106). Within the 60 years between 1840–1898, only seven titles of Western literature were translated into Chinese and they made no great impact on the Chinese minds (Chen 1989: 24).

However, the defeat by Japan in the Sino-Japanese war of 1895 dealt the most severe blow to the confidence of the Chinese. Many began to realise that superficial reforms would not save the country. They demanded a reform not only on the military side, but also in the subtle aspects of thinking. Reformers began to look to literature, or more specifically, to foreign literature, as a powerful means to change the minds of the nation. In the last decade of the Manchu rule, there was a sudden surge in the translation of foreign fiction. According to one source, in 1903, 44 pieces of foreign fiction were translated, compared with only eight in the previous year. This figure continued to grow and reached highs in 1906 and 1907, with 110 and 126 titles respectively (Chen 1989: 42).

The political factor was a very important cause for the increase of translation activities in that period, and this will be a central point of attention in the discussion below. Nevertheless, there were, by all means, other factors that contributed to the sudden surge in the translation of foreign fiction. One that cannot be neglected is the economic consideration. With the establishment of coastal city ports, hence, the building up of a large city population, there was a rise of readership, which brought about and supported many new magazines and newspapers. While there were only eight newspapers in China within the 46 years of the period 1815–1861, there were 78 newspapers and magazines in 1886 and 124 in 1901 (Chen 1989: 66). After the publication of Xin xiaoshuo (.New Fiction) in 1902, more and more magazines and newspapers bore xiaoshuo in their titles and published mainly, if not only, fiction. Added to this was the establishment of the royalty system, which produced a group of professional translators, writers and editors, the first time ever in Chinese literary history. As their fortunes depended largely on the marketability of their works, they had to take the tastes of the readers into serious consideration when choosing subject matter to write on or a piece of foreign fiction to translate. Apart from the content, their way of writing and translating was also much affected by the aesthetic tastes of the readers. Unfortunately, political considerations and economic interests did not always go hand in hand. Lin Shu’s translation of Les dame aux camelias did not fit into any political agenda (at the time, he was mourning the death of his wife), but it was no doubt the best-selling piece of work of the time. So, even though for a time fiction with strong political flavours, particularly the so-called political novels, was very popular, when the political sentiments subsided, readers would prefer to read works that were not simply educational but were more entertaining and interesting. Hence, while the deliberate ‘act of violence’ might serve well the political purposes of the translators, they had to be careful not to alienate the readers with works that were unacceptable, both aesthetically and culturally, in the market.

The translator-reformers and their tactics

Traditional Chinese literary criticism often emphasised the influence of literature on society. Men of letters were urged to make the best use of literature to improve politics. Hence a utilitarian approach to literature was by no means unknown to the Chinese. But there was one big difference in the late Qing: the use of the genre ‘fiction’. In the past, fiction never enjoyed any important place in the world of ‘orthodox’ literature. Fiction and novel writers were not respectable, as they were not included in the Nine Schools (jiuliu) and no ‘great’ man of letters would ever write fiction or take up fiction as a means to improve society.

However, Liang Qichao, no doubt the single most important intellectual of the late Qing, saw an incredible power in fiction for influencing the general masses. Upon the failure of the Hundred Days Reform (11th June-21st Sept 1898) and the attempt to get rid of the powerful Empress Dowager, Liang, having fled to Japan, began to turn to the people to strengthen the nation at the grass-roots level, despite the fact that he was then still a royalist who believed in reforms rather than revolution. He urged, in order to save the nation, to transform the people (xinmin). But how? To Liang, the solution lay in fiction. In the essay ‘Lun xiaoshuo yu qunzhi zhi guanxi’ (On the Relationship between Fiction and the Government of the People), which can probably be regarded as one of Liang’s most important pieces of writing, he categorically spelt out that ‘[…] to renovate the people of a nation, one must first renovate its fiction’ because he saw in fiction ‘a profound power over the way of man’. He even claimed that fiction was the most important among all literary genres (Liang 1902a; Denton 1996: 74–81).

