A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction 1032916346, 9781032916347

Citation preview

China Perspectives

A CRITICAL HISTORY OF CONTEMPORARY CHINESE FICTION Cheng Guangwei

A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction

This book studies the history of contemporary Chinese fiction criticism, highlighting the role of critics in shaping contemporary literary history. The author divides the history of contemporary Chinese fiction criticism into three periods: 1949–1976, 1977–1991, and 1992–2015. The first period saw the emergence of the circle of critics who insisted on judging literary works by political standards. The second period brought the rise of the Beijing Critics’ Circle and the Shanghai Critics’ Circle. The former advocated “artistic standards” in judging works, while the latter introduced contemporary Western literary theories into literary criticism. The third period marked the emergence of “Scholarly Criticism,” “Criticism of Women’s Fiction,” and “Post-1960s Fiction Criticism,” reflecting critics’ attitudes toward history and philosophy. Drawing on historical materials, this study illuminates contemporary literary trends and the contributions of key writers and critics. It also relates literary criticism to the social environment, underlining the simultaneous relationship between contemporary fiction criticism and social ideology. This book will be invaluable to scholars and students of Chinese literature and literary criticism, especially those interested in the diverse landscape of contemporary Chinese culture. Cheng Guangwei is a professor at Renmin University of China and currently serves as the Vice President of the China Contemporary Literature Research Association. His research primarily focuses on the study of contemporary Chinese literary history.

China Perspectives

The China Perspectives series focuses on translating and publishing works by leading Chinese scholars, writing about both global topics and China-related themes. It covers Humanities & Social Sciences, Education, Media and Psychology, as well as many interdisciplinary themes. This is the first time any of these books have been published in English for international readers. The series aims to put forward a Chinese perspective, give insights into cutting-edge academic thinking in China, and inspire researchers globally. To submit proposals, please contact the Taylor & Francis Publisher for China Publishing Programme, Lian Sun ([email protected]) Titles in literature currently include: Chinese Narratology I Heaven and Human Yang Yi Chinese Narratology II Ancient and Modern Yang Yi The “Historicization” of Contemporary Literature Cheng Guangwei Lu Xun and Russia Sun Yu Contemporary Chinese Novels in Translation since 1978 Literary Voices from the Periphery Yun Wu A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction Cheng Guangwei For more information, please visit https://www.routledge.com/China-Perspectives/book-series/CPH

A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction Cheng Guangwei

This book is published with financial support from the Chinese Fund for the Humanities and Social Sciences. First published in English 2025 by Routledge 4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2025 Cheng Guangwei Translated by Li Jinyun and Su Feng The right of Cheng Guangwei to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. English Version by permission of China Social Sciences Press British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN: 978-1-032-91634-7 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-032-93678-9 (pbk) ISBN: 978-1-003-56503-1 (ebk) DOI: 10.4324/9781003565031 Typeset in Times New Roman by KnowledgeWorks Global Ltd.

Contents

Introduction: “Critics Circles” in Contemporary Chinese Literature PART I

1

Redraw the Map of Times (1949–1976)

23

1 The Intention of Fiction Criticism

25

2 The Rise and Fall of the Criticism on Zhao Shuli

37

3 Rural Fiction

47

4 Revolutionary War Fiction

59

5 Other Subgenres of Fiction

72

6 The Dalian Conference and the “Theory of Middle Character”

76

7 Fiction Criticism during the Cultural Revolution

83

PART II

Swirl of History (1977–1991)

95

8 Fiction Criticism during the New Period

97

9 The Critics during the Exploratory Craze of Fiction PART III

141

Move Forward with Adjustment (1992–2018)

193

10 Fiction Criticism during the Social Transformations in the 1990s

195

vi Contents

11 Literary Criticism in the 1990s

212

12 Criticism on Full-Length Novels

231

13 Fiction Criticism since the Start of the 21st Century

260

Acknowledgements275 Index 276

Introduction “Critics Circles” in Contemporary Chinese Literature

Fiction writing is a magnificent chapter in the history of contemporary Chinese literature, in which so many historical events took place and so many great ­talents emerged. Apart from novelists’ outstanding performance, however, what kind of role critics played and how much impact they made have not been addressed ­adequately. Besides, nothing relevant has been published about the history of contemporary fiction criticism. Due to the turbulent turns of events in history and the sharp difference between each time period, the history of contemporary Chinese fiction criticism naturally has to be divided into different periods. It should be noted that these periods are interconnected in succession with their own relatively independent literary features, but they cannot avoid the influence of political and cultural history. Certainly, there is no need to make a fuss about it since such a phenomenon is the same in the literary history of China and other countries. Within the entire framework of this book, the author believes, the coverage on the “Critics Circle in Liberated Areas,” “Beijing Critics Circle,” “Shanghai Critics Circle,” and “­Academic Critics Circle” deeply involves the history of fiction and serves as the primary discourse system from start to finish. Using this system to drive the narrative of literary history is the author’s basic arrangement in writing the book. 0.1  Critics Circle in Liberated Areas After the founding of the People’s Republic of China, Xiao Yemu (箫也牧), a writer who had not completely cleaned up the dust from the war, became the first person to appear in the history of contemporary fiction. According to Shiwan (石湾)’s book, Red Flame and Sorrow: Xiao Yemu and His Colleagues (⟪红火 与悲凉——萧也牧和他的同事们⟫), Xiao Yemu, originally named Wu Xiaowu, was born in Wuxing (now Huzhou), Zhejiang Province. He studied in the Affiliated Middle School of Soochow University and Hangzhou Electric Power School. After graduation, he worked as an assembler in Yizhong Porcelain Motor Factory in Yangjing Town, Pudong District, Shanghai. In 1937, he trekked thousands of miles, along with several classmates, to join the War of Resistance against the Japanese Aggression in the Jin-Cha-Ji areas. In 1939, he began to publish novels and essays in newspapers and periodicals, such as Border District Culture (⟪边区文 化⟫), under the pseudonym, “Xiao Yemu.” In 1945, he joined the Communist Party DOI: 10.4324/9781003565031-1

2  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction of China and successively served as a reporter of Workers’ Daily (⟪工人报⟫) in Jin-Cha-Ji areas, and then a deputy political commissar of the workers’ pickets of Zhangjiakou Railway Branch.1 After the liberation of Pingjin in 1949, Xiao Yemu worked in the Publicity Department of the Communist Youth League of China as a deputy chief of the editorial section, deputy chief of the publicity section, and chief of the textbook section. At the age of 30, he did really well in fiction writing as he published short stories, “Between My Wife and I (⟪我们夫妇之间⟫)” and “By the Haihe River (⟪海河边上⟫),” a novel, Exercise (⟪锻炼⟫), and some essays, all of which were well received. An article, “A Survey of the Writers’ Writing in 1950 (⟪1950 年文学工作者 创作计划完成情况调查⟫),” published in the fifth Issue of the third volume of People’s Literature (⟪人民文学⟫) on 1 March 1951, identified Xiao Yemu as the writer with the best record among dozens of writers, including Lao She (老舍), Sun Li (孙犁), Liu Baiyu (刘白羽), He Jingzhi (贺敬之), Kang Zhuo (康濯), Xu Guangyao (徐光耀), Ma Feng (马烽), and He Qifang (何其芳). In the article, “My Opinion on Xiao Yemu’s Ideas of Literary Writing (⟪我对肖也牧创作思想的看 法⟫),” Kang Zhuo writes, Xiao’s short stories, “Between My Wife and I” and “By the Haihe River,” were reprinted by nearly 20 newspapers, including some regional newspapers run by the Party and the Youth League. “By the Haihe River” was selected by local Youth League organizations as a textbook or a required reading for their members and was soon adapted into a drama and a picture-story book. Also, “Between My Wife and I” was adapted for the screen. Before long, works that were influenced by these stories emerged, and articles praising them appeared up in the press (Kang, The Newspaper of Literature and Art). Li Guowen (李国文) claims that if literature can be regarded as a tree, then short story is surely the kind of tree that could grow fast and spread out its branches after the founding of the People’s Republic of China. He can recall the pleasure of reading “Between My Wife and I” for the first time in the magazine, People’s Literature, in 1950. “It is probably the first short story that created a sensation after the founding of the People’s Republic of China. Soon, it was quickly circulated and highly praised among young people” (118). In Li’s opinion, the reason is that these stories paid more attention to the snobbishness of human relationship, the complexity of human nature, the inconstancy of people’s mind, and the triviality of human affairs. Moreover, revolutionists do not always march forward under the bugle call because they have all kinds of emotions just like common people (119). As the first fiction writer from the Liberated Areas after the change of government, Xiao Yemu was naturally the first writer that attracted great attention from the sensitive “Critics Circle in Liberated Areas.” Chen Yong (陈涌), a young critic who graduated from Luyi (Lu Xun Institute of Literature and Arts), voiced his opinion first, claiming that Xiao’s works, such as “Between My Wife and I” and “By the Haihe River,” demonstrated some unhealthy tendencies of the petty bourgeoisie (Chen, People’s Daily). In his article, “Against an Attitude of Fooling People and a New Low-level Cultural Gusto,” written under the pseudonym of “Reader Li Dingzhong,” Feng Xuefeng, expresses his serious discontent with Chen’s critical approach of mixing “political criticism” with “literary criticism”

Introduction  3 as a secondary concern and, thereby, turning it into a sheer “political criticism” altogether. Such an approach set a precedent in contemporary society. From today’s point of view, Li Dingzhong’s assessment was harsh, but not wise. Even his leftwing literary colleagues might find it laughable. Clearly, the cultural atmosphere after the new government was established was not as tolerant as it used to be in the revolutionary base. Judging the history of fiction criticism during the 17-year Period as a whole, it is necessary to note that Chen Yong’s and Feng Xuefeng’s articles have their own operating tracks: one is to oppose any works “popular among readers”; the other is to replace artistic standards with political ones, thus creating a set of critical concepts, including “literary thoughts,” “unhealthy tendencies,” and “petty bourgeois views and tastes.” These concepts prompted the critics to take on an indignant ­attitude in their critical practices. As a result, they could not engage the target of their criticism through peaceful dialogues. That was the case in assessing Zhao Shuli’s novels and the “theory of middle characters” as well as in defining the ideological boundaries and artistic forms of “Revolutionary War Fiction,” “Industry Fiction,” and “Rural Fiction.” The capricious tendency in their criticism of specific writers and works is evidently tied to their core beliefs. According to Hayden White, the reason why they differentiate themselves from the “common sense” of literature (such as the writers and works favored by readers) while adhering to their operating logic of ideological completeness lies in the fact that “discourse itself is the result from the agreement between conscious efforts and problematic experiences. It is a mode of metalogic operation, through which consciousness accomplishes its unification with society or natural environment in general cultural practices” (8). To this end, White argues, only by deciding to abandon one or several facts that are included in the historical records, can we construct a complete story about the past. Our interpretation of historical structure and process is, therefore, governed not so much by the content we have added as the content we have left out because it is the ability to turn other facts into a component part of the entire story by means of a merciless exclusion of certain facts that allows historians to show off their competence in understanding and judgment. (173) The details about the daily life of revolutionaries, such as their joys and sorrows like other ordinary people in “Between My Wife and I,” are praised by readers but are “abandoned” and “left out” by the critics from the “Critics Circle in Liberated Areas.” This is what they criticized and even rebuked. Apparently, their interpretation of historical structure and process was “governed by what has been left out.” Zhao Shuli (赵树理) was the next and more challenging target for the “Critics Circle in Liberated Areas” because his literary performance before and after the founding of the New China was not quite the same. In the 1940s, Zhao’s novels, Xiao Er Hei’s Marriage (⟪小二黑结婚⟫), Rhymes of Li Youcai (⟪李有才板话⟫), and Changes in Li Village (⟪李家庄的变迁⟫), were widely praised by critics in

4  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction the Liberated Areas for their positive response to the “Speech at the Forum of Art and Literature in Yan’an (⟪在延安文艺座谈会上的讲话⟫).” As Zhou Yang (周杨) observes, Rhymes of Li Youcai “is the most outstanding work that reflects the class struggle in the countryside and a representative literary work in the liberated areas as well” (21). The phrase, “the Orientation of Zhao Shuli,” was proposed for the first time at the “Symposium on Literary and Artistic Works” held by the Federation of Literary and Art Circles of Shanxi-Chahar-Shandong-Henan Border Area in 1947. To establish Zhao Shuli as a pacesetter in the literary and art circles and enhance his theoretical and literary competence, Hu Qiaomu (胡乔木) offered him an easy job as the literary and art officer in the Publicity Department of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of China in early 1951 and let him live in Qingyuntang to read the works of Russian writers like Chekov and Turgenev, as well as other theoretical works, such as On New Democracy (⟪新民主主义 论⟫), “Speech at the Forum of Art and Literature in Yan’an,” and Lenin’s works on literature and art. However, “the fate of the peasants” was always the primary concern in the writing of this great writer. Dai Guangzhong (戴光中), the author of Zhao Shuli: A Biography (⟪赵树理传⟫), writes, The marriage and courtship of Chinese peasants are the issues that Zhao Shuli cared most all his life. First, he tells people in Xiao Er Hei’s Marriage that only the Communist Party and the democratic government can ensure the union between dedicated lovers eventually. Registration (⟪登记⟫) can be seen as a sequel to Xiao Er Hei’s Marriage. Gradually, this remarkable realist writer realized that things were not as simple as he had written ­earlier.… A new type of bureaucrats was emerging among the village cadres who were enforcing the marriage laws. They were not only feudal-minded and ­arbitrary, but also busy abusing their power for personal gains. (267) During the cooperative movement, Zhao Shuli, who had returned to his hometown for a part-time job, found out that the movement was going against peasants’ will because it did not encourage them but rather dampen their initiative for work. In response, he wrote an article, “My Views on How the Commune Should Lead Agricultural Production” (⟪公社应该如何领导农业生产之我见⟫) and submitted it to the magazine, Red Flag (⟪红旗⟫). With this idea in mind, he wrote a number of “middle character” stories and novels that features real peasants as “middle characters,” such as Exercise (⟪锻炼锻炼⟫), “The Hands that Cannot Wear Gloves (⟪套不住的手⟫),” “The Doer Pan Yongfu (⟪实干家潘永福⟫),” “The Old Quota (⟪老定额⟫),” and Sanliwan Village (⟪三里湾⟫). Given such a turn in his thinking and writing, it was him to stand out as one of the leading figures who advocated the idea of “middle characters” at the “Conference on the Rural Short Story Writing (⟪农村题材短篇小说创作座谈会⟫)” in Dalian in 1962 but also brought him a string of misfortunes subsequently. People felt that what they experienced at the “Dalian Conference” was a re-acquaintance of Zhao Shuli after the Symposium

Introduction  5 on Literary and Artistic Work held by the Federation of Literary and Art Circles of Shanxi-Chahar-Shandong-Henan Border Area in 1947 (Dai 383). Zhao Shuli is an outstanding novelist with the best skill in depicting the social customs and psychological emotions of northern peasants in the history of modern and contemporary Chinese literature. As for the “Critics Circle in Liberated Areas,” however, these were exactly the facts to be “abandoned” and the contents to be “left out” as they were defined as the peasants’ “feudal thoughts,” “consciousness of petty peasants,” and “backward and selfish ideas.” Some critics pointed out that Zhao Shuli’s writing was “good at representing the backward side, rather than the progressive side,” and that he lacked a conscientious awareness of the need to create new heroic images.2 In 1959, the Newspaper of Literature and Art (⟪文艺报⟫)3 set up a discussion, entitled “How to Reflect the Contradictions among the People (⟪如何反映人民 内部矛盾⟫),” on Zhao’s novel Exercise. This novel was accused of distorting the reality of the socialist rural areas and slandering the working women and commune cadres in the countryside. A report compiled by the editorial board of The Newspaper of Literature and Art in 1964, “the Information about the Portrayal of Middle Characters,” states that “in recent years, Zhao Shuli’s works fail to represent the spirit of revolutionary peasants with full enthusiasm” (11). Dalian Conference did not pinpoint this shortcoming but promoted it as a new and preferable trend in literary writing instead (12). If only Zhao Shuli, the only writer in literary history whose writing seems to be in perfect step with the popular literary movement, was allowed to carry out his exploration and granted some space for his artistic imagination, he could serve as a role model for many writers who hesitated to move forward. All this can show the convincing and magnificent broad-mindedness in our culture. The narrowness of social movements began to show itself in Zhao Shuli’s case, but it would not be perceived as the crux of China’s problems until decades later. In a narrow sense, the “Critics Circle in Liberated Areas” refers to the critics of “Zhou Yang Circle” from Yan’an; in a broader sense, it refers to the practice of literary criticism that insists on judging literary writers and works by political standards after the founding of the People’s Republic of China. In the first three decades of the contemporary Chinese fiction, this practice consistently dictated the content assessment and criticism of “Revolutionary War Fiction” and “Industrial and Rural Fiction.” To a large extent, it shaped up the historical structure and form for the critical history of contemporary fiction. Key examples include the intervention of criticism in the rewriting of Red Crag (⟪红岩⟫), the discussion on Song of Youth (⟪青春之歌⟫), the accusation of Lu Ling’s novella, ‘The Battle’ on the LowLying Land (⟪洼地上的“战役”⟫), and the exclusion of “Thawing Fiction,” such as Wang Meng’s “A Young Newcomer in the Department of Organizations (⟪组织 部新来的年轻人⟫)” and Liu Binyan’s At the Bridge Construction Site (⟪在桥梁 工地上⟫). Fortunately, history often repeats itself in its spiral development. Inappropriate evaluations like these were reversed in the study of literary history in the 1980s and 1990s. What had been “abandoned” and “left out” by literary criticism was almost all recovered and restore in the study of literary history, which aims at representing the true value of fiction and retain it forever. This is definitely not what all people could have anticipated at that time.

6  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction 0.2  Beijing Criticism Circle The years 1976 and 1978 are two critical turning points. In 1976, the ultra-Left literary and artistic line came to an end, and in 1978 China embarked on the “Reform and Opening-up” track. Consequently, the reinterpretation of history initiated some significant changes in critics’ understanding of contemporary literature (Cheng, “Historical Reinterpretation and ‘Contemporary Literature’” 59). Under such circumstances, “Beijing Critics Circle” came into being, with Feng Mu (冯牧) and Chen Huangmei (陈荒煤), two open-minded and senior critics, who respectively served as the leaders of Chinese Writers Association and the Institute of Chinese Literature in Chinese Academy of Social Sciences at that time, at its core and the two organizations led by them as its wings.4 In 1978–1985, the “New Period Literature,” which is famous for restoring order amid chaos and cultivating the subjectivity of literature, was endorsed and nurtured by “Beijing Critics Circle.” When the short stories, “A Teacher in Charge of a Class (⟪班主任⟫)” and “The Scar (⟪伤痕⟫),” were criticized as “literature of exposure (works intended for negative exposures),” Chen and Feng pointed out that these stories drew from real life and played an instrumental role in reinstating the tradition of revolutionary realism and initiating a new trend in literary writing. In their view, the two stories raised the social issues with which millions of people were concerned.5 Liu Zaifu (刘再复) is an important critic who endeavored to restore order amid chaos in social and political sphere to literature itself and established the subjectivity of literature. He endowed fiction criticism with a new cognitive mechanism: In literature and art, the so-called subject includes the writer as the creator of the subject, the character as the object, and the reader as the receiving subject. The so-called subjectivity refers to the characteristics that make people human, which includes not only people’s subjective needs, but also their understanding and grasp of the objective world through practical activities. (3) However, it is the critics from the Writers Association and the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences who successfully redirected criticism from social politics and human subjectivity back to novels. They include Yan Gang (阎纲), He Zhenbang (何镇邦), Lei Da (雷达), Zeng Zhennan (曾镇南), Li Tuo (李陀), Ji Hongzhen (季红真), Li Jiefei (李洁非), He Shaojun (贺绍俊), Zhang Ling (张凌), Jiang ­Yuanlun (蒋原伦), Pan Kaixiong (潘凯雄), and Wu Bingjie (吴秉杰), as well as Zhang Jiong (张炯), Cai Kui (蔡葵), Zhang Ren (张韧), and Jiang Shouqian (蒋守 谦).6 The biggest difference between their criticism and the fiction criticism in the 17-year Period is the reversal of priority between “political criterion” and “artistic criterion,” with the latter serving as critics’ primary benchmark in judging novels. While analyzing the artistic features of Wang Meng (王蒙)’s novella, The Eyes of the Night (⟪夜的眼⟫), in his article, “The New Method in Novel Writing,” Yan Gang states, “The author intermingles a host of complex phenomena in life (including light, sound, color, scene, etc.) within the shortest length and time in a way that

Introduction  7 broadens readers’ vision and stimulates their imagination” (26). In this novella, Yan continues, we see the descriptions of sober ideas, innocent minds, flickering lights, the bright and dark scenes of the night, and the stark contrast between urban and rural areas, “all of which enables the author to explore the new method by means of dynamic imagination and crisscrossed juxtaposition so effectively as if God offered him a helping hand” (26). With regard to Wang Zengqi’s (汪曾祺) distinctive short stories, such as “S­pecial Gift (⟪异秉⟫),” “Hometown People (⟪故乡人⟫),” and “Hometown Notes (⟪故里杂记⟫),” Ji Hongzhen suggests that when depicting the life and fate of urban residents and the people with humble status in the old days, Wang always tries to depict their mental outlook in high precision, along with a touch of gentle sarcasm toward some people’s psychological weaknesses, and openly convey his thoughts on the national spirit. In his story, “After Supper (⟪晚饭后的故事⟫),” Wang presents a drama actor’s unyielding mentality in spite of the great volatility in his destiny and captures the psychological vulnerability of his reticence and humbleness hidden behind the appearance of his self-complacency. His writings “have more compassion than sarcasm and demonstrate his thorough awareness and lamentation of the universal pain in life” (170). However, it is also worth discussing whether these critics were really hard-pressed by the need to serve the Reform and Opening-up Movement while giving up the relative independence of literature. Their strong sense of pragmatism constantly kept their mind fixated on the issue of “restoring order out of chaos (拨乱反正).” It should be noted, though, that even though they, as forerunners, have made their history-changing contributions, their thoughts seem to be superficial and simple after all. As Yan Gang indicates in his article, which has been mentioned previously, in addition to the group of critics who were in favor of “deepening realism (现实主义深化派),” there is another group of critics in the “Beijing Criticism Circle,” who advocated “modernist novel,” including Li Tuo (李陀), and Huang Ziping (黄子平).7 If the “artistic standard” championed by Yan Gang is not thorough enough, then the article by Feng Jicai (冯骥才), Li Tuo, and Liu Xinwu (刘心武), “Letters about Modernism (⟪关于“现代派”的通信⟫),” definitely puts the exploration of the more radical modernist novel on the agenda. They write, The technique of representation in Western modernist literature is a very complex system, which was certainly a major innovation in form for classical literary concepts and expressions, replacing the old system with a new one. However, form and content are often closely linked as a certain form serves a certain kind of content. (62) In view of the constraint on artistic exploration, imposed by conservative ideas, and the stagnant state of the “exploratory spirit” in novel writing early in the New Period, they declare, “That is the reason why China needs modernism indeed!” (63).

8  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction Though a staunch advocator of innovation, Huang Ziping still wanted to cool down the overheated “fever of modernism.” He writes, Feng Jicai, Li Tuo, and Liu Xinwu, release several letters which got labelled as “the four little kites” and sparked a heated shouting match over the air afterwards. What they all stressed, as one may discern from the booklet and these letters, was how to separate the “­descriptive technique” of modernist literature from its specifically “­described content” so as to emphasize the relative independence of stylistic beauty and the supra-class nature of novelistic techniques. (23) But, Huang cautions, the extent to which the techniques of modernist literature can be separated from the content is still an open question (22). Nevertheless, Li Tuo ignored Huang’s advice and took advantage of the literary journal Beijing Literature (⟪北京文学⟫) as a good venue to introduce young writers well-known for their exploratory spirit. Many of them, such as Yu Hua (余华) and Ma Yuan (马原), benefitted from his support. Even for the senior writer Wang Meng (王蒙) whose art experiment was far from being maturity, Li threw all the support he could behind him. The first three quarters of Wang’s short story, “­Butterfly (⟪蝴蝶⟫),” Li notes, are dedicated to the inner workings of Zhang ­Siyuan’s (张思远) mind of (his memory, reflection, thinking, etc.) while he is ­sitting in a Beijing SUV. Can we identify the representation of these inner workings as “stream of consciousness”? I think we can if we are not so “particular” about the definition. As compared to the “stream of consciousness” writing by a ­typical “stream of consciousness” writer, the flow of consciousness in Wang Meng’s story is not spontaneous enough and has the traces of the authorial organization and intervention, but it is completely different from the flashback in memory seen in traditional novels. Li Tuo goes further to say that “What runs through this long description of Zhang Siyuan’s inner thoughts is not the inevitable logic of the plot development, but the capricious thoughts of this protagonist” (243). Judging from today’s perspective, one can see the influence from the West in Huang Ziping and Li Tuo’s perception of modernist literature. Their courage to take the initiative and defy the potential accusation from all sides is truly commendable, but their opinions are too superficial to sustain. What is really remarkable is their insistence on “the departure from traditional novel” as their goal in literary exploration despite their lack of a clear road map for the probe into novel writing. The two branches of “Beijing Critics circle,” namely, the sect committed to the “deepening of realism,” and the other one that promotes “modernist novel,” were like two men performing a double act in an attempt to break through the forbidden zones, in content and form, set by the ultra-Left doctrine of literature and art and to set off the surging wave of novel writing across the whole country. However, their temporary alliance also embodied the sensitive symptoms of Chinese novels before

Introduction  9 the mid-1980s. This appears to be what Huang Ziping alludes to in his article: the form of novels could not be separated from the content for now, let alone manifest its so-called relative independence and supra-class quality because the campaigns of “combating spiritual pollution” and “anti-liberalism” kept going ­beyond the novel everywhere, and new “borders” were established next to the wave of exploration once again. Beijing, after all, is the center of politics and culture in China. Perhaps, the next wave of “trendy criticism” and “trendy novels” will move to Shanghai. Just as Peiping, today’s Beijing, was then “the center of the May 4th New Literature” and Shanghai subsequently became “the center of literature in the 1930s,” the pattern of the history of modern literature played out again in the history of contemporary literature. The members of the “Beijing Criticism Circle” in the 1980s probably never realized that they were caught in the unusual historical current like their predecessors. Innovation was what novel critics did at that time, whereas writing history was the responsibility of literary historians. 0.3  Shanghai Critics Circle The “cultural fever” in 1985 has fundamentally changed the roadmap for the history of contemporary Chinese fiction. During that year, Western books landed in China through translation, and a lot of young readers raced to purchase, read, and collect these books. Various “cultural forums” and “salons” popped out in many cities and universities. Many people felt that the structure of their knowledge got readjusted overnight. Acute observers noticed that a “modern culture,” which had emerged in response to the process of China’s modernization, was replacing the dilapidated “political culture” as a new trend in the mainstream ideology of the country. The “Shanghai Critics Circle” is a direct outcome from this historical transition. The “Beijing critics circle” quit the scene for a period due to its obsolete structure of knowledge and did not reappear at the center of literature until the rise of the “Scholarly Criticism” in the 1990s. The exploration of modernist novel in Beijing encountered consecutive setbacks owing to the campaign of “combating spiritual pollution.” By contrast, the “Shanghai Critics Circle” (called “trendy criticism” by historians) embarked on the stage of contemporary literature with the support from two literary giants, Ba Jin, and Xia Yan, and the tireless push and maneuvering by two editors, Li Ziyun (李子云) and Zhou Jieren (周介人), who took full advantage of “two journals” (Shanghai Literature and Harvest) and “two universities” (Fudan University and East China Normal University) as the driving force in their operation. Earlier, I have already slightly downplayed the image of the “pioneers” of the “Beijing Critics Circle,” so I have no intention to give the avant-garde novel more credit than it deserves. At present, various books are replete with misinterpretations mainly because their authors made the arbitrary judgment without having conducted any careful studies or drew their conclusion based on superficial facts without considering other entangled clues. In the study of history, people should

10  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction adhere to the old saying, “It is wise to hold what you know and admit what you don’t know,” and at least curtail their inflated imagination. A young critic, Yu Jinxing (虞金星), states that the “Shanghai Center of AvantGarde Novel” used to be heavily influenced by some Tibetan writers, such as Ma Yuan, Tashi Dawa (扎西达娃), Jin Zhiguo (金志国), Se Bo (色波), and Liu Wei (刘伟) (2). The four writers formed a group in 1982 to explore novel narratives. Later, Cheng Yongxin (陈永新), the editor of Harvest, invited them to publish their works in his journal. These avant-garde novelists obviously appeared before the newly emerged writers, such as Yu Hua, Ge Fei, and Sun Ganlu. Trendy critics in the “Shanghai Critics Circle” includes Wu Liang, Cheng ­Depei, Cai Xiang, Li Jie, Wang Xiaoming, Chen Sihe, and Nan Fan. Their primary ­critical weapons are theories like New Criticism, Structuralist Linguistics, narratology, and Cultural Anthropology, all of which were perceived as prominent schools of thoughts amid the “cultural fever.” In Li Jianzhou’s belief, the “Shanghai Critics Circle” distinguishes itself from the “Beijing Critics Circle” by deviating from the “professionalization” of ideological institution (124). Like those freelance critics in Shanghai during the 1920s and 1930s, Chen Sihe and Wang Xiaoming do not think their critical activities have anything to do with their social status as professors of Chinese at Fudan University and East China Normal University. The change in the function of criticism and professionalization becomes the most attractive critical appeal: probing into the turn in narratology and the linguistics simultaneously to facilitate the historical construction of “pure literature” in the history of ­contemporary Chinese fiction. Wu Liang is the brightest star among the critics of the “Shanghai Critics ­Circle.” He claims that his criticism is modeled after Hegel’s historical philosophy and dialectics. He demonstrated his ability of critical thinking in his criticism of the works by Wang Meng, Zhang Xian, Gao Xiaosheng, and Shen Rong in the early 1980s. After 1985, he suddenly made a change in his critical writing by ­incorporating many of his newly obtained narratological methods into his criticism of ­avant-garde novel and offered a tremendous courage to these novelists in their ­exploration of narrative modes. In his renowned critical article, “The Narrative Trap of Ma Yuan ⟪马原的叙述圈套⟫),” he shares his keen observation that Ma Yuan blurs the boundary between reality and fiction (45–46). If we believe that the “Scar” and “Introspection” novels in the 1980s adhered to the creative principle of realism, which emphasizes the consistency between character, place, and time, then Wu Liang’s narratological criticism is just the opposite as he asserts that the reality in narrative equates to the reality in society, thus elevating narrative to the highest status in the history of contemporary novel. He has also applied the “narrative trap theory,” which was created by Ma Yuan in his novels, to his criticism of the works by Han Shaogong, Can Xue, Tashi Dawa (扎西达娃), and others. It is easy to discern that Wu’s imagination about the function of narrative in fiction is quite adventurous, which could be a huge impetus for contemporary fiction to break the shackles of socialist realist literature, but the fact that it is re-shackling writers today is worthy of everyone’s attention. Back to the time 30 years ago, literary criticism tended to take a part for the whole but served

Introduction  11 as the sole motivating force for social progress. Today, showing our appreciation of it in the proper historical context is, therefore, a thoughtful move, and a wise one. Li Jie (李颉) is an emotional but astute critic. When the craze of the “linguistic turn” swept through China in the mid-1980s and became a trend field of study for the scholars at the time, Li published an long article, “The Language Structure of Avant-Garde Novels in Contemporary China (⟪论中国当代新潮小说的语言结 构⟫),” in an attempt to read the works of avant-garde writers intensively by analyzing the syntax of their language. He writes, “The Chess Master (⟪棋王⟫)” by A Cheng is a case in point. Look at the first sentence of the novel: “The station couldn’t be more chaotic….” The narrative of the story flows with the freehand style of the first sentence, a move that executes the storytelling through imagery rather than the direct presentation of objects. Everything in the story, from the plot to characterization, dialogues, and even specific scenes, relies on the casual narration and retains a touch of abstruseness and elegance just like the freehand painting in traditional Chinese art. If A Cheng could be considered as a writer who has inherited the aesthetic essence of Chinese art, then his achievement must be attributed, above all, to the abstruseness of the language in his fiction. He never counts on specific physical images and chooses to leave a lot of blanks through in his narrative, which “couldn’t be more chaotic.” In his fiction, nothing seems to say anything, yet in fact everything conveys something meaningful that triggers readers’ imagination constantly. The charm of such kind of narrative does not stem from the rich and varied plot or narrative structure but the density and rhetoric elasticity of the narrative language. The same freehand style is used not just in “The Chess Master,” but almost in all his fiction. (112) Li repeatedly utilizes the “subject-predicate-object” sentence structure in modern Chinese in analyzing Sun Ganlu’s (孙甘露) novel, A Visit to the Dreamland (⟪访问梦境⟫), stating that “the subject, predicate, and object in the novel are each defined and modified in a mutually opposing and related way; the same goes for prepositions” (113). In addition, Li resorts to the same linguistic knowledge to deconstruct the sentence “I-am-a-Han (我——是——汉人)” in Ma Yuan’s Fiction (⟪虚构⟫), so as to guide readers into the language maze deliberately set up in avant-garde novels (115). At that time, people had a blind belief in such paradoxical “interpretation” and an obsession with vanity because no one had approached literary works in such an exotic fashion either in the criticism of the 17-year Literature or in the literary criticism during the 1920s and 1930s. In the 1980s, however, Li was not a critic who only indulged himself in language games. He also excelled at using historical aesthetics to comment on contemporary fiction. His analysis of Lu Yao’s (路遥) novella Life (⟪人生⟫), for example, is pretty amazing.

12  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction In his analysis of literary works, Wang Xiaoming is not as Westernized as Wu Liang and Li Jie. His artistic sense is extremely sensitive and delicate. His interpretation based on an integration of history and theory follows the tradition of Chinese fiction criticism with features commonly seen in articles written in a fusion of classical and vernacular languages. While critics hailed the explicit description of romantic relationships in Zhang Xianliang (张贤亮)’s Mimosa (⟪绿化树⟫) and Half of Man Is Woman (⟪男人的一半是女人⟫), Wang denounced the protagonists’ hideous inner world bluntly. Such an interpretation works well for a scrutiny of the world based on the knowledge of the author, especially for writers like Zhang Xianliang who experienced so many hardships in life. The unique and tested skill demonstrated in Wang Xiaoming’s fiction criticism is the way in which he fuses writer’s experiences, the era they live in, and their literary ideas all together for a subtle mixture and rearrangement. The complementation between his training in traditional novel and the theory of psychoanalysis also plays well in his articles, such as “The Weary Mind: Novels of Zhang Xinxin (张辛欣), Liu Suola (刘索拉), and Can Xue (⟪疲惫的 心灵——从张辛欣、刘索拉和残雪的小说谈起⟫)” and “Before Overlooking the ‘Chen Village’ (⟪俯瞰“陈家村”之前⟫).” Wang’s close reading expertise is also reflected in his analysis of the novels by Lu Xun (鲁迅), Mao Tun (茅盾), Zhang Tianyi (张天翼), Sha Ting (沙汀), and Shen Congwen (沈从文). His claim about Shen’s establishment of a dual structure based on the “urbanized writing style” and “the ideal of rural people” is an unprecedented and enlightening observation. Such a balanced understanding of fiction is indebted directly to his background in modern literature and his involvement in contemporary literary criticism. The “Shanghai Critics Circle” differs from the “Beijing Critics Circle” in two aspects. First, they have different identities. The members of the former group are all, except Wu Liang, Cheng Depei, and Cai Xiang (蔡翔), undergraduates and MA degree holders in the New Period, teaching in the Chinese departments of various universities. The main force of the latter, nonetheless, consists of the college students in the 1950s, whose relationship to literature and critical style were deeply affected by their institutional consciousness of the Chinese Writers Association (中国作家协会) and the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences (中国社会 科学院). The former’s urban experience and concepts aligned, easily and closely, with the spirit of intellectual exploration during the Reform and Opening-up era. While regarding literature as the essence of life, they also perceived it as a social profession. As a result, they were able to transcend themselves out of the “writer’s work – reader’s reception” process of traditional literary production and, as one would expect, conduct their literary criticism as a free occupation independent of fiction writing. To a certain extent, this approach was free from the institutional constraints of state consciousness and somehow returned the critical practice of the “Shanghai Critics Circle” to its predecessors in the 1920s and 1930s. In Nan Fan’s (南帆) belief, the 1980s is an era of criticism. “A group of academic critics popped out, and the function and methodology of literary criticism became appealing topics. Literary criticism played a glorious part in numerous critical articles” (Nan 3–4). Wu Liang concurs with Nan’s opinion, saying that

Introduction  13 “young critics had become more and more influential by 1985, and many journals competed for a chance to publish their articles, just as galleries are now competing for famous painters” (“Avant-Garde Literary Phenomena and Criticism” 74). In his response to someone’s claim that since the 1980s is indeed an era of criticism, the Critics Circle was in effect in control of defining a literary work and many conclusions in contemporary literary history are virtually the same conclusions in criticism back then, Wu states confidently, “Spoon is for soup and chopsticks for meat. If Ma Yuan’s work were a piece of meat, I must use a pair of chopsticks because I was mainly focusing on interpreting Ma Yuan’s methodology while avoiding the so-called meanings and Tibetan culture completely” (“Avant-Garde Literary ­Phenomena and Criticism” 75). Second, in contrast to the “Beijing Critics Circle,” the group that pushes for the deepening of realism and depends on literary works in their criticism, the “­Shanghai Critics Circle” shows a more autonomous and transcendent posture and sees fiction merely as a medium for explaining historical changes and exposing the depth of ideas. That critics look down at an author or a literary work from a position of superiority is not a phenomenon that exists exclusively in Chinese literature. Bakhtin once stated sarcastically, “While reading through the copious and eloquent books on Dostoevsky, one gets the impression that what they are discussing is not the author of novels and novellas, or the artist, but the philosophical opinions of several authors, or thinkers, such as Raskolnikov, Meshkin, Stavrogin, Ivan ­Karamazov and the grand inquisitor” (Bakhtin 1). Obviously, Bakhtin believed that many critics in Dostoevsky’s time were not interested in the “author” himself, but only in the “philosophical opinions” of his characters or, more precisely, the critics’ own opinions. In other words, these literary critics were anxious to present their own “copious and eloquent” wisdom and philosophy to readers. Such a practice of substituting “author” with “criticism” and thereby ideologizing the criticism of literary works occurred extensively amid the trendy criticism in China during the 1980s (Cheng, “The Difference between Criticism and Writers’ Works” 31). For their critical articles, critics from the “Shanghai Critics Circle” preferred to use titles like “Criticism as Choice,” “Before Overlooking…,” “The Fantasy of Criticism,” “The Critic’s Anguish,” “Facing the Challenge of Language,” “The Idealist’s Spiritual Wanderings,” and “Writers and Us.” Various knowledge, schools of criticism, and theoretical terms, which had rushed in the wake of the “cultural fever,” frequently appeared in their articles, such as psychoanalysis, Structuralist Linguistics, Cultural Anthropology, New Criticism, Western Marxism, literary psychology, semiotics, philosophy of language, Russian Formalism, structuralist poetics, narratology, Frankfurt School, Prague School, T. S. Eliot, I. A. Richards, Nietzsche, Sartre, Freud, Jung, Brecht, Bakhtin, Jakobson, Marcuse, Barth, Cassir, Bloom, Shklovsky, Heidegger, Saussure, Levi Strauss, etc. It would be interesting, perhaps, to compile a catalog of “intellectual archeology” for the literary criticism in this period. Two main factors contributed to this situation. On is the relationship between universities and literary criticism. Universities in the New Period became the cradle of critics. The knowledge and training that critics had received from universities

14  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction were presented to contemporary readers through their critical writings. Amid such an atmosphere, becoming a “scholarly writer” used to be a dream or goal for the fiction writers in the 1980s. The other is the fact that so many Western books, which had been classified as “forbidden books” and “ideological taboos” in the 1950s and 1960s, were legitimately translated and published with the connivance by China’s “Reform and Opening-up” and “Embrace the World” policies. It is inevitable that these books were warmly received by the intellectual circles in Shanghai, which was already well-known for its deep immersion in Western traditions. If the literary criticism of Liu Zaifu and Li Tuo reflected the preliminary success in the translation and introduction of theoretical books from the West by scholars at the Institute of Foreign Literature (外国文学研究所) and its theoretical research office (理论研究室) of the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences in the early 1980s, it is those trendy critics in Shanghai who carried out the critical practice on a large and systematic scale.8 The “Shanghai Critics Circle” made its fame with Root-tracing Literature and avant-garde fiction. Their exploratory spirit is compatible with these relatively monolithic fiction genres known for their commitment to innovation through the destruction of the old. Once tremendous changes occurred in literature during the 1990s, when pure literature was replaced by literary pluralism and college education adopted a more standardized “academic style,” the disintegration of the circle was inevitable. However, the academic community has not conducted an in-depth and objective research on it and, therefore, left some room for a detailed investigation in the history of contemporary fiction criticism. 0.4  Academic Critics Circle A series of events, such as the “1989 Political Unrest,” “Deng Xiaoping’s Southern Speech,” the “Soviet Crisis,” and market economy, along with the responses to all of them constituted the crucial backdrop for the untimely end of the 1980s and the early arrival of the 1990s. As the socialist market economy permeated different aspects of social life, the conflict between literature and the market erupted on all fronts. Sensational debates or controversies, such as “Discussion of Humanistic Spirit,” “Criticism on Ruined City (⟪废都⟫),” “Incidents of A Dictionary of Maqiao (⟪马桥词典⟫),” “Gu Jun and Chen Yinke Phenomenon (顾准陈寅恪现 象),” “Criticism on Wang Shuo (王朔),” “the Fever of Popular Literature,” and “the book series on resisting market economy,” may be perceived as “scenes” on a screen of raging historical changes. A glance at the scenes associated with the history of fiction criticism reveals two major shifts in the 1990s literature. The first is the breakdown of consensus on pure literature within the literary community; the second is the replacement of traditional fiction criticism by New Media Criticism, the new favorite in the literary world. As the education and training of graduate students gradually matured, a large number of people with MA and PhD degrees flocked into universities and research institutes and renewed the ranks of critics. They edged out critics of the Chinese Writers Association and the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences from traditional literature and turned themselves into an ambitious major force known as

Introduction  15 “academic critics.” Compared with the “Beijing Critics Circle” and the “Shanghai Critics Circle,” the list of this group, which has expanded drastically after multiple changes, includes Wang Yichuan (王一川), Tao Dongfeng (陶东风), Wang Yuechuan (王岳川), Wang Ning (王宁), Dai Jinhua (戴锦华), Zhang Yiwu (张颐武), Chen Xiaoming (陈晓明), Meng Fanhua (孟繁华), Cheng Guangwei (程光炜), Jin Yuanpu (金元浦), Sun Yu (孙郁), Zhang Zhizhong (张志忠), Zhou Xian (周宪), Gao Jianping (高建平), Zhou Ning (周宁), Xu Dai (徐岱), Wang Jie (王杰), Zhang Fa (张法), Kuang Xinnian (旷新年), Han Yuhai (韩毓海), Wang Binbin (王彬彬), Gao Yuanbao (郜元宝), Zhang Xinying (张新颖), Wu Jun (吴俊), Wu ­Yiqin (吴义勤), Zhao Yong (赵勇), Zhang Qinghua (张清华), Shi Zhanjun (施占军), He Xiangyang (何向阳), Xie Youshun (谢有顺), Hong Zhigang (洪治纲), Wang Yao (王尧), Luo Gang (罗岗), Li Jianjun (李建军), Li Yang (李杨), He Guimei (贺桂梅), and Huang Fayou (黄发有). Newspapers and magazines like China Reading Weekly (⟪中华读书报⟫) and At Your Service (⟪为您服务报⟫) in Beijing and Frontiers (⟪天涯⟫) in Hainan became the main front of “New Media Criticism.” The so-called New Media Criticism refers to a form of criticism published by critics in the emerging social media, rather than traditional literary journals, using non-traditional language of literary criticism similar to the one favored by columnists and writers. Since these media were open to the public and had a large circulation, critical articles published there could easily go viral and turn into literary events. In fact, several “events” mentioned above, such as the criticism of Ruined City, broker out this way. In 1993, Jia Pingwa, who was depressed by his father’s death, his divorce, and the social transformation, had an acute feeling about the potential long-term effects of the social changes on intellectuals. His Ruined City, the novel he wrote under such gloomy disorientations, sets up its framework with the love affairs between the heroine Zhuang Zhidie (庄之蝶) and other women to reveal the thorough deterioration of the tradition and culture in a society that was undergoing extraordinary transformations. In their assessment of Ruined City, the most outstanding novel by Jia Pingwa, the critics, who were motivated by the market, slammed it vehemently by magnifying its “decadent” and “erotic” descriptions.9 Meng Fanhua asserts, I have every reason to consider Ruined City as “a novel of prostitution.” The only difference between those pornographic works and Ruined City is that the latter seems more sophisticated in technique and structure since it is ­written by a famous figure and packaged as a piece of “serious literature.” (“Imitation of Ancient Style and Oriental Wonders” 49) Chen Xiaoming describes Jia Pingwa as a writer “wearing a war robe of ‘serious literature,’ and attempting to tell the readers the greatest myth about sexual desire” (Chen 24). Later, these critics realized that sharp accusations would not do any book justice as profit-oriented booksellers made a huge fortune by turning their critical remarks into bestsellers.