For several reasons, this argument was soon taken up and accepted by many people, even though they might belong to different political camps. First, before Liang, reformists like Kang Youwei (1897: 11–12), Yan Fu and Xia Zengyou (1897: 12) had already vaguely expressed similar ideas. They had provided the general climate for Liang to make a more vigorous proclamation. Second, as said earlier, traditional literary critics had also advocated the use of literature to improve politics. Third, traditional critics also admitted the influence of fiction on the masses. But to them, all such influences were bad, as traditional fiction and novels only ‘propagated sex and violence’ Qiuiyin huidao). Liang also agreed with this. On a number of occasions, he and his followers severely criticised traditional fiction and novels, including those that are now considered great works such as Shuihu zhuan (The Water Margin) and Honglou meng (Red Chamber Dream). But Liang wisely turned the table by saying that if there could be a new kind of fiction, a good influence could come out of it (Liang 1902a: 36–7). In a time when people were desperate about national salvation, such an idea at least looked promising.

As serious problems were perceived in traditional Chinese fiction, it was natural that the reformers would turn to foreign fiction for help in creating a new kind of Chinese fiction. Translated foreign fiction works could make a direct impact on the Chinese people, and would also act as examples to Chinese fiction writers.

To subvert traditional literature with the translation of Western works was by no means an easy task at the turn of the century. First, Chinese have always had a strong faith in their culture and literature. Second, at that time, there was a general and strong anti-foreign sentiment. One has to bear in mind that the disastrous Boxer Uprising took place roughly at the same time. In order to justify the validity, or the legitimacy for translating foreign literature, Liang and his followers adopted a very clever strategy.

We have briefly seen the first part of Liang’s tactics. First, he moved fiction from the peripheral to the central position by stating that fiction was the most important among all literary genres. Second, he condemned all traditional fiction as evil and in this way constructed a literary vacuum. All that was left to be done was to fill this vacuum with translations of foreign fiction. This was the deliberate part of the ‘act of violence’.

In order to have foreign fiction occupy the central position, translator-reformers, the group of people who translated foreign fiction in order to advance political reforms, at the turn of the century had to elevate the status of fiction in foreign countries. They proposed four arguments. First, in foreign countries, fiction was highly treasured and fiction writers were much respected (Chen and Xia 1989: 40–1). Second, in foreign countries, great scholars, prominent thinkers and even important politicians wrote fiction. Third, foreign novels, as they were written by great scholars, thinkers and politicians, were very often the embodiment of noble political ideas. Fourth, as foreign novels were the embodiment of noble political ideas, they very often played an important role in affecting and improving politics in foreign countries, and in some cases, foreign fiction contributed to the wealth and strength of some countries (Chen and Xia 1989: 12, 21–3, 30, 32). Obviously these arguments were targeted against traditional Chinese fiction. Since traditional Chinese fiction was looked down upon by critics, since no respectable men of letters would ever write fiction in China, since traditional Chinese fiction and novels contained no substance but only propagated sex and violence, and since they were harmful to the people and to the country, they were far inferior to foreign fiction. This was effective in justifying why they saw in the translation of foreign fiction a means of saving the country instead of using existing traditional Chinese works, as they, the translator-reformers, in the words of André Lefevere, ‘invoke [d] the authority of the [translated] text’ (Lefevere 1992: 2).

Was this representation of foreign fiction by the reformers close to the facts? The translator-reformers expressed themselves extremely confidently without providing any justifications. Some critics have pointed out that the entire description of foreign fiction was but a myth created by people like Liang Qichao (Chen 1989: 4; Chen and Yuan 1993: 246), who did not have a first-hand and solid knowledge of Western literature. In the present context, the question of whether or not Liang Qichao and his group were representing a genuine picture is not significant. The important thing is that we do not see any queries from the readers of the time. People never questioned the legitimacy and the authority of the translators, and they did not even care to ask. They simply gave a kind of blanket approval. Hence, this is a question of authenticity and authority: with or without the authenticity, Liang and his group commanded the authority. This phenomenon touches on the issue of the relationship between the translators and the readers.