16  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction What is also worth mentioning is the “plagiarism controversy” over Han Shaogong’s novel A Dictionary of Maqiao. Shortly after its publication by Writers Publishing House in September 1996, Zhang Yiwu (张颐武) and Wang Gan (王干) accused Han of copying the novel, Khazars Dictionary (⟪哈扎尔辞典⟫), written by Milorad Pavic (米洛拉·德帕维奇), a Serbian writer. On December 5, two critical articles, “Spiritual Deprivation (⟪精神的匮乏⟫)” by Zhang Yiwu and “Watching Han Shaogong’s Hyping (⟪看韩少功做广告⟫)” by Wang Gan, were published in At Your Service (⟪为您服务报⟫). Both critics delivered a negative review on Han’s novel and downgraded it as a “parody.” On December 17, copies of the newspaper, Wen Wei Po (⟪文汇报⟫), in which the article, “Is A Dictionary of Maqiao a Work of Plagiarism? (⟪⟨马桥词典⟩ 抄袭了吗?⟫),” was published, was sent to the venue of the Sixth National Congress of the China Federation of Literature and Arts and the Fifth National Congress of the Chinese Writers Association in Beijing and caused a big stir. In March 1997, Han Shaogong took Zhang Yiwu and Wang Gan to court and ­demanded 300,000 yuan in damage compensation. They refused to appear in court but responded, frequently and fiercely, in interviews. Zhang Yiwu insists, “An ­interference with the literary debate in the form of a verdict will not contribute to the normal development of literature and writing, but disrupt the diverse and ­vibrant cultural arena that has just taken shape” (Yu 27). Wang Gan’s claim is more poignant: Perhaps, you didn’t mean to imitate any novel, but at least the form of your novel is not unique. You ought to work harder on your innovative writing and try to respond to the critics with your better works. Dwelling on specific details will: first, waste time and affect your own writing; second, interfere with others’ work; third, make no contribution to the normal and healthy vibe of literary criticism. (348) To some extent, “New Media Criticism” was a special product of the transitional process in the 1990s. New critics were eager to establish their identity and impact amid radical historical changes, so once they sensed that they had offended the literary community, they would make a sensible decision to retreat to the campus immediately. Hence, “New Media Criticism” cannot be formally defined as a type of “Scholarly Criticism,” but merely a special phenomenon during the transition between the 1980s and 1990s. But it did set a precedent for a new trend in criticism, thus paving the way for a critical style that would maintain its freedom from the control by any camp of pure literary and flourish in all kinds of media later on. Unlike the highly controversial “New Media Criticism,” the “Scholarly Criticism” has impressed people with its strict intellectual training and dignified posture even though it has been criticized for being too stiff over the intellectual criterion to retain its sensitivity and perception in criticism. The rise of the “academic ­critics circle” symbolizes two changes in the history of contemporary Chinese ­fiction criticism: first, the authority of criticism, which used to be long controlled by the Chinese Writers Association, began its transfer to universities. The decline

Introduction  17 of the team of literary critics within the Writers Association was largely caused by the weakening ideological function of literary criticism and the rise of academic ­consciousness. In this process of change, critics from university campuses, who see scholarship as their primary job, naturally took things over and emerged as the main force in literary criticism.10 Second, the contemporary fiction has not evolved in the form of literary schools (e.g., Root-tracing Literature, avant-garde Literature, New Realism, etc.) after the 1990s. Some of the outstanding novelists who broke away from traditional ­literary schools, such as Jia Pingwa, Mo Yan, Wang Anyi, and Yu Hua, started to make their independent stride in the literary sphere with their distinctive artistic style and created several peaks on the high plateau of fiction. In the process, the ­analysis of fiction became more challenging due to the more advanced techniques and more sophisticated narrative in fiction writing. As a result, the “academic ­critics,” who seem to be more rational, took the lead, whereas the “pure literary critics” of the 1980s mostly chose to retreat in silence. It is worth noting, though, that the ­comprehensive knowledge and broad perspective of the “academic critics” have significantly expanded the historical space for understanding contemporary novels. Their writing, which is brimmed with rationality and historical empathy, has uncovered multiple realms in which fiction is closely linked to contemporary society, historical traditions, and folk customs. They have made it clear to people that ­fiction is not only a recorder of history but also a discoverer of it. More than any other medium, fiction probably conveys to people the richest, most painful, and most sincere f­ eelings of the era more faithfully than any other medium. Chen Xiaoming has been an active critic since the 1990s. He started out as a critic of avant-garde novel, but he has remained as one of the leading critics to this day. His sharp-witted and in-depth critical writing has raised the popularity of many writers and expanded the dimension for the interpretation of fiction. In his analysis of Yu Hua’s fiction he says, Calling in the Drizzle (⟪呼喊与细雨⟫) truly expresses the desire for a return to real life. The pure narrative viewpoints are wrapped in children’s mind, and the stories that used to be suppressed beneath illusions, language senses, and perspectives have surfaced from the narrative. This does not have so much to do with the artistic style of the novel as the shift of Yu Hua’s focus on storytelling. Here, Yu Hua delivers a psychological autobiography of a desperate childhood. (“Outshining Father’s Law” 4)11 By connecting the author’s “psychological autobiography of childhood” with the “history of the Revolution” and thoroughly explaining the historical background of the novel and its protagonist, Chen Xiaoming seems to have liberated Yu Hu’s fictional narrative out of the simple experiment of avant-garde novel. In recent years, Chen’s articles, such as “Domestication, Culture and Aesthetics of Castration: A Review of Jia Pingwa from Ruined City to Shaanxi Opera” (⟪本土、文化和阉割美学——评从⟨废都⟩ 到 ⟨秦腔⟩ 的贾平凹⟫) and “On The

18  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction Chess Master” (⟪论 ⟨棋王⟩⟫), have effectively participated in the interpretation of typical cases in contemporary fiction by tapping to his accumulation of academic knowledge. In his view, the process in which a writer’s masterpiece comes into being is not just a process of showcasing one’s artistic talent. It is also a process in which many historical, economic, and cultural factors helped to create these great novels collectively. It is through this multi-faceted vision of history, economy, and culture that the novelists’ artistic talent is most vividly and explosively manifested. In his article, “Rereading Wang Xiaobo’s My Yin and Yang Mode of Life” (⟪重读王小波的 ⟨我的阴阳两界⟩⟫), Chen seamlessly melds perceptive criticism with academic criticism in attempt to establish Wang Xiaobo’s unique image through psychology and historical philosophy. His delicate and nuanced emotional touch inspires the readers’ specific and sensitive resonance with the text of the novel. Meng Fanhua is another key critic in fiction criticism today. He not only follows the trend in fiction writing closely but also makes a point of returning to the position of literary history. From this dual perspective, he constantly shows the potential in understanding fiction and further advances historical perception through the reevaluation of the works. All this is fully evidenced in his reconsideration of the controversy over Jia Pingwa’s Ruined City. He points out, It has been 14 years since the first edition of Ruined City was published. No matter how it is republished, each reprint has been an important event, attracting tremendous attention from readers and the literary community as well. No matter what kind of accusations lobbed at Ruined City around 1993 and what kind of sufferings Jia Pingwa encountered personally, nothing can minimize the importance of this work. I was also involved in the “crusade” against Ruined City back then. Later, on various occasions, I admitted that the accusation at that time was quite questionable, and that moralized outrage had little to do with literature. In the backdrop of a heated discussion on “humanistic spirit,” any work that has some bearing on morality would be followed attentively. But the richness of Ruined City is not limited to the moral dimension. Reading the novel and its postscript once again today, I felt overwhelmed by all sorts of feelings. (After the Literary Revolution 5) However, it did not alleviate, in any way at all, his concern with the weakening ability of the post-1950s writers to understand the history of rural China. In his belief, as China is going through a transition, urban civilization will inevitably replace rural civilization as the narrational focus in novel writing. To this end, he has been actively pushing for a discussion on “urban fiction.” As for “Scholarly Criticism,” we should pay to the fiction reviews by scholars who started their critical career a little late in literary history, such as Hong Zicheng (洪子诚), Wu Jun (吴俊), He Guimei (贺桂梅), Luo Gang (罗岗), and Wang Yao (王尧). We may call their fiction review “historians’ criticism.” Hong Zicheng’s

Introduction  19 interpretation of the novels by Wang Meng, Wang Zengqi, Mo Yan, and Jia Pingwa is sophisticated and restrained, cultivating what works well in their writing and critiquing their flaws implicitly as well. The reading of the novels in the 1980s by He Guimei and Luo Gang shows a fresh perspective with a piercing approach. In addition, comments from Wang Binbin (王彬彬), Gao Yuanbao (郜元宝), Kuang Xinnian (旷新年), Xie Youshun (谢有顺), Li Jingze (李敬泽), Wu Yiqin (吴义勤), Zhang Qinghua (张清华), and Hong Zhigang (洪治纲) have presented some new ideas as they strive to establish and expand their own critical positions ­between “academic critics” and “pure literary critics.” Like previous circles of critics, the circle of “academic critics” will see its resources depleted and its inability to ­sustain at a certain point, but there is no need to evade this. Judging from the critical practice in the last 60 years, we may see the history of fiction criticism as a historical site where the wheel of fortune spins constantly. No school of criticism is powerful enough to maintain its mainstream status for good. On the contrary, what remains the same is the need to adjust historical perspectives and change critical angles and approaches. For this reason, this book has an unshirkable responsibility to chronicle a relatively faithful and objective history of contemporary Chinese fiction criticism. All the preceding historical accounts will serve as the starting point not only for our understanding of the history in next phase but also for my self-reflection and self-recognition. First draft: Summer 2015 Revision: Autumn 2018 Notes 1 See Wan Shi’s Red Fire and Sorrow: Xiao Yemu and His Colleagues, Shanghai Pictorial Press, 2010, p. 6. This book is a reliable narrative work that records Xiao Yemu’s life experiences and anecdotes. 2 See the articles published in the People’s Daily from the late 1948 to early 1950 for the comments on the novel Evil Does Not Overpower. 3 The Newspaper of Literature and Art was founded on 4 May 1949, in Beijing. Initially, it was a journal with Mao Dun as the chief editor. In July 1985, it underwent a transformation and became a weekly newspaper. Its publication covered literary theories and criticism, reflected numerous significant events, and ideological trends in the literary and art circles since the founding of the People’s Republic of China. It served as an important window for understanding the history and trends of literary and artistic developments in New China—by the translator. 4 Both Feng Mu and Chen Huangmei were from “Lu Xun Institute of Literature and Arts” in Yan’an and were the second-generation critics of the “Zhou Yang Circle.” Their rise in the New Period is due to the ideological changes of critics from the 17-year Literature period. This circle also includes Xie Mian (谢冕) and Huang Ziping (黄子平) from the Chinese Department of Peking University, as well as Li Tuo (李陀), deputy editor of Beijing Literature. 5 See the journalist’s report, “New Weather and New Breakthroughs of Short Stories” (⟪短篇小说的新气象、新突破⟫), in The Newspaper of Literature and Art, no. 4, 1978. 6 In the 1980s, critics from The Newspaper of Literature and Art included Yan Gang, Lei Da, Zhang Ling, He Shaojun, Jiang Yuanlun, and Pan Kaixiong. This is another

20  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction

7 8

9 10

11

important critical force apart from the Creation and Research Department of the Chinese Writers Association, the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, and Shanghai New Wave Critics. In this article about Wang Meng’s recent works, Yan Gang also admits that he is a little conservative about these novels which employ the technique of “stream of consciousness” and ignore portraying typical characters. In addition, a group of young scholars in Beijing, such as Wang Furen (王富仁), Qian Liqun (钱理群), Chen Pingyuan (陈平原), Zhao Yuan (赵园), Liu Na (刘纳), and Yang Yi (杨义), also played an important role in applying Western ideas to the study of ­modern Chinese literature. See Wei Huaying’s monograph, Fable of Ruined City: Tales of Twin Cities and T ­ extual Research, China Social Sciences Press, 2016. This book delineates what happened ­before and after Jia Pingwa wrote his novel, Ruined City. In recent years, the visiting scholar program administered by the National Museum of Modern Chinese Literature has been cultivating a new generation of literary ­critics. However, in the first three groups, there were few young critics from the Chinese ­Writers Association. A slight change only occurred in the fourth group when the admission tilted in favor of the provincial writers’ associations. This suggests that the system is no longer a cradle for critics but merely serves as a training ground. Since 2000, Chen Xiaoming has employed this critical method in his works, such as The Anxiety of Ideography (⟪表意的焦虑⟫), The Mainstream of Chinese Contemporary Literature (⟪中国当代文学主潮⟫), and The Doors of Perception (⟪众妙之门⟫).

Works Cited Bakhtin, Mikhail. “Dostoyevsky’s Polyphonic Novels and Their Interpretation.” Selected Essays on Bakhtin’s Works, translated by Tong Jinghan (佟景韩), China Social Sciences Press, 1996, pp. 1–56. Chen, Yong. “Some Tendencies of Xiao Yemu’s Writing.” People’s Daily (the supplement of People’s Literature and Art), 10 June 1951. Chen, Xiaoming. “Beyond Patriarchy: Psychological Autobiography of Despair and Yu Hua’s Calling in the Drizzle.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 9, no. 4, 1992, pp. 4–10. Cheng, Guangwei. “Historical Reinterpretation and ‘Contemporary Literature’.” Literary and Artistic Contention, vol. 22, no. 7, 2007, pp. 59–68. Cheng, Guangwei. “The Difference between Criticism and Writers’ Works.” Literary and Artistic Contention, vol. 25, no. 9, 2010, pp. 30–37. Dai, Guangzhong. Zhao Shuli: A Biography. Beijing Literature and Art Publishing House, 1987. Editorial Board of Journal of Literature and Art. “Materials on Portraying ‘Middle Characters’.” The Newspaper of Literature and Art, vol. 16, no. 8–9, 1964, pp. 10–15. Feng, Jicai, et al. “Letters about Modernism.” Shanghai Literature, vol. 30, no. 8, 1982, pp. 61–67. Huang, Ziping. “‘Pseudo-Modernism’ and Its Criticism.” Beijing Literature, vol. 39, no. 2, 1988, pp. 21–27. Ji, Hongzhen. “The Clash between Civilization and Ignorance: Themes of Fictions in the New Period.” Social Sciences, vol. 6, no. 4, 1985, pp. 151–172. Kang, Zhuo. “My View on Xiao Yemu’s Creation Ideas.” The Newspaper of Literature and Art, 25 October 1951. Li, Tuo. “Realism and ‘Stream of Consciousness’: The Narratives of Two Short Stories.” October, vol. 3, no. 4, 1980, pp. 238–244. Li, Jie. “The Language Structure of Avant-Garde Novels in Contemporary China.” L ­ iterature Review, vol. 32, no. 5, 1988, pp. 110–118.

Introduction  21 Li, Guowen. “A Survey of Short Stories on the Endless River in the Past 50 Years.” Selected Novels, vol. 20, no. 11, 1999, pp. 118–121. Li, Jianzhou. The Rise of Avant-Garde Fiction. China Social Sciences Press, 2014. Liu, Zaifu. The Composition of Personality. Shanghai Literature and Art Publishing House, 1986. Meng, Fanhua. “Imitation of Ancient Style and Oriental Wonders.” Jia Pingwa’s Misstep, edited by Liu Bin and Wang Lin, Huaxia Press, 1994, pp. 49–50. Meng, Fanhua. After the Literary Revolution: A Manuscript on Literature in the New ­Century. Modern Press, 2012. Nan, Fan. Theoretical Tension. Shanghai Joint Publishing House, 2003. Wang, Gan. “The ABC of Literary Criticism.” The Literati’s Broken Bridge: A Chronicler of Maqiao Dictionary Lawsuit, edited by Tiandao (天岛) and Nanba (南芭), Guangming Daily Publishing House, 1997, pp. 347–349. White, Hayden. Postmodern Historical Narratology, translated by Chen Yongguo and Zhang Wanjuan, China Social Science Press, 2003. Wu, Liang. “The Narrative Trap of Ma Yuan.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 4, no. 3, 1987, pp. 45–51. Wu, Liang and Qingxiang Yang. “Avant-Garde Literary Phenomena and Criticism in the 1980s: An Interview with Wu Liang.” Southern Cultural Forum, vol. 22, no. 6, 2008, pp. 69–77. Yan, Gang. “New Writing Methods Appear in Novels: Wang Meng’s Recent Works.” ­Journal of Beijing Normal University, vol. 25, no. 4, 1980, pp. 26–31. Yu, Guo. “Maqiao Dictionary: A Broken Bridge for Literati?—Before and after the Maqiao Lawsuit.” Journalism Review, vol. 15, no. 8, 1998, pp. 26–28. Yu, Jinxing. “The Prehistory of Vanguard Novels through Ma Yuan.” Journal of Hainan Normal University, vol. 52, no. 3, 2009, pp. 1–10. Zhou, Yang. “The New Literature and Art of People.” Commemorative Anthology of the First Chinese National Congress of Writers and Artists. Xinhua Bookstore, 1949.

Part I

Redraw the Map of Times (1949–1976)

1

The Intention of Fiction Criticism

If the year 1949 were deemed as a line of demarcation between “modern” China and “contemporary” China, it would be easy to see a drastic change in contemporary Chinese fiction criticism, a change that signifies a tremendous difference from the emergence of literary groups, such as the “Modern Literary Studies S ­ ociety (现代文学研究会),” “Creation Society (创造社),” “Crescent Society (新月),” the journal, Modernity (⟪现代⟫杂志), “League of Leftist Writers (左联),” and “­Beijing School (京派),” as well as the “Critics Circle in Liberated Areas.” As a matter of fact, this Critics Circle, which is composed of the teachers and students from Lu Xun Institute of Literature and Arts in Yan’an and led by Zhou Yang (周扬), comes from the anti-Japanese resistance bases and Liberated Areas under the leadership of the Chinese Communist Party. Its characteristics of the times include facilitating the overall plan of the Chinese revolution, organizing and coordinating the whole process of literary production and propagation with a guiding ideological discourse, and eventually creating a “revolutionary literature”1 that is different from all the others in the history of modern Chinese literature. Its ultimate goal is to promote a new paradigm of the “worker-peasant-soldier literature” from Yan’an to the whole country, solidify submissiveness and unification by eliminating the diversity in various literary styles and narratives that has been passed on from modern literature to contemporary literature, and develop contemporary literature into a “national literature” in the true sense of Socialist Realism. In the following sections, we will address and analyze how after its march into the cities, the “Critics Circle in Liberated Areas” gained the control over the theme and content in fiction writing (namely, “Revolutionary War Fiction,” “­Industrial Fiction” and “Rural Fiction”), produced and promoted “red classics,” and redesigned a blueprint of “contemporary literature” totally different from that of “­modern literature” by criticizing Xiao Yemu’s (萧也牧) fiction but establishing “Zhao Shuli’s Exemplary Writing.” The “Critics Circle in Liberated Areas” extended its reach and influence from the so-called Zhou Yang School of Criticism, in a narrow sense, to the entire field of fiction criticism and, consequently, becoming a mainstream force in criticism during the 17-year Period.2 However, the “moderate faction” of the “Critics Circle in Liberated Areas” frequently clashed with the “radical faction” of the left wing during the Cultural Revolution over a series of issues, such as the inheritance of DOI: 10.4324/9781003565031-3

26  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction classical traditions and the sources of realist literature. The jostling between the two sides is somewhat reflected in the assessment of Zhao Shuli and the discussion on Song of Youth (⟪青春之歌⟫). All this proves that “redrawing the map of times” is by no means a one-stop historical process, but rather a repeated process full of integration and reintegration. 1.1 The Critics Circle in Liberated Areas In 1938, a comprehensive college of literature and art was established in a large hall with a striking resemblance of a medieval castle in Qiaoergou, just 5 km northeast of Yan’an, for the purpose of training activists for the literature of anti-Japanese struggle. In 1940, the college changed its name to “Lu Xun Institute of Literature and Arts (Lu Yi)”3 and set up the Department of Literature, Department of Theater, Department of Music, and Department of Art. The faculty included He Qifang (何其芳), Zhou Libo (周立波), and Chen Huangmei (陈荒煤), while Mao Dun (茅盾) and Bian Zhilin (卞之琳) worked as part-time teachers for a short period. He Jingzhi (贺敬之), Feng Mu (冯牧), Chen Chong (陈涌), Li Ji (李季), Qin Zhaoyang (秦兆阳), and Zhu Zhai (朱寨) were all students of the institute. Wu Yuzhang (吴玉章) and Zhou Yang (周扬) served as the dean and associate dean, respectively, but it was Zhou Yang who was in charge of the day-to-day operation.4 After 1949, Zhou Yang served as a vice minister of the Publicity Department of the Communist Party of China, secretary of the Party group of the Ministry of Culture, vice chairman of the Chinese Federation of Literary and Art Circles, and vice chairman of Chinese Association of Writers, thus overseeing the literary and artistic fronts in the entire country. Shao Quanlin (邵荃麟), Lin Mohan (林默涵), Zhang Guangnian (张光年), Liu Baiyu (刘白羽), Hou Jinjing (侯金镜), and Chen Huangmei once worked as Zhou Yang’s assistants or subordinates. His students, such as He Jingzhi, Feng Mu, Chen Chong, Qin Zhaoyang, and Li Ji, held leading positions at the Chinese Association of Writers and Newspaper of Literature and Art (⟪文艺报⟫). Accordingly, Zhou’s colleagues, subordinates, and students made up the backbone for the “Critics Circle in Liberated Areas” centered around Zhou Yang. This Critics Circle played a crucial role in the development of contemporary fiction from 1949 to 1985. As the critics of Zhou Yang’s school took on leadership positions one after another, the circle’s significance went far beyond its ordinary definition because it gradually represented, in a broad sense, a critical paradigm of an authoritative literary concept. Zhou Yang embarked on the arena of contemporary fiction criticism with his article titled “On Zhao Shuli’s Writing,” published in Liberation Daily (⟪解放 日报⟫) on 26 August 1946. The article affirms the significance of “Zhao Shuli’s Exemplary Writing” on two main points: the author’s representation of the great change from the old China to New China and his learning and adoption of vernacular and popular forms after the Speech at the Forum of Art and Literature in Yan’an. In Zhou’s belief, what Zhao does in these two respects leads to “an integration between literariness and popularity” at a high level. As a principal policymaker for Chinese literature and art, Zhou continued to exert his influence on

The Intention of Fiction Criticism  27 fiction criticism through his involvement with Newspaper of Literature and Art, the main forum for contemporary fiction criticism. In the early years, Ding Ling (丁玲) and Feng Xuefeng (冯雪峰) were the editors-in-chief of the journal. ­After 1957, most of the editors-in-chief, deputy editors-in-chief, and editorial board members were members of the “Critics Circle in Liberated Areas,” such as Zhang Guangnian, Chen Huangmei, Hou Jinjing, He Qifang, Chen Yong, and Feng Mu. The former students of Lu Xun Institute of Literature and Arts, such as Li Huanzhi (李焕之) and Huang Gang (黄钢), held the leadership positions at the newspaper just a few years ago. This newspaper was important for two reasons: first, it published critical articles that specified the ideological concepts of contemporary fiction writing and led the trend in the development fiction writing; second, it offered the works of famous and young fiction writers the easy access to the public. Hong Zicheng (洪子诚) points out in his analysis of The Newspaper of Literature and Art around 1956 that the significance of People’s Literature in the literary world in the 1950s and 1960s was self-evident, but the status of The Newspaper of Literature and Art was more sensitive and important and, therefore, there were more touchy controversies. This is simply because its purpose or mission is to “reflect what is going on in literary and art circles at present, publicize and expound CCP’s guidelines and policies on literature and art, evaluate current literary and artistic creations, and discuss important issues related to literary and art” (Hong 145). Zhang Guangnian (张光年) recalled that at the end of 1956 when “letting a hundred schools of thought contend”5 was about to start, Zhou Yang even “directly went to editorial offices to encourage everyone to join” (Zhang 1). While implementing Zhou Yang’s ideas of criticism and promoting fiction criticism, the major critics of the “Critics Circle in Liberated Areas,” including Shao Quanlin,6 Zhang Guangnian,7 Hou Jinjing,8 Chen Huangmei,9 Chen Yong,10 Qin Zhaoyang,11 and Feng Mu,12 found themselves disagreeing on various issues amid the unusual political atmosphere during the establishment and expansion of the Critics Circle. These critics were old cadres from the Liberated Areas. By and large, their critical concept that literature ought to serve the politics in real life was formulated based on their war experience and their work as leaders in the literature and art circles after the founding of the People’s Republic of China. Their harsh criticism of the works by writers who did not conform to literary and artistic policies and their reckless practice of replacing artistic standards with ideological ones were consistent with their experiences in personal life and career. The literary concepts that they had invented and faithfully executed, such as “Military Fiction,” “Industrial Fiction,” “Rural Fiction,” “theme,” “content,” “ode,” “the most powerful voice of the time,” “heroic characters,” “socialist realism,” “theory of typical character,” “imaginary thinking,” and “combination of revolutionary realism and revolutionary romanticism,” were instrumental in shaping the landscape of fiction writing between the 1950s and 1970s. It should be noted, though, that they were also critics well-versed in literature and talented in artistic appreciation. Whenever the social atmosphere was loosening up, they would adopt an appreciative attitude in their review of good works and literary

28  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction trends. For example, Zhang Guangnian published an article on the issue of typical character in the The Newspaper of Literature and Art in April 1956, claiming that certain criticisms started mechanically from the social essence of characters and inevitably resulted in a shallow understanding of typical characters. Qin Zhaoyang helped Du Pengcheng revise Defending Yan’an (⟪保卫延安⟫), so that the novel could represent revolutionary heroism without undermining the completeness of the characters, such as Zhou Dayong (周大勇) and Wang Laohu (王老虎). 1.2 The Phenomenon of Xiao Yemu Xiao Yemu (1918–1970) was the first novelist who caught the attention from the critics after the founding of the People’s Republic of China. A native of Wuxing (now Huzhou), Zhejiang Province, his original name was Wu Chenggan, but he changed the name into Wu Xiaowu after joining the revolution. Xiao once studied at Accessorial Middle School of Soochow University and Hangzhou Dianye ­Vocational School. After graduation, he became a worker in a factory of the electrical machine at Yangjing in Pudong, Shanghai. In 1937, he and a few classmates traveled thousands of miles to the Shanxi-Chahar-Hebei military base to join the Anti-Japanese War. He worked as an editor for the newspapers, Jiuguo Times (⟪救国报⟫) and Qianwei Times (⟪前卫报⟫) at the base. During the battle against the Japanese “mopping up operation” in 1941, Xiao worked among the peasants in Yanbei Prefecture. Wang Miansi (王勉思), Kang Zhuo (康濯)’s wife, recalled, At that time, the Party called on the intellectuals to become one with the workers and peasants. Although they had been tested to a certain extent and reformed themselves consciously, they were still deemed unreliable by some people. Nevertheless, they kept learning from the workers, peasants, and soldiers. At the beginning of spring that year, I saw Xiaowu [Xiao Yemu] jumping into the icy pigsty with peasants to plow out the pig manure and carry it to the field for waterlogged compost. Xiaowu was tall, so he had to hunch over, roll up his trousers, and move around with his bare feet. That image still remains fresh in my mind to this day. He followed the Party’s call to be a good cadre. (56–57) Xiao Yemu joined the Party in August 1945. He worked as a reporter for Worker Newspaper (⟪工人报⟫) in Shanxi-Chahar-Hebei Border Region and later as a deputy political commissar of the picket of Zhangjiakou Branch Railway Bureau. In 1949, Xiao worked for the Publicity Department of the Central Committee of the Communist Young League as deputy chief of the Editorial Division, deputy chief of the Publicity Division, and chief of the Textbook Division successively. He married Li Wei (李威), a cadre with the experience of working with peasants and workers. A native from Zhengding County, Hebei Province, Li Wei joined the

The Intention of Fiction Criticism  29 revolution at the age of 15. Her second brother was a member of the Eighth Route Army and died in the war. After Li fell in love and married Xiao, they lived a happy life. Li said, he heard a lot about his comrades who divorced their wives who used to be workers or peasants, and he felt quite resentful about it.… That was why he wrote the short story, “Between My Wife and I.” Xiao found out that as his old comrades entered the city, they started looking down upon their wives as country bumpkins and dumped them. He decided to write a story about that…. Although the protagonist, Li Ke (李克), in the story was not exactly Xiao himself, some descriptions were indeed drawn from our common experiences. (qtd. in Shi 10–12) In 1939, Xiao began publishing his works in Border Region Culture (⟪边区文 化⟫), a newspaper of the Shanxi-Chahar-Hebei Border Region with a pen name, Xiao Yemu. Just as Li Wei said, Xiao found that some cadres from the intellectual background were at odds with their wives, who used to be workers and peasants, due to the difference in their hobbies, interests, and lifestyle. Their marriage went through a loss of mutual affection and even ended up in divorce. Given his passion for life, Xiao captured this subject and quickly published some short stories, such as “Between My Wife and I,” which was finished in Autumn of 1949, and “By the Haihe River (⟪海河边上⟫),” finished in the winter of 1949. Later, he published Exercise (⟪锻炼⟫) and some other novels and essays. Since his works not only address the new subjects and new experiences in New China from an acute perspective but also convey a rich flavor of real life, they were immediately favored by a wide range of readers upon publication. In his article, “My Views on Xiao Yemu’s Creative Ideas,” Kang Zhuo enthusiastically recommends Xiao’s works to the public.13 Zhang Wei, a reader from the Third Field Army, wrote to The Newspaper of Literature and Art: “The members of our art troupe are yearning for new works with aesthetic features. After reading Xiao Yemu’s ‘Between My Wife and I,’ most of them praise it, and I am one of them” (qtd. in Shi 13). On 1 March 1951, a “Survey on the Completion of Writers’ Writing Plans in 1950” was published in People’s Literature, vol. 3, no. 5. Dozens of writers were listed in this article, such as Lao She (老舍), Sun Li (孙犁), Liu Baiyu (刘白羽), Xu Chi (徐迟), He Jingzhi, Kang Zhuo, Xu Guangyao (徐光耀), Ma Feng (马烽), and He Qifang. Among them, Xiao Yemu had the most outstanding list of achievements. “[H]e finished Exercise, a 100,000-word novel, and three short stories, with approximately 30,000 words, including ‘The Sandcastle’ (⟪沙城堡⟫). He also finished ‘My Friend Old He and I,’ ‘Mother’s Will,’ ‘Attack,’ and ‘Hero Ditch,’ with more than 40,000 words” (qtd. in Shi 12). As a non-professional writer, his ability to produce new works with more than 170,000 words in a year while working as the editor of China Youth, adequately proves that he is a young writer full of creative energies in the literary world of the new China.

30  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction 1.3 The Controversy over “Between My Wife and I” Initially, the assessment of “Between My Wife and I” from the circle of literary criticism is positive. In his article, “The Writing Attitude of ‘Living a Dull Life’ and Pursing a ‘Remarkable’ Life,” Bai Cun (白村) states that “living in such a splendid time and witnessing such an earth-shaking reform” make us feel excited. However, a writer should earnestly understand the real life and address the new questions posed by the realities. He should first express his attitude toward life and draw a clear line between what he loves or hates and what he supports or opposes as well. Only by doing so can he better depict life and imbue his characters with social significance (Bai, Guangming Daily). As the first well-acclaimed fiction writer from the Liberated Areas after the founding of new China, it goes without saying that Xiao Yemu attracted the attention from the “Critics Circle in Liberated Areas.” Chen Yong writes in his article: In recent years, as writers shift their focus from the countryside to cities, we have seen some new achievements, but many problems as well. For example, some writers show an unhealthy tendency in their literary concepts and writings. It appears to be essentially the same petty bourgeois tendency criticized by Chairman Mao in his speech at the Forum of Art and Literature in Yan’an. The common indication of this tendency is that their writing either remains out of touch with life or observes and reflects life based on the views and ­interests of petty bourgeoisie. It is not widespread at this point, but it is a matter of severity and, therefore, worth probing and discussing. Some of Xiao Yemu’s works, mainly “Between My Wife and I” and “By the Haihe River,” could be taken as sample texts in which the very tendency is manifested. (Chen, People’s Daily) Although Chen raised the issue of this tendency in Xiao Yemu’s literary concepts, he still tried to deliver his criticism within the scope of discussion. Such an amicable atmosphere did not last very long. A critic wrote, under the pseudonym of “Reader Li Dingzhong14 (aka Feng Xuefeng),” an article, “Opposing the Attitude of Fooling People and a New Low-Brow Taste,” to register his discontent with Chen’s critical approach based on a balancing coverage of both political criticism and literary criticism. For Feng, the story, “Between My Wife and I,” annoys him for two reasons. First, the author’s treatment of his characters is frivolous, dishonest, and facetious, especially so in his portrayal of the heroine, Comrade Zhang, a worker-turnedcadre. All the author does in the story is “twiddling with her character from the beginning to the end in the story” and “fails to express any love or compassion for the ordinary people.” “To this end,” Feng continues, I think if we could adopt this author’s way of defining class attribute for a writer, then we could classify him as part of the hostile class. In other words,

The Intention of Fiction Criticism  31 the objective effect of this author’s treatment matches the way in which our enemies would treat the working people. (Li, The Newspaper of Literature and Art) Second, the author’s depiction of the so-called ordinary life in the story is actually intended to “create and advocate a new kind of poor taste…Yes, it is pretty meticulous, but as far as I can see, every detail gives vent to the author’s own poor taste.” With writing like this, Feng insists, the author is literally smearing our new noble people and their new life because poor taste is not part of people’s life or art, either. “Rather, it is somewhat like a mangy dog, which appears to be funny too some people, but unhappy to others. I am one of the others, and I want to give it a kick.” Feng concludes that he is opposed to such cynical attitude that shows no love or passion for people, to any attempt at twiddling with characters, and to any kind of new poor taste (Li, The Newspaper of Literature and Art). The difference between “readers’ criticism” and “critics’ criticism” surfaces because the “Critics Circle in the Liberated Areas” has already developed a selfcontained operating system of criticism, a system that is completely transplanted from the revolutionary bases in the 1940s to the developmental process of contemporary literature between the 1950s and 1970s. Feng Xuefeng is not a member of Zhou Yang’s School, but they are both members of the “League of Leftist Writers” and old cadres from the revolutionary bases, so his way of evaluating literature from a political perspective is practically no different from Zhou Yang’s. Both of them are vigilant about the works popular among readers; both prefer to substitute artistic criteria with political ones, hence creating a new discourse of criticism, with terms like “literary concepts,” “unhealthy tendencies,” and “petty bourgeois viewpoints and tastes.” That is why they are prone to emotional agitation in their critical practice rather than pursuing an amicable exchange with the target of their criticism. This is what happens in the assessment of Zhao Shuli’s works, the discussion about the “theory of Middle Characters,” and the debate over the definition of “Revolution War Fiction,” “Industrial Fiction,” and “Rural Fiction.” Often, their assessment of a specific writer or work appears to be inconsistent due to their core ideas. According to Hayden White, people use language to establish the unity of history. Only by omitting one or several historical facts could historians construct a whole story of the past. Their interpretation of history is thus governed less by what they added than by what they omitted (White 71). In “Between My Wife and I,” the portrayal of the revolutionaries’ everyday life, which is full of various emotions just like ordinary people, seems to have been well received by readers, but it is one of the “factual areas” that the “Critics Circle in the Liberated Areas” would prefer to “discard” and “omit,” or the part of the story that they really want to criticize or denounce. It is all because their interpretation of historical structures and processes is by and largely governed by “what had been omitted.”

32  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction 1.4 Lu Ling’s “The ‘Battle’ on the Low-lying Land” Lu Ling (1923–1994), formerly known as Xu Sixing (徐嗣兴), was born in Nanjing, but his ancestral home was in Anhui province. He is the most important novelist of the July School.15 In 1942, he wrote Sons and Daughters of a Rich Man (⟪财主的儿女 们⟫), Guo Su’e in Hunger (⟪饥饿的郭素娥⟫) and other important works. In 1948, Lu wrote an article in response to the mainstream critics’ accusation against Hu Feng (胡风) on the journal, Popular Literature and Art Collection (⟪大众文艺丛刊⟫). As a result, he offended quite a few people and cast a shadow over his future career. After 1949, he wrote, with great fervor, some plays, such as Long Live the P ­ eople (⟪人民 万岁⟫) and The Motherland Is Marching Forward (⟪祖国在前进⟫). In December 1952, Lu volunteered to go to the front of the Korean War for field study. In July 1953, he returned home and wrote the short stories, “First Snow (⟪初 雪⟫)” and “The ‘Battle’ on the Low-lying Land (⟪洼地上的“战役”⟫),” depicting the life of the Chinese People’s Volunteer Army. In the second story, Lu avoids a direct coverage of the war, but attempts to present the richness of humanity in a war environment by telling the love story between Kim Sung-Hee (金圣姬), the daughter of a North Korean landlord, and Wang Yinghong (王应洪), a soldier in the Chinese People’s Volunteer Army. Since the discipline of the army is strict, Wang Yinghong dams up his feelings toward Kim because he is keenly aware of the strict rules in the army. No one knows anything about his pent-up emotions until people see the blood-stained embroidered handkerchief after his death. Lu has the artistic gift for uncovering the deep and subtle inner worlds of his characters through the glimpses of their daily life. Because of that, his stories, published in People’s Literature and The Literature and Art of People’s Liberation Army from late 1953 to early 1954, evoked a strong response among readers. Lu Ling’s “The ‘Battle’ on the Low-lying Land” received mixed reviews from the “Critics Circle in Liberated Areas.” Zhu Zhai (朱寨)16 believes that the story caused a big stir in criticism “mainly due to the ripple effect from the political case of the ‘Hu Feng Clique’” (68). It is not entirely true. Some critics directed their primary dissatisfaction at the “unrealistic characterization” in the story.17 For instance, Hou Jinjing claims in his article, “A Review of Lu Ling’s Three Short Stories,” that the serious error or defect of “The ‘Battle’ on the Low-lying Land” is its distortion of the political life in the army. As a reader and a political personnel in the People’s Army, I have the responsibility to point out the errors and shortcomings in the story.” He lays out three shortcomings: first, the depiction of love violates the rules of the army; second, Wang Shun, the squad leader, sounds ambivalent and agitated while talking to Kim Sung-Hee about the love affair; third, “personal affectionism has already prevailed over collectivism.” In Hou’s view, at the juncture of the story, both the character and readers have been duped into such a logic: the rules cannot become something that everyone ought to abide consciously, or a key part of the fighting operation, or the supreme manifestation of collectivism in the People’s Army. He finds, Instead, the rules have been forcefully turned into something cold and ­ruthless in fighting operation…. Wang Shun asks, in a mechanical manner, his soldiers to follow the rules, but whenever they face the hard times,

The Intention of Fiction Criticism  33 he relies on the power of love to carry out political persuasion for his subordinates and even himself and encourage everyone to fight. (Hou, The Newspaper of Literature and Art) If the story depends solely on depicting the inner world of an individual, it won’t be able to represent the great ideals and strong beliefs of the army. Hou’s analysis of the story from an artistic angle makes some good sense, but the problem is that his exploration of the author’s “personal history” beyond the story seems a bit far-fetched. “When delving into the mindset of his characters,” Hou adds, “Lu Ling returns to his usual approach in writing method, and his characters’ pursuit of ­personal happiness turns into private mania and a blow to their life.” To a certain extent, Hou’s criticism of the story shows us the logic of criticism with which the “Critics Circle in Liberated Areas” attempted to distinguish “contemporary literature” from “modern literature.” According to such a conception, the ideas of “liberalism,” “individualism,” and “affectionism” in modern literature should not resurface in contemporary literature. Even a writer like Lu Ling who straddled two historical periods must start from scratch, integrating his thoughts and fiction writing into the historical configuration of “political work,” rather than initiating more incidents. Compared with Feng Xuefeng’s harsh and merciless stance, Hou shows some “affection” in his criticism and never deems the author as his antithesis. At the end of the article, Hou states with a comforting tone that the abovementioned stories indicate clearly that Lu Ling has not yet abandoned his wrong ideas and writing methods completely. Hopefully, as he continues to experience life and conscientiously reform himself, Lu will thoroughly rectify his thoughts and writing methods and produce good works that are really authentic, healthy, correct, and beneficial to readers. “Finally,” Hou writes, I want to say sincerely that we welcome Lu Ling to continue his field study in the People’s Army, create more works that reflect what is going on in the army, and make sure these works will be helpful to the political work in the People’s Army and inspire the officers and soldiers to march forward bravely. Notes 1 In the historical context of revolutionary bases and Liberated Areas, “revolutionary literature” was only a temporary goal since the CCP had not yet taken control of the national governance. Therefore, Socialist Realism, originated from Soviet Union in the 1930s, didn’t become the mainstream in Chinese literature since China’s National Liberation Movement was still underway. It was only in the 1950s, when the CCP was in full control, that the common goal of the International Communist Movement was finally transplanted in contemporary Chinese literature and became the dominant one. 2 Fiction in the 17-year Period refers to fiction published from 1949 when the People’s Republic of China was founded to 1966 when the Cultural Revolution broke out – by the translator. 3 In February 1938, an article, “The Origin of the Founding of the Lu Xun Institute of Literature and Arts” was issued. The institute was led by Mao Zedong (毛泽东) and Zhou Enlai (周恩来), supported by Lin Boqu (林伯渠), Xu Teli (徐特立),

34  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction











Cheng Fangwu (成仿吾), Ai Siqi (艾思奇), and Zhou Yang (周扬). It was argued that art should be the most powerful weapon to propagate, mobilize, and organize the masses, and that the training of cadres in art during the Anti-Japanese War was an urgent task. Therefore, the establishment of the institute was to follow the path blazed by Lu Xun. The initial founders were Sha Kefu (沙可夫), Li Bozhao (李伯 钊), and Zuo Ming (左明). 4 See more in Wang Peiyuan (王培元)’s Lu Yi, Yan’an in the Anti-Japanese War (⟪抗战 时期的鲁艺⟫), Guangxi Normal University Press, 1999. It was one of the earlier monographs in China to study the philosophy, educational system, and characteristics of Lu Xun Institute of Literature and Arts. 5 “Letting a hundred flowers blossom and a hundred schools of thought contend” was a cultural policy put forward by Mao Zedong in the 1950s with the intention to promote the development of various literature and art and to encourage the free debates of different scientific ideas – by the translator. 6 Shao Quanlin (1906–1971) was born in Chongqing. His ancestral home was Cixi, Zhejiang Province. He returned to Cixi at the age of four. Shao studied at Fudan Middle School and Fudan University successively and was influenced by the New Literature and thought of Lu Xun and Guo Moruo. In 1926, he joined the Communist Youth League and the Communist Party in the same year. He served as secretary of the Party’s district committee, head of the organization department in the local committee, and a member of the standing committee of the provincial committee. He took part in the third armed uprising of Shanghai workers. During the Anti-Japanese War, he served as a secretary of the Cultural Committee of the Southeast Bureau in Jinhua, Zhejiang Province and a chief editor of Southeast Front (⟪东南战线⟫) and Cultural Magazine (⟪文化 杂志⟫). Shao published two collections of short stories, Hero (⟪英雄⟫) and Inn (⟪宿 店⟫), plays and writings of literary criticism. After the war ended, he became a deputy secretary of the Hong Kong Committee of the Communist Party of China and secretary of the Cultural Committee. He chief-edited Popular Literature and Art Collection (⟪大 众文艺丛刊⟫) and led the mainstream criticism on Hu Feng’s literary ideas. After the founding of the People’s Republic of China, Shao became secretary of the leading party group of Chinese Association of Writers. In 1971, he died of mistreatment during the political turmoil. 7 Zhang Guangnian (1913–2002) was a playwright and poet from Laohekou in Hubei Province. His pen name was Guangweiran (光未然). In 1929, he joined the Communist Party of China. In 1935, Zhang finished his study in the Chinese Department, Private Wuchang Chung Hua University. He joined in the anti-Japanese literary and art campaign. Zhang served as the president of Autumn Sound, a drama club for anti-Japanese salvation, the head of Pioneer Troupe, an officer of the Special Branch of the Chinese Communist Party in the Third Department of the Politics Department of the Military Committee of the National Government, the editor-in-chief of New Knowledge Weekly (⟪新知周刊⟫) in Burma, the chief leader of a wartime work team organized by the overseas Chinese youth in Burma, the editor-in-charge of the Beiping edition of the Republic of China Weekly (⟪民国周刊⟫), and the editor-in-chief of the monthly Script (⟪剧 本⟫). In 1939, Zhang went to Yan’an and wrote a poem, “Ode to the Yellow River,” in the ­famous Yellow River Chorus (⟪黄河大合唱⟫) to praise the Chinese ­national spirit, which was spread throughout the country. He successively taught at Northern University and North China University’s College of Literature and Arts. After the founding of the People’s Republic of China, he served as the editor-in-chief of Script, The ­Newspaper of Literature and Art (⟪文艺报⟫) and People’s Literature (⟪人民文学⟫). He assisted Zhou Yang in presiding over the work of the Chinese Association of Writers and became a secretary of the Writers’ Party Group in the new era. He published the poetry collection, May’s Flowers (⟪五月的鲜花⟫). 8 Hou Jinjing (1920–1971) was a literary critic from Beijing. In 1938, he arrived in Yan’an. In 1954, he became a deputy editor of The Newspaper of Literature and Art.

The Intention of Fiction Criticism  35 In 1962, he assisted Shao Quanlin in convening the “Dalian Conference.” Later, he died of mistreatment during the political turmoil. 9 Chen Huangmei (1913–1996), formerly known as Chen Guangmei, was a native of Xiangyang, Hubei Province. He was a literary critic. In 1938, he studied and taught at Lu Yi. He had served as a deputy director of the Institute of Chinese Literature of CASS and a deputy minister of the Ministry of Culture. 10 Chen Chong (1919–2015) was a native of Guangzhou. He was an expert in the theory of literature and art. In 1938, he studied at Lu Yi. He was the editor-in-chief of Literary Theory and Criticism (⟪文艺理论与批评⟫) and The Newspaper of Literature and Art. 11 Qin Zhaoyang (1916–1994) was a native of Huanggang, Hubei Province. A famous editor and literary critic, he served as the leader of the novel group and deputy editor of People’s Literature (⟪人民文学⟫) successively. In 1956, he published an essay, “Realism: A Broad Road,” criticizing the dogmatism in literature and art. He edited some famous works, such as Du Pengcheng’s Defending Yan’an and Lu Yao’s A Thrilling Scene (⟪惊心动魄的一幕⟫) and fostered numerous new literary talents. 12 Feng Mu (1919–1995), formerly known as Xianzhi, was a native of Beijing. He was a literary critic. In 1935, he joined the “December 9th Movement,” which was launched as a protest against Japan. In 1938, he studied and worked at Lu Yi. He worked as a front-line reporter for the Xinhua News Agency. He served as a deputy director of the Cultural Department and the Political Department of the Kunming Military Region, deputy editor of The Newspaper of Literature and Art and vice chairman of the Chinese Association of Writers successively. 13 See Kang Zhuo. “My Views on Xiao Yemu’s Creative Ideas.” The Newspaper of Literature and Art, October 25, 1951. 14 Li Dingzhong, the pseudonym of Feng Xuefeng when he wrote this article. Feng Xuefeng (1903–1976), formerly known as Fuchun, had several pen names, such as Xuefeng and Huashi. A native of Yiwu, Zhejiang Province, he was a famous modern poet and an expert in the theory of literature and art. In 1921, he enrolled in the First Normal School of Zhejiang Province. In 1925, he went to Beijing University to study Japanese and started translating Japanese and Soviet literary works and theory of literature and art. In 1927, he joined the Communist Party of China. In 1928, he got acquainted with Lu Xun. He once was the secretary of party and leader of the League of Leftist Writers in Shanghai. In 1934, he joined the Long March and then returned to Shanghai to lead the work of literature and art. After the founding of the People’s Republic of China, he was the president and chief editor of the People’s Literature Publishing House. In 1957, he was labeled as a rightist because of the case again the “Hu Feng Clique.” He was imprisoned in a cattle shed in 1996 and died in 1977. 15 The “July School” was named after a literary magazine July, which was created by Hu Feng in 1937. The magazine mainly published works about the Anti-Japanese War, which depicted Chinese people’s bravery in the war. These works were full of revolutionary passion with simple language – by the translator. 16 Zhu Zhai (1923–2012) was a native of Pingyuan, Shandong Province. He was a literary critic. In 1943, he graduated from the Literature Department of Lu Yi. He served as the secretary of Gannan County Party Committee in Heilongjiang Province, a cadre in the Literature and Arts Department of the Publicity Department, CCCPC, a researcher at the Institute of Chinese Literature of CASS, and the president of Chinese Association of Contemporary Literature. He published A History of Contemporary Chinese Literary Thoughts (⟪中国当代文艺思潮史⟫) and other works. 17 Lu Xizhi (陆希治)’s article, “‘Realism’ of Distorting Reality: A Review of Lu Ling’s Short Story Collection The Story of Zhu Guihua,” was published in the Newspaper of Literature and Art, 1952. Before criticizing “The ‘Battle’ on the Low-Lying Land,” he pointed out the unrealistic representation of the characters. For example, “The ‘quality characteristics’ of the ‘working class’ in Lu Ling’s books were presented as strong individualism and anarchist ideology. They were just like rogues and scoundrels.”

36  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction Works Cited Bai, Cun. “The Writing Attitude of ‘Living a Dull Life’ and Pursuing a ‘Remarkable’ Life.” Guangming Daily (supplement to Literary Review), 7 April 1951. Chen, Yong. “Some Tendencies in Xiao Yemu’s Works.” People’s Daily (supplement to ­People’s Literature and Art), 10 June 1951. Hong, Zicheng. 1956: The Age of Hundred Flowers Blossomed. Shandong Education Press, 1998. Hou, Jinjing. “A Review of Lu Ling’s Three Short Stories.” The Newspaper of Literature and Art, 6 March 1954. Li, Dingzhong (Feng Xuefeng). “Against an Attitude of Fooling People and a New Poor Taste.” The Newspaper of Literature and Art, 25 June 1951. Shi, Wan. Red Fire and Sadness: Xiao Yemu and His Colleagues. Shanghai Jinxiu Article Press, 2010. Wang, Miansi. Memories of Old Friends. Hunan Literature and Art Publishing House, 2006. White, Hayden. The Rhetoric of History. Translated by Chen Yongguo and Zhang Wanjuan. China Social Science Press, 2003. Zhang, Guangnian. “Reminiscences of Zhou Yan.” Reminiscences of Zhou Yang, edited by Wang Meng and Yuan Ying. Inner Mongolia People’s Publishing House, 1998. Zhu, Zhai. “A Review of Novellas in the ‘Seventeen Years.” Literary Theory and Criticism, vol. 1, no. 2, 1986, pp. 61–69.

2

The Rise and Fall of the Criticism on Zhao Shuli

In a way, the rise and fall of the criticism of Zhao Shuli reflects his intertwining ­relationship with what was going on in the contemporary literature from the 1950s to 1970s. As a “trendsetter in literature,” Zhao went through some ups and downs in his destiny almost in the same way that “contemporary literature” plodded through various conflicts and setbacks on its historical path of reconstruction. To a certain extent, whether or not “contemporary literature” could supersede “modern literature,” a significant historical proposition, hinged upon the success of Zhao’s novel writing. 2.1 “The Orientation of Zhao Shuli” Zhao Shuli (赵树理, 1906–1970) joined the rank of prominent contemporary Chinese novelists as an author from the Liberated Areas. He was born in Qinshui County, Shanxi Province. His father, Zhao Heqing (赵和清), was an able man and an excellent performer of local opera, known as Bangzi (梆子), in Shangdang. While studying at the Fourth Normal School in Shanxi, Zhao became quite disappointed with the May 4th New Literature, swearing that he would create his own “Market Stall Literature.” It turned out to be a key factor in developing his literary conceptions later on. After joining the revolution in 1937, he served as the head of the Beacon Theatre Company (烽火剧团) and editor of the supplement for The Huanghe Daily (Lu Dong Edition) (⟪黄河日报⟫ 路东版) and The Chinese People (⟪中国人⟫) in the Shanxi-Chahar-Hebei border area. At the time of publication, his novels, Xiao Er Hei’s Marriage (⟪小二黑结婚⟫) and The Rhymes of Li Youcai (⟪李有才板话⟫), only received some mediocre response and did not circulate broadly in the base areas or the Liberated Areas until they drew the attention from Peng Dehuai (彭德怀) and Zhou Yang (周扬), who praised the novels as the “­representative works” reflecting the real essence of Talks at the Yan’an Forum on Literature and Art. In his book, The Writings of Zhao Shuli (⟪论赵树理的创作⟫, 1946), Zhou Yang did not propose the term, “the Orientation of Zhao Shuli,” at first. It was Chen Huangmei who used it officially one year later in his speech at the “Symposium on Literature and Art” organized by the Federation of Literary and Art Circles in the Shanxi-Chahar-Hebei border area, and later he promoted it into a slogan.1 DOI: 10.4324/9781003565031-4

38  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction At the time, the country was not completely liberated yet. Being a modest man, Chen states in his article that Zhao’s orientation is not a model, and learning from Comrade Zhao and following his orientation will never impede the free, further development of literature and art, let alone imposing any restriction on the diversity of their creative forms. In his optimistic prediction, “Zhao’s novel writing has ­created a new form, which will mature continuously and become even better.” Only after the founding of the People’s Republic of China, Hu Qiaomu (胡乔 木), who was in charge of newspapers and literature in the Publicity Department of the Communist Party of China (PDCPC), transferred Zhao to Zhongnanhai for a secretary job with the intent to groom him into “the Gorky of New China” was “Zhao Shuli’s Orientation” finally established. Hu apparently knew the ropes, even though he didn’t write any commentaries. Zhao once mentioned that Comrade Hu Qiaomu criticized him for the mediocrity (the absence of major themes) and the lack of depth in his writings, as well as his inability to produce inspiring works. Hu told him to read more books that have some reference value (378). According to Dai Guangzhong (戴光中), Hu handpicked some books for Zhao, including the works by great Russian writers like Chekhov and Turgenev, a few theoretical books, such as On New Democracy (⟪新民主主义论⟫) and “The Speech at the Forum of Art and Literature in Yan’an” (⟪在延安文艺座谈会上的 讲话⟫), and the excerpts from Lenin’s comments on literature and art. He even let Zhao move into the Qingyun Hall inside Zhongnanhai and relieved him from all the duties so that he could stay indoors doing nothing but reading and honing his political and artistic skills (Dai 274–275). Dai comments, Zhou was the “Bole (伯乐),” a talent scout, who discovered Zhao and ­affirmed the value of his writings and their status in literary history. Although both of them were working in the Liberated Area of North China (LANC), they had never met. So, when they finally got a chance to meet, it was a very joyful occasion for them. Zhou, who was known for his sharp sight and quick wit, left the meeting with this impression of Zhao: “He is sophisticated but honest like a farmer, candid but witty; he has both original observations and radical words; and he is brilliant but self-effacing just like a deeply hidden jewel flickering from time to time.” (255–256) Zhao Shuli always trusted Zhou Yang, the great critic who appreciated and supported him. Zhou Yang recalled that in moments of danger when Zhao was going through brutal torture and threat of death, he did not give in but still remained confident in the revolution. During the days of his imprisonment and the endless denunciations against him, he secretly wrote down Chairman Mao’s Ode to the Plum Blossom (⟪咏梅⟫) on a scrap of torn paper to show his belief in the revolution and his loyalty to the Party and the leader. “He instructed his daughter, Zhao Guangjian (赵广建), to try to deliver his hand-written last words to me. By then, Zhou had already lost my freedom, and I was in a precarious situation myself, but he still trusted me as his comrade and the friendship between us.”2

The Rise and Fall of the Criticism on Zhao Shuli  39 The process in which “Zhao Shuli’s Orientation” was formally established was never from controversies and disagreements. In February 1950, a critic named Zhu Keyu (竹可羽)3 expressed his reservations about the reference to ‘‘Zhao Shuli’s Orientation’’ in an article, “A Further Discussion on Evil Does Not Overpower,” claiming that it is right to learn from Zhao Shuli, for Zhao has introduced a rich, positive, and uniquely Chinese peasant image and peasant language to literary writing, and the way in which he adhered to the principle of unifying the realities in readers’ life with the practice of literary writing has greatly inspired the ­entire community of writers. His firm belief that literature and art should serve the people and his arduous work in fending off the influence from the feudal culture have greatly encouraged us all. All this is what all members of the literature and art community should start to learn modestly and sincerely. To learn from Zhao, in relation to writing, more specifically and effectively, we must take more steps spontaneously, namely, analyzing and studying Zhao Shuli’s writing at the theoretical level according to the principles of socialist realism, and defining the significance and potential development of those unique features in his writings. Otherwise, “learn from Zhao Shuli” would be an ambiguous slogan only, and itemizing the features in his writing would not accomplish anything, either. (Zhu, People’s Daily) Here, it appears that Zhu Keyu was skeptical of, and even opposed to, the practice of “itemizing the features in Zhao’s writings” proposed by Zhou Yang in his article “On the Writings of Zhao Shuli (⟪论赵树理的创作⟫)” and by Chen Huangmei in his article “Towards Zhao Shuli’s Direction (⟪向赵树理方向迈进⟫).” In a way, Zhu’s concern echoes that of Hu Qiaomu, who was dissatisfied with the limited “theoretical realm” in Zhao’s novels. But Zhu Keyu followed with a selfcontradictory statement: At the same time, I don’t think a successful writer who is already recognized by the public wants to be idolized because it’s not good for anyone, either for the writer or for the reader. He would feel bad if his shortcoming were identified as merit and learned by others. Specifying the flaws and good qualities, as well as their respective implications, simultaneously is exactly what literary criticism is supposed to do in order to maximize the effect of studying a particular author. And he adds that he has always wished that someone could talk about Zhao Shuli’s writing in a holistic way. In the conclusion, he said sarcastially, “the reason why I am studying Zhao Shuli’s writing is nothing more than a personal desire to really learn from him.” Indeed, there is nothing impulsive about this article, but one might discern a subtle prediction about the potential rough ride for “Zhao Shuli’s Orientation” in the future assessment of contemporary literature.

40  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction 2.2 The Ups and Downs of the Criticism on Zhao Shuli From the 1950s to 1970s, the evaluation of a writer’s writings was always closely associated with the then current affairs. The ups and downs in the assessment of a certain writer are not necessarily swayed by writings themselves all the time. Sometimes, the shift is initiated by what is going on in society. It is a widely acknowledged objective factor that can often reverse or destabilize the criteria of literary criticism. Some critics believe that the development of the “criticism on Zhao Shuli” went through several points in time, namely, 1946, 1956, 1962, and 1964 (Liu et al. 33). In 1946, when the Chinese Revolution began to reach the stage of “besieging cities from the countryside” and the term “Liberated Areas” emerged, the importance of Zhao Shuli as a new writer in the Liberated Areas was markedly underscored. After Zhou Yang published his article, “On the Writings of Zhao Shuli,” eminent figures like Mao Dun (茅盾), Guo Moruo (郭沫若), Shao Quanlin, Ge Qin (葛琴) and Lin Mohan (林默涵) wrote their pieces in praise of Zhao’s novels, which kept receiving rave reviews until 1959. In Mao Dun’s view, Zhao wrote The Rhymes of Li Youcai as “a member of the people, rather than a bystander.” The peasants in the novel are so genuine, and they are “not intellectuals in peasant clothes.” The vernacular dialogue and behavior of the characters further corroborate their peasant identities. In addition, “kuaiban (快板),” a rhythmic monologue with bamboo clappers, used as a narrative form in the novel is quite unique and lively. “Undoubtedly,” Mao continues, “this new form indicates that our novel writing has taken a big step toward popularization and our folk style as well, even though I dare not say that it is already a part of our folk style” (Mao, Liberation Daily). The literary criticism about Zhao’s novels from 1946 to 1959 is primarily positive, which is in line with the strong consensus in literary circles about the course of the Chinese Revolution. Often, the confidence in and optimistic attitude toward the course of the Chinese Revolution are manifested in the reviews of his novels. Additionally, these reviews seem to connote these revolutionaries’ appreciation and recognition of their own achievements. After the publication of Xiao Er Hei’s Marriage and The Rhymes of Li Youcai, Zhao lived up to people’s expectations and his writing reached “a new height” with books, such as The Emancipation of Meng Xiangying (⟪孟祥英翻身⟫), Evil Does Not Overpower (⟪邪不压正⟫), Heirloom (⟪传家宝⟫), Registration (⟪登记⟫), Sanliwan Village (⟪三里湾⟫), and Exercise (⟪锻炼锻炼⟫). Even Fu Lei (傅雷), who was known for his harsh and strict artistic taste, could not help admiring his works, saying: There have been many writings on rural cooperatives recently. Sanliwan ­Village is undoubtedly one of the most popular novels. Once a reader starts reading it, he cannot stop but feel compelled to finish it in one sitting. It is the author’s artistic skills that make the reason why a novel without a thrilling story and nerve-wracking scenes could be so fascinating is mainly due to the author’s artistic skills. Only through an enticing magic like can a literary work fulfill its political mission and effectuate the reader’s reception of its message unconsciously but wholeheartedly.4

The Rise and Fall of the Criticism on Zhao Shuli  41 Fu Lei’s use of the word “magic” indicates that he does not regard Zhao novels as “popular works.” Instead, he believes that they would stand out even among all the great works written since the May 4th Movement. In 1958 generated a wave of radical ideas. Fiction critics who were anxious to push China to the “communist phase” began to show their impatience and discontent with Zhao’s writings which were widely known for their fidelity to the real life. A case in point is the article, “A Novel Distorting Reality: Reading Exercise” written by Wu Yang (武养).5 With examples from Zhao’s Exercise and some other works, Wu complains about several things: with the exception of Gao Xiulan (高 秀兰), an ideal and progressive woman, Zhao’s novels feature a bunch of typical, uncultivated, selfish, and lazy rural women whining about “the pain in their calf” and “not having enough to eat”; second, the leaders of the rural cooperatives, such as Wang Juhai (王聚海), Wang Zhenhai (王镇海), and Yang Xiaosi (杨小四), are supposed to carry out the Party’s policies, but they are made “bad cadres” who are seriously out of touch with the masses in the novel; third, the author has a clear sense of love and hate, yet his attitude is wrong because he offers his assistance and sympathy to several cadres “who lead the people in their cooperatives with a teasing, intimidating, and coercing style”; and finally, the Rectification Movement (整风运动) in rural cooperatives is misrepresented in the author’s works due to his muddling and ambiguous attitude. Wu states that reading Excercise, a novel that claims to be “truthful” but revokes “truthfulness” in all aspects, “made him feel so much indignation inside that he could not contain himself for a long time” (Wu, The Newspaper of Literature and Art). In Zhao’s defense, two critics, Wang Xiyan (王西彦) and Tang Tao (唐弢), ­refuted Wu’s extreme interpretations. Wang shares his understanding of the “Zhao Shuli’s style” based on his close reading. “While reading a novel,” he explains, one senses that there may be a gap, or even a contradiction, between the reader’s actual feeling and the author’s subjective intention. Moreover, different readers have different views, for they differ from each other not only in their literary competence, but also in their knowledge, especially their understanding, about the life depicted in the novels. In this regard, I want to reiterate, Zhao’s perception and interpretation of the inner conflicts among people in his Exercise is far more profound than ours, at least mine. Accordingly, we should adopt a cautious and earnest attitude in critiquing a literary work, and avoid making any reckless or presumptuous judgment. We have been so accustomed to interrogating each other, “Is this congruous with the realities in the countryside?” (Wang, The Newspaper of Literature and Art) China’s Rural Cooperative Movement reached its height during 1959–1962, a period in which the frequent shift in policies affected the stability of peasants’ job in rural regions. It was in this particular context that criticism on Zhao’s novels was carried out. The different opinions surfaced in the assessment of a certain

42  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction literary work actually reflected various controversies and disputes in defining the Movement. Not surprisingly, Zhao’s novels became the focus of debate in the literary community. After the “Wu Yang Controversy,” Zhao’s novels were once again ­affirmed by the public. At the symposium on rural short stories held in Dalian in August 1962, Shao Quanlin, the party secretary of the Chinese Writers Association (CWA), summed up the successes in portraying the image of peasants and endorsed Mao Dun’s “theory of middle character (中间人物论).” Heroes and slackers, Shao explains, constitute a small number on either end, but the people in the middle represent the majority. Literature and art should target their educational mission at the majority of people in the middle. The purpose of portraying heroic characters is to set role models, but it is equally important to portray “middle characters” (Shao 403). In Shao’s opinion, some writers have a deep understanding that the struggle in rural areas would be a perennial, complex, and arduous task. Also, Zhao’s writings won unanimous praise at the same symposium. Many people realized that his writings were underrated in previous years, which in a large measure further verified his deep understanding of the rural issues. (Shao 398) The comments by Shao are seemingly intended to rectify the unfairness toward Zhao before. In his article, “Short Stories in Recent Years,” Kang Zhuo fully affirms the adherence to realism in Zhao’s writings, praising his short stories, such as “The Old Quota (⟪老定额⟫),” “The Hands That Cannot Wear Gloves (⟪套不住的手⟫),” and “The Doer Pan Yongfu (⟪实干家潘永福⟫),” for creating creditable characters like “Pan Yongfu.” He also claims with a tone of refutation that Zhao Shuli is one of the most outstanding and solid masters of short-story writing among the elderly writers in the past 20 years. However, it seems that critics have underrated his achievements in the past few years mainly due to their underestimation of the ideas and artistry in his stories. Actually, Zhao’s writings have offered the strongest rendition of realism and the most down-to-earth representation of life in the literature so far (Kang 15). However, the good time for Zhao did not last long. Articles criticizing Zhao Shuli’s works came again after the article, “‘Writing About Middle Characters’ Is the Literary Proposition of the Bourgeoisie,” appeared in the joint issue of The Newspaper of Literature & Art, Nos. 8 and 9, 1964, more accusatory articles on Zhao’s novels surfaced once again. In his article, “Zhao Shuli Is a ‘Model’ of the Anti-Revolutionary and Revisionist Literature,” Wei Tianxiang (魏天祥) argues that Zhao Shuli is a reactionary writer of the bourgeoisie. Yet under the bragging and boasting by Zhou Yang and his gang, Zhao’s writings have been outrageously lauded as the triumph of contemporary literature and art (Wei, Guangming Daily).

The Rise and Fall of the Criticism on Zhao Shuli  43 The Revolutionary Committee of Xiyang County, Shanxi Province, points out that on the first page of Sanliwan Village, Zhao Shuli blatantly declares that Liu Laowu (刘老五), the landlord and traitor in the village, has been caught and shot by the government. The landlords and rich peasants have been wiped out, and the militia have no need to gather as often as before. After more than 20 days of expansion of the rural cooperative, people have all been transformed into devoted revolutioners and have become members of the cooperative. They have bonded together and united into a single, powerful force. In their judgment, Zhao’s writing at the outset should be defined as “a frenzied attack on the Rural Cooperative Movement and a fundamental denial of the class struggle” (Revolutionary Committee of ­Xiyang County, Shaanxi Province, Shanxi Daily). 2.3 Tension with Socialist Realism The criticism of Zhao Shuli has gone through ups and downs primarily due to his strong adherence to the tenets of Socialist Realism. His deep concern for the fate of peasants is a prevalent theme that runs through his entire literary career. In his mind, the emancipation of Chinese peasants would not be possible without the revolution. As Dai Guangzhong points out that the marriage and courtship of Chinese peasants are among Zhao Shuli’s most important concerns all his life. In his Xiao Er Hei’s Marriage, he tells the reader that only the Communist Party and the democratic government can help loving couples get married. His Registration (⟪登记⟫) can be seen as a sequel to Xiao Er Hei’s Marriage (Dai 267). True, some of his novels, such as Heirloom, Exercise, and Evil Does Not Overpower, reproach the “insolence” of a few middle-aged and elderly farmers, but overall he maintains a mild attitude toward these “middle characters.” Later, after he found out that the Cooperative Movement were detrimental to peasants’ wellbeing and, therefore, incongruous with his original intention of writing, he felt very distressed. Beset by an anguish like this, he was unable to portray more “new characters” in his writings and, imperceptibly but steadily, the image “middle characters” became a mainstay in his characterization. In his novel Sanliwan Village, as suggested by several ­critics, the down-to-earth qualities of the doers in the village and the guileless character of peasants are taking over the place of the author’s idealistic aspirations. In other words, even though he was enthusiastically engaged in the popularization of ­literature and art, now his “problematic novels” seem to share more interconnectedness with the theme of “May 4th Movement” and the concept of the critical realist l­iterature in the 19th century. According to Zhu Zhai (朱寨), it was Hu Qiaomu (胡乔木) who first introduced the Soviet theory of Socialist Realism into contemporary Chinese literature in his address, “About Literature and Art,” to writers and artists in Beijing on 12 ­December 1952. He called on them to study and grasp the principles of Socialist Realism so as to overcome the backwardness of literature and art and reflect great realities (Zhu 117–118). In his article, “Socialist Realism: The Way Forward for Chinese Literature,” Zhou Yang insists that “socialist realism has now become the

44  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction banner of all progressive writers in the world” (Zhou, People’s Daily). Socialist Realism has four main principles: first, taking Marxism as its ideological guide; second, adhering to Lenin’s principle of party spirit; third, creating positive images of heroes, which is the basic requirement of Socialist Realism; fourth, selecting “typical issues” as its themes. In Hong Zicheng’s (洪子诚)6 view, despite its dedication to actively reflecting the struggle and development of the Rural Cooperative Movement, Zhao Shuli’s novel writing was mostly keen on portraying the images of the “­typical, ­insolent, selfish, and lazy rural women,” who never stop complaining about ­suffering from “calf pain” or “not having enough food to each,” and depicting the features of primitive life led by traditional farmers. For that reason, even though he continued to be admired as a “role model,” more and more “shortcomings” were discovered in his novels. It should be noted, of course, that there were so many opposing opinions and recurrent controversies within the circle of literature and art regarding the definition of “socialist realist literature” as the Rural ­Cooperative ­Movement evolved from the 1950s to 1970s. In the early 1960s, when the romantic trend of political economy began to ebb, Zhao Shuli’s “value” was ­rediscovered by those who advocated diversity in characterization and “deepening of realism.” But as soon as this trend returned, Zhao’s value became insignificant again (Hong 88–90). Hong found out that the principles of “socialist realist literature” demanded “a purification of thought” from contemporary novelists, one that would constantly depend on a “critical transcendence” as a sort of its historical boost. He summarizes it into two aspects: its critical spirit and a sense of spiritual creativity based on the critical spirit. “The designers of ‘socialist literature’ in China always try their best to go beyond the ‘old realism’ and ‘critical realism.’ In fact, critiquing or questioning the status quo is the key to the vitality of left-wing literature” (Hong 165). As we can see in his review of Evil Does Not Overpower, Zhu Keyu demands such a “purification” of the ideological content in the novel: Zhao Shuli says that he uses a story and a character as a “rope,” “an approach that I have not seen before…and perhaps I won’t use again later.” In fact, ­using a character or a story to link together all the subjects the author wants to address is a popular but special method in literary writing. If you don’t use this story or this character, you have to pick another story and character. If one is not enough, you might as well use more than one. This is exactly how you generalize all realities based on one specific phenomenon. (Zhu, People’s Daily) In Zhu’s view, Zhao Shuli’s approach of taking a part for the whole violates a principle of Socialist Realism, that is, its emphasis on representing the most essential part of social life. The priority of Socialist Realism is the portrayal of people, for people are always at the core of life or struggle and, therefore, should always be the subject of a story, event, or issue. Much to Zhu’s regret, this point was not taken seriously in the Chinese literary circle back then (Zhu, People’s Daily).

The Rise and Fall of the Criticism on Zhao Shuli  45 Years later, Wei Tianxiang wrote an article to up the ante in criticizing Zhao’s writing. In Zhao’s novels, Wei argues, insolent characters are all over the place, appearing with lively traits and accomplishing whatever they wish for; egotists are glorified while the poor peasants and grassroots cadres are vilified to the greatest extent. Through the so-called outstanding individuals in his novels, one is simply unable to appreciate the mentality of the vigorous and high-spirited peasants who are deeply immersed in Chairman Mao’s thoughts. Instead, all one can see is the vestiges of the old times, their backwardness, ignorance, selfishness, short-sightedness, and their rudeness to the masses. Given his ­divergent feelings and positions toward “old people and times” and “new people and times,” Zhao prefers to “approach all kinds of people concurrently,” just like “running a grocery store.” This is, in essence, a clear attempt to discourage writers and artists from exploring “new people and new things” and portraying ­special proletarian heroes, and to urge them to dwell on the representation of “old people and old things.” “A quick browse through his novels in recent years,” Wei stresses, “shows us that Zhao has been trying to stay on this route of counterrevolutionary and revisionist literature and art more resolutely than ever before” (Wei, Guangming Daily). Notes 1 The article, “Towards the Orientation of Zhao Shuli,” was sorted out based on the speech by Chen Huangmei. Later it was published in the People’s Daily on 10 August 1947. 2 For more details, see Zhou Yang’s “Preface to The Collected Works of Zhao Shuli,” Workers’ Daily (⟪工人日报⟫), September 22, 1980. Zhou’s recollection shows not only the working relationship between critics and novelists, but also their personal friendship, thus reflecting the “warmth” in personal relationships within the “Critics Circle in the Liberated Areas.” 3 Zhu Ke Yu (1919–1989), a literary critic, was born in Xia County, Zhejiang Province. He joined the Party in Fenghua in 1938 and was engaged in underground activities under the leadership of Shao Quanlin. In 1949, he was noticed by Zhou Yang and He Qifang after publishing critical articles in People’s Daily (⟪人民日报⟫) and People’s Literature (⟪人民文学⟫). He once worked for the Central Publicity Department and New Observer. 4 See Fu Lei’s “Talking about the Characteristics of the Plots in Sanliwan Village,” Monthly Literature and Art (⟪文艺月报⟫), July 1956. This article does not simply ­affirm the ideological significance of the novel, but more importantly it reveals its significance through based on a close reading of the work and the characteristics of the plots. 5 See Wu Yang’s “A Novel Distorting Reality: Reading Exercise,” Newspaper of Literature & Art (⟪文艺报⟫), no. 7, 1959. During the 1950s and 1960s, the newspaper often used the “letters to the editor” column to express severe criticism of certain writers’ works and literary phenomena. 6 Hong Zicheng (1939–), a literary historian, was born in Jieyang, Guangdong Province. He graduated from the Chinese Department, Peking University in 1961. Since then, he has taught there until his retirement. He published A History of Contemporary Chinese Literature (⟪中国当代文学史⟫), Problems and Methods (⟪问题与方法⟫), and Materials and Notes (⟪材料与注释⟫). Hong used “the history of Zhao Shuli’s evaluation” as a metaphor for the instability in literary criticism at that time. Moreover, he believes that this is the natural result of the involvement of left-wing literature in contemporary fiction.

46  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction Works Cited Dai, Guangzhong. Zhao Shuli: A Biography. Beijing Literature and Art Publishing House, 1987. Hong, Zicheng. Problems and Methods. SDX Joint Publishing Company, 2002. Hong, Zicheng. A History of Contemporary Chinese Literature (Revised Edition). Peking University Press, 2008. Kang, Zhuo. “On Short Stories in Recent Years.” Literary Review, vol. 4, no. 5, 1962, pp. 12–29. Liu, Zaifu, et al. “The Ups and Downs of Zhao Shuli’s Creative School.” New Literature Series, vol. 1, no. 2, 1979, pp. 31–36. Mao, Dun. “On The Rhymes of Li Youcai.” Liberation Daily in Yan’an, 2 November 1946. Revolutionary Criticism Group of Xiyang County Revolutionary Committee. “The Class Struggle Works.” Shanxi Daily, 7 October 1970. Shao, Quanlin. “Speech at the Symposium on the Writing of Short Stories on Rural Life in Dalian.” Shao Quanlin’s Selected Criticism, vol. I, People’s Literature Publishing House, 1981, pp. 389–403. Wang, Xiyan. “Exercise and Reflecting the Internal Conflicts among People.” The Newspaper of Literature and Art, 1 October 1959. Wei, Tianxiang. “Zhao Shuli Is the ‘Model’ of Anti-Revolutionary and Revisionist ­Literature and Art.” Guangming Daily, 8 January 1967. Wu, Yang. “A Novel Distorting Reality: A Reading of Exercise.” The Newspaper of Literature and Art, 1 July 1959. Zhao, Shuli. “Recalling History and Recognizing Myself.” The Complete Works of Zhao Shuli, vol. 5, Beiyue Literature & Art Publishing House, 2000, pp. 375–383. Zhou, Yang. “Socialist Realism – The Way Forward for Chinese Literature.” People’s Daily, 11 January 1953. Zhu, Keyu. “A Further Discussion on Evil Does Not Overpower.” People’s Daily, 25 ­February 1950. Zhu, Zhai. A History of Contemporary Chinese Literary Thought. People’s Literature ­Publishing House, 1987.

3

Rural Fiction

In traditional literary theory, subject matter refers to the material needed for the representation of theme in a literary work. Broadly speaking, it refers to the part of social life depicted in a literary work, that is, a certain aspect of real life, such as industrial, rural, historical, or realistic subjects. Subject matter is an essential element in the content of a literary work and the foundation for its theme. In some of the textbooks on literature, which are published in recent years, such as Tong Qingbing’s (童庆炳) Literary Theories: A Course Book (⟪文学理论教程⟫), “theme” and “subject matter” are replaced by other concepts like “text,” “narrative,” “consumption,” “dissemination,” and “acceptance,” which seems to have generated a new opinion that “form” is more important than “content” in the new literary practice.1 The stress on the role of subject matter in literary writing reflects the new changes in contemporary literature during the historical transition and its special responsibility in propagating the historical course of the Chinese Revolution. It is widely acknowledged that subject matter represents an author’s ideological standpoint and attitude in the new social context, so the debate about it often ends once a consensus is reached, especially when both sides find themselves in a whirlpool of social life. The discussion on “to write or not to write about the petty bourgeoisie” in Shanghai’s Wen Wei Po (⟪文汇报⟫) between August and November 1949 is a case in point. Since The First National Literature and Arts Congress, the literary circle has begun to categorize the subject matter based on the different spheres of real life, such as factories, mines, rural areas, and military camps. 3.1 The Categorization of Subject Matter The term, “Rural Fiction,” first appeared in the article, “Zhao Shuli: A People’s Writer,” by a journalist, Rong An (荣安), published in Liberation Daily (⟪解放日 报⟫) on 4 October 1949. In Rong’s view, Zhao Shuli is a typical writer who comes from the masses and returns to the masses. Born in a poor rural family, Zhao is familiar with the rural areas, especially what the farmers suffer and how the feudal class exploits the poor people. His personal experience of the landlords’ exploitation and oppression foster his great hatred for the feudal class and his infinite love and sympathy for the farmers. Such strong emotions are fully expressed in his DOI: 10.4324/9781003565031-5

48  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction literary writings. That is one of the reasons why his works can strike a chord with readers and win a wide reception from them. For instance, his masterpieces, Xiao Er Hei’s Marriage and Rhymes of Li Youcai, “are the two best-sellers in the Taihang Liberated Area and are adapted into plays by almost all the theatres there.”2 Also, Rong’s article defines three distinctive features of “Rural Fiction”: first, a work whose author is born in the countryside and, therefore, familiar with the farmers’ life; second, a work whose author has adopted his class position and empathy based on his personal experience of oppression and exploitation; third, a work that could be used as a textbook to cultivate the farmers, or adapted into plays, and applauded by the general public (Rong, Liberation Daily). In the 1950s and 1960s, the definition of Rural Fiction was expanded. Li ­Peikun (李培坤) argues in his article, “A Tentative Comment on Li Zhun’s Writings,” that the new characteristic of Rural Fiction is, as exemplified in Li Zhun’s works, ­addressing the pressing and major issues in real life timely and incisively. Besides, the writers have not only vividly depicted the struggle between the new socialist characters and those who try to keep their old-fashioned ideas and their inclination toward capitalism but also particularly underscored the aggressive personality of the new socialists during the struggle (Li 25). Different from Li Peikun, Feng Mu (冯牧) puts stresses on the role of these “new people” in Rural Fiction. With examples from Li Zhun (李准)’s works, such as “Not That Road (⟪不能走那条路⟫),” “Track of A Wheel (⟪车轮的辙 印⟫),” “Busy Farming in May (⟪农忙五月天⟫),” and Two Generations (⟪两代 人⟫), Feng claims that these works represent the development of both new things and “new people.” “We could see from most of his writings that Li Zhun always ­attempts to create the image of ‘new people’ and reflect their growth regardless of subject and content” (“Moving Forward in the Torrent of Life” 5). According to these critical articles, the traditional image of farmers that appeared in novels by modern writers like Lu Xun can no longer accommodate the need from the rapid development of the Rural Cooperative Movement. Such an assertion not only sets the “old-­fashioned farmers” against the “new-type farmers” (“new people”) in ideology but also exposes the sharp difference between the Rural Fiction and the localcolor fiction of modern literature in terms of their categorization and interpretation. 3.2 Geographical Distribution In the history of modern Chinese literature, writers of the local-color fiction were mostly from provinces like Zhejiang, Hunan, and Guizhou, while writers of contemporary Rural Fiction began to emerge from provinces like Shaanxi, Shanxi, Henan, Shandong, and Hebei largely due to the fact that the Chinese Revolution was centered around northern provinces. It should be noted that the land reform started relatively earlier in well-known revolutionary bases, such as Shaanxi and Shanxi, where the support from the masses was always strong and gave a big boost to the inception of Rural Fiction. The “57% Reduction of Rent” ­Movement began in Shaanxi and Shanxi during the Anti-Japanese War and later expanded to Henan, Shandong, and Hebei. No doubt, the Land Reform

Rural Fiction  49 Movement is apparently the deepest and broadest backdrop for understanding the distribution of Rural Fiction. Here is an interesting list of rural novelists: Zhao Shuli, Zhou Libo (周立波), Sun Li (孙犁), Liu Qing (柳青), Luo Binji (骆宾基), Sha Ding (沙汀), Kang Zhuo, Ma Feng (马烽), Qin Zhaoyang (秦兆阳), Li Zhun, Chen Dengke (陈登科), Wang Wenshi (王汶石), Sun Qian (孙谦), Xi Rong (西戎), Liu Shude (刘澍德), Li Shuwei (李束为), Guan Hua (管桦), Chen Canyun (陈残云), Liu Shaotang (刘绍棠), Hao Ran (浩然), and Xie Pu (谢璞). Except Zhou Libo, Sha Ding, Liu Shude, and Chen Canyun who deal with the subject matter from the rural life in southern China, most of the writers on the list depict the rural life in northern villages (e.g., Shanxi, Shaanxi, Hebei, Shandong, and Henan). Their works represent the overwhelming majority of contemporary Rural Fiction and have been the subject of much criticism in literary circles. Many writers who wrote about northern villages embarked on their career of fiction writing after joining the revolution. Given their life experience and literary career as “natives” of the north, their writings are inseparably linked to the Chinese Revolution and the rural reform in the northern countryside during this time period. That is a decisive reason why they adopted a historical choice and vision different from the writers of local-color fiction in modern literature. In the 1950s and 1960s, the “Potato School (山药蛋派)” in Shanxi and the “Lotus Lake School (荷花淀派)” in Hebei were the representatives among them. At that time, the critics who kept an eye on the Rural Fiction about the northern countryside include Zhou Yang, Mao Dun, Chen Yong (陈涌), Feng Mu, Zhang Guangnian, Chen Huangmei, Hou Jinjing, Huang Qiuyun (黄秋耘), Yu Heiding (于黑丁), Song Shuang (宋爽), Si Ji (思基), Hu Cai (胡釆), Feng Jiannan (冯健 男), Yan Gang (阎纲), Zeng Huapeng (曾华鹏), and Pan Xulan (潘旭澜).3 Just as Shao Quanlin and Ge Qin (葛琴) point out in their discussion of Zhao Shuli’s Changes in Li Village (⟪李家庄的变迁⟫), “although it is set against the changes of a village, it is, in fact, a microcosm of the entire rural China. In this picture, we see the stance of national and social struggle” (304). The novel tells readers the farmers’ potential power and its historical origin. According to Shao and Ge, the feudal force has such deep and long-standing roots in China that its removal relies on the awakening of the farmers and their determination to overthrow the power base of the local tyrants and evil gentries. However, awakening does not happen overnight because it has to develop, step by step, through countless lessons and painful struggles in real life (304). In their discussion of the Rural Fiction concerning northern villages, Shao Quanlin and Ge Qin elaborate on two points. One is that the geographical distribution of Rural Fiction is directly connected to the social identity of these writers, whose personal involvement in the rural reform during the revolution enabled them to fully understand the profound influence on the northern region and farmers from the “feudal forces.” The other is self-revealing after a long time. The literary concept that “literature is a vehicle for moral teaching” won the upper hand and, in various degrees, affected the artistic quality of Rural Fiction during this period (Shao and Ge 305). As we have already seen today, most of the works seem pretty rough and shallow, except a few pieces by Zhao Shuli, Sun Li, and Liu Qing.