From a theoretical point of view, translators play the role of mediators between the source and the receptors. If the receptors are incapable of reading the original text and know nothing about the original culture, how do they know that they have entrusted the job of representing a foreign text to the right person, someone who is trustworthy? (Lefevere 1992: 1) ‘Objectively’ speaking, most of the translators in the late Qing, unfortunately, were not trustworthy. There was Lin Shu, the most famous and probably most productive and successful translator of Western literature, who translated the works of great writers such as Dickens, Tolstoy, Shakespeare and Alexandre Dumas without knowing one single foreign language. There was Bao Tianxiao, whose Japanese was very weak at the time and who chose Japanese works for translation on the basis of the criterion that there should be a lot of Chinese characters in it (Bao 1971: 173). And there was the recurrence of the proud proclamation made by many translators in the prefaces to their translations that they had boldly and vigorously amended the original. Even the great Yan Fu, who had an excellent command of English and who was famous for his serious attitude towards translation, disappointingly, told the readers that he was not really doing a translation, he was just trying to ‘give the gist’ (dazhi) (Yan 1898: 117). In this case, how could and why should the readers trust the translators?

The translator-reformers, in advocating a revolution in fiction in order to advance political reform, originally had a very specific group of readers in their minds. They were the general mass who could barely read and hence could not benefit from the great teachings of the sages. One often cited statement by Kang Youwei reads:

Those who can barely read may not read the Classics, but they will all read fiction. Hence, the Clasisics may not be able to teach them, but fiction should be used. Orthodox history may not affect them, but fiction will. The works of Confucius may not enlighten them, but fiction will. The laws may not regulate them, but fiction will (Kang 1897: 13).

Due to this belief, the translator-reformers felt that they were far above the general public, and it was their responsibility to help and educate them, through the easiest means: fiction. One may be surprised, when one comes to read the articles written by this group of people, by the frequent reference to the general people as ‘stupid subjects/foolish people’ (yumin). To the translator-reformers, these people were so foolish that they could not even learn in schools. The only thing that could help them was to give them a piece of fiction (Chen and Xia 1989: 186). The general attitude was: ‘I am the highly educated intellectual who knows a lot about the West and you are the stupid subjects who are ignorant of the modern world; let me enlighten you by telling you what is right and what you ought to know.’ Through their discourse, the translators attempted to establish authority over the readers.

For this reason, there is little point talking about the ‘truth’ of what they said. In fact, the more mystifying their sayings were, the easier they could command control, as the readers would not be able to make a sound judgement. In this case, they could fabricate a whole version of Western fiction that suited their purpose; and their purpose was to eliminate traditional fiction and replace it with a kind of fiction that could help in ‘transforming the people of the nation’.

When ‘truth’ was not important, the translators were left free to translate in the ways they liked. As a result, what they practised during the last decade of the Qing rule was a kind of free translation that many translation critics today would not find acceptable. In some extreme cases, it was not possible to distinguish whether a certain work was a translation or a creation.²

Nevertheless, one point must be made: this deliberate act of violence was only effective on the ‘stupid subjects’. There were, of course, different readers and they demanded different things. Most unfortunately, the translator-reformers had a mistaken perception of the potential readers of their works.

As seen earlier, the revolution in fiction was originally targeted at the ‘stupid subjects’. But who were the actual readers of the new fiction? We do not have a complete and reliable picture now. But according to Xu Nianci, who was himself a translator of foreign works as well as the editor of Xiaoshuo lin (Fiction Forest), ‘ninety per cent of those who bought fiction were from the traditional education system and had taken in new learning’ (Chen and Xia, 1989: 314). By all means, it might be possible that this group of readers were receptive to Western works, or else they would not have bought and read translated works. But on the other hand, since they were trained in traditional literature, many of them might have already formed a strong and deep-rooted conception of literature. Beyond doubt, they had aesthetic and cultural preferences. It was highly possible that they might, on the one h...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Half Title
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Table of Contents
• Acknowledgements
• Introduction
• 1 An Act of Violence
• 2 More Than Butterflies
• 3 Playing the Field
• 4 From Literature to Love
• 5 Literature High and Low
• 6 Stories and Legends
• 7 No Past to Long For?
• 8 Displacing the Political
• 9 Here, There, Anywhere
• Bibliography
• Glossary
• Contributors
• Index