50  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction 3.3 Criticism on the Fiction by Li Zhun, Ma Feng, and Wang Wenshi Li Zhun,4 Ma Feng,5 and Wang Wenshi6 were the most active short-story writers in the 1950s and 1960s. If the definition of Rural Fiction is still somewhat controversial on the theoretical level, then it has to be gradually completed through writers’ writing practice and critics’ further interpretation. What should be stressed is that apart from Zhao Shuli, Liu Qing, and Haoran, the three writers mentioned at the outset of this section are indispensable to the “full map” of contemporary Rural Fiction. According to the regional distribution of the writers, Li Zhun (from Henan), Ma Feng (from Shanxi), and Wang Wenshi (from Shaanxi) are writers in North China, so elements like “Chinese revolution,” “culture of the Central Plains in China,” “the history of the base areas,” and “the Rural Cooperative Movement” naturally penetrate into their works and become the critical perspectives through which critics interpret them. Li Zhun started his literary career after publishing his short story, “Not That Road,” in Henan Daily on 20 November 1953. His subsequent works, such as Legend of Veteran, A Story of Li Shuangshuang, and A Tale of Farming, are also well-acclaimed.7 Li’s fiction is mostly characterized by the familiarity with rural life, the dynamic personality of characters, and the lively use of language. Many critical articles focus on the analysis of the images of “new people” and “straggling farmers.” In Li Cong’s view, the plot about a farmer, Song Laoding (宋老定), who wants to buy land, but runs into opposition and then drops the idea, reflects the author’s clear understanding of the major contradiction in rural life, namely, the fierce struggle between socialism and capitalism. Li Cong defines Li Zhun’s portrayal of Song Laoding, a straggling farmer, as “relatively real, vivid, and characteristic” (10). In his article, “A General Review of the Short Stories in 1960,” Mao Dun ­argues that Li Shuangshuang’s wit, beauty, aggressiveness, and firmness are shown through the detailed descriptions of her struggle with her straggling husband, Xiwang, and the affluent mid-income farmers. The novel handles the portrayal and contrast of different characters with great care. Although Li Shuangshuang is shrewd and aware of Xiwang’s personality, she still gets tricked occasionally. Xiwang is a straggler, but he can still follow the changes of the time and take advantage of his intelligence in a good way. All these details can create a threedimensional effect in the portrayal of Li Shuangshuang and Xiwang, whose image and personality seem to be much brighter and stronger than other characters the author had created before (Mao 45). In Feng Mu’s opinion, Li Zhun’s A Story of Li Shuangshuang is excellent in depicting a broad picture of rural life and endowing its characters with distinctive personalities. “Often,” Feng adds, we can find some common and gratifying features in some of the newly published outstanding works about the new rural life. Many writers, who appear to be keen observers of life, try to not only represent the real scenes of the

Rural Fiction  51 increasingly colorful and rich life in the countryside after the Rural Cooperative Movement, but also delineate Li Shuangshuang’s clever and spicy personality with a flash of new light. (“New Character Grows” 40) Ma Feng is a representative writer of the “Potato School.” During his time in the anti-Japanese base area of Jin West in 1943, he published some correspondence and essays in Liberation Daily (⟪解放日报⟫) and Jinsui Daily (⟪晋绥日报⟫). He and Xi Rong co-authored a novel, Legends of Heroes in Lvliang Mountains (⟪吕梁 英雄传⟫), in 1944. After the founding of the People’s Republic of China, Ma published his famous short stories, such as “Marriage (⟪结婚⟫),” “I Knew All Along (⟪三年早知道⟫),” and “My First Superior (⟪我的第一个上级⟫).” In “My First Superior,” Ma successfully portrays Lao Tian, a leader of grassroot units in rural areas, with rich and varied characteristics. In his review of “My First Superior,” Feng Jiannan8 calls it a thrilling story, whose author demonstrates his maturity in thinking and writing skill by capturing the subtle changes in the character of Lao Tian, the deputy director of Agricultural Construction Bureau and the deputy commander of Flood Control. Feng writes, At first sight, Lao Tian is a “weirdo.” He wore a cotton jacket and trousers, and has the bottom of his trousers tied up even in the dog days of summer. With his head bowed, his back hunched and his hands clasped behind his back, he walks in a measured gait with the toes pointing outwards along the street. He is not angry at all when he is hit by “my” bicycle, and he says calmly: “Please don’t be mad. I won’t be angry, either.” (120) This is how “I,” the narrator in the story, first meets Lao Tian. Later, Lao Tian also remains calm and collected when he hears the news of the flash flooding of the Yong’an River and the breaching of the Anlekou dike. However, when the story reaches its climax, it is the ordinary, taciturn cadre who jumps into the flood and uses his body as a sandbag. Feng believes that this story was written and published timely during the climax of the political struggle and mass movement, and that the writer gradually developed a unique style through his incessant writing practice (J. Feng 131–132). Many articles praise Ma Feng’s ability to depict the personality of various rural characters.9 In regard to his artistic form, Yan Gang affirms Ma Feng’s wonderful conceptions and his interaction with readers. In Yan’s view, “I Knew All Along” is quite remarkable in carrying on the national tradition as the author portrays his characters by means of storytelling throughout the whole story. With long and short funny stories, all connected in a cause-and-effect sequence, the narrative moves forward with a clear guide to the ins and outs about each character. Such a writing style is really appealing to Chinese readers (G. Yan 32). Song Shuang agrees that Ma Feng is a good writer who can “organically integrate” profound ideological content with artistic forms (26).

52  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction Wang Wenshi became famous with his short stories, “The Night of the Snowstorm (⟪风雪之夜⟫),” “Critical Hour (⟪严重的时刻⟫),” and “On the Beach (⟪沙 滩上⟫).” A veteran soldier who joined the revolution in 1937 went through the test of the war. Such a distinctive ethos of that era is well-documented in his essay, “A Writer’s Self-Introduction”: “The greatest lesson I learn is that no matter what profession you are in, you must first require yourself to be a strong fighter with political determination” (3). “The literary material comes from no other than the author’s entire living experiences, thoughts, and feelings” (5). Zheng Boqi (郑伯 奇) also takes notice of these characteristics in Wang Wenshi’s short stories, arguing that they “address a well-defined theme, around which all the characters and details of the plot are closely centered” (89). What clearly distinguishes Wang Wenshi’s writing from other writers, as Hu Cai10 suggests, is his ability to discover the unusual significance from a usual life and deliver the deep implications through an ordinary subject matter (32). It is fair to assume, then, that critics tend to regard “Chinese revolution,” “the history of the base areas,” and “the Rural Cooperative Movement” as the thematic issues that sustain Wang Wenshi’s fiction writing all along. Wang seldom, if ever, attempts to create a character’s personality without its intrinsic inevitability based on his subjective intention. Instead, as Hu Cai puts it well, he would stick to the character’s personality traits and lay out a reasonable sequence of traces: Wang Wenshi creates a master carpenter in the story. The entire development of his personality proves his qualifications for such a title. He goes to the market, but buys nothing and returns home with empty hands. People find it both funny and annoying. However, he still acts as if nothing has happened and, out of his old habit, wants to teach others a lesson. He even treats his new son-in-law with the authority of a master carpenter. If the portrayal of the carpenter is good, then this is exactly what makes him so good and what makes the author’s characterization so successful. (35)11 Obviously, when commenting on the writing of these short-story writers, critics not only stress the importance of ideological content but also regard “the familiarity with rural life,” “the description of details,” and “characterization” as the key elements of short story. This is a clear evidence that the fiction criticism in the 1950s and 1960s was not as completely politically driven as people assumed later. It also attached adequate attention to “artistry.” 3.4 Criticism on Liu Qing’s Builders of a New Life Like Ma Feng and Wang Wenshi, Liu Qing (1916–1978) was also a writer who came from the Liberated Areas. A native of Sigou Village, Wubao County, Shaanxi Province, Liu Qing, formerly known as Liu Yunhua, joined the revolution in 1936 and worked for the cultural association of the Shaanxi-Ganjiang-Ningxia Border

Rural Fiction  53 Region in Yan’an in 1938. His early novels include The Story of Grain Growing (⟪种谷记⟫) and Wall of Bronze (⟪铜墙铁壁⟫). In the early 1950s, Liu was a member of the editorial board and deputy editor-in-chief of China Youth Daily (⟪中 国青年报⟫). Upon his hometown in 1952, he became a deputy secretary of the Chang’an County Committee in Shaanxi Province and settled in Huangfu Village for 14 years. During this period, he finished a novel, Builders of a New Life, which reflects the Rural Cooperative Movement. In April 1960, he donated his royalties from Book One of Builders of a New Life, 16,065 yuan, to the Wangqu Commune for its industrial infrastructure construction. Liu Qing is another important ruralthemed novelist following Zhao Shuli. “Epic quality” (史诗性) is what critics reality like to see in literary style. Feng Mu states in his article “First Reading of Builders of a New Life” that the work is widely praised mainly because the novel has unquestionably reached a new height with its profound thematic significance and plentiful artistic images (34). The first part of this work is about the growth and development of a mutual-aid farming team at the foot of Zhongnan Mountain in northwestern China before the socialist transformation started in the countryside. Feng affirms that the novel reflects, deeply and thoroughly, the farmers’ historical destiny and way of life in China. “It presents a faithful record of the penetrating and impactful socialist revolution that took place in the rural area after the land reform to the abolition of feudal land ownership” (33). Feng’s use of the word “penetrating” shows that in his mind Liu Qing is more in line with the principle of “Socialist Realism,” that is, “portraying positive heroes is the basic requirement of Socialist Realism,” than Zhao Shuli. In Feng’s view, it is a necessary premise for Rural Fiction to produce its “epic ­quality” (35). Critics seem keenly interested in exploring the spiritual connotations of Liang Shengbao (梁生宝), the “positive hero” in Builders of a New Life. If some writers fail to portray the “new socialists” without a glitch in their fiction, or their cultivation of the characters’ connotation still seems too flimsy, Builders of a New Life can make up for the shortcomings in the early phase of Rural Fiction with a structure that is grand enough to enhance the richness and three-dimensionality of the characters. A young critic Li Xifan12 adopts a “first-negating-and-then-affirming” approach in analyzing the main character: In Builders of a New Life, the rich personality traits of Liang Shengbao are indeed not portrayed in a “legendary” or amazing way, and he does not have the qualities of a legendary hero. All he has comes from his simple actions and the inner workings of his mind. Yet, isn’t it true that people with such a simple personality in China’s rural areas embarked on the road to socialism are taking plain actions to build a solid base for the agricultural cooperation, even socialism and communism in China？ (23–24) What is regretful for critics like Li is that writers before Liu Qing lost their sight of one another while trying to establish an effective link between characters’

54  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction personality and socialism. This is where Li perceptively finds Liu Qing’s success in portraying a positive hero at “an unquestionable high level.” In his view, Liu Qing transcends himself over other writers’ misunderstanding of what the “socialist ideal” in the “countryside” is. It is a belief that “plainness or simplicity” does not mean “backwardness.” On the contrary, a “positive hero” can also be “plain or simple.” Li Xifan is indeed an extraordinary young critic whose critical assessment clearly surpasses his predecessors. Of course, there are different opinions. Yan Jiayan (严家炎),13 a young lecturer at Peking University of a similar age as Li Xifan, wrote an article questioning the “authenticity” of Liang Shengbao. After an acknowledgement of Liu Qing’s achievements in Builders of a New Life, Yan’s article offers a meticulous analysis, claiming that the image of Liang Shengbao is apparently inconsistent with his relationship to his girlfriend, Gaixia (改霞), which makes people feel that it is somehow not so appropriate for a simple young farmer like Liang Shengbao (“The Image of Liang Shengbao” 24). On the one hand, he keeps thinking about Gaixia’s “white and tender face” and “pretty small hands” that have left him a feeling of “softness and warmth.” On the other hand, though, he feels self-abased and nervous simply because she has the third-grade education, so she might look down upon him. In Yan’s opinion, “Such a description probably defines the hero’s temperament as too sensitive and narrow-minded!” (“The Image of Liang Shengbao” 24). Whether a writer really knows his characters and handles their temperament properly determines how credible the characters could be and how deep their portrayal would be. Both the success and failure in the delineation of Liang Shengbao have fully proven this very point (“The Image of Liang Shengbao” 24).14 At that time, the fact that a writer as influential as Liu Qing was criticized really made a difference in fiction criticism. The so-called Yan Jiayan Storm, or the dispute initiated by Yan, did not ­affect the literary circle’s overall affirmation of Builders of a New Life. After the dispute was over, some critics began to focus their analysis on the superb artistic achievement of the novel. Lin Jiaping (林家平) writes in an article for Liberation Daily, saying that there is a foreword of more than 10,000 words before the novel, Builders of a New Life, starts. What is presented in these 10,000 words is a narrative that covers the profound backdrop of the story rigorously, articulately, and ingeniously. Compared with the plain style of The Story of Grain Growing (⟪种谷 记⟫) and Wall of Bronze (⟪铜墙铁壁⟫), Builders of a New Life makes a great leap in expanding its artistic realm. Lin also insists that the beginning of a long epic is very important. “Similarly, every writer, who intends to write a full-length novel, must invest all his talent into the writing project. Naturally, it will be a tough test for everyone” (Lin, Liberation Daily). He Wenxuan (何文轩) points out that Liu Qing’s characterization is not built on fragment, but on the cause and effect of personality development. In Book One of Builders of a New Life, Liu Qing writes about the characters’ present and past as well. The novel presents many families’ history of building a new life and various characters’ history of their personality development. Writing about characters’ past

Rural Fiction  55 is meant to deepen the understanding of their actions at present because, historically speaking, today is the continuation, renewal, and development of yesterday. To write about characters’ present properly, a writer must learn about their past. Some writers may not directly describe the characters’ past in their novels, but in their mind, they should thoroughly understand how the characters have formed their personalities (He 21). To portray the important characters in his fiction, such as Liang San (梁三), Liang Shengbao, Guo Zhenshan, Yao Shijie, and Gao Zengfu, Liu Qing “spares no effort to explore the historical origins of their respective personalities” (He 23). Despite previously critiquing Liu Qing and disputing the characterization of Liang Shengbao, a new young farmer, as the greatest achievement of Builders of a New Life, Yan Jiayan offers some positive remarks on the portrayal of the elderly character Liang San in the novel. Yan points out that Liang San’s position in the novel is worth noting. As we all know, after the new classes emerge after the land reform, the characters in Builders of a New Life are mostly divided in two groups: one is the group of rich peasants and well-to-do middle peasants, such as Yao Shijie (姚士杰) and Guo Shifu (郭世富); the other is a group of revolutionary farmers, such as Liang Shengbao and Gao Zhenfu (高振福). Both groups try to solicit support from the masses. Therefore, the image of Liang San carries great significance since the most positive and active character in a novel might not necessarily have the most successful artistic image. To defend this seemingly aggressive viewpoint, Yan asserts that although farmers are practical, it will be a huge misunderstanding if we choose to underestimate or ignore the importance of ideal in farmers’ life (“The Image of Liang San” 63). In Yan’s view, getting rich by farming is what makes the artistic image of the “backward” or straggling farmers shine. Yan explains, Liang San has a dream. He is so enthusiastic about it that he “yearns of it day and night.” In his dream, he has become “an elder in a tile-roofed house in Sanhetou,” “wearing a very thick cotton coat” (which, according to the old man’s thinking, is prepared by his son and daughter-in-law “out of filial piety!”). There are pigs, chickens, ducks, horses and cow, as well as “noisy children” in the courtyard. What a happy scene! (“The Image of Liang San” 65) In Yan’s belief, it is exactly the contradiction and tension between traditional farmers’ dreams and the historical construction of the nation that highlights the artistic value of Liang San’s image. But Yan also states implicitly that it is necessary to help Liang San give up his dream of getting rich, but it would be really hard to do it. In his mind, Liang San perceives reality and dreams in an opposite way. His fantasy of getting rich, although in the old society it had already caused him to suffer setbacks, has been completely blocked in the new society. However, he still stubbornly sees it as a feasible reality. On the contrary, he ridicules the new way to collective prosperity advocated by Liang Shengbao as an “irrelevant empty talk” (“The Image of Liang San” 65).

56  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction In Yan’s view, Liu Qing’s successful characterization of Liang San, the old man, is unintentional but virtually transcends the social stereotypes at that time. His ­image fully illustrates a traditional farmer’s potential: Liang San has a fervent fantasy of getting rich. In its ultimate sense, such a fantasy is reactionary, but everyone must live in reality, rather than in fantasy. Often, real life would mercilessly shatter people’s illusions, pull them from the clouds down to the earth, and force them to take a more realistic route. (“The Image of Liang San” 66) After 1979, Rural Fiction in the New Period completely rejected the “­depiction of fantasy” prevalent among the novels in the “17-year Period.” Besides, some writers chose to inherit and carry forward the tradition left behind by Zhao Shuli and Liu Qing. In this sense, Yan Jiayan’s judgment has turned out to be quite ­prophetic, and it seems extremely relevant even today. In conclusion, the process in which the concept of Rural Fiction was defined in “The Critics Circle in Liberated Areas” is very bumpy, but it is successful eventually. Given the uncertainty of the value of “fantasy,” the choice to create more “­realistic” fiction with more real sense and atmosphere of life is still appealing to many writers. That is the reason why people retained some implicit sympathy toward Li Zhun’s and Ma Feng’s novels as well as Yan Jiayan’s criticism of Liu Qing’s Builders of a New Life. The fact that the new wave of Rural Fiction, which came out after 1970, upholds such a realistic tradition in various degrees seems to be a valid proof. Notes 1 For more details, see Tong Qingbing’s Literature Theories: A Course Book, 4th edition, Higher Education Press, 2013. The first edition of the textbook was published in March 1992 and the 15th edition came out in 2013. It is the textbook of literature and art with the largest circulation in China. 2 See Rong An, “Zhao Shuli: Writing for Masses.” Liberation Daily, October 4, 1949. Rong An was a journalist of Liberation Daily. He was familiar with Zhao Shuli’s literary writing at the Taihang Mountains, so he could make a more accurate review on Zhao’s fiction. This article was published four days after the founding of the People’s Republic of China. It was an early review of Zhao Shuli’s fiction. 3 Some of the ideas on the geographical difference of contemporary Rural Fiction in this book are adopted from Hong Zicheng’s History of Contemporary Chinese Literature. 4 Li Zhun (1928–2000), formerly known as Mu Huali, was a native of Xiatun Village in Luoyang County (now part of Mengjin County), Henan Province. He became a bank clerk in 1948, and in the same year he was transferred to be a Chinese teacher in a Cultural School for Cadres in Luoyang City. His first short story collection was Selling Horses (⟪卖马⟫). In 1954, Li worked on a committee for theatrical reform in Henan Province. In 1964, he was elected as a deputy to the National People’s Congress and a member of the Standing Committee of the China Youth Federation. Apart from novels, he also adapted and wrote screenplays, such as A Story of Li Shuangshuang (⟪李双双 小传⟫), Li Zicheng (⟪李自成⟫), and The Great River Surging Ahead (⟪大河奔流⟫). 5 Ma Feng (1922–2004), formerly known as Ma Shuming, was born in Juyi Village, ­Xiaoyi County, Shanxi Province. He joined the Eighth Route Army in 1938. He and Xirong wrote a full-length novel, Legends of Heroes in Lvliang Mountains

Rural Fiction  57 (⟪吕梁英雄传⟫), in 1944. He also wrote a screenplay of a movie called The Young Man in Our Village (⟪我们村里的年轻人⟫). 6 Wang Wenshi (1921–1999), formerly known as Wang Lizeng, was a native of Wanrong County, Shanxi Province. He joined the army in 1937 and worked in the Shaanxi ­Literary Federation and the Writers Association after 1949. 7 Here are some articles on Li Zhun’s works: Jia Wenzhao, “Characteristics of the Image Created by Li Zhun,” Benliu, no. 11, 1964; Tang Mo, “About the Screenplay of Li Zhun,” Movie Literature, no. 3, 1963; Xu Nanming, “Characteristics of Li Zhun’s Screenplays,” Movie Literature, no. 2, 1964; Zhen Fu, “Li Zhun’s Not That Road,” Chinese Language Learning, no. 3, 1956; Tang Jian, “The Heroic Image of the Contemporaries: Reading Legend of Veteran,” Chinese Film, no. 4, 1958; Jia Ji, “New Subjects, New Characters, New Achievements,” People’s Daily, 18 November 1962; Mao Dun, “Review of A Tale of Farming,” Review of Short Stories in 1960, China Youth Press, 1961; Huang Mo, “The Ideological Significance of A Tale of Farming,” Journal of ­Literature and Art, no. 20, 1960. 8 Feng Jiannan, a native of Huangmei, Hubei Province, graduated from the Chinese ­Department of Peking University in 1949. Later, he went to southern China with the army. Feng worked as an editor of Literature and Art of People’s Liberation Army, a cadre of the Federation of Literature in Hebei Province, and professor and dean of the Chinese Department of Hebei Normal University. He published The Art of Being a Writer and some other works. 9 For example, another article on Ma Feng’s works is Si Meng’s “Reading Ma Feng’s Short Stories,” published in the first issue of People’s Literature in 1959. 10 Hu Cai (1913–2003), formerly known as Shen Chengli, was a native in Lixian County, Hebei Province. He was a literary critic. Hu joined the army in 1938 and went to Yan’an later. He was the director of the Cultural Bureau in Xi’an, the vice chairman of the Chinese Writers Association in Xi’an, the editor-in-chief of Yanhe, the chairman of the Shaanxi Writers Association, and the chairman of the Shaanxi Federation of Literature. 11 There were other critical articles about Wang Wenshi’s short stories, such as: Du Pengcheng, “Reading ‘The Night of the Snowstorm’: A Letter to Wang Wenshi,” The Newspaper of Literature and Art, no. 3, 1959; Zeng Huapeng and Pan Xulan, “Wang Wenshi’s Short Stories,” no. 6, Yanhe, 1961; Yao Hong, “A New Communist Reading ‘The New Companions’,” Yanhe, no. 11, 1958; Ye Shengtao, “Impressions on ‘Critical Hour’,” People’s Literature, no. 9, 1959. 12 Li Xifan (李希凡) (1927–2018), formerly known as Li Xifan (李锡范), was born in Tong County, Hebei Province (now Tongzhou District, Beijing). He was a literary theorist and redologist. Li graduated from the Chinese Department of Shandong University in 1953 and graduated from the Philosophy Research Program of Renmin University of China the following year. In 1954, he became famous after publishing “On A Dream of the Red Mansion and Others” on Journal of Chinese Humanities, which led to the criticism of Yu Pingbo (俞平伯), also a redologist. Li served as an editor for the literature and art department and executive deputy head of criticism group in People’s Daily and an executive deputy director and researcher in the Institute of Fine Arts. 13 Yan Jiayan (1933–), a historian of literature. He was a native of Baoshan County, Shanghai. Yan earned his doctoral degree from the Chinese Department of Peking University and has worked there since 1958. He became famous for his criticism of Liu Qing’s Builders of a New Life. Yan mainly studied the history of modern Chinese literature. His works included Seeking Truth (⟪求实集⟫), Faction History of Modern Chinese Novels (⟪中国现代小说流派史⟫), History of Modern Chinese Literature (⟪中国现代 文学史⟫), and History of the Twentieth-Century Chinese Literature (⟪二十世纪中国文 学史⟫). He was the president of the Modern Chinese Literary Research Association and the editor-in-chief of Modern Chinese Literature Studies (⟪中国现代文学研究丛刊⟫). 14 Articles with different views from Yan’s at the time included Feng Jiannan’s “Another Comment on Liang Shengbao” (⟪再谈梁生宝⟫), Zhang Zhong’s “Characteristic and

58  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction Artistic Expression of Liang Shengbao: Discussion with Yan Jiayan” (⟪梁生宝形象的 性格内容与艺术表现—与严家炎同志商榷⟫), Zhao Yun’s “Comments on the ­Article ‘About the Image, Liang Shengbao’” (⟪对一文的意见⟫), and Qin ­Delin’s “Is It Appropriate to Talk About Artistic Value in this Way —Yan Jiayan’s Comment on Builders of a New Life” (⟪这样的谈艺术价值是恰当的吗？— 评严家炎同 志对的意见⟫). Liu Qing defended himself in the article, “Raising Several Issues for Discussion,” and he was somewhat emotional about Yan Jiayan’s criticism.

Works Cited Feng, Mu. “First Reading of Builders of a New Life.” The Newspaper of Literature and Art, vol. 12, no. 1, 1960, pp. 31–35. Feng, Mu. “Moving Forward in the Torrent of Life: Li Zhun’s Short Stories.” T ­ he ­Newspaper of Literature and Art, vol. 12, no. 3, 1960, pp. 1–8. Feng, Mu. “New Character Grows: Reading A Story of Li Shuangshuang.” The Newspaper of Literature and Art, vol. 12, no. 10, 1960, pp. 32–41. Feng, Jiannan. “On Ma Feng’s Short Stories.” The Art of Being a Writer, edited by Feng Jiannan, Baihua Literary and Art Press, 1963, pp. 118–134. He, Wenxuan. “The Artistry of Builders of a New Life: Search for Epic Effect.” Yanhe, vol. 7, no. 2, 1962, pp. 21–25. Hu, Cai. “Wang Wenshi’s Short Story: ‘The Night of the Snowstorm’.” Yanhe, vol. 4, no. 9, 1959, pp. 32–37. Li, Cong. “‘Not That Road’ and Its Criticism.” Journal of Literature and Art, vol. 6, no. 2, 1954, pp. 8–14. Li, Peikun. “Li Zhun’s Works.” Reviews on Young Writers’ Works, vol. 1, China Youth Press, 1956, pp. 17–29. Li, Xifan. “The Ideology and Art of Builders of a New Life.” The Newspaper of Literature and Art, vol. 12, no. 17–18, 1960, pp. 22–25. Lin, Jiaping. “Discussion on the ‘Foreword’.” Liberation Daily, 29 January 1961. Mao, Dun. Review of Short Stories in 1960. China Youth Press, 1961. Rong, An. “Zhao Shuli: Writing for Masses.” Liberation Daily, 4 October 1949. Shao, Quanlin and Ge Qin. “Changes in Li Village.” Selected Readings in Literature, edited by Shao Quanlin and Ge Qin, Shanghai SDX Joint Publishing Company, 1949, pp. 304–307. Song, Shuang. “Striving to Portray Socialist Characters: Ma Feng’s Short Stories in the Past Ten Years.” The Newspaper of Literature and Art, vol. 12, no. 7, 1960, pp. 22–28. Wang, Wenshi. “A Writer’s Self-Introduction: Answer to the Editorial Board of Literary Knowledge.” Literary Knowledge, vol. 2, no. 11, 1959, pp. 2–5. Yan, Gang. “A Good Story with Humor and Vividness: Ma Feng’s Short Story ‘I Knew All Along.” Journal of Literature and Art, vol. 10, no. 11, 1958, pp. 28–34. Yan, Jiayan. “The Image of Liang San in Builders of a New Life.” Literary Review, vol. 5, no. 3, 1961, pp. 63–69. Yan, Jiayan. “The Image of Liang Shengbao and the Creation of New Hero.” Literature Review, vol. 8, no. 4, 1964, pp. 16–36. Zheng, Boqi. “A Kaleidoscope of Rural Cooperative Movement: Introduction to Wang Wenshi’s Short Story Collection The Night of the Snowstorm.” People’s Literature, vol. 10, no. 12, 1958, pp. 88–90.

4

Revolutionary War Fiction

The greatest difference between those who have experienced the war and those who are living in peacetime is whether they are accustomed to approaching literature from “the perspective of the war.” A common trend among the critics in “the Critics Circle in Liberated Areas” is their tendency to blend experiences of war with literature and to interpret literature through the lens of war. They belonged to the “war-tested generation of critics” as they had worked in press and publication for various base areas and Liberated Areas. For example, after the victory of the Anti-Japanese War, Zhou Yang led some students and teachers from Lu Xun ­Institute of Literature and Arts through the Shanxi-Chahar-Hebei border region and eventually to the northeast Liberated Areas in 1945. Lin Mohan (林默涵) worked on the publicity for the war in the Shanghai Youth Salvation Service Corps and the Eighth Route Army Battlefield Service Corps in 1937. Zhang Guangnian (张光年) led the third team of the acting troupe from the anti-Japanese guerrilla war zone in Western Shanxi to Yan’an in January 1939. Chen Huangmei worked for the literary federation of the Shanxi-Hebei-­ Shandong-Henan Border Region, a guerrilla war zone and the front line of the war, in 1947. This context perhaps influenced his perspective on literature, leading him to view Zhao Shuli’s works not just as pure literature but also as a tool to serve the revolutionary war effort, Zhao’s works reflect a part of the great change in the liberated areas from different perspectives. From the plot of the story to the mentality, action, and emotion of the characters, we don’t see anything unnatural or pretentious. Why is that? It is simply because he has a clear political stance. Besides, he has lived and fought together with the characters in his fiction, so the feelings and thoughts he expressed on behalf of the peasants could easily resonate with readers. This is what the intellectuals, writers, and artists should learn first. (Chen Huangmei, People’s Daily) Here, Chen clearly attached great importance to the fact that Zhao lived and fought together with peasants and, in doing so, he also highlighted the high consistency between his literary criticism and the revolutionary war. DOI: 10.4324/9781003565031-6

60  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction 4.1 The Origin of Revolutionary War Fiction Before the founding of the People’s Republic of China, the concept of Revolutionary War Fiction was not well-defined at first as the prospect of the war was unclear and critics were living in turmoil. In his speech, “The New Literature and Art of People (⟪新的人民的文艺⟫),” at the First Chinese National Congress of Writers and Artists in Beiping (now Beijing) on 5 July 1949, Zhou Yang reminded writers and critics, “we cannot forget to highlight the great people’s army of the great era” (361). The war had just ended, but writers who went through the war still had no time to turn their memories into vivid literary works. When Wang Ke (王珂) ­published an article on “Zhaoyang” – the literary supplement of Guangming Daily – to review the novel, New Biography of Heroes and Heroines (⟪新儿女英雄传⟫), on 10 October 1949; he adopted the usual approach in fiction criticism.1 As more and more works of Revolutionary War Fiction emerged, such as Sun Li’s Wind and Cloud in the Early Days of That War (⟪风云初记⟫, 1951–1963), Du Pengcheng’s (杜鹏程) Defending Yan’an (⟪保卫延安⟫, 1954), Liu Zhixia’s (知侠) The Railway Guerrillas (⟪铁道游击队⟫, 1954), Gao Yunlan’s (高云览) Annuals of a Provincial Town (⟪小城春秋⟫, 1956), Wu Qiang’s (吴强) Red Sun (⟪红日⟫, 1957), Qu Bo’s (曲波) Tracks in the Snowy Forest (⟪林海雪原⟫, 1957), and Liang Bin’s (梁斌) Keep the Red Flag Flying (⟪红旗谱⟫, 1957), critics started noticing that a new ideological and aesthetic trend was gradually coming into being. However, the phrase, “revolutionary history,” was not officially introduced until Mao Dun included it in a report on the Third Council of the Chinese Writers’ Federation in 1960. Although Revolutionary War Fiction was named later than Rural Fiction, some new insights could be found in the criticism of specific writers. Ouyang Wenbin (欧阳文斌) comments in review of Junqing’s (峻青) short stories, “Junqing’s ­stories can always take us back to the rough times of the war and inspire the strong fighting spirit and deep respect for heroes from the bottom of our heart” (13). The significance of these stories is not about the “memory” but the guidance and educational effect on the people in peacetime (14). To this end, he introduces the concepts of “sublimity” and “greatness.” In Feng Jiannan’s view, the implications of “sublimity” and “greatness” in such war fiction should be reinforced by a certain tragic element and the portrayal of heroes: Most of his [Junqing’s] works are drawn from the lives and struggles of ­people in the old revolutionary base areas of the Jiaodong Peninsula, with which he is very familiar. He is good at telling touching stories that occurred during the most disastrous and fierce revolutionary wars and class struggles. He ­[Junqing] often concentrates on creating heroic images of ordinary but remarkable revolutionary fighters who could withstand the challenge of blood and fire. (“The Characterization of Heroes” 70) The portrayal of these heroes, such as those Feng cited from “The Riverbank at Dawn (⟪黎明的河边⟫)” and “Old Water Buffalo Grandpa (⟪老水牛爷爷⟫),” has two outstanding characteristics: first, demonstrating their bravery, which is

Revolutionary War Fiction  61 apparently a common style and mood in Junqing’s heroic stories; second, idealizing them by adding some romantic touches, namely, the features of legends and folk tales, to his stories. Without the techniques of revolutionary romanticism, there would be no ideal or passion for revolution, and the style and atmosphere of ­Junqing’s short stories would then have been “drastically altered” (Feng, “The Characterization of Heroes” 71). What has been delineated so far is the historical scope of Revolutionary War Fiction, namely, the “revolutionary wars” led by the Communist Party in different periods. Thematically speaking, war fiction often aims to showcase the sublime, noble, and tragic ideals and passions of heroic characters, while also exploring feasible artistic forms, such as the use of romantic techniques to develop and d­ epict these characters. Given the complexity of the revolutionary war and the lack of ­relevant theoretical terminology, critics often drew different conclusions while commenting on literary works written in different styles. Consequently, people seldom, if ever, could reach a consensus on the tragic nature of revolutionary literature. 4.2 Criticism of Red Sun, Keep the Red Flag Flying, and Red Crag Red Sun (⟪红日⟫), Keep the Red Flag Flying (⟪红旗谱⟫), and Red Crag (⟪红 岩⟫) became widely known as the “Red Trilogy” largely due to their coverage of the history of the Liberation War, the National Revolution, and the underground struggle in Chongqing during the late 1940s. Their authors went through these historical moments personally, so they themselves and others around them became the prototypes of characters in their novels. Amid the strong atmosphere of “facilitating an education of revolutionary history” on youth as the government advocated in the 1950s and 1960s, both the conception and writing of novels were initially interspersed with the traces of “oral history.” Wu Qiang2 points out, During the War of Resistance against Japan and the Liberation War, I wanted to write something, but I always felt that I didn’t have a solid grip either in politics or art. Whenever I picked up the pen, I was nervous to address the key themes of major wars or our struggle with enemies … After the liberation of China, my impulsive interest in writing grew much stronger. (“Several Thoughts” 33–34) However, duplicating the dictations and recollections of those who have experienced the war in novels doesn’t work. Using a romantic approach, as Wu found, turns out to be quite effective under such circumstances. He repeatedly brainstormed and specifically considered drawing what is needed from the sea of life for the portrayal of typical characters, regardless of the historical facts of the war but in full accordance with artistic standards. He intended to write up a well-conceived story free from the constraints of historical facts (“Preface” 2). In his article, “Battle Hymn of the Revolution and Ode to Heroes,” Feng Mu keenly observes the traces of transition in some works from their initial oral history to official history, arguing that Red Sun is “one of the few successful novels in

62  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction recent years which positively and extensively reflected the life of the revolutionary army and the history of the revolutionary war” (34). He states that Red Sun depicts both the tragic and fierce battle and the grand military strategy, establishing the images of combatants full of vigor and vitality and the image of wise senior commanders as well, celebrating both the revolutionary heroism of brave soldiers and the deep and sincere comraderies in the revolutionary army. What’s more, its depiction covers the front-line battlefield and the rearguard action, the post-battle break and recuperation of troops, army and people, war and peace, and hate and love (35). As he admits in the article, Feng feels like being “in the scene” because “the life described in the novel is just like the one I have experienced” (35). According to He Qifang (何其芳),3 constructing a revolutionary history in a novel is no easy task. Unlike Tracks in the Snowy Forest (⟪林海雪原⟫) which is about a “legendary” special war, Red Sun deals directly with a regular war, which is a tough challenge in itself. But he is dissatisfied that Red Sun relies on the plain narrative simply for the sake of authenticity. “In the novel,” he notes, there is an ideological problem which burdens the whole army, but the solution to the problem almost depends exclusively on the lessons from the subsequent battles rather than the political and ideological education within the army. What He suggests here is that a historical narration like this is somewhat superficial, and there is room for improvement. (“I See the Improvement of Our Art” 53) Unlike Wu Qiang, the author of Red Sun, who worked in the Political Department in the army, Liang Bin (梁斌),4 the author of Keep the Red Flag Flying, was a “local resident” of Baoding, where the novel is set. Therefore, even though L ­ iang’s historical narrative has a touch of epic, it is also rife with retrospection and introspection. In other words, it has a distinctive native quality. In “How I Wrote Keep the Red Flag Flying,” he says that what inspired him to write such a novel is his first-hand experience of the hardships in his hometown since his childhood and his conviction to “record these heart wrenching historical events and pass them on to the next generation” (32). According to Feng Jiannan, Keep the Red Flag Flying “shows the life before and after the First Revolutionary Civil War by describing the lives and struggles of the peasants and intellectuals on the Central Hebei Plain” (Feng, “On Keep the Red Flag Flying” 24). What has made the novel thrilling is the “huge statue” – Zhu Laozhong (朱老忠), who embodies and enhances the heroism of Chinese peasants (Feng, “On Keep the Red Flag Flying” 23). Like Feng Jiannan, Zhou Yang was inclined to integrate peasants’ resistance closely with the history of the Chinese Revolution. “The character Zhu Laozhong,” he writes, “epitomizes peasants’ animosity toward landlords for generations and their demand for revolution, which has been both inspired and encouraged by the Party… That was the leading role of the CCP during the First Revolutionary Civil War” (“About the Image of Zhu Laozhong,” People’s Daily). Mao Dun, however, preferred to consider Liang Bin as an excellent writer who wrote Keep the Red Flag Flying with a vigorous but straight style that generated so much local flavor

Revolutionary War Fiction  63 without the aid from local dialects. In Mao’s view, the novel is mostly cogent, but it plays up certain parts of the plot in order to create an atmosphere. Despite its deep immersion in the constant scenes of the cruel and complex class struggle, one could feel the resounding tone of revolutionary optimism and experience the robustness and assertiveness of the entire novel. The “local” perspective adopted by the author does not diminish the artistic value of the novel (“The Artistic Style of Keep the Red Flag Flying” 5). The first draft of Red Crag by Luo Guangbin (罗广斌) and Yang Yiyin (杨益言) was more like a real written record of the underground struggle in Chongqing. With the help from many people and after three revisions, the “literariness” of the novel was greatly enhanced. Sure, the final version of the novel received the endorsement from every reader, but anyone who is familiar with the process of literary writing knows that Red Crag should have “a history of revision” first before getting “a history of criticism.” The editor-in-charge, Zhang Yu (张羽), recalls in an article: The revision of the novel started right after a discussion of the manuscript. On March 28, the editorial staff and the author talked about the title of the novel. At the time, the total number of titles brought by the author and the staff was over ten, such as The Great Wall Underground, Red Crag and ­Alpenglow, Red Crag and Billow, Red Crag and Dawn, All the Thousand Hills Shine Red, The Riptide, The Fire Underground, and Raging Waves in Jialing… In the end, Red Crag was chosen as the title based on the input from all sides as Red Crag Village in Chongqing used to be the site where the Delegation of the Communist Party of China once stayed and the headquarters of the Southern Bureau of the CPC Central Committee stationed (59). In a broad sense, the title, Red Crag, sets the keynote, and adds a finishing touch, for the novel (Zhang 59). After its publication, Red Crag is touted by the literary circle as a touching textbook for the youth to learn about the traditions of revolution. For example, the “Editors’ Note” of China Youth Daily on 17 February 1962 states that Red Crag “is a lively textbook for young people to learn more about the traditions of revolution and communist morality.” An article entitled “The Most Impressive Textbook on Communism” argues that “Red Crag is a book about sacrifice. It is the most fascinating textbook for us to learn from outstanding communists” (Luo 16).5 Another critic Zhu Zhai writes, Red Crag attracts a lot of readers, tugs at their revolutionary heartstrings and stirs up their political enthusiasm for class struggles and their greater strength for the socialist construction on various jobs. At the editorial office of the publisher, we read many letters from the readers of Red Crag, in which they express the same feelings about the novel and regard it as a moving textbook of revolution. If “a literary work is a textbook of life,” then Red Crag is a textbook of revolutionary life. (“On Keep the Red Flag Flying” 64)

64  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction In the literary criticism of “Revolutionary War Fiction,” there are few articles that compare a novel to a “textbook.” What seems discernible is that people perceive Red Crag, at least in the ideological sense, at a level higher than Red Sun and Keep the Red Flag Flying. It is not just an extra-curricular reading book because it has been deeply involved in media’s construction of the intellectual world of young people. 4.3 The Aesthetics in Sun Li’s Fiction In the 1950s and 1960s, Sun Li’s fiction won the favor of critics because of his aesthetic style. Born in Anping County, Hebei Province, Sun Li (1913–2002) used several pen names, including Ling Dongping (林冬苹), Tubao (土豹), Zonggeng (纵耕), and Gengtang (耕堂). At the age of 12, Sun went to Anping County with his father for the upper class of primary school, thus starting his exposure to the May 4th New Literature there. While studying in Yude Secondary School, he published his articles in Yude Monthly. In 1936, Sun taught at a primary school in Baiyangdian, Anxin County. In winter 1937, he joined the Anti-Japanese War in his hometown, where he served as the publicity director of the People’s Armed SelfDefense Association, an instructor at the College for Anti-Japanese War in central Henan, and a reporter and editor at the news agency of Fuping in the ShanxiChahar-Hebei anti-Japanese military bases. In 1944, Sun went to Luyi for further education and published “Lotus Creek (⟪荷花淀⟫),” “Wheat Harvest (⟪麦收⟫),” and other works. In 1949, he worked for Tianjin Daily and wrote a novella, The Blacksmith and the Carpenter (⟪铁木前传⟫). Sun Li’s Revolutionary War Fiction is not permeated with the smoke of gunpowder or splashed with scenes of bloody wars. Instead, he is best at depicting the simple and natural daily life. Compared with other works of Revolutionary War Fiction, his idyllic and elegant narrative really has a unique style of its own. More interestingly, such a “superfluous man” in the “revolutionary literature”6 doesn’t become the target of criticism. On the contrary, critics fully explore and disseminate the aesthetics in Sun Li’s fiction. Mao Dun comments on Sun appreciatively: [Sun’s] essays are highly lyrical. Although his fiction does not care much about textual structure, it never seems random or complicated. He represents the winds of rapid changes with an imperturbable calm. His advantage is that he could be funny, but not frivolous. (“The Style of Sun Li’s Writings” 14) In his article, “Reflections on Sun Li’s Works,” Huang Qiuyun (黄秋耘)7 shares his thought on Sun Li’s fiction. Even though most of Sun’s writings are fiction, as Huang put it well, they retain the kind of artistic charm that readers can usually encounter in poetry and music. And they are as appealing as poetry and music since some of them could be easily read as lyric poems. This should be attributed to his extraordinary artistic techniques. “His use of literary language, alone, may be a sufficient proof of his masterly ability and ingenuity. Sun Li’s literary language could

Revolutionary War Fiction  65 be regarded as a language of beauty” (Huang 17). However, Sun Li’s fiction does not merely indulge in the expression of emotions. What it does best is revealing the goodness of humanity and the candid friendship through the minute details from human interaction during the war. In Sun’s short story, “Reflection of Life in the Rural Area (⟪山地回忆⟫),” a peasant from Fuping County pays a visit to Tianjin after the founding of the New China. The idea of buying a few feet of fabric, which seems no more than a trivial detail in daily life, triggers his sweet memory of his landlord’s daughter during the Anti-Japanese War. In Huang’s view, this is actually a kind of experience to which many people could easily relate, In our generation, many of us have, more or less, experienced the hardships of war and received the care and help, in one way or another, from the p­ eople in the war zone. So, every time we read stories like this, we can’t help thinking about many events in the past, remembering the people we lost, and savoring the wonderful affection and friendship. This is how Sun’s fiction builds up its strong artistic appeal. What may really touch the heart of the reader is the moments where the beauty of human nature and affection among the working people is reinvigorated and the strong and flesh-and-blood class bonding is celebrated (17). Also, critics affirm the aesthetic effect of Sun Li’s Revolutionary War Fiction from an artistic perspective. According to Feng Jiannan, Sun is particularly adept at portraying young rural women and girls, such as Shuisheng’s wife and her companions in “Lotus Creek (⟪荷花淀⟫),” Shuisheng’s wife in “Instructions (⟪嘱咐⟫),” Wu Zhaoer in “Wu Zhaoer (⟪吴召儿⟫),” and Niu’er in “Reflection of Life in the Rural Area,” all of whom are lifelike and energetic, exemplifying the intelligence, beauty, compassion, and bravery of Chinese women (Feng, “The Art of Sun Li” 12). In addition to characterization, Feng claims that Sun excels in scenery descriptions as well. He acclaims, The first paragraph of “Reed Mashes (⟪芦花荡⟫)” is so distinctive! The trait of the reed pond is fully captured by the author. What is amazing is that this reed pond is depicted through the enemy’s “blank staring.” It is just surprising to see such a place under the enemy’s watch where the scenery is picturesque, but the enemy soldiers might take every bush for a bugbear because they are so scared. Within an environment like this, the hero is in a favorable position for the use of his skills. The description of old man’s ease and leisure, self-confidence and self-esteem, revenge and triumph could be presented naturally and magically. (“The Art of Sun Li” 13) In his article, “Sun Li’s Baiyangdian Chronicle,” Guo Zhigang (郭志刚) points out that Sun is a writer who used to live in rural China for a long time. Baiyangdian Chronicle (⟪白洋淀纪事⟫) includes 54 short stories and essays, most of which

66  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction have no intense dramatic conflict or intricate plot. Like the lotus flowers on the lake of Baiyangdian and the crops on the Central Hebei Plain, his stories and essays ­attract readers with their delicate fragrance, beautiful stamen and pistil, and refreshing flavor. For example, “Lunar January (⟪正月⟫)” is noted for its description of local life. In approximately 5,000–6,000 words, the story reveals the changes between two different eras through the marriages of an elderly woman’s three daughters. At the age of 13, the eldest daughter is sold to a peddler from Henan Province and lives a humble life of following behind with her husband as he carries a peddler’s load on the shoulder from one place to another. At the age of 14, the second daughter is sold to a man who works in a gambling house. After her marriage, she cares about nothing but eating and idling. Once her husband dies, she fools around with others. The third daughter, Duoer (多儿), is lucky to live during a better time all because her hometown in central Henan joins the Anti-Japanese War from the very beginning. Using the two elder daughters’ marriages as a backdrop, the story unfolds its narrative on the key details about the third daughter’s marriage: first, no matchmaker is involved because she chooses Liu Defa (刘德发), the vice chairman of the Da Guan Ting Farmers’ Association, as her husband; second, no dowries are requested, except for a new model loom; third, no bridal sedan chair is ordered because she and Defa arrive at their wedding on the horseback. “Wedding ceremony in a family,” as Guo observes, “is quite ordinary. Even a new type of wedding like Duoer’s is not so rare in the anti-Japanese base area in mid-Hebei. In Sun Li’s narrative, however, everything is depicted in such a poetic and interesting way.” Why is that? In Guo’s judgment, it is simply because Sun Li is adept at cultivating the rich source of life and representing truthfully the scenes of life at that time (Guo, Guangming Daily). In the early 1960s, as an adjustment of radical thoughts and policies was under way in socio-economic fields, a discussion of some aesthetic concepts, such as “striking a chord” and “beauty of humanity,” ensued in the circle of literature and art shortly afterward, which might have a direct impact on the affirmation of the lyrical style in Sun’s fiction. However, critics expressed some different opinions in their criticism of Sun’s fiction. Lin Zhihao (林志浩) and Zhang Bingyan (张炳 炎) compare Sun’s works with those of Xiao Yemu and link the aesthetic values of Sun’s works to the “petty bourgeois tendencies” in Xiao Yemu’s novels: What we have seen, regrettably, in Sun’s writings is a clearly unhealthy trend, that is, “observing life based on the concept and taste of the petty bourgeoisie.” As a result, his stories, with the exception of a few ones like “Lotus Creek,” tend to vulgarize the positive characters’ emotions. Or worse, the description of rural women forcibly splits their personality and turns them into the characters who act in the proletarian revolution but still retain the emotions and interests of the petty bourgeoisie. The most brazen examples can be found in “The Bell (⟪钟⟫)” and “Instructions (⟪嘱咐⟫).” The same tendency is also notably present in the stories he wrote in recent years, such as “Village Anthem (⟪村歌⟫)” and “Xiao Sheng’ er (⟪小胜儿⟫).” (Lin and Zhang, Guangming Daily)

Revolutionary War Fiction  67 Chu Baichun (楚白纯) points out bluntly that Sun Li is not good at writing about positive characters. In his novel, Wind and Cloud in the Early Days of That War, Sun Li’s representation of positive characters is inadequate. The novel is riddled with various shortcomings due to the incorrect treatment of its positive characters, the incoherence in its structure, and the sloppiness in some of its chapters (Chu 21). For some critics, aesthetics might not necessarily be a leading quality in Revolutionary War Fiction. Conversely, it should play a collaborative role in the portrayal of positive characters or serve as an embellishment for heroic characters rather than something dominant. 4.4 The Controversy over Song of Youth The author of Song of Youth, Yang Mo (1914–1995), had a distinguished writing career.8 Though a veteran of the Anti-Japanese War, she carried some strong sentiments of the petty bourgeoisie. The novel is about the life during the December 9th Movement in Beiping (now Beijing) on the eve of the war. The main character, Lin Daojing (林道静), and others around her are romantic young intellectuals, even though Lin ends up becoming a young woman yearning for revolution. In fact, the contradictions present in the author’s character lay the groundwork for discussions of the work, which is a source of much controversy. After its publication in 1958, Song of Youth was selected as a “gift book” in celebrating the tenth anniversary of the founding of the People’s Republic of China, and it received an enthusiastic response from the reading public. Before long, though, articles with critical assessment of the novel appeared in China Youth Daily and Journal of Literature and Art. A reader named Guo Kai (郭开) clearly dislikes the style of the novel and lays out three reasons: first, the petty bourgeois sentiment runs rife in the novel; second, Lin Daojing never integrates herself earnestly with the masses of workers and peasants; third, the author never depicts the process of the intellectuals’ reform seriously or realistically (37). Guo even writes, infuriatedly, that the novel mentions, at its outset, Lin Daojing’s determination to earn a living independently, but after merely a few failures in her job hunting, Lin imprudently accepts Yu Yongze’s selfish love and his request for her to be a housewife. “Obviously, it is a submission to the petty bourgeois sentimentalism, to which the author offers no critical response at all” (Guo 37). In Guo’s belief, the problem of Song of Youth lies in its extra coverage of the intellectual youth and its overemphasis on their roles while neglecting their relationship with workers and peasants. “Readers might be led to mistake the intellectual youth at the time as the main force in the revolution” (Guo 38). The warning from Guo is that “if young intellectuals fail to integrate themselves with the masses of workers and peasants, they can achieve nothing” (Guo 37). Guo states, sarcastically, that “growing up in a big landlord family, Lin Daojing receives a bourgeois education, so her chance to be a proletarian intellectual is pretty slim” (Guo 39). Although she is influenced by Lu Jiachuan and joins the Communist Party during the anti-Japanese and National Salvation Movement, Lin’s ideology does not go through a transition from one class to another. Instead, her concepts of

68  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction individualism and individual heroism are deeply rooted in her mind. Guo’s resentment toward the portrayal of Lin Daojing is conveyed candidly in her claim, that it, “if the author does not intend to smear the heroes of Communists, at least she seems to have done that unconsciously” (Guo 40).9 In contrast to the indignation of this young critic Guo Kai, the criticism of the novel from He Qifang, Mao Dun, Ba Ren (王任叔), Ma Tieding (马铁丁), and Yuan Ying (袁鹰), published in China Youth, Journal of Literature and Art, ­People’s Daily, and China Youth Daily, is quite mild as some of the critics offer their support and understanding. Mao Dun, for one, points out, What Song of Youth reflects is the facts, which happened more than twenty years ago. To understand this novel properly, we must know everything that took place at that time, especially the thoughts of the young students. If we don’t try to find out the unfamiliar historical facts, but subjectively evaluate everything that occurred twenty years ago by the standards of today, we would stumble into the mistakes of anti-historicism. (“How Do We Evaluate Song of Youth” 23) Hence, here, Mao Dun formally raises a question, “How should we evaluate Song of Youth?,” and uses it as the title of his article. In his article, “Song of Youth Cannot Be Denied,” He Qifang defends Yang Mo, stating that when Lin Daojing escapes to Beidaihe, the author describes how much this young girl, who is full of fantasies about life, loves the sea and then depicts, in length, the ugly realities that are incongruous with the beautiful landscape. He Qifang questions Guo Kai’s accusation that Yang Mo fails to criticize the petty bourgeois emotions but shows her sympathy instead. “Is the abovementioned description, in which the author’s idea and intent are clearly stated, still not adequate? Should the author step out to do some preaching directly?” (“Song of Youth Cannot Be Denied” 30). In the response to Guo Kai’s condemnation of Lin Daojing’s inclination for “individual heroism” and “fantasy,” Ma Tieding10 claims that as the story evolves, Lin’s obsession with individual heroism and her unrealistic fantasy diminish gradually or, in other words, they have been overcome by Lin herself to a large extent. She complies with the arrangements of the Party, fulfills her duty as a small screw for the revolutionary cause, and enjoys doing trivial jobs like washing clothes, cooking meals, and delivering mail. Besides, “fantasy is not necessarily bad a­ fter all. It could be a positive factor if it is forward-looking rather than backward-­ looking” (37). Judging in the context of the literary criticism from 1949 to 1959, this “wave of controversy” is actually an expansion and extension of the discussion on “whether or not we can write about the petty bourgeoisie” back in 1950. After 1949, the depiction of intellectuals in literary writing became taboo and was repeatedly discouraged through various campaigns, although these efforts had limited success. The reason is that the majority of the critics in contemporary literature were “­intellectuals” themselves who shared the same life experiences as Lin Daojing’s

Revolutionary War Fiction  69 life experience of growing up from being a “regular person” to becoming a “revolutionary.” Asking them to negate Lin’s petty bourgeois emotions is no different from negating the meaning of their life. What is worth noting here is that while critiquing literary works that represent the life in the past, these well-known critics prefer to approach various issues from a historical perspective, rather than copying the fashionable concepts at the time like their young counterparts. Interestingly, apart from Mao Dun, He Qifang and Ma Tieding were all members of the “Critics Circle in Liberated Areas.” Notes 1 The critics at that times were interested in its relationship with the past Chinese fiction and analyzed the differences in detail. 2 Wu Qiang (1910–1990), formerly known as Wang Datong, was born in Lianshui County, Jiangsu Province. He joined the League of Leftist Writers and published his short story, “Telegraph Pole” (⟪电报杆⟫) on Taibai in 1933. While studying at Henan University, he published his short story “Under the Torrent” (⟪激流下⟫), an essay “Night Walk” (⟪夜行⟫) and other works on Ta Kung Pao and Literary Position. He joined the New Fourth Army in southern Anhui and worked on political publicity in the army in 1938. His novel Red Sun was published by China Youth Press in 1957. 3 He Qifang (1912–1977), a poet and literary critic, was born in Wanxian, Sichuan Province. He graduated from the Philosophy Department of Peking University in 1935. He taught at Lu Xun Institute of Literature and Artsin Yan’an and joined the Party in 1938. He had served as the vice minister of the Propaganda Department of Sichuan Provincial Party Committee, vice president of Xinhua News Agency, and Director of the Institute of Literature of the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences. 4 Liang Bin, formerly known as Liang Weizhou, was born in Liang jia zhuang, Lixian County, Hebei Province. In 1930, he studied at the Second Provincial Baoding Normal School where he participated in patriotic movements and experienced the peasant revolutionary struggle in his hometown. He published his novel Talking at Night (⟪夜之交 流⟫), which depicted the “rebellion of Gaoyang and Lixian” in Hebei, on Lingding, the publication of the League of Leftist Writers. During the war, he joined the revolution and engaged in the underground struggle. In 1942, Liang wrote the short story, “The Father of Three Bolsheviks” (⟪三个布尔什维克的爸爸⟫), which was expanded into the novella, Father. He moved southward with the army and became a leader of publicity and journalism in Wuhan in 1948. After the founding of the People’s Republic of China, Liang served as the vice chairman of the Hebei Literary Federation and the chairman of the Hebei Branch of the China Writers’ Federation. He began to write a trilogy novel entitled Keep the Red Flag Flying in 1953. Liang published the first part in 1958, which was hailed as an epic work reflecting the revolutionary struggle of Chinese peasants and was adapted into a movie. The second part, Sparks of Revolution, was published in 1962. The third part, Flames of War, came out in 1983. 5 Luo Sun (1912–1996), formerly known as Kong Fanyan, was born in Shanghai. He finished his study at Harbin University of Political Science and Law in 1930. He participated in building the All-Chinese Writers Association during the war. After the founding of the People’s Republic of China, Luo served in the Nanjing Literary Federation and the Shanghai Literary Federation. He was the editor-in-chief of The Newspaper of Literature and Art and the executive secretary of the Secretariat of the Chinese Writers Association. 6 See more in Yang Lianfen’s book, Sun Li: The “Superfluous Man” in “Revolutionary Literature,” China Federation of Literary and Art Circles Publishing Corporation, 2004. After the 1980s, the criticism on Sun Li’s novels tended to replace “revolutionary”

70  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction discourses with “aesthetic” ones, reflecting the rising status of pure literature and the new historical choice after the decline of left-wing literature. 7 Huang Qiuyun (1918–2001), a literary critic, was born in Hong Kong. Huang studied at Tsinghua University in 1936 and graduated from Sun Yat-Sen University in 1943. He worked for the Guangzhou Military Administration, Southern Daily, the International Department Central Committee of CPC, and the Xinhua News Agency. Huang was the acting director of Fujian Branch of Xinhua News Agency. He was transferred to the Chinese Writers Association as the executive editorial board member of Literary Study in autumn 1954. Huang joined the Chinese Writers Association in February 1956. He moved to work for The Newspaper of Literature and Art at the beginning of 1959. 8 Yang Mo (杨沫), was originally known as Yang Chengye. Her pen names were Yang Junmo (杨君默) and Yang Mo (杨默). Born in Beijing, she worked as a primary school teacher, a tutor, and a bookstore clerk. She once lived with Zhang Zhongxing (张中行), a student of Chinese literature at Peking University (the prototype of Yu Yongze in Song of Youth). Influenced by the December 9th Movement, Yang joined the war in central Henan. After the founding of the New China, she began to write her autobiographical novel, Song of Youth, while recuperating from her illness. Because of her inexperience and petty bourgeois taste, the Writers Publishing House, and China Youth Press hesitated to publish it. With the recommendation by Qin Zhaoyang, Song of Youth was finally published by China Youth Press in 1958 after several revisions. Immediately after publication, it attracted widespread attention and was well received by readers. Within a year and a half, 1.3 million copies were sold. Also, it had a large readership in Japan, Hong Kong, and Southeast Asia, with over 200,000 copies distributed in Japan alone. 9 In her article, “Several Principles of Literary Creation and Criticism on Song of Youth” (published on no. 4, 1959, The Newspaper of Literary and Art), she criticizes the aims of writing and description of history in the novel harshly. Her incise comments drew a lot of attention and led to a wide-ranging discussion of the novel. 10 Ma Tieding was the pen name used jointly by Chen Xiaoyu (陈笑雨), Zhang Tiefu (张 铁夫), and Guo Xiaochuan (郭小川) in the early 1950s when they published their “random thoughts” on Changjiang Daily, China Youth, and other newspapers or periodicals. In general, Chen Xiaoyu and Guo Xiaochuan were more interested in issues about culture, education, and art, while Zhang Tiefu focused more on agriculture. After 1957, due to their job changes, “Ma Tieding” was only used by Chen.

Works Cited Chen, Huangmei. “Towards Zhao Shuli’s Direction.” People’s Daily, 10 August 1947. Chu, Baichun. “Review of Wind and Cloud in the Early Days of That War.” Hebei Literature, vol. 2, no. 8, 1962, pp. 21–24. Feng, Mu. “Battle Hymn of the Revolution, Ode to Heroes: A Brief Discussion of the Achievements and Weaknesses of Red Sun.” The Newspaper of Literature and Art, vol. 10, no. 21, 1958, pp. 34–37. Feng, Jiannan. “On Keep the Red Flag Flying.” The Bee, vol. 30, no. 8, 1959, pp. 23–29. Feng, Jiannan. “The Art of Sun Li: Baiyangdian Chronicle.” Hebei Literature, vol. 1, no. 1, 1961, pp. 12–17. Feng, Jiannan. “The Characterization of Heroes in Junqing’s Short Stories.” Shanghai ­Literature, vol. 9, no. 7, 1961, pp. 69–72. Guo, Kai. “The Shortcomings in the Portrayal of Lin Daojing: Review of Yang Mo’s Song of Youth.” China Youth, vol. 37, no. 2, 1959, pp. 37–42. Guo, Zhigang. “On Sun Li’s Baiyangdian Chronicle.” Guangming Daily, 29 April 1978. He, Qifang. “I See the Improvement of Our Art.” Literature Research, vol. 2, no. 2, 1958, pp. 51–70. He, Qifang. “Song of Youth Cannot Be Denied.” China Youth, vol. 37, no. 5, 1959, pp. 30–33.

Revolutionary War Fiction  71 Hou, Jinjing, et al. “Veteran Soldiers Recalling the Past: A Summary of the Symposium on Keep the Red Flag Flying.” The Newspaper of Literature and Art, vol. 10, no. 5, 1958, pp. 18–22. Huang, Qiuyun. “A Fragmentary Reflection on Sun Li’s Works.” The Newspaper of Literature and Art, vol. 14, no. 10, 1962, pp. 16–19. Liang, Bin. “How Did I Write Keep Red Flag Flying.” Newport, vol. 7, no. 4, 1962, pp. 31–35. Lin, Zhihao and Zhang Bingyan. “Opinions on Sun Li’s Works.” Guangming Daily, 6 October 1951. Luo, Sun. “The Most Vivid Textbook of Communism.” The Newspaper of Literature and Art, vol. 14, no. 3, 1962, pp. 16–18. Ma, Tieding. “Song of Youth and Its Controversies.” The Newspaper of Literature and Art, vol. 11, no. 9, 1959, pp. 37–39. Mao, Dun. “How Do We Evaluate Song of Youth?” China Youth, vol. 37, no. 2, 1959, pp. 23–25. Mao, Dun. “The Artistic Style of Keep the Red Flag Flying.” Reflecting the Socialist Leap Forward and Promoting the Leap Forward of the Socialist Era. People’s Literature Publishing House, 1960, pp. 4–7. Mao, Dun. “The Style of Sun Li’s Writings.” Reflecting the Socialist Leap Forward and Promoting the Leap Forward of the Socialist Era. People’s Literature Publishing House, 1960, pp. 13–16. Ouyang, Wenbin. “Singing Battle Hymns Louder: About Junqing’s Short Stories.” The Newspaper of Literature and Art, vol. 14, no. 11, 1962, pp. 12–16. Wu, Qiang. “Several Thoughts on the Writing of Red Sun.” Monthly Literature and Art, vol. 6, no. 12, 1958, pp. 33–36. Wu, Qiang. “Preface to the Revised Version of Red Sun.” Ren Sun. People’s Literature Publishing House, 1959, pp. 1–6. Zhang, Yu. “The First Draft of Red Crag.” Red Crag and Me: My Story of Editing, edited by Tie Feng, China Youth Press, 2005, pp. 58–62. Zhou, Yang. “The New Literature and Art of People.” Commemorative Anthology of the First Chinese National Congress of Writers and Artists. Xinhua Bookstore, 1950, pp. 361–367. Zhou, Yang. “About the Image of Zhu Laozhong.” People’s Daily, 4 September 1960. Zhu, Zhai. “The Glory of the Revolution of the Times: Reading Red Crag.” Literary Review, vol. 7, no. 6, 1963, pp. 64–77.

5

Other Subgenres of Fiction

Apart from “Rural Fiction” and “Revolutionary War Fiction,” “Industrial Fiction” and, later, “Thawing Fiction” were also relatively popular subgenres in fiction ­writing during the 1950s and 1960s. At that time, China’s industry sector appeared to be thriving, and a large number of advanced producers emerged in crews and workshops. That is a special moment in history to launch the writing of “Industrial Fiction.” 5.1 Industrial Fiction After 1949, in order to consolidate and redistribute the resources, the Chinese ­government tried to gradually move its industrial capabilities and skilled workers from the large-scale industrial production bases, which were mainly situated in ­Anshan, Liaoning Province, and Shanghai to cities like Beijing, Wuhan, and ­Luoyang. For that reason, those who were engaged in the writing of Industrial Fiction include veteran writers like Cao Ming (草明), Du Pengcheng (杜鹏程), Ai Wu (艾芜), and many more young writers arising from the workers, such as Hu Wanchuan (胡万春), Tang Kexin (唐克新), Fei Liwen (费礼文), Lu Junchao (陆俊超), Wan Guoru (万国儒) in Shanghai,1 and a few others in Beijing and Luoyang. The concept of Industrial Fiction has a lot to do with the author’s identity, the subject matter, and style. In his letter, “To Hu Wanchun (⟪致胡万春⟫),” Mao Dun says, “it is indeed remarkable that you transform yourself from a semi-illiterate person to a writer widely recognized today within 11 years. Of course, you have been trained by the Party […] just like other tens of thousands of workers and ­peasants” (Wen Wei Po). As Zhang Zhong (张钟) and other scholars point out, the writers with workingclass backgrounds have personally experienced oppression and exploitation in the old society. Most of them were semi-illiterate at first because they had not attended school or received only minimal education. After the founding of the ­People’s ­Republic of China, they become masters both politically and culturally. With sincere and deep feelings about what they have gone through, they pick up the pens and join the ranks of literary writing. Their experiences generate some common features in the content and form of their works. Their subject matter mostly reflects the changes between the old and new societies, the contrast between workers’ old DOI: 10.4324/9781003565031-7

Other Subgenres of Fiction  73 and new destinies, and numerous figures and events from factories. Their works are imbued with the love for life and are written in a simple and clear style. Meanwhile, most of their writings manifest a progressive process from being relatively naive and rough to being more mature, and from documenting living experiences, new people, and new things to more consciously representing the realities of life (Zhang, et al. 346). Industrial Fiction is unique in its subject matter, but it doesn’t have much ideological independence in its theme, so it is often categorized into Rural Fiction and Revolutionary War Fiction. The emphasis on “class opposition” is treated as the premise of its subject. For works of Industrial Fiction, the “author’s note,” issued upon publication, is often considered the first round of criticism. In the “author’s note” for his novel in 1965, Li Yunde (李云德) explains that the novel depicts the struggles in the industrial sector in Northeast China during the War of L ­ iberation and reflects the great victory of Mao Zedong Thought in the industrial sector. He emphasizes that “the novel uses a broad-scale representation to highlight the fierce conflict between the proletariat and the bourgeoisie in the process of production ­resumption.” The theme of the novel is focused on political thought, political course. In his review, Wang Jianzhong (王建中) also places more emphasis on political thoughts, rather than the plot and characterization of the novel, with an explicit indication that the latter is supposed to serve the former (Wang 11–17). Industrial Fiction is a kind of policy-oriented subgenre in fiction writing in response to what is going on in industrial production at home. In 1979, as the national policy of “the Reform and Opening-up” began and the traditional machinery manufacturing industry in the interior region was substituted by the booming processing industry on the coastline, which turned the working class into a huge army of migrant workers, Industrial Fiction was no longer able to sustain. The swan song is Jiang Zilong’s (蒋子龙) short story, “Factory Manager Qiao Gets to Work” (⟪乔厂 长上任记⟫) and his novella, All the Colors of the Rainbow (⟪赤橙黄绿青蓝紫⟫). 5.2 Thawing Fiction The term “Thawing Fiction” comes from the Soviet writer Ehrenburg’s novel Thawing (1954), which marks the arrival of the literary and artistic spring in the thawing period of the Soviet society. With a loosening social atmosphere in 1956, young writers like Wang Meng, Liu Binyan (刘宾雁), Li Guowen (李国文), and Zong Pu (宗璞) published a few works, such as “A Young Newcomer in the ­Department of Organization Department (⟪组织部新来的青年人⟫)” and “At the Bridge Construction Site (⟪在桥梁工地上⟫),” which are designated as “Thawing Fiction” in contemporary literature. The “Thawing Fiction” written by Wang Meng and others has a sort of genetic relationship with the theme of individual emancipation and freedom in the May 4th New Literature and in Xiao Yemu’s “Between My Wife and I.” Due to the sensitivity of the subject matter, the initial criticism of these stories was full of ambiguity. Li Xifan (李希凡), a young critic, comments positively in his article that Wang Meng’s short story, “A Young Newcomer in the Department of Organization,”

74  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction which was published in People’s Literature in September 1956, deals with a very fresh theme. The author boldly touches upon the areas of life, with which people are not so familiar, and raises some questions that are worth pondering earnestly. So, it is not surprising that the story immediately attracts great attention from readers and the literary circles. Also, he states, with a little hint of disappointment, that the story shows some authenticity since it reveals the shortcomings in the District Party committee’s performance through the eyes of the character, Lin Zhen. But does all this “really reflect what is going on in the work of the Party or the struggle within the Party?” Obviously, by adopting a sarcastic and critical approach, the author deviates from truth because he describes our Party’s work and dispute as dark and ­vulgar phenomenon. In terms of its artistic and political effect, his description seems to have not only gone beyond the scope of criticism, but also reaches the level of exaggeration and distortion. (Wen Wei Po) As the comments on the story alternate between praise and reproach, it is hard to know people’s real assessment of the story at that time. Under the pressure from various criticism, Wang Meng published a self-critical article in People’s Daily (⟪人民日报⟫) on 8 May 1957, admitting that the story misrepresents or even undermines the reality of life. However, the paramount leader of China, Mao Zedong, has a favorable impression of this young writer. According to Hong Zicheng, Mao Zedong expressed his views on the short story on several occasions in early 1957. On 16 February, for instance, Mao stated, in a conversation with the principal leaders of the literary circle in Zhongnanhai, B ­ eijing, that Wang Meng’s story exposes bureaucracy, which is good, but not deeply enough. Wang’s representation is lopsided since he doesn’t write enough about the positive forces. The positive character, Lin Zhen, looks vulnerable, while the villain seems pretty lifelike. Even though Wang’s story still has the traces of petty-bourgeois ideas and inexperience, he represents a new trend in literary writing and, therefore, should be protected. (Hong 126) Here, Mao probably intends to convey his idea that literary and artistic policies should not be too strict, but more flexible instead. Another unique form of literary criticism at the time is the journal’s report on the “revision” of the story. The day after Wang Meng published his self-critical article, People’s Daily released a report entitled “Revisions of the Original Manuscript of ‘A Young Newcomer in the Department of Organization’ by the Editorial Department of People’s Literature.” The title of the original manuscript, the report writes, is “A Young Newcomer Comes to the Department of Organization (⟪组织 部新来个年青人⟫)” but changes to “A Young Newcomer in the Department of Organization (⟪组织部新来的青年人⟫)” by the editor. Several sentences in Part 5

Other Subgenres of Fiction  75 (“His life in the first ten days after joining the District Committee has accumulated more impressions and generated more questions in Lin Zhen’s mind than his two years in primary school, and many intriguing people and things are beyond his comprehension.”) are also deleted by the editor. Some descriptions of the trivial details about Liu Shiwu (刘世吾) in Part 8, such as “[he] blows out white smoke after taking a long drag on his cigarette,” “[he] speaks as if he were swallowing something,” and “[he] pulls the chair toward Lin Zhen, and the chair legs squeals,” are omitted. There are many other revisions, which would not be copied here.2 Unexpectedly, Wang Meng’s “Thawing Fiction,” which was criticized and revised before, is rehabilitated by the public 12 years later.3 Whether all the revisions or deletions from “A Young Newcomer in the Department of Organization” will be restored when it is published again in the future has to be verified through a careful examination of its new edition, but that doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is that we have finally realized that the fiction criticism between the 1950s and 1970s deviates from literary criticism and becomes more and more like social criticism, and that critics and fiction writers do not have a normal relationship at all. Interestingly, critics’ identity back then is not totally fixed. Sometimes, they might be critics from the Writers Association, or university faculty; sometimes, they might be newspaper commentators, senior managers; sometimes, criticism might come from readers’ letters; or sometimes, the critics might be the sponsors, organizers, and participants of a social movement. In a word, the study on the identity of contemporary literary critics might drum up more and more interest among people in the future. Notes 1 This is narrated with reference to An Overview of Contemporary Chinese Literature (⟪当代中国文学概观⟫) by Zhang Zhong (张钟), et al. Peking University Press, 1986. 2 At that time, it was common for someone who had made mistakes to write a report to his superiors, but it was rare to find such a report published in a newspaper. 3 This is narrated with reference to An Overview of Contemporary Chinese Literature (⟪当代中国文学概观⟫) by Zhang Zhong (张钟), et al. Peking University Press, 1986, pp. 493–494.

Works Cited Hong, Zicheng. History of Contemporary Chinese Literature. Revised edition, Peking University Press, 2008. Li, Xifan. “Comments on ‘A Young Newcomer in the Organization Department’.” Wen Wei Po, 9 February 1957. Mao, Dun (Shen Dehong). “To Hu Wanchun.” The Shanghai Mercury, 20 May 1962. The Editorial Department of People’s Literature. “Revision of the Original Manuscript of ‘A Young Newcomer in the Organization Department’ by the Editorial Department of People’s Literature.” People’s Daily, 9 May 1957. Wang, Jianzhong. “The Triumph of Mao Zedong’s Revolutionary Line – Comment on Mountains Astir.” Journal of Liaoning University, vol. 14, no. 1, 1973, pp. 11–17. Zhang, Zhong, et al. An Overview of Contemporary Chinese Literature. Peking University Press, 1986.

6

The Dalian Conference and the “Theory of Middle Character”

The Dalian Conference is particularly significant in the history of contemporary Chinese fiction criticism simply because it is the third conference intended to rectify the “ultra-leftist” tendency in literature after the “Xinqiao Conference” (新桥 会议) and “Guangzhou Conference” (广州会议). The “theory of middle character” (中间人物论) proposed at the conference captured everyone’s attention because it served as a “redress” for the normal literary writing. At the time, however, both the organizers and participants of the conference merely regarded it as an ordinary symposium on literature. 6.1 Before and after the Conference From 2 to 16 August, 1962, the Chinese Writers Association (CWA) held a symposium in Dalian on the short-story writing about rural life. Picking up what was left off at the “Xinqiao Conference” and the “Guangzhou Conference,” this conference facilitated a discussion of the issues that went slightly beyond the short-story writing about rural areas and touched upon the general literary writing about rural life. The purpose was to rectify the formulaic tendency in the Rural Fiction writing to deviate itself from life and the characters for a period of time. Sixteen writers and critics from eight provinces and cities, including Zhao Shuli, Kang Zhuo, Hou Jinjing (侯金镜), Zhou Libo (周立波), Li Zhun, and Xi Rong attended the conference. Since Mao Dun was recuperating in Dalian at that time, the venue and time of the conference were thus decided for convenience. Mao Dun and Zhou Yang delivered a speech at the conference, which was presided over by Shao Quanlin, vice chairman and secretary of the Party Group of the CWA. The Rural Fiction writing has always been a relatively sensitive sphere. A case in point is the divergent opinions on “the Orientation of Zhao Shuli” in the early 1950s as well as the criticism and debate surrounding his short story, “Exercise,” and his novel, Three Mile Bay (⟪三里湾⟫). Later, critics regarded the vivid portrayal of “laggards among peasants” in the fiction by Li Zhun, Wang Wenshi (王汶石), and Ma Feng (马烽) as a “problem.” In the meantime, Yan Jiayan questioned the authenticity of Liang Shengbao, a character in Liu Qing’s Builders of a New Life (⟪创 业史⟫), but praised the traditional peasant image of an old man Liang San (梁三), DOI: 10.4324/9781003565031-8

The Dalian Conference and the “Theory of Middle Character”  77 another character in the novel. All this touched upon how to evaluate the Rural Cooperative Movement and “People’s Commune Movement,” how to define the “advanced figures” and “laggards among peasants” (i.e., the “middle characters”), who emerged from the rural reforms, and how to address issues like “role models,” “subject matter,” and the “beauty of human feelings.” Literary policies attempted to unify literary writing on a preset track, while those who emphasized the usual patterns in writing wished to break through all kinds of rules.1 the writing method of “integrating revolutionary realism with revolutionary romanticism” was proposed. As a result, Rural Fiction was naturally constrained in depicting the original countryside and the image of traditional peasants. Writers like Zhao Shuli were among the first to bear the brunt of this restriction. Obviously, what happened at the Dalian Conference was merely a continuation of a longstanding and still unresolved literary debate. The Dalian Conference was organized, as noted by Hong Zicheng, with great care and thorough preparation well in advance (3–4). As per the assignment from the conference, Hou Jinjing and Kang Zhuo read through almost all the short stories about rural life in those years. Kang Zhuo wrote a long article, “A Review of the Short Stories in Recent Years,” on Rural Fiction afterward. His article, which is written with a special setup that starts from an investigation and then lays out the facts for reasoning, offers a survey of what is actually going on in the short-story writing about rural areas, rather than a preconceived idea with factual verification. Moreover, the article doesn’t criticize the pompous style in these short stories but instead speaks highly of Zhao Shuli’s three short stories, “Old Quota” (⟪老定 额⟫), “The Hands That Cannot Wear Gloves” (⟪套不住的手⟫), and “The Doer Pan Yongfu” (⟪实干家潘永福⟫), for the portrayal of Pan Yongfu-type characters, whose common quality is their ability to “avoid any flamboyant behavior, follow the laws of life closely, and act strictly based on realities. Therefore, Zhao’s characterization really deserves high praise” (qtd. in Zhu 384). In Kang’s view, Zhao Shuli himself is a “doer” in short-story writing and the most outstanding and solid master of short story. While applauding Zhao’s concept of realist writing, Kang doesn’t hesitate to criticize the excessive expression of romanticism. Also, his article has some positive comments on Ma Feng’s “Three Years of Knowing” (⟪三年早知道⟫) and Liu Shude’s (刘澍德) “An Old Stubborn Peasant” (⟪老牛筋⟫). Kang’s speech at this conference appears to be quite representative in that it reflects the core theme of the conference and enthusiastically echoes Shao Quanlin’s “theory of deepening realism” and “theory of middle character.”2 The Dalian Conference took place during the interval of a radical ideological trend that lasted for a long period. To this end, more than two years after the conference, The Newspaper of Literature and Art was instructed to launch a repudiation of Shao Quanlin with much fanfare, emphasizing that “[t]his is not a general debate on literary theory, but a dispute between the socialist and anti-socialist literary thoughts, and between right and wrong.”

78  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction 6.2 The “Theory of Middle Character” Endorsed by Mao Dun In the fiction criticism of the 1950s and 1960s, Mao Dun sometimes found himself in an awkward position because his concept of criticism after the May 4th Movement was always in line with the literary writing of realism. Consequently, his literary views coincided with Shao Quanlin’s, implicitly but sensitively, during this unusual time. As a great critic, Mao Dun’s attitude at this conference was pivotal. He had previously written an article, affirming Zhao Shuli’s achievements. In his “Annual Review of Fiction,” he was obviously in favor of the view that young and middle-aged writers should write about daily life and truth. The fact that the conference was scheduled at the time when Mao Dun was recuperating in Dalian, so he attended and delivered a speech in person, clearly indicating his support for the conference. According to Hong Zicheng, Mao Dun also took the initiative to chime in at the conference on several occasions. On August 2, when Zhao Shuli spoke about the shortage of supplies in society because of the grandiose atmosphere Mao Dun interjected sarcastically: “It is not easy to buy a chicken feather duster in 1960, because all dusters are used to clean the wind box.” On August 3, Li Zhun mentioned that Henan Province’s economic foundation was pretty poor, but cities like Pingdingshan, Sanmenxia, Hegang, Zhengzhou, and Luoyang wasted a lot of resources after abruptly taking on industrial projects one after another. Mao Dun cut in, “That’s overly grandiose.” On August 5, after Zhao Shuli, Hou Jinjing, and Li Zhun criticized some works of fiction for the improper portrayal of positive characters, Mao Dun went on to say, “Our writing does not start from policy now, but from life and represents its sides.” For example, the peasants were very enthusiastic about their own land, but they had a different attitude toward the commune. Was it okay to write this way? He cited what he ­witnessed during his visit to the Soviet Union as an example, When I visit Moscow, I learn that most of the food, chickens, eggs, ­vegetables, and pigs are mostly available at the free market. After 40 years of development, their agriculture hasn’t changed much. The land they have reserved and the space for poultry are huge…. (Hong 9–10) To fully grasp the significance of the Dalian Conference, one should pay attention to the rich information revealed in Mao Dun’s critical articles before and after the conference. Given his sensibility as a professional critic, his position often shifts or seems ambiguous in analyzing the difference between “middle characters” and “heroic characters.” In his review of Li Zhun’s “The story of Li Shuangshuang,” he appreciates both the “advanced character,” Li Shuangshuang and, her “laggard” husband, Xi Wang, “right from the outset, the author delineates, with a touch of humor, not only the relationship between the couple by revealing the origin of Li Shuangshuang’s name, but also her changing status in the family in the old and new societies” (Mao, Liberation Daily).

The Dalian Conference and the “Theory of Middle Character”  79 Mao Dun seems uninterested in Li Shuangshuang’s aggressive effort on p­ rogress. So, after hastily recounting this paragraph, he quickly moves on to analyzing the details full of the smack of the couple’s daily routines and describing their personality through their everyday life. “These two sections (approximately 5,000 words) and the next section (Section IV, only 1,000 words) account for only one-third of the entire story, but carry considerable significance.” Mao Dun assumes that the portrayal of the two characters has reached its climax at this point, “allowing two living human beings to stand in front of the reader, even though their personality, especially Xi Wang’s, still has some room for change” (Mao, Liberation Daily). Mao Dun’s comment in the article leaves readers an impression that he is ostensibly talking about Li Shuangshuang, but he actually likes the character of Xi Wang better. Years ago, Mao Dun pointed out that the value of Zhao Shuli’s novel, Rhymes of Li Youcai, lied in the fact that “the peasants portrayed by him are authentic peasants,” “the dialogues among the characters in his fiction are written in a lifelike spoken language, and their actions are typically peasant-like” (Mao, Liberation Daily). In his review of “The Hands That Cannot Wear Gloves,” written ten years later, he praises Zhao’s portrayal of traditional peasants as usual. In his opinion, the reason why the protagonist Chen Bingzheng (陈秉正) becomes a supreme role model in the mountainous region is not because he has any advanced ideas but because he is competent and hardworking as a native peasant. He is not an abstract heroic figure, but merely one of the millions of ordinary peasants, that is, a typical “middle character.” Mao Dun admires Zhao Shuli’s precise description of Chen Bingzheng’s hands. They are “like iron rakes, and no thorns could pierce through them.” They are different from other people’s hands because the palms seem to be square, the fingers are thick and short, and none of the fingers is straight. With calluses inside and out, the rounded fingers almost turn into a half cocoon with a nail on top, and the whole hand looks like a rake made of branches. “This short story,” Mao Dun tells us, “draws from something unique and depicts the protagonist’s noble qualities of hard work and simplicity through a pair of unusual hands that cannot wear gloves” (“On ‘The Hands That Cannot Wear Gloves’” 35). Shao Quanlin’s speech at the conference was very close to Mao Dun’s view. He thought that the key to characterization was to know and understand the people, but he also opposed the naturalistic tendency for factual description. To enhance the quality of characterization, he claimed that the writer should do nothing more than typifying, summing up, and eventually highlighting a character’s personality traits. Shao agreed with Mao Dun’s theory of “middle character,” saying that Mao Dun had proposed a working formula for characterization, “small on both ends, but big in the middle,” namely, heroic characters and laggard characters occupy the two ends, while the characters in the middle form the majority. The education through literature and art is primarily targeted at the middle characters. The purpose of portraying

80  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction heroes is to set a good example, but it is equally important not to neglect the portrayal of the characters in the middle. (Shao 368) During the May 4th Movement, Mao Dun advocated “writing for life.” He n­ either opposed the portrayal of heroic characters nor endorsed the “naturalistic tendency” in fiction. What he strongly recommended was the representation of “the truth in life.” It is thus clear that Shao Quanlin’s concept of realist literature is in line with Mao Dun’s, a concept that originated from the ideas of humanism during the May 4th Movement. 6.3 Shao Quanlin during the Stormy Times Ostensibly, the Dalian Conference was intended to review the problems in Rural Fiction in the previous period, but actually it facilitated a powerful reflection on the literary trend. At the center of the whirlpool was none other than Shao Quanlin himself. Between the 1920s and 1940s, Shao was engaged in the underground activities for a long time, and he served as the most senior leader of the left-wing literary community. He became vice chairman and party secretary of the Chinese Writers Association in 1953 and worked under the leadership of Zhou Yang. In a broad sense, he was one of the leading critics in the “Critics Circle in Liberated Areas,” but he was quite different from others due to his long-term underground work in the area controlled by the Nationalists. His “difference” was evidently displayed during the cogitation, preparation, and convening of the Dalian Conference. According to the recollection of his daughter, Shao Xiaoqin (邵小琴), a series of political movements and the leftist ideas had exerted a great influence on literature since 1957. In the early 1960s, some writers who published works on rural themes courageously exposed the severe damage to the national economy caused by misguided trends like the premature idea of communal sharing, grandiose bureaucracy, and capricious leadership. Zhao Shuli’s short story, “The Doer Pan Yongfu,” showed how to fight against the unpractical whims through practical actions. That’s why it was rebuked by the media and attacked by some people. Such an ultra-leftist trend undermined the tradition of realism in revolutionary literature and art and bolstered the tendency to pack literary and artistic works with boasts, lies, and empty talks on the one hand and, on the other, made some writers with rich experiences in life felt so depressed and angry about realities that the amount of their writing dipped significantly for a period of time. As he was keenly aware of such an acute contradiction, Shao Quanlin came to the conclusion that a failure to rectify the leftist trend in literature and art would lead to a turmoil, in which literary writing would be more and more restrained, the socialist foundation of realism would be thoroughly damaged, and everything in the garden of literature and art would surely wither. He knew this all too well. In preparation for the Dalian Conference, Shao worked day and night. Sometimes,

The Dalian Conference and the “Theory of Middle Character”  81 he and Hou Jinjing stayed up all night for conversation. One after another, he read through numerous works of fiction published in those years. He even engaged the guests in a discussion while eating at the table, talking about the cash value of work points, the yield per acre, cutting the sorghum, or shortage of firewood, as if he were a real leader of a production team. However, as Shao Xiaoqin writes humorously, In fact, if you ask him how much a pair of leather shoes costs, his answer will undoubtedly make you laugh. After many sleepless nights and many ­brainstorming moments, the “Symposium on the Short Story Writing about Rural Life” was finally held in Dalian in August 1962. (Q. Shao Xiaoqin 121) If the debate over whether the representation of “heroic characters” or “­middle characters” should be the focus in characterization had been merely looming in the articles of literary journals at this time and had failed to cause a big stir so far, it was Shao Quanlin who presented, from ahigh-profile status, his views at the conference and said exactly what many literary critics wanted to say. In doing so, he highlighted his very “difference.” Judging from this viewpoint, one may assume that his long keynote speech at the conference is full of historical reflections on four aspects: first, the most important thing in Rural Fiction is how to represent the conflict among people; second, since there are many conceptual notions about characterization, it is appropriate to portray advanced and heroic characters, but in general there are only a few characters appearing in the middle, so it is imperative to portray them as people from all walks of life, and, besides, there is only a small number of good and bad characters on both ends, while the middle is more spacious; third, the relation between broadness and combativeness in subject matter is noteworthy; finally, what is fundamental in characterization is not only to know and understand people, but also reveal the state of their mind and the contradictory but concretized traces through their words and actions (Q. Shao 369–370). Shao presents these views as a response to the overemphasis on the representation of “heroic characters” in previous years, which had evolved into a conceptualized and formulaic practice. Shao’s views collided fiercely with the leftist ideology originated from the political movements. According to his daughter, Shao’s two speeches at the conference were later taken out of context and defined as the “theory of deepening realism” and the “theory of middle character,” hence becoming known as two of the “eight black theories” that are, severely and repeatedly, condemned during the Cultural Revolution (X. Shao 122). One critic pointed out, “Actually, he [Shao Quanlin] does not make such claims, nor does he use these explicit wordings. It is entirely the result of elevating all issues to the level of major principles” (Zhu 385–386). Hong Zicheng claimed that the massive criticism of the Dalian Conference and the “theory of middle characters” began in June and July 1964, when Chinese Writers Association kicked off its “Rectification Campaign” after Mao Zedong issued two directives on literature and art in 1963 and 1964 (17).

82  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction The editorial board of The Newspaper of Literature and Art published an article, “‘Depicting Middle Characters’ Is a Bourgeois Literary Proposition,” in its Issue 8–9, criticizing, by name, Shao’s speech at the Dalian Conference and defining the dispute as a struggle between socialism and capitalism. In the memorial eulogy he delivered at the funeral of Shao Quanlin on 20 September, 1979, Zhou Yang offered a historical redress of the injustice inflicted upon Shao: The Dalian Conference on Short Story Writing about Rural Themes chaired by Comrade Quanlin in 1962 is intended to explore how literature and art can correctly reflect the internal contradictions among the people and better serve socialism. The speeches he delivers at the conference explain the main points of Chairman Mao’s “Speech at the Forum of Art and Literature in Yan’an” and have a far-reaching significance for promoting and thriving socialist literary writing. (306) Notes 1 The “Great Leap Forward Movement” refers to the campaign launched in agriculture and industry from 1958 to 1960, which aims to improve the output of agriculture and industry. To fulfill the task, some people tell lies and exaggerate the outcome. The campaign turns out to be a failure – by the translator. 2 This part is based on Zhu Zhai’s ideas in History of Contemporary Chinese Literary Thought, People’s Literature Publishing House, 1987, pp. 384–385.

Works Cited Hong, Zicheng. “Notes on the Materials of Dalian Conference.” Journal of Hainan Normal University (Social Science Edition), vol. 24, no. 4, 2011, pp. 1–18. Mao, Dun (Shen Dehong). “On Rhymes of Li Youcai.” Liberation Daily, 2 November 1946. Mao, Dun (Shen Dehong). “On ‘The Story of Li Shuangshuang’.” Reviews on Short Stories Published in 1960, China Youth Press, 1961, pp. 34–45. Mao, Dun (Shen Dehong). “On Short Stories in the Year 1960.” The Newspaper of Literature and Art, 7 June 1967. Shao, Quanlin. “Speech at the Symposium on the Writing of Short Stories on Rural Life in Dalian.” Shao Quanlin’s Selected Criticism, vol. I, edited by Shao Quanlin, People’s Literature Publishing House, 1981, pp. 368–382. Shao, Xiaoqin. “A Life of Hard Work: A Tribute to My Father Shao Quanlin.” Historical Materials of New Literature, vol. 6, no. 2, 1983, pp. 106–123. The Editorial Board of The Newspaper of Literature and Art. “‘Writing about the Middle Character’ Is a Bourgeois Literary Proposition.” The Newspaper of Literature and Art, vol. 16, no. 8–9, 1964, pp. 124–127. Zhou, Yang. “The Memorial Service for Comrade Shao Quanlin, an Outstanding Member of the Party and a Proletarian Literary Theorist.” Historical Materials of New Literature, vol. 2, no. 5, 1979, p. A306. Zhu, Zhai. History of Contemporary Chinese Literary Thought. People’s Literature Publishing House, 1987.

7

Fiction Criticism during the Cultural Revolution

Due to the impact of the Cultural Revolution, dozens of central, provincial, and municipal literary journals, including People’s Literature, were suspended one after another. After the “9-13 Incident” in 1971, as People’s Literature resumed its publication under the instruction of Mao Zedong, many literary and art journals began to run their pilot issues in different regions. According to the statistics by Li Xue (李雪), there were 39 literary and art journals (operating at the levels of provinces, prefectures, and counties, but excluding juvenile reading materials and non-Chinese periodicals) in 1972. From Beijing all the way down to local counties, various journals surfaced and sponsored various activities to solicit submissions, thus offering numerous amateur writers (especially literary youth) a chance to participate in literary activities through magazines (Li 23). All this turned out to be a godsent opportunity for a new round of ­fiction criticism. In the abnormal environment during the Cultural Revolution, fiction writing was divided into different categories. The fiction written by workers, peasants, and soldiers supported by some newspapers and journals began to emerge, whereas the “underground fiction” that indulged itself in expressing personal distress could only circulate among some teenagers with handwritten copies due to its sensitive content. The “fiction criticism” mentioned here, therefore, refers to the review articles published in local newspapers and magazines. The underground fiction was not covered because the reminiscence and recognition of the underground fiction did not occur until the early days of the New Period. Due to the strong tendency of formulaic thinking, the fiction criticism during this period had limited literary value, but an extreme situation like this could also offer us plenty of historical information and samples for the study of people’s mentality at that time. In this sense, the underground fiction that was hidden amid the extreme climate could be perceived as a true reflection of people’s mindset as well. If the literature of the New Period really had several germinal points, so did the publicly published fiction. Only the underground fiction was an exception. To this end, the two categories of the fiction in the 1970s will be addressed truthfully and objectively. DOI: 10.4324/9781003565031-9

84  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction 7.1 Turbulence of the Times The Cultural Revolution was the general flashpoint of ideological disagreements on “how to carry on the socialist cause.” The signs of the upheaval could be found from Mao Zedong’s two instructions on literary and artistic issues in 1963, the criticism of the films, Northern Jiangnan (⟪北国江南⟫) and Early Spring in February (⟪早春二月⟫) in 1964, and the offenses listed for Hai Rui Dismissed from Office (⟪海瑞罢官⟫) could be seen as the clear signs signifying the imminent turbulence of the time. According to the reports by Xinhua News Agency (新华社), 160,000 writers and artists in 28 provinces and cities across the country were sent to the countryside and factories in 1966. A great number of literary and artistic organizations at all levels were disbanded, literary publications were suspended, and writers and artists were criticized or detained. After the 9th CPC National Congress, the personnel from all the units under the Ministry of Culture and all the associations affiliated with the China Federation of Literary and Art Circles were sent to the “May 7th Cadre School” for rehabilitation through labor. Many of them died over there. The turbulence of the time not only hurt the intellectuals tremendously but also exerted a profound negative impact on the minds of the young generation who were involved in the critical campaign. In February 1966, “The Minutes of Military Literature and Art Symposium,” written by Jiang Qing (江青) with the support of Lin Biao (林彪), served as an indicator of fiction writing’s entry into the era of Cultural Revolution. From then on, works by Lu Xun and other writers, such as Jin Jingmai’s (金敬迈) novel, The Song of Ouyang Hai (⟪欧阳海之歌⟫), and Hao Ran’s (浩然) novel, Bright Blue Skies (⟪艳阳天⟫), were highly acclaimed, while many works of fiction by modern writers, including those published after the founding of PRC, were either criticized or repudiated altogether. In the midst of the gloomy atmosphere, there were still some articles that adhered to proper literary criticism and expressed different viewpoints, as exemplified by Jin Weimin’s (金为民) article, “Questions regarding the Characterization of Newcomers and Heroes,” published in Wen Wei Po (⟪文汇 报⟫) on 20 August 1964. In his article, “Dialectics Cannot Be Replaced by Metaphysics,” published in Guangming Daily on 15 December 1965, Yao Quanxing (姚全兴) also criticizes the theories that defile common sense: “If literary criticism is executed according to this absurd logic, does it mean that writing a play about Li Zicheng’s uprising aims at urging readers to learn to rise in revolt?” In November 1969, Sang ­Weichuan (桑伟川), an assistant technician at the Shanghai Gas Company, also ­released an article, “On Morning in Shanghai (⟪上海的早晨⟫): A Consultation with Comrade Ding Xuelei (丁学雷),”1 as a rebuttal to Ding’s abrasive attitude towards and ­comments on Zhou Erfu’s (周而复) novel, Morning in Shanghai.2 Since literary critics were sent to the countryside and the “May 7th Cadre School,”3 China’s fiction criticism came to a grinding halt and, thereby, generated a blank page in its history. From today’s point of view, it is a typical attitude of historical nihilism to invalidate the pursuit of historical progress by different generations of intellectuals in the literary circle, as well as their contributions to the

Fiction Criticism during the Cultural Revolution  85 May 4th New Literature and the fiction writing in the 17-Year Period. Under such circumstances, fiction criticism plunged into a long period of quiescence. Meanwhile, the mindset of replacing literary and artistic standards with political ones had a lasting effect and kept rattling people’s nerves stealthily until the beginning of the New Period. This is exactly what Zhu Zhai has pointed out: “‘The Gang of Four’ not only negates the revolutionary literature and art after the founding of the People’s Republic of China, but also attempts desperately to denigrate the revolutionary literary and artistic traditions of the 1930s” (498). Zhu insists that the ­far-reaching impact of this movement on Chinese society cannot be forgotten, and that “the Cultural Revolution is an unprecedented cultural catastrophe and a devastating national disaster” (488). According to “The Resolution on Certain Questions in the History of Our Party since the Founding of the People’s Republic of China” (⟪关于建国以来党的若干历史问题的决议⟫), it has been proven by facts that the Cultural Revolution is not and cannot be a revolution or social progress in any sense (Zhu 498). 7.2 The Resurgence of Fiction after 1972 The literary system of “training writers from among workers, peasants and soldiers,” implemented in the 1950s and relaunched in 1972, was the major impetus in promoting fiction writing. For the youngsters living at the bottom of society, fiction was a literary dream and a springboard to a higher social status. Worker writers could evade heavy labor in factories via their release time for writing and get more opportunities in life. The young intellectuals, who returned to their native places or went to the countryside, could also take advantage of writing to change their fate. Therefore, their fiction was keenly interested in exploring literary themes like the Cultural Revolution, the struggle for power, and the passionate life of construction. The noble and perfect heroic character became a model for imitation by all the writers. After 1972, many short story collections were published, including Li Xintian’s (李心田) Sparkling Red Stars (⟪闪闪的红星⟫, 1972), Charging Ahead (⟪冲锋在 前⟫, 1972) edited by the Political Department of the Nanjing Military Command, Yudi Songqing (⟪雨涤松青⟫, 1972) compiled by the Political Department of the Jinan Military Command, and Hongshi Mountain (⟪红石山中⟫, 1972) compiled by the Communication Department of the PLA Engineering Corps. In the same year, the People’s Literature Publishing House compiled and published three short story collections: The Trumpet Howls Brightly: A Collection of Short Stories of Workers, Peasants, and Soldiers (⟪号声嘹亮——工农兵短篇小说集⟫), The Story of Red Pine Village: Selected Short Stories of Workers, Peasants, and Soldiers (⟪红松村 的故事——工农兵短篇小说选⟫), and Bonfire Is Flourishing: Selected Short Stories of Workers, Peasants, and Soldiers (⟪篝火正旺——工农兵短篇小说选⟫). Other important collections include Ropeway Rumble: A Collection of Mining Short Stories (⟪索道隆隆——矿山短篇小说集⟫, 1973) and Southern Xinjiang Kapok Red: A Collection of Short Stories of Workers, Peasants, and Soldiers

86  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction (⟪南疆木棉红——工农兵短篇小说集⟫, 1973) co-edited by the Political Department of the Hongtoushan Copper Mine and the Fushun Municipal Bureau of Culture and Chemistry, Morning at the Outpost: A Short Story Collection (⟪哨所的 早晨——短篇小说集⟫, 1973) edited by the Political Department of the Kunming Military Command, Leading Shifts: A Short Story Collection (⟪带班——短篇小 说集⟫, 1973) and Chaohui: A Collection of Short Stories of Young Intellectuals Going to the Mountainous Areas and the Countryside (⟪朝晖——知识青年上山 下乡短篇小说集⟫, 1973) compiled by the Political Department of the Wuhan Military Command, Facing the Rising Sun (⟪迎着朝阳⟫, 1974) created by workers in several factories, Yimeng Mountains (⟪沂蒙山高⟫, 1975) edited by the Political Department of the Jinan Military Command, Wind and Snow Border Defense Line (⟪风雪边防线⟫, 1975) edited by the Political Department of the Xinjiang Military Command, Turquoise Seedlings (⟪碧绿的秧苗⟫, 1975) created by Department of Chinese, Peking University, Shanzhai Horn (⟪山寨号角⟫, 1976) compiled by the Cultural and Political Department of the Chengdu Military Command, and Kunlun Spring Scenery (⟪昆仑春色⟫, 1976) compiled by the Cultural Bureau of the Revolutionary Committee of Qinghai Province.4 Writers who began their career of fiction writing at this time, such as Jiang Zilong (蒋子龙), Gu Hua (古华), Li Tuo (李陀), Lu Yao (路遥), Jia Pingwa (贾平凹), Han Shaogong (韩少功), Zheng Wanlong (郑万隆), and Chen Zhongshi (陈忠实), later became literary writers of the New Period. Hao Ran (浩然), Li Ruqing (黎汝清), Guo Xianhong (郭先红), Zhang Kangkang (张抗抗), Li Yunde (李云德), Yang Peijin (杨佩瑾), and Li Kefei (李克非) were active novelists during the Cultural Revolution. Though written under a similar political climate, the so-called underground fictions, such as Jin Fan’s (靳凡) An Open Love Letter (⟪公开的情书⟫), Zhang Yang’s (张扬) Second Handshake (⟪第二次握手⟫), Li Ping’s (礼平) When the Sunset Disappears (⟪晚霞消失的 时候⟫), and Zhao Zhenkai’s (赵振开) Waves (⟪波动⟫), demonstrated a quite different temperament or charm. These novels were considered unfit for publication, so they were only circulated with hand-written copies within a limited readership. Naturally, they were shrouded in suspicion and mystery, and they were not openly published in literary journals until 1979. Comments on the “underground fictions” appeared in succession after 1979. Some of the articles are loaded with retrospective narratives and delayed compliments. The “public” and “underground” novels would face a different destiny in the New Period, and the sign of that could be seen at this time. 7.3  The Golden Road (⟪金光大道⟫) and The History of Combat in Hongnan (⟪虹南作战史⟫) Hao Ran5 published his Bright Blue Skies and other novels before the Cultural Revolution, but he secured his important status right in the middle of this period. His novels reflect his probe into the Rural Fiction that deals with the Cooperative Movement. Thanks to their vivid sense of life and earthy-flavor narrative vernacular, his novels often leave readers with a refreshing impression, thereby winning

Fiction Criticism during the Cultural Revolution  87 a warm reception from them. In his recollection, he started writing the novel on the National Day of 1957, and the writing lasted for six to seven years because he paused intermittently for brainstorming, studying, and practicing. While writing this novel, he hoped that he could write something straightforward, lifelike, and authentic so that workers, peasants, and soldiers would really enjoy reading it. And his special wish was presenting the novel to peasants. Obviously, Hao Ran’s idea coincided with Zhao Shuli’s concept of fiction writing. He knew, however, that the circumstances under which he wrote Bright Blue Skies were different from Zhao’s time. He claimed that he wanted to highlight the image of positive characters and the major conflict, thus establishing a more distinctive and conspicuous pattern in his novel writing. To this end, he made extra efforts when depicting positive and main characters (Haoran, Guangming Daily). In spite of the fact that most of the works of fiction were perceived as “poisonous weeds” during the Cultural Revolution, Hao Ran’s proactive posture earned a ­favorable opinion from Chu Lan (初澜)6 for Bright Blue Skies. Chu called the novel an “excellent literary work” by a writer who “has profoundly reflected the sharp and fierce class struggle in China’s socialist countryside and successfully portrayed a ‘leader who firmly adheres to the cause of socialism’” (Chu, People’s Daily). The Golden Road is a novel tailored for the literary and artistic trend during the Cultural Revolution. Having obtained a deep understanding of the principles in creating “model operas,” Hao Ran began to explore the ways to delineate the noble and glorious image of heroes in his novels. As a result, readers felt that there appeared a clear rupture or transcendence between The Golden Road and Bright Blue Skies.7 Hao Ran’s shift in writing style brought him more compliments and appreciation from the critics at that time. Fang Jin (方进) observed that, [ta]king the novel Bright Blue Skies as an example, the hero, Xiao Changchun (箫长春), is a composite character depicted by Hao Ran based on a large number of materials and outstanding characters in real life. However, when writing the first part of The Golden Road, the author feels not only ­being confined within the frame of real people and real stories, but also ­being subject to all kinds of restrictions, so much so that he is almost unable to write on. What he learned from the two extremes enables him to conclude that literary creation must not be limited to real people and real stories. (People’s Daily) Hao Ran’s personal experience in writing manifested a regular pattern that l­iterary writing should portray typical figures. Hao Ran overcame his momentary hesitation quickly. As Xin Wentong (辛文彤) put it well, after Hao Ran studied and adopted the good writing tactics from the “model operas,” his novel, The Golden Road (Parts I and II), illustrated both deeply and broadly the essence of socialist revolution after the founding of New China and received rave remarks from the workers, peasants, and soldiers. In Xin’s opinion, to study and explore the achievements and shortcomings of The Golden Road is essential to promoting the proletarian revolutionary literature (Guangming Daily). During the New Period, Hao Ran

88  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction became an alien in the literary circle because of his inability to break his close ties from the ideology of the Cultural Revolution. His unceasing depression never abated until the end of his life. 7.4  Zhaoxia Magazine (⟪朝霞⟫) Craze and “Underground Literature” In the special environment of the 1970s, the literature of the Cultural Revolution and the “underground literature” represented two distinct literary forms, reflecting people’s different and even sharply opposing views of history, and showcasing the zigzagging trajectory of the historical development. Zhaoxia Magazine was exactly a unique phenomenon of the literature during the Cultural Revolution because there used to be a “Zhaoxia Magazine Craze” among young readers. At a time when readers had no books to read, it was natural that the magazine was wildly popular. Zhaoxia Magazine was first published as part of the Zhaoxia series founded in May 1973. It was a literary magazine sponsored by the Shanghai Municipal Party Committee under the supervision of Xiao Mu (肖木) and Chen Jide (陈冀 德). ­After Xiao Mu was transferred to Beijing as Wang Hongwen’s (王洪文) secretary, Chen Jide took over the control over the magazine. Zhaoxia was changed to a monthly magazine in January 1974. With the support from Yao Wenyuan (姚文元), it was soon treated as a “model” for literary journals across the nation. Renowned writers like Yu Qiuyu (余秋雨), Jia Pingwa, Lu Yao, Qian Gang (钱钢), Lu Tianming (陆天明), and Huang Beijia (黄蓓佳) all published their writings in Zhaoxia. In a sense, the magazine could be considered the starting point for some writers’ writing careers. There were other reasons for the popularity of Zhaoxia Magazine. After the Lin Biao (林彪) incident in 1971, as the whole society demanded a return to normalcy, literature became an indispensable part of life. It was under such circumstances that Zhaoxia Magazine came to being at the right time. Xie Yong (谢泳), a critic, stated that no matter how people comment on it then or now, the history of Zhaoxia Magazine was worth studying. The significance of reconsidering this magazine is that by analyzing and evaluating a literary magazine during the Cultural Revolution, we can deeply understand the value of Chinese intellectuals in that specific historical period (38). For a period of time, the “underground literature” existed as the opposite of the literature of the Cultural Revolution. Few people would question: Why did the divergence of literature emerge within the same social environment? What was the underlying reason for that? This made it necessary to dig into history. The “underground fictions,” An Open Love Letter (⟪公开的情书⟫), When the Sunset Disappears (⟪晚霞消失的时候⟫), and novella, Waves (⟪波动⟫), represent problems in young people’s lives which are directly related to their inner world at that time. In Yi Yan’s view (易言), Wave deals with the unfortunate fate and mental breakdown of young intellectuals in the late 1960s and early 1970s. After the turmoil of the Cultural Revolution, the young generation underwent great changes. Some of them became pessimistic and lost their confidence in the socialist system.

Fiction Criticism during the Cultural Revolution  89 And nihilist ideas began to proliferate. Bei Dao (北岛), the author of Waves, attempted to awaken the young people who were still intoxicated by the slogans of the revolution and those who had awakened, but turned to decadence as a way out. However, due to the author’s lopsided understanding of the social life and his wavering worldview, he seemed to have created a philosophical bewilderment in his own novel. In other words, it is commendable that as a young man himself, he launched an independent probe into the social life at that time and registered his disagreement, concerns, and even protest against the fascist dictatorship executed by the Gang of Four, but his probe did not reach a correct conclusion (Yi 19). Another scholar Wang Ruoshui (王若水)8 also shares his worry that “history is unknowable to the character Nanshan (南姗),” and the problem in her portrayal is her attempt to measure history with a fixed and abstract moral standard. Although the author makes a breakthrough in depicting the character Chu Xuanwu (楚轩吾), he elevates this character to an undeserving height and, to a certain extent, detaches him from the specific historical environment (Wang Ruoshui, Wen Wei Po). The thoughts and emotions expressed in the “underground fiction” resulted from an accumulation over a long period of time. Consequently, when it exploded, like an erupting volcano, in front of the public, even the open-minded and tolerant critics were unable to accept or understand it. At a turning point in history, however, such a phenomenon is not uncommon at all. To some extent, the “underground fiction” was, in effect, the resounding “­reflection” and “echo” of the youth political movements in literary writing at the time, filled with the profound ideas and emotions that were once concealed in the mainstream literary works, such as Song of Youth (⟪青春之歌⟫) and Red Crag (⟪红岩⟫). It could thus be seen that those ideas and emotions of contemporary youth represented in the “underground fiction” and red classics had long existed, by means of a double-layer structure, in the real world of their lives. Similar instances could also be found in works about the young generation in the early days of the New Period. 7.5 “A Day for the Director of Mechanical and Electrical Engineering Bureau” (⟪机电局长的一天⟫) in Historical Transition Like Hao Ran, Jiang Zilong (蒋子龙) is also a “worker-peasant-soldier writer” who was cherry-picked and well coached during the Cultural Revolution. But Jiang Zilong differs from Hao Ran in that he reinvented his fiction writing at the historical turning point in the New Period. His short story, “A Day for the Director of Mechanical and Electrical Engineering Bureau” (1975), is most emblematic of his reinvention, which has been commonly perceived as his first step towards the “Reform Literature” in the New Period. Jiang Zilong (1941–) is a native of Cangxian County, Hebei Province. ­After graduating from junior high school, he studied at Tianjin Heavy Machinery Technical School. He worked in Tianjin Forging and Casting Factory in 1960 and entered the Naval Cartography Training School in the same year. During 1962–1965, he

90  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction served as a soldier in the Navy’s Unit 184 and began his fiction writing. After leaving the navy in 1965, he worked as the secretary of the factory director and the director of a workshop at Tianjin Heavy Machinery Factory, and then was cherrypicked and coached as a “worker-peasant-soldier writer.” In late October 1975, People’s Literature (⟪人民文学⟫) resumed its publication and sent Xu Yi (许以), the head of its fiction section, for a special visit to Jiang Zilong in Tianjin in hope of soliciting manuscripts from him. At the time, as Wu Jun (吴俊) recalled, Jiang was attending an industrial conference, where he learnt so much about what was going on in industry, especially the information about how factory managers everywhere were pushing for higher productivity. Xu Yi’s solicitation for manuscripts just came at the right time. Jiang wrote up the short story, “A Day for the Director of Mechanical and Electrical Engineering Bureau,” in a hurry during the conference. Incidentally, the focus of the conference was discussing two issues: one was how to implement the central government’s guidelines on industrial production; the other was how to improve the industrial construction and efficiency. Both issues were specifically addressed in Deng Xiaoping’s recent speeches. This is the very backdrop for Jiang’s writing of the short story and the clear reason why he could finish the writing right in the middle of the conference. Jiang used Feng Wenbin (冯文斌), the director of the Tianjin Heavy Machinery Factory where Jiang once worked as his secretary, as the prototype of the protagonist, Huo Daodao (霍大道). After Xu Yi brought the manuscript back to Beijing, the editorial board adopted right away and soon published it in Issue 1, 1976 of People’s Literature (Wu 5–7). The story depicts Huo Daodao as a reformer who has been fed up by the intervention and destruction by the “Ultra-Left” ideology against the normal production. Now, he is determined to overcome all the obstacles and mobilize the entire factory employees, so as to manufacture 4,000 250 mm DTH (down-the-hole) drilling rigs in five days. Inevitably, the portrayal of the protagonist retains some traces of the literature during the Cultural Revolution and the elements for the so-called noble and perfect artistry. What makes this story comparable to his later story, “Factory Manager Qiao Gets to Work” (⟪乔厂长上任记⟫), is its successful portrayal of a reformer’s image and its revelation of people’s strong yearning for reform. So, it is fair to say that it has made its reputation as the harbinger of reform literature. For this reason, “A Day for the Director of Mechanical and Electrical Engineering Bureau” was well received from the public in the New Period. Dong Jian (董健), Ding Fan (丁帆), and Wang Binbin (王彬彬) write in The New History of Modern Chinese Literature (⟪中国当代文学史新稿⟫), “Beginning with the publication of ‘A Day for the Director of Mechanical and Electrical Engineering Bureau’ in early 1976, Jiang dedicated his literary writing to the theme of industrial rectification and reform” (413). Wu Jun pointed out that between the initial publication and, later, its criticism, one could see Jiang’s role as a transitional figure in two historical periods. If he were not a “worker-peasant-soldier writer,” People’s Literature might not have solicited manuscripts from him at that time. Later on, thanks to this very title, he remained unaffected in the subsequent wave of

Fiction Criticism during the Cultural Revolution  91 criticism. Furthermore, it also paved the way for him to step onto the literary stage of the New Period and create his twin story on the theme of reform, “Factory Manager Qiao Gets to Work” (Wu 17–18). Critics liked the enormous information about history in the story. As I stated in my previous review of the story, we can understand Huo Daodao’s bold and decisive measures in the context of Deng Xiaoping’s vigorous push for rectification in 1975. If we reassess Huo’s action against the backdrop of the “Great Leap Forward Movement,” it would be even easier for us to understand his arbitrary and unreasonable management through executive orders in defiance of production procedures and the scientific concept of development. In a country like China, which started its development late but wanted to quickly catch up with Western developed countries, the irrational executive orders, prompted by the collective wish to accomplish the national goal of modernization and intended to make up for the lost time in the Cultural Revolution, might be annoying, but can still get some understanding and sympathy in history. In this complex historical context, the image of Huo Daodao, which appeared in 1975, seems really rich and multi-dimensional. The protagonist of the story presents us with so much solid and meticulous historical information about the year of 1975 and, at the same time, about China’s reflection on modernization from its founding to the present. As an “intermediate in history,” he has a universal significance in the process of Reform and Openingup that began in the 1980s. “Reform Literature,” which started with “A Day for the Director of Mechanical and Electrical Engineering Bureau” and prospered in the early days of the New Period, provided readers with a profusion of interesting literary cases that demonstrate how late developing countries rely on their agricultural operation to reform modern industry and social structure, such as “Factory Manager Qiao Gets to Work,” New Star (⟪新星⟫), and Day and Night (⟪夜与昼⟫) (Cheng 25). Amid the clues of the fiction criticism from 1949 to 1976, one can find that its richness was far beyond what had previously been imagined. Its richness is manifested in several ways: First, as a leading critical force, the “Critic Circle in Liberated Areas,” played an instrumental role in constructing the history of contemporary fiction, but the controversy over such a role has never faded away; second, this circle was not monolithic at all, that is to say, the ebb and flow of political movements and the difference in critics’ working and living environment in the past were often displayed in the criticism of specific works, such as the dispute in the assessment of Song of Youth, and Shao Quanlin’s (邵荃麟) advocacy of “depicting intermediate figures”9; finally, in terms of stance and literary outlook, young critics were more radical than the traditional critics in “Liberated Areas.” The intergenerational changes among critics have historical reasons. For the elder critics who went through wars, literary ideas were politicized, idealized, and romanticized, whereas the young critics who grew up in political movements would view literature through a political lens and engage themselves in literary criticism from a conceptual point of view. All this could be seen in the critical careers of Guo Kai (郭开), Li Xifan (李希凡), and others.

92  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction Notes 1 Ding Xuelei, the pen name of the literary and art group of the Writing Team of the Shanghai Municipal Committee of the Communist Party of China during the “Cultural Revolution.” The main members are Xu Jingxian (徐景贤), Chen Jide (陈冀德), Guo Shaoyu (郭绍虞), Zhang Peiheng (章培恒), and Wu Lichang (吴立昌). 2 Part of the materials in this paragraph are quoted from The New History of Modern Chinese Literature (⟪中国当代文学史新稿⟫), edited by Dong Jian (董键), Ding Fan (丁帆), and Wang Binbin (王彬彬), People’s Literature Publishing House, 2011, pp. 224–229. 3 “May 7th Cadre School” refers to farms established during the “Cultural Revolution.” Lots of intellectuals were sent to the farms to labour – by the translator. 4 To know more works, see Sixty Years of Books of the People’s Literature Publishing House (1951–2011), edited by People’s Literature Publishing House and compiled by Wang Haibo (王海波), People’s Literature Publishing House, 2011, pp. 74–75. 5 Hao Ran (浩然, 1930–2008), formerly known as Liang Jinguang (梁金广), was a native of Baozhi (today’s Tianjin) in Hebei. He participated in the revolution in 1946 and worked in villages, districts, and counties for eight years. In 1954, he became a reporter for Hebei Daily (⟪河北日报⟫). In 1961, he was transferred to the magazine Red Flag (⟪红旗⟫) and engaged in literary writing in the Beijing Literary Association after 1964. His works include novels, Bright Blue Skies, The Golden Road, Cangsheng (⟪苍生⟫), and the report, Children of Xisha (⟪西沙儿女⟫). His fame began to decline during the New Period. 6 Chu Lan (初澜) was the pen name of the writing group of the Ministry of Culture during the Cultural Revolution. Jiang Qing took charge of the writing group. The leaders of the group were Yu Huiyong (于会泳) and Zhang Bofan (张伯凡). 7 Partly based on Hong Zicheng’s (洪子诚) History of Contemporary Chinese Literature (Revised Edition), Peking University Press, 2008, p. 176. 8 Wang Ruoshui (1926–2002), a political theorist and philosopher. Born in Shanghai, his original hometown was Taihe, Jiangxi Province. He graduated from the Department of Philosophy, Peking University, in 1948 and had successively served as the editor, the leader of the commentary group, and the deputy editor-in-chief of People’s Daily. In 1963, he was praised by Mao Zedong for publishing the article, “The Philosophy of the Table.” He was an open-minded theorist in the 1980s but was later criticized for publishing articles, including “The Concept of Alienation.” 9 According to Shao Quanlin, the most advanced and laggard people were always minority, and the people in the middle were majority. Therefore, writers should depict these people in the middle – by the translator.

Works Cited Cheng, Guangwei. “The ‘Chaoke’ of Literature: Revisiting Jiang Zilong’s Short Story ‘A Day for the Director of Mechanical and Electrical Engineering Bureau’.” Contemporary Literary Circles, vol. 21, no. 1, 2012, pp. 19–26. Chu, Lan. “Shaping the Typical Proletarian Hero in Contradiction and Conflict: A Review of Bright Blue Skies.” People’s Daily, 5 May 1974. Dong, Jian, et al. The New History of Modern Chinese Literature. People’s Literature Publishing House, 2005. Fang, Jin. “To Shape the Typical, Do Not Be Limited by Real People and True Stories.” People’s Daily, 18 July 1974. Hao, Ran (Liang Jinguang). “Sending Rural Readers: Talking about the Writing of Bright Blue Skies.” Guangming Daily, 23 October 1965. Li, Xue. “Collation and Research of Fiction in the 1970s.” Dissertation, Renmin U of China, 2013.

Fiction Criticism during the Cultural Revolution  93 Wang, Ruoshui. “Nanshan”s Philosophy.” Wen Wei Po, 27–28 September 1983. Wu, Jun. “The Political Game Surrounding Literature: The Beginning and End of the Storm of ‘A Day for the Director of Mechanical and Electrical Engineering Bureau’.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 21, no. 6, 2004, pp. 4–19. Xie, Yong. “Research on Zhaoxia Magazine.” Southern Literature Circle, vol. 19, no. 4, 2006, pp. 38–47. Xin, Wentong. “The Unstoppable Trend of Socialist History: A Review of The Golden Road, Parts I and II.” Guangming Daily, 12 December 1974. Yi, Yan. “On Waves and Others.” The Newspaper of Literature and Art, vol. 33, no. 4, 1982, pp. 19–27. Zhu, Zhai. A History of Contemporary Chinese Literary Thoughts. People’s Literature Publishing House, 1987.

Part II

Swirl of History (1977–1991)

8

Fiction Criticism during the New Period

The concept of fiction criticism went through a fundamental change in the New Period. Given China’s drastic shift of its focus from literature and art to the main objective of promoting the economic development on a large scale and improving people’s livelihood, both the circle of literary critics and the concept of literature were thereby affected and compelled to make adjustments on a broad scope. Veteran critics, such as Feng Mu and Chen Huangmei, gradually retreated to oblivion, and a group of trendy critics with a new mindset and intense exploratory curiosity began appearing at the forefront. The circle of critics that emerged between 1977 and the end of 1980 could be divided into two groups: “Beijing Critics Circle” and “New Trendy Critics Circle” in Shanghai. “Beijing Critics Circle” arise under the leadership of senior but openminded critics like Feng and Chen, who help and supported the career growth of these young critics. The critics in Beijing come from the Chinese Writers Association, the Institute of Chinese Literature in Chinese Academy of Social Sciences (CASS), Peking University, and Beijing Federation of Literary and Art Circles (BFLAC). Among them, there are officials in charge of literature and art, newspaper editors, university faculty, and researchers. The rise of Shanghai’s “New Trendy Critics Circle” would not have been possible without the journal Shanghai Literature (⟪上海文学⟫) and the tutelage of the old generation of critics, such as Li Ziyun (李子云), Zhou Jieren (周介人), Jia Zhifang (贾植芳), Qian Gurong (钱谷融), and Xu Zhongyu (徐中玉). The receptive, open, and forward-thinking environment in the two cities promote tremendously the development of literature in the New Period. It seems as if the story of modern Chinese literature repeated itself both in Beijing and Shanghai. Once again, the major task of contemporary fiction criticism fell on the shoulders of young and middle-aged critics in the two cities. If Beijing were regarded as the center of “Scar Literature,” “­Introspection ­Literature,” and “Reform Literature,” then Shanghai must be the center of Avant-garde Literature. Later, the New Realistic literature moved its center back to Beijing, and nothing has changed to this day. The literature of the New Period sets “going global” as its goal. As two cosmopolitan cities in China, Beijing, and Shanghai have the unshirkable duty to play an instrumental role in Chinese literature. DOI: 10.4324/9781003565031-11

98  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction 8.1  S  ignificance of “Beijing Critics Circle” to Wang Meng (王蒙),1 Zhang Jie (张洁),2 and Zhang Xianliang (张贤亮)3 “Beijing Critics Circle” is known for demonstrating its critical traits by facilitating free thinking and encouraging literary exploration. Since Beijing is the place where the “Cultural Revolution” took place and the “Scar Literature” appeared, critics there take the field of the New Period Literature while holding high three banners: negating the “Cultural Revolution,” calling humanity, and advocating literary subjectivity. They start a new atmosphere, dare to explore, and become the earliest pioneers in literary criticism, thus exerting an extremely important impact on the criticism of the New Period Literature. Unlike “Critics Circle in Liberated Areas,” which maintained close ties to politics, critics in “Beijing Critics Circle” are brought together by their shared ideal of “rectifying” the essence of literature. It is a loosely organized alliance of critics, consisting of old, middle-aged, and young critics, such as Yan Gang (阎纲), He Shenbang (何慎邦), Lei Da (雷达), Zeng Zhennan (曾镇南), Ji Hongzhen (季红真), Zhang Ling (张陵), Li Jiefei (李洁非), He Shaojun (贺绍俊), Pan Kaixiong (潘凯雄), Jiang Yuanlun (蒋原 伦), and Wu Bingjie (吴秉杰) from Chinese Writers Association; Zhu Zhai (朱寨), Jie Min (洁珉), Hou Minze (敏泽, 原名侯民泽), Liu Zaifu (刘再复), He Xilai (何西来), Zhang Jiong (张炯), Cai Kui (蔡葵), Zhang Ren (张韧), Jiang Shouqian (蒋守谦), and Bai Ye (白烨) from CASS; Xie Mian (谢冕) and Huang Ziping (黄子平) from Peking University; Li Tuo (李陀) from BFLAC; and Miao Junjie (缪俊杰), Zhang Zhizhong (张志忠) and Sun Yu (孙郁). After 1979, Wang Meng, Zhang Jie, and Zhang Xianliang become the most active and distinctive novelists. Wang Meng’s “stream-of-consciousness fiction,” Zhang Jie’s exploration of love, and Zhang ­Xianliang’s probe into the relationship between sex and revolution have a significant influence on the further advancement of the New Period Literature. These new innovations in fiction writing are the major points of concern for “­Beijing Critics Circle.” Ji Hongzhen,4 a young critic, first interprets the significance of Zhang Jie’s work in her article, “The Clash between Civilization and Ignorance.” She points out that “Love Must Not Be Forgotten” (⟪爱, 是不能忘记的⟫), a short story published at the end of 1979, shows the gap between political justice and conventional ethics. The hero’s and heroine’s steadfastness to political convictions and their relative rebellion against ethics signifies that people’s thoughts about social ethics have broken away from the conclusion of political criticism (“The Clash between Civilization and Ignorance” 154). Ji believes that Zhang Jie has entered the forbidden area of the intellectuals’ inner world and reinterpreted humanity. As a highly cultivated writer, Zhang Jie has paid attention to the civilization of society from the very beginning of her writing. She is good at expressing people’s minds and emotions, especially the mentality of intellectuals. However, in the short story, “There Is a Youth” (⟪有一个青年⟫), Zhang’s understanding of civilization is only limited to the surface of cultural upbringing, while in “Love Must Not Be Forgotten,” the author boldly deals with the social and ethical relationship centered around marriage and love (“The Clash between

Fiction Criticism during the New Period  99 Civilization and Ignorance” 155). Ji points out that Zhang Jie is not satisfied with merely “entering the forbidden area.” She also delves into human emotions through her portrayal of women as the target of representation, and her exploration racks up valuable results. Her courage responds to the emancipation of human nature in the 1980s and unveils the mystery of humanity in modern society. Her novella, The Ark, offers a telling evidence. Ji Hongzhen claims, Zhong Yu (the heroine), a female writer, lives with her daughter after divorce, and later she falls in love with an old official who has a charismatic personality. However, the man has a very harmonious family even though there is no love between him and his wife. By depicting such a treacherous love affair, the author attempts to show a widespread anomaly in social and marital relationships: marriage without love and love that has never been understood or respected. This is the way in which she reveals some vulgar and obsolete concepts of social ethics and their restraints on people’s minds and wonderful emotions. (“The Clash between Civilization and Ignorance” 159) Wang Meng was a frontrunner in fiction writing from 1979 to 1982. The fact that he joined the Communist Party of China at a young age helps him deeply reflect on political movements and portray a group of explorers with the “stream of consciousness” narratives. In Six Years of the New Period Literature (⟪新时期 文学六年⟫), Zhang Jiong,5 Jiang Shouqian,6 and Cai Kui7 contend that Wang has a comprehensive influence on the literature of his time. “The publication of Buli and Butterfly (⟪蝴蝶⟫) expands the depth and breadth of historical exploration in novellas and brings novels about historical reflection to a new level” (Six Years of the New Period Literature 217). Wang shows what intellectuals and old officials have gone through in more than 30 years in various narratives. “From the 1950s to the 1980s, Wang incessantly probed into the issues concerning old officials’ deteriorating revolutionary will and the growing bureaucracy” (Six Years of the New Period Literature 218). Zeng Zhennan8 suggests that in Wang Meng’s works, what is as equally imperative as the sense of specific historical connections amidst historical retributions is the sense of vicissitudes. This is a gut feeling that the author gleans from historical changes and shares it with his various beloved characters. If we only look at the variety, accuracy and novelty of his artistic expression, we may even argue that the sense of vicissitudes in Wang’s works is more important than the sense of history. The sense of history, which includes the idea of historical retribution, more often than not, functions as the original form of thought or a kind of political wisdom, whereas the sense of vicissitudes is more likely to exist in characters’ moods and feelings. The former is an objective cognition partial to history and society, while the latter is a subjective feeling partial to reality and life. (Zeng 54)

100  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction Wang Meng’s exploration of stream of consciousness catches some critics’ attention. In his article, “A New Approach to Fiction Writing: Wang Meng’s Recent Works,” Yan Gang9 points out that Wang’s works, such as “The Eyes of Night” (⟪夜的眼⟫), Buli (⟪布礼⟫), “The Kite Ribbons” (⟪风筝飘带⟫), “The Sound of Spring” (⟪春之声⟫), “The Dream of the Sea” (⟪海的梦⟫), and “Butterfly,” were widely circulated at the time. The fact that these stories have not only launched a spectacular sensation, in which readers are scrambling to read them and critics are busy discussing them but also exert such a sweeping impact through their exploration and renovation in novelistic form is unprecedented in the history of the contemporary novel since 1949 (Yan 27). Moreover, Yan Gang asserts that Wang directly draws on the stream-of-consciousness technique from Western literature, but he insists that Wang has no intention to cut his tie to the realistic tradition. “What can we call Wang’s new stories? Let’s talk about it. I think it is a new breed of realistic literature that has not deviated from the few requirements of realism about authenticity” (Yan 30). Yan Gang makes a prudent comment out of precaution since he believes that realistic literature in the New Period could still retain its strong vigor. Liu Zaifu10 analyzes Wang Meng’s “stream-of-consciousness fiction” from a non-historical perspective. He argues that the so-called stream-of-consciousness fiction is, in essence, the estheticization of a character’s inner world, and its main task is to explore characters’ inner world and to fully the images that reflect various aspects of their souls (44). In addition to inner monologue, psychoanalysis, and sensory impression are also techniques widely used in Wang’s stream-of-­ consciousness fiction. Liu claims, Wang’s Buli and Butterfly belong to the category of psychoanalysis fiction because Wang still involves himself in his stories and his “I” does not disappear. Impressions of the hero, Zhong Yicheng in Buli, are summarized in the author’s narrative and never separated from his thinking and rationality. (46) At the time, Liu was promoting his theory of “subjectivity,” so his focus was naturally placed on the inner world of human beings. He and Wang share a common understanding about this issue: “despite the author’s intervention, it still differs sharply from traditional stories because its focus is on characters’ inner world,” and “the primary concern in the entire story is the activity in characters’ inner consciousness, which is, in turn, the pivot of the story and the driving force behind the plot” (Liu 47). Li Tuo11 is a writer-turned-critic, so he is willing to evaluate Wang Meng’s stream-of-consciousness experiment based on his writing techniques. In his view, Buli is one of the few works in which Chinese writers attempt to draw on and absorb the “stream of consciousness” technique while adhering to the writing principle of revolutionary realism. It should be admitted that Buli, as an experiment, is not only a success but also a great achievement in the craft of novel writing (“­Realism and ‘Stream of Consciousness’” 241). In his analysis of Wang’s Butterfly, Li states that by relying on the stream of consciousness of the hero Zhang Siyuan (张思远),

Fiction Criticism during the New Period  101 the author manages to limit the story to 40,000 words in length, but still fills the story with extremely broad scenes of life that seem to have spanned decades in time and covered thousands of miles in space. However, what is more important to Butterfly is its dreamlike atmosphere and tone created by the stream of consciousness narrative. So many colorful images appear in the hero’s thoughts, alternating between real and surreal, clear and dim. In the last quarter of the story, in which the hero returns to the anonymous mountain village, and then goes back to the city, the author maintains the same atmosphere in his realistic description. (“Realism and ‘Stream of Consciousness’” 244) In Li Tuo’s opinion, the story borrows the stream of consciousness technique for its form, but its content is about “searching for the soul” – the soul that Zhang ­Siyuan once lost but began to reflect on and rebuild after returning to normal ­society. This is, as Li claims, what brings Butterfly a special artistic charm, which enables the author to address the “soul searching” theme in a profound, comprehensive, and poetic way. “And it is this charm that has made us, like Zhang ­Siyuan, constantly recall the ancient and legendary story of ‘Chuang Tzu’s Dream of Butterfly’ and realize that Zhang’s ‘soul searching’ may have much deeper philosophical implications” (“Realism and ‘Stream of Consciousness’” 244). At that time, critics were eager to show their individuality. They tended to make random ­analogies or irrelevant digressions in their critical articles in the hope of getting a magical ­effect from a series of peripheral events. Li Tuo is such a critic, but he is not alone. The same practice also occurs in many young and middle-aged critics, such as Liu Zaifu, Wu Liang (吴亮), Huang Ziping, and Li Jie. This is considered a one-time historical spectacle during that period. Zhang Xianliang’s bold literary writing turns him into the most controversial and most visible writer of the New Period. He carefully stays away from politically sensitive issues and wisely uses the character Zhang Yonglin’s lust and sexual awareness as a disguise to avoid unnecessary trouble. Huang Ziping12 discovers Zhang’s hidden mentality in Mimosa (⟪绿化树⟫) and Half of Man Is Woman (⟪男 人的一半是女人⟫). He states that the author captures well the true mentality of that generation when presenting that difficult spiritual journey. But Huang points out bluntly that the artistic depiction of suffering is not supposed to end with a denunciation of suffering. Once a person meticulously describes how he endures suffering and how he gets over it, he has, more or less, taken suffering as a target of “art reflection.” As for a work of art, there is nothing wrong with it. When people look back retrospectively at the suffering they endured, they are touched by their own perseverance, so they couldn’t help but “sanctify” the suffering and even wish to experience greater suffering for a fulfilling life (The Spirit of the Brooding Old Tree 148). However, “what transformed suffering into ‘a fulfilling life’?” The author answers the question from two sides: one is the endurance and hard work of the female characters represented by Ma Yinghua; the other is Zhang Yonglin’s self-transcendence (The Spirit of the Brooding Old Tree 151).

102  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction Probably, it is due to the influence of Russian literature and philosophy that Zhang Xianliang developed his concept of literature and his novelistic structure so different from those of his contemporary writers. Still, Huang Ziping pinpoints the flaw in Zhang’s writing. Zhang might be too hasty when shifting from the truthfulness of psychology to historical philosophy or the philosophical truth about life. The reason is that “the hasty shift will inevitably leave some gaps, but, more often than not, what is used to fill the gaps might not necessarily be truth” (The Spirit of the Brooding Old Tree 151). Liu Zaifu believes that the conflict between spirit and flesh is a core element of Zhang Xianliang’s works. In his view, Zhang’s novella, Mimosa, is a mindboggling and thought-provoking work. The depth of the protagonist’s soul is very rare in contemporary literature. The work depicts how he goes through a period of arduous life after his release from the reform-through-labor prison. Or rather, it is a tough journey to resurrect and regain his “dead soul.” However, his newly revived soul continues to struggle on another level (a deeper level). “It is a conflict between flesh and cognition, namely, a resurrection and rise of the soul on a much higher stage. This rising process is full of pain once again” (Liu 176). Liu also notices the special role of women in the revival of Zhang Yonglin’s soul. “Ma Yinghua’s words, ‘You’d better study hard,’ not only quench his evil sexual desires, but also rekindle the flame inside him to pursue knowledge and truth. This appears to be Ma’s further attempt to rescue his soul” (Liu 177). A young critic, Wang Xiaoming, also notes that Zhang often uses the relationship between men and women to kick up a rumpus in his novel, but he criticizes such a move dismissively: No matter how hard Zhang Xianliang tries to portray female characters, like Ma Yinghua, as loyal slaves, his heartfelt gratitude to women and his unstoppable urge to ask them for warmth and dependence will gradually spill out after all. With a careful reading, the reader can find that all these female characters have one thing in common, that is, their affection for the man, which is almost akin to a mother’s affection for her son. From Qiao Anping’s care for Shi Zai to Han Yumei’s consideration for Wei Tiangui, Mu Yushan’s understanding of Long Zhong’s plight to Ma Yinghua’s smile as she watches Zhang Yonglin wolf down his food, or even Huang Xiangjiu’s final curse on Zhang, all these make you feel a kind of tender feeling and a sene of pity. It might be love, but there is little of a thirst for a strong man, but more of a motherly sacrifice. It is indeed forgiveness, but there is seldom, if ever, communication after the cause is found. What occurs, more frequently, is a condescending compromise or a sort of appeasement with pity. No matter how many times Zhang Xianliang fantasizes about his self-respect, what he endures for a long time is, above all, the humiliation of being trampled under other people’s feet, which amounts to a torture that ceaselessly annihilated his masculine consciousness. In his memory, what he got from women was more affection and pity rather than admiration and attachment. Perhaps, the reason why the author is so eager to show the male narrator’s manly power is

Fiction Criticism during the New Period  103 that he had lost a man’s rights before. Perhaps, it is precisely because Zhang hates to recall receiving women’s protection in his humiliating past, he is firmly determined today to put more admiring expressions toward the hero on these women’s faces. Unfortunately, his emotional memory messes up, one more time, the attempt of the narrator, who tries desperately to appear a little more superior to the female characters, but in the end, the reader finds that the women often look down at the hero with pity. (95–96) This kind of criticism, which upheld independent opinions regardless of the writers’ personal sense or even experience of right and wrong, was rare to find in the entire 1980s. The way in which critics analyze the “problems” in literary works based on authors’ own problems breaks fresh ground in fiction criticism. During that period, people’s “blind trust” in writers’ works reached an unprecedented level. It coincided with a similar “blind trust” toward the progress of history. No one regarded novels as novelists’ personal belongings, but rather as allies of historical progress. To some extent, it reflected the short-sightedness in the history of fiction criticism and the real quality of fiction criticism at that time as well. It is no exaggeration to say that Wang Xiaoming’s article tears open a hole in this issue, so we are able to understand it. Wang Meng is a writer who excels at writing stories and novels from a political perspective. His early experience in the revolution becomes a major formative factor in his writing career and profoundly influences his ideology and concept of fiction writing. When Lei Da,13 a journalist from the Journal of Literature & Art (⟪文艺报⟫), asked Wang what he thought of the criticism about “A Young Newcomer in the Department of Organizations” over 20 years ago, he smiled brightly and said emotionally, “I don’t want to rake up the past.” Then, he told Lei his views about this. First, literature should actively serve politics; it should not only respond quickly to the Party’s documents and editorials, but also move ahead of the times, find and raise issues that have not yet been mentioned in documents or editorials, and boldly put forward writers’ opinions. Second, a short story has its own rules, and it always has a focus. Third, so far, the works, including the excellent ones, have not completely escaped from the “theme first” rule, which appears to have resulted from the philistine understanding of the idea that literature and art should serve politics (Lei, The Newspaper of Literature and Art). According to Yue Daiyun (乐黛云), Zhang Jie is a writer who writes novels from the perspective of typical female consciousness and whose literary works are highly autobiographical. Yue holds that the awakening of modern Chinese women’s consciousness is mainly manifested as a rebellion against the patriarchal ­dominance, that is, the power of their fathers and husbands in its initial stage. They flee, in droves, from the families ruled by their fathers or husbands (45). Yue argues, What’s so good about running away from the family and then becoming a free woman without a family? In Zhang Jie’s The Ark, a female journalist, a female movie director, and a female translator leave their men and

104  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction live together to build an ark with only women. First of all, they have to go through “a self-discrediting and even self-destroying battle” – divorce. They must shoulder the double duty as the man and woman in the family, and they must put up with all kinds of gossips and men’s lustful eyes toward divorced women. (46) Yue points out that for a free self, they have to pay a hefty price of stifling the meaning of life. In the author’s view, it is worthwhile to escape from a loveless family, even at such a high cost. That is why she used “the ark” as the title of this story with a special note, “two arks move forward together while each man lies happily on his back or belly” (from “The Legend of Ban Gu,” The History of ­Latter Han ⟪后汉书·班固传⟫), instead of using the Western allusion of “Noah’s Ark” (46). In Liu Zaifu’s opinion, Zhang Xianliang is a novelist well-known for dedicating his novel writing to the redemption of one’s soul. His self-redemption is achieved through women. Liu states that once the part of the protagonist’s reason, which is hidden in his soul, is resurrected, something deeper in his soul starts sprouting. He starts showing his sense of cultural superiority in front of Ma Yinghua. Such a sense of superiority even makes him feel the “vulgarity” of the great woman who has saved his soul and the gap between them. “This is a long-dormant feeling deep in his soul. This sprouting sense of superiority is not so much a contempt for the manual laborer, Ma Yinghua, as a further awakening of his self-essence as an intellectual” (176–177). Liu Zaifu regards Zhang Yonglin’s sense of spiritual superiority as a feature and an ideological starting point in Zhang’s novel writing. Zhang’s source of ideas, as Liu claims, appears to be the so-called Lu Xun’s tradition. The abovementioned criticisms leave a significant impact on the understanding of the works by Wang Meng, Zhang Xianliang, and others. Moreover, the subsequent studies of these writers’ works have been basically centered around the same respects. Judging from these comments, we may realize that these critics are at the forefront of literature, so their views naturally reflect the major symptoms of the literature at that time. For people in the 1980s, “politics,” “women,” and “soul” were often targeted as potential breakthroughs in dismantling the forbidden zone of thought. The critical articles imply the innermost voice of millions of people who have just suffered from various political movements. It emphasizes that any legitimate society is supposed to defend everyone’s right to live, and any society that violates this principle should be condemned, scourged, and negated. Wang Meng, Zhang Xianliang, and Zhang Jie are the first group of writers to break through the forbidden zones of thought. They focus on exploring themes like politics, femininity, and humanity with tremendous courage, and their works have been resonating with readers for a long time. The themes that these writers focus on not only became the most important tipping points and keywords in the early stage of the New Period Literature but also contributed to the cultivation of other new themes for fiction writing. To some extent, they also trigger later literary trends, such as the “anti-corruption novels”

Fiction Criticism during the New Period  105 by Zhang Ping (张平) and Wang Yuewen (王跃文), and the “women’s fiction” by Wang Anyi (王安忆), Tie Ning (铁凝), Lin Bai (林白), and Chen Ran (陈染) after the 1990s. With the development of literature, the newcomers drift far away from the influence of their predecessors and present diverse styles of their own. In 2001, Wang Anyi claimed in an article, “Am I a Feminist?” “When it comes to feminism, I think there is only one person in China who is a feminist, and that is Zhang Jie” (Wang and Liu 125). Also, she stresses, “I like to write about women because they have something aesthetical. I also write about men, but I have written much less about men, and what I have written is clearly worse than my writings about women, for I find that women are like certain animals” (Wang and Liu 120). She believes that the female character, Meitou (妹头) is very interesting. “Her energy, vitality, and vibrancy exceeds Xiao Bai (小白), a listless man whose vitality is completely gone after leaving his house and moving into an apartment in the new development zone” (Wang and Liu 119). Wang Anyi goes on with her analysis on San (阿三) in the novel, I Love Bill (⟪我爱比尔⟫), She assumes that she has hooked up with Bill, but in fact she can never be with him. Later on, she meets a Frenchman, Martin, whom she also loves, but Martin is different from Bill. Bill is a symbol of modernity, while Martin is not because he has his roots, deep and long. (Wang and Liu 123) “What I mean to say is that a girl dies of self-destruction while approaching the West both physically and spiritually” (Wang and Liu 125). Clearly, the women’s writing that began with Zhang Jie has become richer and more complex in significance due to social development and writers’ exploration and innovation. It is no longer limited to the realm of women’s emotions, but instead it has been more broadly connected with individual lives, bodies, and transnational marriages. The Beijing critics’ conception of realism is developing amidst consistent differentiation and confrontation. If Liu Zaifu, Yan Gang, He Xilai, Lei Da, and Zeng Zhennan uphold the critical concepts of prototype theory and historical aesthetics, then Li Tuo, and Huang Ziping begin to adopt the critical theory of Modernism, which shapes up the diverse and intricate style of their articles and facilitated possible dialogues with the avant-garde fiction. 8.2  Educated Youth Movement and Educated Youth Fiction The “Educated Youth Fiction” and the “Rightist Fiction” are the most active fiction genres in the literary circle during the New Period. Just as the “Rightist Fiction” comes from a history of the anti-rightist movement, the “Educated Youth Fiction” would not have embarked on the literary stage immediately after the “Cultural Revolution” ended, without “the movement of going and working in the mountain areas and countryside” in 1968. With the line, “the world is your oyster,” as its

106  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction slogan, the Educated Youth Movement has been the most far-reaching youth movement since the May 4th New Cultural Movement in 1919. The phrase, “go and work in the mountain areas and countryside” was first mentioned in a document of the Political Bureau of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of China on 25 October 1956, but the first group of educated youth left for the countryside in 1955. To narrow the gap between urban and rural areas, Yang Hua (杨华) and Li Bingheng (李秉衡), two young men in Beijing, applied, on 9 August 1955, to the Beijing Municipal Committee of the Communist Youth League for permission to go to the frontiers and cultivate wasteland. Their application was granted in November. Soon, there was a craze among the educated youths in cities who also wanted to go to the countryside or the frontiers for wasteland cultivation. Chairman Mao Zedong instructed, “The countryside is a vast world where so much could be accomplished,” and “it is necessary for the educated youth to go to the countryside and learn from the poor peasants.” In response, a large number of urban-educated youth joined the campaign. It was implemented in two modes: one was going to farms (including farming corps and cadre schools); the other was joining the production teams in villages. Unlike the first mode, those included in the second mode did not need to go through political and physical checkups, and there was no strict limit on quota (except for border areas). Basically, the youths settled down in the villages and worked in the field for their livelihood just as like other villagers. In 1968, students from junior and senior high schools (i.e. “junior and senior high school students of Classes 1966-1968 in China”) graduated and went to the countryside together, which was something that had never happened at home and abroad. After the winter of that year, the campaign kept going for many years. The scale of the campaign, the number of affected families, the intensity of mobilization, and the depth of its influence in China and beyond were all unprecedented in history. From then on, the term “join the production team” (插队) became a term of special significance. In this far-reaching youth movement, a large number of “Educated Youth Writers” emerged, including Lu Xinhua (卢新华), Kong Jiesheng (孔捷生), Zhang Yu Luojin (遇罗锦), Han Shaogong (韩少功), Wang Anyi (王安忆), A Cheng (阿 城), Ye Xin (叶辛), Shi Tiesheng (史铁生), Zheng Yi (郑义), Chen Jiankong (陈 建功), Tie Ning (铁凝), Zhulin (竹林), Lu Tianming (陆天明), and Lu Xing’er (陆星儿). Critics hope to put aside the tragic narrative of “Scar Literature” and return to the “daily life” scene in the Educated Youth Fiction. In their article “Fiction Anchors Here: the Place of Contemporary Novella,” Li Jiefei and Zhang Ling claim that A Cheng’s short story, “The Chess Master” (⟪棋王⟫), explicitly embodies the “nonfiction” tendency. Some people divide the tendency into two categories based on conventional expressions: one is pure subjectivism; the other is pure objectivity. Whether the classification is new or not is not our immediate concern, but their innate ideal is the same, namely, the attempt to shake off all the restrictions imposed on fiction by the textbooks and to bring fiction back to life. It does not matter

Fiction Criticism during the New Period  107 if it stresses the subject’s feelings or the collective unconsciousness. In short, writers should really return to the life they understand. Thus, life becomes noumenon and art itself. Thereby, the formality of art is presented as the formality of life. Undoubtedly, it is the formality of life that brings humor to “The Chess Master.” (43) The “anchor drop” that Li Jiefei and Zhang Ling refer to is the writers’ selfadjustments in their writing, including their relationship with the Educated Youth literature and how to stick to their own artistic features. According to Kuang Xinnian (旷新年), A Cheng’s three short stories, “The Chess Master,” “The Tree Master,” and “The Teacher” are all based on his experience as an Educated Youth, but they have surpassed the Educated Youth Fiction, which is tinged with a little touch of the “Scar Literature” both in thematic significance and stylistic form. There is no doubt that A Cheng portrays a kind of tragic historical encounter and his personal experiences without resorting to the prevailing romantic and idealistic styles at the time. In his plain narrative of daily life, he expresses his identification with and appreciation of the traditional Chinese culture. His deceptively clumsy description, cogent language, and liberal aesthetic sentiments are imbued with strong elements of national culture and the revived essence of classical literature. In those tumultuous years, the hero of “The Chess Master,” Wang Yisheng, indulges himself in the art of chess, happy-go-lucky and self-complacent. As we all know, the Chu River and Han Border (the diving line) in Chinese chess embody the cultural spirit of Taoism. The way in which Acheng delineates Wang’s search for ChuangTzu’s demeanor in a chaotic and frenzy era shows the author’s yearning for the ancient Taoist culture. “A Cheng’s narrative about Wang’s high priority for food accentuates his respect for the value of life itself. The portrayal of Wang’s composure in urgencies and easy-going personality sets him apart from the image of the Educated Youth under the norm of that time” (Kuang 69). Kuang also claims that the short story focuses its representation of Wang’s unique personality on one aspect: “he seems to be womanish and weak, but actually he is quietly accumulating his power in doing nothing. Once the need occurs, he can release his mighty force of life” (70). Li Jiefei, Zhang Ling, and Kuang Xinnian point out the necessity of separating the Educated Youth Fiction from the social movement by citing the metaphorical implication of “anchor drop.” After a brief narration of the painful history, the Educated Youth Fiction writers split and move on in different directions. Han Shaogong and A Cheng work hard to transform their writing into root-tracing literature. These writers realize that the Educated Youth Movement is only a temporary policy adopted by the government, so it can be the starting point of their writing, rather than the final destination. Once the literature about the Educated Youth becomes a historical narrative, it will show its limitations. Hence, the Educated Youth Fiction, which is known for its meticulous description and broad historical scope, would finish its historical mission prematurely.

108  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction Looking at the history of contemporary fiction, it is necessary to reflect on the idea of “anchor drop” because it means an interruption of history, a hasty finish, and a dead end to more profound expansion. There are so many other sub-genres in fiction writing, such as “rural cooperative fiction,” “scar fiction,” “Educated Youth Fiction,” and “Avant-garde Fiction.” These sub-genres either lose their momentum due to the end of historical movements or divisions among writers. Their incompleteness has affirmed that there is no long-term plan for contemporary Chinese fiction. The fact that there have been too many “transformations” and “transitions” in contemporary Chinese history appears to be the basic reason why a plan like this cannot be expanded into a wide historical space. Hong Zicheng, who was not affiliated with “Beijing Critics Circle” at the time, is able to objectively observe the problems of the Educated Youth literature. He does his analysis through comparison, Similar to the works by the “comeback writers” who were purged as Rightists in the 1950s, the works by the writers of the Educated Youth Fiction often contain obviously autobiographical elements. They hope to talk about the youth of their generation and offer a testimony that is at once regrettable, baffling, or proud for their experience as Educated Youths. Also, they can ­effortlessly find characters, stories, and details from their lives and write them into their fictions. As compared to the “comeback writers,” however, they care more about the loss and search of individual nature, but do not have much creative urge in judging history itself or investigating the origins of historical movements. (117) Hong continues to state that the works of the Educated Youth writers differ from the reflective fiction of the “comeback writers” both in form and sentiment. They do not want to link their personal experience with major historical events, and their basic emotion is always dictated by their panic and anxious search for something. In his view, all this has a lot to do with the fact that the Educated Youth Movement is already over as well as the actual predicament of so many Educated Youths after their return to cities (118–119). Hong also conducts a detailed study on the differences between Educated Youths’ experience and the writing about it. He believes that Wang Anyi, a junior high school student who graduated in 1969, did not experience the painful destruction of “the junior and senior high school graduates of Classes 1966–1968” (老三届), nor did she develop her social ideals and life values at the time. On the contrary, Zheng Yi was born in a “capitalist” family and, for that, he was subject to discrimination from the very beginning. In his works, therefore, there is “no motivation to search for spiritual treasure by settling down in the rural areas” (119). The adjustment of a writer’s writing is related to his personal experience, but it is not separated from the ups and downs of literary trends, either. His writing and Shi Tiesheng’s My Remote Qingping Bay reveal some spiritual characteristics of the “Root-tracing Literature” that emerged later (120). Hong also states, “After the

Fiction Criticism during the New Period  109 mid-1980s, ‘the Educated Youth writers’, as a writing group, were virtually nonexistent,” but it is hard to say that “the ‘resources’ that this historical movement offers to literature have been fully cultivated” (120). In addition to Hong Zicheng, Yang Xiaofan shares his view on the same issue, claiming that it is good for the development of literature to take the Educated Youth Fiction out of the Educated Youth Movement prematurely and sort out the connection between them, but in doing so we turn away from a rare opportunity to deeply understand the problems in rural China behind the Educated Youth Movement at that time. In her article, “How Should the Educated Youth Fiction Trace its Roots?”, she emphasizes, From the criticism on the “Root-tracing Literature” and the retroactive ­canonization of “The Chess Master,” we can find that the new subject is reconstructed on the premise of discarding the real history of the Educated Youth. While assisting their effort to accomplish the reform of the literary institution and move it toward globalization and literary modernization, the abstract cultural imagination may have hindered their objective understanding of the vast countryside, where the Educated Youth Movement occurred. It also discourages them from refreshing their memories of the contemporary history, which is, in other words, a part of the practice in the Chinese socialist revolution that all of them experienced personally. (48) Under such circumstances, when reading retrospectively the mainstream critical articles on the Educated Youth Fiction at that time, we will find that the introspection advocated by Hong Zicheng and Yang Xiaofan does not occur. All along, these articles fixate on the shallow topics concerning the “introspection on the Cultural Revolution” and follow the suit of socio-historical criticism in analyzing the “historical value” of the Educated Youth Fiction. Some critics insist, for example, that Liang Xiaosheng’s short story, “This Is a Magical Land” (⟪这是一片神奇的土地⟫), is a highly legendary story about life. The author represents, in an undiluted way, how the turbulent times left an indelible mark on the life, thinking, and character of a group of Educated Youths who settled down in the Great Northern Wilderness back then. In this wilderness, there is naivety, but there are also entrepreneurial ambition and precious courage, just like a newborn calf who makes little of tigers; there are sincere and touching friendship and love despite a little distortion; there are pain, blood, tears, death, and even heroic achievements – the reclaimed wilderness called “ghost swamp” (Six Years of the New Period Literature 154). Li Xiaoyan, Wang Zhigang, and the narrator are some of the most impressive Educated Youths, who come alive in the fascinating backdrop of life. At the end of the story, the narrator visits the tomb of the “pioneers” to pay a tribute to his sister and Li Xiaoyan. The author writes, We have experienced the strong wind of the Great Northern Wilderness, the inimitable hardships, and joys in cultivating this magical land. From now on,

110  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction leaving or staying, no difficulty or hardship will ever cause any fear in our mind or force us to surrender…. Ah, the Great Northern Wilderness!”. (Liang 191) Some critics argue that this is how the narrator “I” thinks about this period of his life in the Great Northern Wilderness. All the other experiences in life during the ten-year turmoil should be reconciled in a similar way (Six Years of the New Period Literature 155). Zhang Zhong analyzes the image of peasants that Han Shaogong portrays in his novel, See the Western Thatched Field (⟪西望茅草地⟫). Zhang holds that the author intends to identify a few characteristics of the short-sighted Chinese farmers: egalitarianism, asceticism, and paternalism. The protagonist of this novel, Zhang Zhongtian (张种田), is a typical revolutionary farmer. He joins the revolution with the mindset of a small farmer and does his socialist job with his smallproducer habit. Once he is in charge of the land of the thatch farm, he turns into a chief, who rules with patriarchal authority, imposes his personal will as laws, and replaces modernized production with primitive manual labor. He implements the practice of obscurantism in cultural matters and egalitarianism in economic operation. He does all this with the sincere belief that he is doing everything fairly and selflessly for socialism. Nonetheless, his perverse actions violate the social trends and economic patterns and, therefore, cannot avoid being punished by objective laws. Consequently, his people are disillusioned, the production is in regression, his farm is deteriorating, and he, the chief of this kingdom turns into a beggar-like pitiful creature. Zhang Zhongtian’s tragedy seems to have shattered the various fantasies of reforming the society with small farmers’ concepts (Zhang et al. 543). What is commendable is that Zhang Zhong carefully explores the portrayal of farmers’ image in the Educated Youth Fiction by linking their small-farmer mindset to the historical conditions at the time for an in-depth indication. In Zhang Zhong’s view, given the author’s limited sense of history back then, he fails to probe deeply into the “resource” that the Educated Youth Movement provides to literature. Since the critics were all interested in “revealing scar” and “innovating literature” at that time, they were unable to stand up from the historical foundation, as Hong Zicheng does today, or realize that the “resource” had such a far-reaching significance to the Educated youth Fiction. Of course, Hong approaches the Educated Youth Fiction as part of his study of literary history. So, it is the sediment of time that offers him a chance to reflect on it once again. 8.3  About “Pseudo-Modernism” In 1982, Feng Jicai, Li Tuo, and Liu Xinwu published “Letters about Modernism” in Shanghai Literature and began their preaching for “modernist literature.” Six years later, Huang Ziping published a critical article, “About ‘Pseudo-Modernism’ and Its Criticism” in Beijing Literature. These are two striking examples of Beijing

Fiction Criticism during the New Period  111 Critics Circle’s involvement in modernist literature. Also, at the time when critics in Beijing launched their discussion and debate on the modernist literature, the Western modernist literature just came back again after it went into oblivion for decades. This, in a way, signified the historical conclusion of the criticism in the liberated regions. The appearance of new and fledging critics, such as Li Tuo and Huang Ziping, indicates that there is a sign of disintegration within “Beijing Critics Circle,” which is well-known for its strength in historical criticism. Behind all these signs are the big waves in the wake of Beijing’s, or the ancient capital’s, awakening in the New Period and its move from a traditional and political society into a modern one. From 1982 to 1985, the young novelists in Beijing, Liu Sola (刘索拉), Zhang Xinxin (张辛欣), and Xu Xing (徐星) shared the sensitive information about the start of China’s modernization process in their works, such as You Have No Choice (⟪你别无选择⟫), Blue Sky and Green Sea (⟪蓝天绿海⟫), On the Same Horizon (⟪在同一地平线上⟫) and Variations without a Theme (⟪无主题变奏⟫). They portray the images of modern youths with a modern temperament and a rebellious spirit, who are different from those in the literature from 1949 to 1966. It marks a refurbishment in the gallery of characters for contemporary literature. As the earliest works that address urban themes, they are directly related to the dramatic changes in the urban function of Beijing in the 1980s. In the winter of 1979, a large billboard of Beauty Ad appeared at the intersection of Beach Street in Beijing. This hand-painted billboard had a strong visual impact on the public. Young people wearing imported toad sunglasses with a trademark sticker on the corner became a beautiful sight to behold on the streets or in the park in Beijing in the late 1970s and early 1980s. It is the awakening of brand consciousness and the earliest trend of modern society. There are also several novels written on “the eve of Beijing’s modernization,” even though they are more than a decade behind the postmodern cityscape portrayed by Mike Featherstone. It was not until the mid-1990s that signs of modernization, such as “supermarkets, shopping malls, trams, trains, streets, buildings, all the goods on display, and the throngs of people moving through these spaces,” started appearing all over Beijing (Featherstone 34). The foresighted feature in such descriptions brought a lot of controversies to their novels at the time and, to some extent, affected their subtle position in the narrative of contemporary literary history. The protagonist in Variations without a Theme is a young man who is pursuing “the dream of the time.” He is keenly aware of the profound changes that will take place in Beijing in the next decade. He wants to choose his path and crave for various careers. So, he will not turn into a promising young man like Old Q (老 Q), Old Hui (老讳), “False Regime” (“伪政权”), or “Present Tense” (“现在时”). From time to time, he speaks sarcastically about social ideology, but he is bewildered in spirit. Though rare in the works of the time, a superfluous man like this is endowed with certain historical prophecies. The prophecy is soon proven in Wang Shuo’s writing. In his novels, such as Masters of Mischief (⟪顽主⟫), I Am Your Father (⟪我是你爸爸⟫), and Die Satisfied (⟪过把瘾就死⟫), Wang Suo turns the conceptual literary messages in Xu Xing’s novels into a world of lifelike characters.

112  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction His mischievous characters are more perspicacious and flamboyant than those in Xu Xing’s and others’ novels. Critics like Feng Jicai, Li Tuo, and Liu Xinwu, who are treading in the tide of changes, foresee the thorough reforms that will take place in China in various fields, including people’s daily lives. Literature, however, will be the first spring swallow to fly out at the start of great changes. This is the context, in which they chose modernist literature as the topic for their letter correspondence in 1982, discussing the impending conceptual changes in contemporary literature. In their ­correspondence, there are such paragraphs, My remark, we need “modernists,” refers to the need of the society and the time, namely, the need of the contemporary society. The “modernists” we need are authentic Chinese modernists, rather than the kind of modernists who have been totally westernized and unable to offer any creative ideas. In short, the term “modernist” has a broad meaning, and it simply means the modern Chinese literature characterized by an innovative spirit. The standard and definition of our modernists are not quite the same as those of Western modernists. In his letter to Liu Xinwu (刘心武), Li Tuo (李陀) cites monograph on modernist fiction as an example in his specific discussion on issues like the stylistic changes and artistic techniques in literature. Unlike the books by some other scholars of foreign literature, Gao’s monograph, A Study on the Technique of Modern Fiction (⟪现代小说技巧初探⟫), actually relies on a strategy of sublation instead of presenting a comprehensive analysis and critique on the origin, development, achievement, and historical limitations of the Western modernist literature. It seems to have attempted at a certain kind of separation. The technique of representation in Western modernist literature is a very complex system. In terms of form, it is certainly a major innovation for classical literary concepts and techniques of expression, replacing the old system with a new one. However, form and content are often closely linked as a certain form serves a certain kind of content. (88) Historically speaking, these three critics, Feng Jicai, Li Tuo, and Liu Xinwu), are brought together by a common literary ideal. Their “correspondence” reveals their bewilderment, their awakening consciousness, and more importantly, their new burgeoning ideas. Even though the Western modernist literature was first introduced to China by the scholars from the Institute of Foreign Literature at the CASS, including Li Wenjun (李文俊), Liu Mingjiu (柳鸣九), Ye Tingfang (叶廷 芳), Lv Tongliu (吕同六), Dong Hengxun (董衡巽), Zhu Hong (朱虹), and Wu Yuetian (吴岳添), it is Feng, Li, and Liu who convert, for the first time, the introductory work by the early scholars into fiction criticism in their “correspondence.” Their literary “correspondence” could be perceived as the literary circle’s initial review of the literature in the previous 17 years. In the early 1980s, China embarked on a course dedicated to economic construction, which offered these critics a golden opportunity to call for “modernist literature.”

Fiction Criticism during the New Period  113 Different from the critical concepts widely practiced by the “Critics Circle in Liberated Areas,” critics in Beijing express their keen interest in topics like the individual, self, and literary form. The argument presented by Li Tuo and others has an impact on the probe into the art of fiction, but one can’t help but notice that their argument contains the ingredients of “compromise” and “concession,” or reflects the ebb and flow of the intense social reform at that time. If we conduct an intellectual and archeological examination of the “Writers’ Correspondence,” as suggested by some scholars, it is not difficult to find that Mao Zedong’s Speeches, which are perceived as the source of knowledge by the above-mentioned three writers, opposes the idea of separating form from content, but instead emphasizes the close connection between the two and the need for form to serve content. In his book, A Great Debate on the Literary Front (⟪文艺战线上的一场大辩 论⟫), Zhou Yang (周扬) also accentuates the rhetorical division, definition, and categorization of “the class attribute of literature.” Zhou insists that what we ask for is socialist literature, but not bourgeois literature, and that literature should serve the working people at large, but not the elite minority. What catches the attention of readers is that while anxiously calling out for modernist literature and defending its legitimacy, the three writers still have to carefully adjust their radical attitude and stay close to Mao’s and Zhou’s ideas about the “origin of knowledge.” As a matter of fact, this idea did not exit from literary writing and literary criticism during the 1980s but kept penetrating extensively in the literary field, which was supposed to be centered around exploration and humanitarianism. Years later, even Li Tuo admits, Looking back in hindsight, we see various issues – so many and so grave – that are tied to the 1980s. You ought to reconsider the history, not one but so many kinds of histories, during the decade from a critical perspective, which might be a tough task to handle because what needs to be tackled is not only the history since the founding of the People’s Republic in 1949, but also the history of the Chinese revolution, the history of the Reform and Opening up, the history of the changing ideas and concepts, and the history of economic and cultural development over the past hundred years. (qtd. in Cheng 94) It should be noted that this type of substitutionary critical approach and concept was quite popular and appealing to many people at the time. It leaves behind traces of its going out of step gradually with the trend of the times due to the simplicity of its theoretical texture and the intuitiveness of its notion. Historically speaking, the fiction about individual and self is significant in the transition of a great era. Writing about an individual can be a restoration of historical writing. It is through such an extreme measure that people reconstruct their own world. However, once the process ends and literature faces a new historical phase on the horizon, individual writing about self obviously seems quite insignificant. Huang Ziping (黄子平), a young critic, issued a warning, calling for a stop on modernism. In an article that stirred up quite a few controversies at the time of its

114  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction publication, he points out that a quick retrospective look at the process in which Chinese writers rediscovered modernist literature after 1978 might help readers figure out the abovementioned complex connotations. Among so many binary oppositions, “perception and technique” might be the key to the analysis (“‘PseudoModernism’ and Its Criticism” 10). It is said that George Lukács, who always indulged himself in Realism, criticized Expressionism harshly, but suddenly came to understand the authenticity of Kafka’s works after he was arrested in the wake of the Hungarian Revolution. Similarly, it is Kafka who was first accepted, almost unanimously, by Chinese writers after the decade of calamity. Huang writes that in her novella, The Three Living Stones (⟪三生石⟫), Zong Pu (宗璞), a female writer working at the Institute of Foreign Literature, the CASS, writes that the heroine Mei Bodhi (梅菩提) realizes, while secretly burning her papers during the Cultural Revolution, how absurd she was to criticize Kafka’s limitations based on the unified tone at the time. In fact, Zong Pu’s short story, “Who Am I,” written in 1979, evidently reminds people of Kafka’s The Metamorphoses (“‘Pseudo-Modernism’ and Its Criticism” 12). In Huang’s view, the content of Western modernist literature is consistent with its form, so he is not so sure if it is necessary to intentionally separate one from the other. Feng Jicai, Li Tuo, and Liu Xinwu, issued several letters which got labeled as “the four little kites” afterward and sparked a heated shouting match over the air. What they all stressed, as one may discern from the booklet and these letters, is how to separate the descriptive technique of modernist literature from its specific descriptive content on the one hand and, on the other, emphasize the relative independence of stylistic beauty and the supra-class nature of novelistic techniques. Whether it is a tactic, a deceit, an expedient move, an Oriental guile, or a sincere theoretical claim is not really the issue. Indeed, the extent to which the techniques of modernist literature can be separated from the content is still an open question (“‘Pseudo-Modernism’ and Its Criticism” 24). After a lengthy analysis in which he attempted to shatter the basis of Li Tuo’s concept of modernist literature and sarcastically defined it as “pseudo-modernism,” Huang Ziping claims: We could see that “pseudo-modernism” is not a well-thought-out theoretical concept, but rather a critical term that has emerged during an open and fastchanging period and has been easily and conveniently used by many authoritative critics. Its ambiguity is almost fully proportional to its meaningfulness. “Naming” in any kind is a violent imposition. (“‘Pseudo-Modernism’ and Its Criticism” 25) Moreover, behind the term “pseudo-modernism” lies a deep-rooted notion that there exists an authentic or orthodox modernist literature or else (“‘Pseudo-Modernism’ and Its Criticism” 26). This is the most direct criticism of the correspondence circulating among “the four little kites.” In his article “More Thoughts about ‘Pseudo-Modernism’ and Its Criticism,” Li Tuo makes a response. He argues that as for Huang Ziping’s reference to “the

Fiction Criticism during the New Period  115 four little kites,” his letter to Liu Xinwu on 20 May, 1982 is entitled “Modern Fiction and Modernism Are Not the Same Thing.” The key point in this letter is that ­Chinese literature should set modernist fiction as the goal of its development. Li cites a passage from the letter: “Modernist fiction is somehow, or should be, related to the Western modernist fiction. As for the modernist fiction in China, we ought to absorb and learn from the useful technical or aesthetic elements in Western modernist fiction. Of course, there are still a lot of controversies over this issue at present” (31). Li Tuo then abruptly points out that someone may blame him for denouncing realism, but he just wants to claim that realism has deviated drastically from its original definition, Chinese literary critics do not have to stick to the very title of realism and put a crown of realism on their own literature (“More Thoughts about ‘Pseudo-Modernism’ and Its Criticism” 32). He insists, therefore, that he is doing nothing wrong in advocating modernist literature because following the contemporary literary trends is a wise approach. No one can deny that the Western ­modernist literature has exerted a profound impact on the development of contemporary ­Chinese literature. As a matter of fact, the translation, introduction, and study of Western modernism in the Chinese literary circle have reached an unprecedented level since 1980, while Chinese literary writers’ interest in absorbing and learning from Western modernism has reached an all-time high (“More Thoughts about ‘Pseudo-Modernism’ and Its Criticism” 34). Beidao (北岛), Zong Pu, Wang Meng, and make their attempt first, and they are followed by Han Shaogong, A Cheng, Liu Suola, Zhaxi Dawa, Ma Yuan, Mo Yan, Can Xue, Li Rui (李锐), Yu Hua, Su Tong, Sun Ganlu (孙甘露), Wang Shuo, and Li Xiao (李晓). This presents a magnificent view of the modernist fiction writing at present. “The other thing in Huang’s article that annoys me,” Li Tuo adds, “is the cool, almost indifferent, objective attitude that one could detect from the beginning to the end.” He asks, sarcastically: “Is this perhaps something unavoidable in all scientific literary criticism?” (“More Thoughts about ‘Pseudo-Modernism’ and Its Criticism” 34). Li continues to satirize that Huang Ziping once humorously criticized that writers seemed to be chased by the dog of “innovation” so closely that they didn’t even have time to stop and take a piss. “The word spread like wildfire and became a topic of merriment. I would like to ask now: Is the dog now chasing after literary critics?” (“More Thoughts about ‘Pseudo-Modernism’ and Its Criticism” 40). During the open-minded era of the 1980s, an exchange or debate between different opinions was relatively common. A controversy indicates the existence of an issue and, at the same time, leads to a further development of literature. Huang Ziping did not have that “cool, almost indifferent, objective attitude” as Li Tuo accused him. As early as in 1985, Huang praised Liu Suola’s modernist novel, You Have No Choice, calling it a novel that shocked him. He says, That’s why the novel deeply touches me even though I know very little about music. Liu Suola’s work is full of ridicule but sedate, highly condensed but incisively revealing. His characters appear one after another, always with

116  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction deliberate actions and flamboyant expressions. Music, music, and music. There is nothing to think about, fight over, or talk about, except music. The entire story takes place within the walls of that college. In the hallways, there is a perpetual roar of madness. Since the characters have hardly any history or past, they do not emerge on the scene with file packets. Here, it is always in an on-going mode, just like a beam of light shining an image of “now” on the screen right in front of you. Mali (马力) is dead, but since his quilt is still here, he is not dead yet. The little man is gone, but since his functional circle is still in place, he hasn’t left yet. (The Spirit of the Brooding Old Tree 168) All this smacks of something metaphysical and therefore leaves Huang Ziping with an impression that fiction criticism has not made much progress at all. According to Huang Ziping, theories have not provided a satisfactory explanation for figurative abstraction so far, and it is a figurative abstraction that connects fiction to parody, poetry, and philosophy. Dialogue is used flexibly to switch time and space and to portray characters. Every character is a protagonist, so no one is specially designated for the role. As all characters have an exaggerated feature, readers can only remember them by this, but have no clue about “the three-dimension personality.” The constant spin forces readers to see the characters as a seamless community. Liu Suola’s novel depicts the fate of a generation or, more precisely, the history of their troubled minds (The Spirit of the Brooding Old Tree 168). Huang concludes, “So, as you look back in retrospective, you find harmony in chaos, you track down structure, technique, and style in the huge pile of white paper and black words, and you discover agility and talent” (The Spirit of the Brooding Old Tree 169). This is, in essence, not so different from the claims in the “correspondence” among “the four little kites,” namely, Feng Jicai, Li Tuo, Liu Xinwu, and Wang Meng, or the article in which Li Tuo is pitching enthusiastically for modernist fiction. By taking advantage of Beijing Literature (⟪北京文学⟫) as a good venue, Li Tuo spared no effort in supporting young writers who were committed to artistic creativity. Li Xue (李雪) speaks highly of Li Tuo’s role. According to her, Beijing Literature sponsored a class of manuscript revision for young writers in 1986, hoping to discover new writers and new works. Yu Hua was not among this group but was invited to attend on a short notice. When he received the invitation, he didn’t have a manuscript in hand that was decent enough for him to bring to Beijing, so he quickly wrote up a short story. Perhaps, he could never have imagined that this very story he wrote in haste would become a star piece in this class. Yu Hua, formerly a dentist at the health center in Yuanwu, Haiyan County, became one of the few young authors in the class who didn’t need to do any revision. And his story received unanimous praise from Lin Jinlan (林斤澜), the chief editor, and Li Tuo. This story brings Yu Hua good fortune first and big fame later. It has been recorded in the history of contemporary Chinese literature, compiled into various editions of The Complete Works of Yu Hua, and regarded as a notable milestone in his writing

Fiction Criticism during the New Period  117 career. Whenever Yu Hua looks back on his development as a writer and countless scholars explore his career from time to time, this short story naturally becomes the starting point that is mentioned again and again (X. Li 14). Li Xue regards this story as the “starting point” of Yu Hua’s writing career, which speaks volumes about the fact that Li Tuo is highly regarded among literary scholars. Writers are grateful to helpers like Li after they become famous. Li Jianzhou (李建周) further confirms that Ma Yuan’s short story, “The Temptation of Gondis” (⟪冈底斯的诱惑⟫), which established his reputation, would probably have been oblivious without the enthusiastic recommendation from Han Shaogong and Li Tuo. Its publication is quite dramatic, which highlights the interwoven complexity within the literary institution. Before the conference in Hangzhou, Ma Yuan had submitted the manuscript to Shanghai Literature. After a heated discussion, the editorial board eventually refused to publish it because the story was hard to understand and evaluate. During the conference, Li Ziyun resisted other oppositions and published this story under the persuasion of Han Shaogong, the chief editor of New Creation (⟪新创作⟫), as well as Li Tuo and Li Chao (李潮). At that time, the person in charge of a journal had to face a big risk in publishing such a controversial piece. Hence, it sheds some light on two things. One is that the people in the literary publishing circle carry a lot of clout over writers’ works; the other is that in terms of literary production, fledging fiction writers face a paradox: they must produce something unique and appealing in order to secure their place in the literary circle, but in doing so their stories might not get published if they exceed the editors’ expectations (J. Li 70). As the most fervent advocators of “modernist fiction” in the “Beijing Critics Circle,” Li Tuo and Huang Ziping share quite a few similar views. But Li Tuo maintains a writer’s perspective in his criticism, which in a way distinguishes him from academic critics like Huang Ziping. There is no need to evade such a difference. 8.4  Wang Zengqi’s Fiction under the Critical Perspective Had he not made his comeback in the literary circle in 1980, Wang Zengqi (汪曾 祺)15 could only have been a writer of the “Late Beijing School” in modern literature. What seems dramatic is that, at first, Wang was down on his luck while working in the BFLAC and the Peking Opera Company in the 1950s and 1960s, and then he was highly appreciated and instantly promoted to a key position by Jiang Qing (江青) during the Cultural Revolution, but he was once again pushed into oblivion as “a person of the third category” after the downfall of the “Gang of Four.” According to Qian Zhenwen (钱振文), a scholar who studies the phenomenon of Wang’s repeated rehabilitation, thanks to the nearly 30-year gap between Wang and the people born in the 1980s, there was no way for the young generation to know that there had been such a tradition in Chinese literary writing. Even the majority of literary editors who serve as the gatekeepers of journals did not know who Wang Zengqi was. As a result, there was a great discrepancy in assessing or judging “The Love Story of a Young Monk” (⟪受戒⟫) due to the application of different criteria.

118  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction The dispute was not merely, or even primarily, centered around the question of whether it was a good story, but mostly around the question of whether it was a story at all. Many people were baffled by all this. Before its publication, the story was kept “underground” for quite a few months, circulating among friends and colleagues for a private reading, and no one thought it could be published (Z. Qian 30). Wang’s short story, “Special Gift” (⟪异秉⟫), written before “The Love Story of a Young Monk,” was recommended to Yuhua (⟪雨花⟫), a literary magazine in Nanjing, by Lin Jinlan (林斤澜). At the meeting of the editorial board, some editors argued that the decision to publish this short story would surely give readers an impression as if they had no more story for publication. Although the two stories, “The Love Story of a Young Monk” and “Special Gift,” were eventually published in two magazines, it was easy to see the precautions undertaken during the editorial process. The two editorial offices made a similar move by attaching an explanation, which was comparable to an “afterword.” Beijing Literature and Art (⟪北京 文艺⟫),16 the journal in which “The Love Story of a Young Monk” was published, concluded the issue with an article entitled “Editor’s Remarks,” addressing a series of relevant issues, from an analysis of the status quo of the literary circle in 1980 to a report on specific business matters, but the most important content is the “confession” and “explanation” related to the publication of “The Love Story of a Young Monk.” The authors in this issue demonstrate a remarkable accomplishment in pursuing the diversity of their themes and styles. Most of the stories in this issue are indicative of their authors’ commitment to artistic perfection. We applaud conscientious and meticulous endeavor, and the gumption to explore artistic innovation…. As we strive to maximize the significance of ideas, we will certainly work hard in advocating the educational function of literature. In this regard, we hope to receive the strong support from authors. What’s more, we also believe in the aesthetic and cognitive effect of literature. To this end, we selected some stories from a sizable collection of submissions for publication. It is very likely that our selection might be criticized. Just as an author has put it well, it takes some courage to publish their works. God knows since when literature and courage have been tied together so closely. The frequent reliance on courage in evaluating a piece of literature is not conducive to clarifying the issue properly. (“Editor’s Remarks” 80) Even though Beijing Literature and Art does not offer an explicit indication in this passage, it seems obvious that the phrase, “an author,” refers to Wang Zengqi because he attached a brief note, which said that “it might take some guts to publish a story like this,” when he handed his manuscript to Li Qingquan (李清泉), the editor-in-chief of Beijing Literature and Art. Qian Zhenwen also states that after developing in full swing for a few consecutive years, short story writing had lost its momentum and fallen into a collapsing

Fiction Criticism during the New Period  119 mode by 1980 (32). At a symposium on short story writing held in Shanghai in October 1980, Cong Weixi (丛维熙) admits, “the short story writing is not doing well, and it is basically at a standstill. 1979 was a year of bumper harvest for short story writing because so many good pieces were published. In the first seven months of this year, however, things are a lot worse than 1979” (qtd. in Z. Qian 32). In “Editor’s Remarks,” which appeared, along with “The Love Story of a Young Monk,” in the tenth issue of Beijing Literature and Art, the editor states that the publication of the story brightens up the otherwise desolate short story writing in 1980. By the end of the year, it is deemed one of the better stories in the “bumper year” of 1980 by many people in speeches and symposiums (80). With the release of “The Love Story of a Young Monk,” “Special Gift,” and “A Tale of Big Nur,” Wang Zengqi became the most popular short story writer at the time. What seems so baffling is that members of the “Beijing Critics Circle” ­initially avoided voicing any opinion about Wang Zengqi’s short stories. It was Qian Guangpei (钱光培), a poetic critic outside the circle, who offered his response first. In his article, “The In-depth Development of Realism: A Review of Beijing Literature’s Award-Winning Fiction in 1980,” Qian analyzes the unique techniques of representation in “The Love Story of a Young Monk,” but he inadvertently incorporates Wang’s writings into his concept of “deepening realism.” In 1979, he continues, Chinese literature made new progress in reflecting the realities of life after the Third Plenary Session of the 11th Central Committee. First of all, social life was represented in literature on a much broader scale and the time span was extended all the way back to 1956 or 1957. “By 1980,” he claims, Chinese literature has stepped into a new realm in representing the realities of life. We can see clearly, either from the works that deal with the history since the founding of the PRC or the works that reflect the realities in recent years, that writers work really hard, not only showing the inherent complexity of life, but also cultivating the rushing rapids of life and uplifting forces hidden behind various social phenomena. (80) Gao Xiaosheng (高晓声), a writer who understood the craft of fiction writing so well, also rated the story highly. In terms of writing, as Gao suggests, “The Love Story of a Young Monk” indeed broadens readers’ vision and cultivates their thinking. The greater impact comes from the story’s power to expand people’s vision of life. In Gao’s opinion, Wang seems to reopen the door of life for his readers and enable them to revisit the beauty of the world. After reading this story, readers are amazed that stories can be written in this way and that “such kind of life really exists” (qtd. in D. Cheng 87–88). Given Wang’s sensitive identity as “a person of the third category” during the Cultural Revolution and his history as a “not so progressive” writer of the “Beijing School,” even Beijing Literature and Art, the journal that published his works, held a relatively indifferent attitude toward him. In 1980 and 1981, as Qian Zhenwen writes, Wang Zengqi’s “casual works,” such

120  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction as “The Love Story of a Young Monk,” “Special Gift,” and “A Tale of Big Nur,” came out quietly, just like wildflowers and weeds. It is worth noting that all these representative works by Wang were published, as the unobtrusive third or fourth item, in local literary journals, such as Beijing Literature and Art and Yuhua. Wang Zengqi was quite self-conscious about his works, so he did his best to keep a low profile, stating constantly that his work “was not, and never intended to be, part of the mainstream” (35). Perhaps, critics in Beijing were reluctant to comment on Wang Zengqi’s works simply because they did not consider him a mainstream fiction writer. In their opinion, only people like Wang Meng, Zhang Jie, Zhang Xianliang, and later Liu Suola could be called mainstream writers. In 1980, Li Tuo published an article in the Newspaper of Literature and Art, calling for a break from the conventional approaches. Due to their lack of knowledge about modernist literature, these critics tended to classify all the literary works in the past as the products of the conventional approaches, which hindered the progress of literature in the New Period. Under such intellectual circumstances, the muted reaction to Wang Zengqi’s works within the circle of critics was naturally predictable. Perhaps some people knew Wang’s situation well and therefore did not want to get into any kind of trouble. Such a mindset is totally understandable. So, it was not until seven or eight years after the publication of “The Love Story of a Young Monk” that Huang Ziping issued an earnest response in his 1989 article, “The Significance of Wang’s Fiction,” which starts with an apologetic explanation of his overdue review. In his opinion, literary writing at that time basically followed two major trends: the first one includes the so-called Scar Literature and the incipient Introspection Literature, tinged with elements of sentimentality, anger, politicization, moralization, heroism, and tragedy, or a rough mixture of the abovementioned variegated ambiences; the other one is the experimental writing that appears to be mostly bewildered and uneasy due to the influence of the newly introduced Kafka and Sartre, but definitely determined to explore the meaning of existence itself in the face of an irrational world. The former tried to revive “the tradition of revolutionary realism” in the previous 17 years based on the value system of idealism in the 1950s, whereas the latter directly endorsed the literature of Western Europe after WWII and lodged the youthful protest based on the common experience through a great catastrophe. Right at this moment, “The Love Story of a Young Monk,” a story that celebrates the great inner joy, appeared out of the blue (Huang 11). Furthermore, this is the same joy from “the old dream 42 years ago,” not much different from the one that had also existed in the bygone old China. Instantly, the story posed a stunning blow to readers and, mainly, critics. Then, Huang adds an anecdote to his review. Wang Zengqi once mentioned that for a few months, before he started writing “The Love Story of a Young Monk,” he reread the works by his teacher, Shen Congwen (沈从文), in a more concentrated and systematic way as Shen was planning to compile a collection of his fiction. Wang believed that Shen’s fiction, the characters in his fiction, especially

Fiction Criticism during the New Period  121 those young girls from the countryside, such as Sansan (三三), Yaoyao (夭夭), and Cuicui (翠翠), provided him with inspiration to portray the character, Xiao Yingzi (小英子). He didn’t realize that until later. During his writing, he was not aware of that at all. There must be a probable connection there for he was, after all, a student of Shen. Wang once asked himself, “what does ‘The Love Story of a Young Monk’ seem like?” He thought it was somewhat like Shen’s Border Town (⟪边城⟫) (Huang 13). Consequently, once critics redefined Wang’s fiction as part of “the tradition of modern literature,” especially part of the “modern lyric fiction” that had been carried on from Lu Xun’s “My Old Home” (⟪故乡⟫) and “Village Opera” (⟪社 戏⟫), Fei Ming (废名)’s “Tales in the Forest of Bamboo” (⟪竹林的故事⟫), Shen ­Congwen’s Border Town, Xiao Hong (萧红)’s The Field of Life and Death and Tales of Hulan River (⟪呼兰河传⟫), and Shi Tuo (师陀)’s The Orchard Town (⟪果园城记⟫), they gradually found a place for Wang’s fiction in the history of Chinese literature. Huang argues that the significance of Wang’s fiction is mainly manifested in his style, genre, and language. Certainly, discussing the intermediary function in style, genre, and narrative language is the right approach (13). Wang attached great importance to these aspects, so his fiction became many critics’ favorite material in their textual criticism. In Wang’s view, however, “The language used by the author is part of his personality and, therefore, it represents the author’s basic attitude toward life” (qtd. in Huang 13). Huang Ziping wonders about what the attitude toward life that Wang Zengqi’s narrative style provided for the Chinese literature during the 1980s is. It seems to be a fusion between the literary tradition he had inherited and the nutrients he had drawn from writings abroad. From his perspective (that is literary history), Huang stresses, he is interested in Wang’s writings on two issues. “One is his emphasis on the contemporary ramifications of his teacher, Shen Congwen; the other is his comment on the young writers, A Cheng and He Liwei (何立伟)” (14). In Huang Ziping’s opinion, Wang’s fiction focuses on two themes: first, enjoy life and never give up lyrical interests in life in spite of any adversity; second, pursue an ideal lifestyle through one’s career, occupation, and daily routines. It is fair to say that there is nothing profound or spectacular here. Wang’s point is as simple as a cliché. Huang points out perceptively, Although Wang Zengqi said that he did not have much concern about aging or any regret over the lost time, these strenuous laments and self-­ deprecations might reveal some deep and broad implications if they were assessed beyond the personal perspective and considered within the context of literary history. (15) Huang believes that Wang Zengqi is one of the few young writers who rose to prominence during the prime time of New Literature in the 1940s but survived all the way through the 1980s. History seems to have tried very hard to preserve

122  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction Wang’s talent for writing from the contamination of “writing about the mainstream” and “finishing the task” over the years, so as to reserve a pen nurtured by the literary tradition of the 1940s for the fiction world of the 1980s. Thus, “Wang Zengqi’s fiction becomes an intermediary between the Chinese literature in the 1980s – mainly the so-called ‘Root-tracing Literature’ – and the New Literature in the 1940s and modernist literature” (20). Li Tuo’s criticism of Wang Zengqi was not published until 1998, but his judgment was apparently positive because, by then, the overall assessment of Wang’s writing had already been settled. He puts forward a new opinion that Wang Zengqi is the man who initiated the “Root-tracing Literature” since his short story, “The Love Story of a Young Monk,” came out as early as 1980 (“Wang Zengqi and Modern Chinese Writing” 131). Li affirms Wang’s contribution to contemporary fiction in the context of modern Chinese writing. First, the “casualness” of Wang’s fiction in structure and narrative deserves attention because sometimes it reaches alarming proportions. For example, in “A Tale of Big Nur,” which has approximately 14,000 words in total, Wang uses nearly 3,000 words in the opening section for a free chat, just like “letting a horse run with lax rein,” or presenting some random pictures of the local customs in Big Nur. The main character, Eleventh Son (十一子), a whitesmith, does not appear until the end of the second section and then drops out of the scene after a brief appearance. In the third section, there are more pictures of the customs, but still no traces of the plot. As the fourth section unfolds, another main character, Qiaoyun (巧云) shows up, but it is still the same kind of chatty description of Qiaoyun’s personal experience and other trivial matters. It is toward the end of this section that the two main characters finally get to meet and the story is about to begin. Up to this point, however, Wang has already used more than 8,000 words. To readers’ surprise, the storyline breaks down again at the outset of the fifth section. Wang shifts the narrative to the story of the river security team and the “buglers” with another picture of local customs. Just before this section comes to an end, there is a new development of the plot, namely, a sexual encounter between Qiaoyun and Eleventh Son in the sandbar of Big Nur, depicted in a few lines with an almost classical economy of words. The sixth section, the last one of the story, is entirely dedicated to storytelling, but the total amount of words in this section is less than 3,000. To be accurate, the storytelling uses 5,000 words at most, approximately equal to one-third of the full length. This does not mean that Wang cared nothing about structure. Wang Zengqi once said that his casualness was painstakingly constructed, which functions as a way of writing beyond conventions or writing in a natural order, reflecting a profound understanding of the characteristics of the Chinese language (T. Li, “Wang Zengqi and Modern Chinese Writing” 134). A related issue is writing in a colloquial style. Some people believe that Wang’s language bears a resemblance to that of Zhao Shuli (赵树理). Li Tuo contends that Wang’s language is very different from that of Zhao Shuli. It is a key factor that enables him to make a greater contribution than Zhao in providing a broader vision and more options for the development of modern Chinese. This is because apart from seeking language resources from the popular, daily spoken language,

Fiction Criticism during the New Period  123 Wang also attached great importance to learning from the classical Chinese writings (“Wang Zengqi and Modern Chinese Writing” 135). Wang once claimed, What has influenced me most is the masterpieces of Gui Youguang (归有 光), a great essayist in Ming Dynasty, whose simple writing about ordinary people is sincere, but sadly moving. It is quite similar to my temperament, and that is why you may still occasionally find the lingering charm of Gui Youguang in my fiction today…. My essays probably inherit a bit from the tradition of Ming-Qing prose and the prose during the May 4th Movement, and the traces of Zhang Dai (张岱), and Gong Dingan (龚定庵), two important poets in the Qing Dynasty may be found in some of my essays. (qtd. in T. Li, “Wang Zengqi and Modern Chinese Writing” 136) Li Tuo goes further to suggest that with these “lingering charms” and “traces,” Wang’s language established a kind of inherent connection between modern ­Chinese and classical Chinese. This is the reason why the plain, simple, and daily spoken language blended nicely in Wang’s writing generates a special flavor. ­Taking the opening paragraph of “The Love Story of a Young Monk” for an example, The old name of this place, An Zhao Zhuang (庵赵庄), is a bit odd. Zhao is the surname of most people in the village. Though the village is called Zhao Zhuang, the villagers are scattered all over the place, with a few families here and another few over there. Once you step out of your door, you can see their houses from afar, but it takes a while to get there because there are no wide roads, except some zigzagging ridges. The ‘An (庵)’ in the village’s name means a nunnery. Actually, there is a nunnery with the name, Bodhi Nunnery (菩提庵), over there, but everyone has mispronounced it as Biqi Nunnery (荸荠庵). Even the nuns call it that. Where is the holy temple? Biqi nunnery. (Z. Wang 223) The whole passage, as Li Tuo puts it well, sounds like the vernacular in which almost no adjective can be found, but if you read it, it has a unique flair of “Ci” (词), another form of classical Chinese poetry written in seven-character lines interspersed with shorter lines. After reading through Gui Youguang’s “The Burial of Han Hua” (⟪寒花葬志⟫), it is not so difficult to find a natural similarity between Gui’s essay and the opening passage of Wang’s story in rhythm and rhyme. Obviously, Wang Zengqi transplanted the suavity of classical Chinese writing to vernacular writing without any trace. Elsewhere, though, Wang did not hesitate to directly transplant features of classical Chinese into his vernacular writing with evident traces. Conversely, he would play them up overtly (T. Li, “Wang Zengqi and Modern Chinese Writing” 136). Sure enough, as Li Tuo reiterates, Wang is not the only writer who attempted to blend the writing in classical Chinese with vernacular writing, but only he could maximize the effect of vernacular and, at the same time, incorporate the elegant

124  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction elements from classical Chinese within a single of piece of writing. The two writing styles can work together harmoniously amidst the strong tension between them as if they were not much different from each other after all (“Wang Zengqi and Modern Chinese Writing” 137). Given the lack of language skills in modern fiction and the widespread roughness in writers’ style, Li Tuo laments that we should be grateful that Wang suddenly resumed his fiction writing once again between 1980 and 1981, publishing a series of well-known short stories, such as “The Love Story of a Young Monk,” “Special Gift,” “A Tale of Big Nur,” and “Three Friends in Winter” (Li 138). Though late in its release, we have to admit that Beijing critics’ analysis of Wang Zengqi’s fiction has the top-notch quality. The way in which Li Tuo evaluated Wang’s fiction writing in the context of the centennial history of Chinese literature instead of simply critiquing his works has become a principal paradigm for the study of Wang’s fiction and influenced many young critics and scholars thereafter. Ji Hongzhen took note of Wang’s work a little earlier than others. Her assessment presented in the two articles, “Traditional Life and Culturally Forged Character” and “Philosophical Consciousness and Aesthetic Attitudes in Wang Zengqi’s Fiction,” is not much different from the popular perception that Wang’s fiction is written in a colloquial style. In her view, Wang Zengqi’s fiction gives readers a refreshing impression with a style characterized by simplicity and spontaneity. Through his artistic exploration for a representation of humanity based on customs under the guidance of Shen Congwen, Wang eliminates the eerie and dubious mood from his primitive and harmonious depiction of nature, highlights the inherent poetics in ordinary people’s destiny, and creates a temperament from the long accumulation of traditional culture. These characteristics are mainly manifested in his fiction about the urban and rural life in Gaoyou, Jiangsu during the 1930s and 1940s. The scenes of life enriched by traditions and the vivid and easygoing characters bring a fresh sense of history to today’s readers (“Traditional Life and Culturally Forged Character” 29). Ji’s special reference to Wang’s works that carry some of these stylistic features, such as “The Love Story of a Young Monk,” “A Tale of Big Nur,” “People of Hometown” (⟪故乡人⟫), “Story of Hometown” (⟪故里杂记⟫), “Four-o’clock” (⟪晚饭花⟫), and “Migration” (⟪徙⟫), delivers an implicit criticism of the uncouth and shoddy aesthetic tendencies in literary writing after the founding of the ­People’s Republic of China. She argues, The author attempts to affirm the quintessential qualities of traditional ­Chinese culture by portraying these intellectual personalities nourished by ancient culture, and the principle of humanism serves as his basic criterion in making choices. Accordingly, his rejection of the inhumane elements in classical culture has been centrally embodied in his criticism of ethical taboos and his reflection on the fate of women as well. (“Traditional Life and Culturally Forged Character” 32) But Ji’s claim that Wang Zengqi’s fiction has a “philosophical consciousness” is debatable since it was quite common for critics at the time to elevate a writer’s

Fiction Criticism during the New Period  125 works to a high philosophical level. Actually, Wang Zengqi is a novelist who is particularly good at writing about the condition of society and individuals in a sensical way. Writing about one’s ideology is certainly not his strong point. Ji’s critical approach to assessing aptly a writer’s mindset in writing is still commendable. She writes, Whenever I read Wang’s fiction, I always have an indescribable feeling. There seems to be a deeply hidden implication among the innocent and hoary characters from the old days, amidst the rich atmosphere of the countryside, and between the beautiful words integrated with realistic compactness and freehand ethereality. It is a kind of aesthetic style that is intangible, but present everywhere and all the time, permeating in the personalities of characters and the storyline, and guiding the entire narrative…. Perhaps, this is exactly what people often called “the soul of a text.” (“Philosophical Consciousness and Aesthetic Attitudes” 39) The reason why Ji’s criticism emphasizes “tradition” and “custom” is simply because she lives in a New Period that calls for restoring the traditional culture that has been damaged and distorted. For those who went through a social catastrophe, “traditional society” may serve as a mirror for self-reflection. It is right at this point in history that Wang’s fiction responds to people’s needs from the inside. Probably, subsequent scholars might be more objective and dispassionate in criticism than their predecessors when they look at Wang’s writing from afar and review it away from the exemplary platform for fictional studies. In 2012, Wang Feng (王风), a junior faculty member at the Department of Chinese, Peking University, said in “Afterword” for the book his edited, Collection of Wang Zengqi’s Works (⟪汪曾祺文集⟫), I am grateful to have the opportunity to compile this collection of Wang Zengqi’s works. Fifteen years ago, I was still a student and paid a visit to Mr. Wang for my homework shortly before his death. In impression, Wang was an elderly man who didn’t care much about his time, and he was very hospitable. In front of a “quasi-researcher” like me, he was glad to chat with me, but reluctant to “open himself up” to me. I wasn’t sure if this was the reason why, over the years, his works were just “leisure books” for me. (398) As a critic, Wang Feng hasn’t been hampered by this feeling in the past, and his assessment seems quite candid. He holds that in terms of overall achievement in fiction writing, Wang Zengqi can match neither the breadth of Shen Congwen nor the depth of Fei Ming (废名), let alone the vastness of Zhou Shuren (周 树人) and Zhou Zuoren (周作人). Wang is a “famous writer,” but not a “great writer.” He read books at will, and he could hardly be considered erudite; he wrote as he pleased, writing when he could, but never fretted over it when he could not because it was merely part of living. He always lived and wrote within

126  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction the limits of his ­possibilities, never trying to “transcend himself.” None of the Zhou brothers, Fei, and Shen had lived with such a mindset. After gaining great fame in his late years, he received numerous invitations to visit different places and requests to write ­prefaces for various books. He seldom, if ever, turned them down. His travelogues, for instance, were written to pay his “literary debts” incurred after invitations. Most of the works that carried his prefaces have been lost in oblivion after one or two decades. He wasted so much of his time and energy on these travelogues and prefaces but was not concerned about his talent or achievement anyway. Maybe, it seems lamentable that his talent was not put to good use, but believe it or not, it is exactly thanks to his unambitious personality that his work is imbued with enough raffish elegance and immaculate innovation to become worthy of preservation (398). What Wang Feng said sounds unpleasant, but it is a fair and pertinent judgment, which is rarely seen in contemporary fiction criticism. 8.5  Lu Yao’s Fiction Within the sight of “Beijing Critics Circle,” Lu Yao,17 who authored Life (⟪人生⟫) and The Ordinary World (⟪平凡的世界⟫), has not received much attention so far. Before 2000, only five critics in Beijing published articles about Lu Yao’s fiction: one by Qin Zhaoyang (秦兆阳), Chen Juntao (陈骏涛), and Zeng Zhennan (曾镇 南); two by Lei Da (雷达) and Bai Ye (白烨). Neither senior critics nor new critics like Li Tuo and Huang Ziping wrote anything. I noticed that the four critics, Chen, Lei, Zeng, and Bai, published a few critical articles because they advocated realist writing. Clearly, critics from Shaanxi paid the most sustained attention to Lu Yao’s fiction. Their names shouldn’t be forgotten since they promoted Lu Yao, Jia Pingwa, and Chen Zhongshi. They are Fei Bingxun (费秉勋), Li Xing (李星), Wang Yu (王愚), Liu Jianjun (刘建军), and Chang Guangyuan (畅广元). After “Scar Literature,” Lu Yao initiated another trend in realist literature, which focused on the reform in rural life. Lu revealed the fate of rural youths, living in the “urban-rural junction areas” and struggling in distress during the modernization. Lei Da wrote two important articles about this topic, “On Gao Jialin’s Tragedy” and “A Magnificent Painting of Poetry and History: on Lu Yao’s The Ordinary World.” Based on the perceptive premise that man embodies a sum of social relations and a morass of contradictions in reality, Lei analyzes the character, Gao Jialin (高加林)’s tragedy. He does not dwell on Gao’s personal trivial setbacks but underscores this ordinary man’s power to transcend the tragedy instead. Gao’s power symbolizes people’s tenacious and powerful spirit during their incessant struggle in the New Period. Lei claims that Life mainly depicts a young intellectual’s pursuit in life. It is, however, an exhilarating tragedy, a thought-provoking tragedy that takes place in the context of a positive socialist society. People used to believe that there was no tragedy during the socialist period, but such an optimistic assertion has been ruthlessly shattered by reality. Later, it was followed by another specious

Fiction Criticism during the New Period  127 opinion, asserting that tragedy could only occur in a special time like the decadelong turmoil (referring to the 1966–1976 Cultural Revolution). Similarly, this view goes against the Marxist concept of tragedy. Lu Yao’s delineation of Gao Jialin’s miserable and intricate journey of life not only confirms the existence of tragedy in the new socialist era but also proves, with its artistic charm, that people really need the works of tragedy because they could inspire the sacred affections among people and encourage them to be more conscious and enterprising. What should a work of tragedy be like in the New Period? Life is a courageous probe into this question (“On Gao Jialin’s Tragedy” 94). Shortly after the publication of Life, Lei Da found Gao Jialin’s “tragic attitude” that many people failed to see and he did not regard Gao as a young careerist like Julien, which is a very keen observation. Lu Yao finished his novel, The Ordinary World, in 1988, which means that he scaled a new height in his literary achievement. As compared with Life, this novel covers far more historical information and the breadth of life. At the same time, Lu also addresses the touchy and serious question faced by the whole society, where should contemporary rural youth go? Knowing that Lu Yao had been strongly influenced by the Russian critical realism in the 19th century, Lei Da had no hesitation in defining Lu’s novel eminently as a magnificent painting of poetry and history. Lei believes that when Lu spent three years in preparation and another three in the writing of The Ordinary World, he was surely not concerned about whether this novel would win a prize as he was so anxious to pour out his great passion and compulsion for the life of his time (“A Magnificent Painting” 44). Much to everyone’s surprise, the novel sparked a strong reaction among readers. As a result, people had thought again why a novel that appears to be so plain relies on a relatively traditional style and even carries a rather common title could have such a tremendous impact and vitality. Lei Da’s analysis of the novel covers three aspects. First, The Ordinary World is a huge and dynamic painting, but everything is running either rapidly or slowly. Lu makes a wise decision to set the story in the period between 1975 and 1985, a time of great historical changes with an important impact on the country. By incorporating the characters’ history of destiny, personality, and mind, Lu shows his ability to deal with major themes. The multi-layered and complex structure of the narrative, which is intended to represent the multiple spiritual dimensions, superficial or underlying, active or static, and modern or traditional, creates the three-dimensional space and great depth in the novel. The vibrant force behind the advancement of history, as represented by Tian Fujun (田福军), Sun Shaoan (孙少安), Sun Shaoping (孙少平), Tian Xiaoxia (田晓霞), Tian Runye (田润叶), and Sun Lanxiang (孙兰香) always serves as the guiding thread throughout this picaresque painting (“A Magnificent Painting” 45). Second, the characterization in The Ordinary World is noteworthy. Both the appeal and impact of the novel originate from its historical frame, its poetic quality, and its raging compassion. Then, what kind of compassion is it? Where does it

128  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction come from? In Lei Da’s belief, it is because the writer has entered “a colorful world of human beings,” who are well represented by the brothers, Sun Shaoan (孙少安) and Sun Shaoping (孙少平). The novel has so much noble love, so many sincere tears, and so many characters and scenes that make one feel sad and inspired! The author takes extra care in portraying the Sun family, including the old farmer, Sun Yuhou (孙玉 厚), his sons, Shaoan and Shaoping, and his daughters, Lanhua (孙兰花) and Lanxiang (孙兰香), as a symbol of working families. Sun Shaoping appears to be the soul of the whole novel as he stands for an ideological value and a potential for the future. (“A Magnificent Painting” 46) In Sun Shaoan, a young reformer in the contemporary countryside, Lei Da sees a man as significant as a cornerstone, who connects the old generation with the young one and the history with reality as well. In a way, Sun Shaoan embodies the author’s long contemplation over ethics, personality, and morals. Sun Shaoan takes the lead in experimenting with the accountability system, opening up a brick kiln, becoming the richest man in Shuangshui Village, and then helping the poor and the needy, which might seem nothing spectacular, but once he acts in ethical relationships within the family, he can radiate his rich and powerful charisma instantly (“A Magnificent Painting” 47). Third, which character is the protagonist of the novel is murky. Lei points out that the real fascination of the novel does not depend on whether the author writes about the relationship between man and history. What is more important is to explore the antinomies deeply hidden in the protagonist’s mind. To a certain extent, it reflects the author’s own ideological contradictions. “Emotionally,” Lei claims, Lu Yao respects and admires the generosity, warmth, and honesty in rural culture as well as the perseverance and diligence of the peasants because he regards the rural culture as a spiritual sanctuary. On the other hand, he consciously adopts a negative attitude towards the peasants’ lifestyle over the centuries, their way of thinking, and their concepts of values, hoping that peasants will give birth to new descendants, who will embrace a new way of life and new spiritual values. (“A Magnificent Painting” 48) For Lu Yao, such a contradiction has existed for a long time, and his work, Life, is the proof. It results in deficiency but generates charm as well. Lu cannot find a way to portray one character who can fully embody contradictions like this simply because the two trends in the author’s mind can neither reconcile with nor disengage from each other, so he strips out two characters, Sun Shaoan and Sun Shaoping. If there is a protagonist in the novel, a composite one based on the two brothers is what this novel attempts to present.

Fiction Criticism during the New Period  129 In the same review, Lei Da also tries to refute the argument that realist literature is already obsolete. He contends that at the time when Lu Yao conceived and wrote The Ordinary World, new concepts and methods were sweeping through China’s literary circle, and the theory of reflection, realism, and the portrayal of role models were shut out or even abased. Some people insisted that realism was out of date. Under such circumstances, it is just impossible for Lu Yao to evade the psychological pressure. As a realist writer, especially a writer who has long accepted the method of traditional realism, the question Lu Yao was facing was whether he could still express his ideas in his own way and whether he could implement his proposition completely. Lu Yao shows his excellent integrity and his courage as an artist in confronting this question (“A Magnificent Painting” 48). Evidently, The Ordinary World proves that “realism still remains strong and active in the mainstream literature. Instead of being outmoded, it still has not yet reached its full potential” (“A Magnificent Painting” 48). Such a statement can be substantiated by Lu Yao’s appealing and impassioned autobiographical novels, but whether Lu’s course of literary pursuit is suitable for other writers of his time is open to serious discussion. The critical approach to 19th-century literature was widely adopted in the criticism of “Scar Literature” and “Introspection Literature” in the early 1980s. Traces can be found in the critical writings of veteran critics like Feng Mu and Chen Huangmei, younger critics like Yan Gang, Zhang Jiong, and Chen Juntao, and other critics like Zeng Zhennan, He Shaojun, Pan Kaixiong, Zhang Ling, Li Jiefei, Jiang Yuanlun, and Ji Hongzhen. From a broad historical perspective, “Scar Literature,” “Introspection Literature,” and “Reform Literature” may be perceived as the concluding performance by the literature of the 19th-century Critical Realism. They played an irreplaceable role in promoting the “set things right” movement in ­society, awakening people’s good conscience, refuting the Cultural Revolution completely, and clearing the way for the national policy of opening China to the world in the 1980s. It is fair to say that the literature of realism in the 1980s is a literary movement that rescued the contemporary Chinese literature from the quagmire of “ultra-leftist” ideologies. Without it, how could the subsequent “Root-­ tracing Literature,” “Avant-garde Literature,” and “New Realistic Literature” emerge? This part of history should not be forgotten simply because of Modernist Literature arose afterward. Lu Yao’s novel represents a kind of new novelistic form that diverges from “Scar Literature” and “Introspection Literature.” It is reasonable to say that his concept of novel writing has a genetic relationship with the “17-year Rural Fiction,”18 especially the tradition established by Liu Qing. Lu Yao represents, courageously and candidly, the great befuddlement and psychological conflict faced by a group of far-sighted and aspiring young people as they reselect the course of their lives during the rural reform. Through his Life and The Ordinary World, he extends his careful consideration over the confusion in the mind of youngsters in China’s rural regions today and turns it into a “super theme” that weighs much more than a usual literary theme. To this end, even though Lu Yao passed away

130  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction prematurely, his thoughts will never go to the grave with him but have remained as relevant as ever. On the contrary, such a literary theme often goes viral, prompting people to think about it, due to the fact that numerous peasants are still rushing to the city for employment today because the core issue in China now is still the “issue of peasants,” that is, how to define the historical role of peasants during the historical process of large-scale urbanization. Lu Yao, a visionary writer, pried into this historical secret early on. The pity is that his life was cut short. Otherwise, he might have produced successively a few more masterpieces, just like The Ordinary World, hitting a nerve in his readers and questioning the historical responsibility of contemporary novels. It could enlighten people and question the historical recommitment of a contemporary novel. Of course, this is merely a nonexistent, hypothetical scenario in history. Two critics, Chen Juntao19 and Bai Ye,20 are very similar to Lei Da in ideological orientation and knowledge structure. According to Chen Juntao’s in-depth analysis of Gao Jialin’s unique character, the novella Life portrays Gao as such a typical character among the educated youths in the countryside, who find themselves standing at the crossroads of life, that he fully embodies various contradictory traits of personality. As a son of a peasant, he never despises any peasant, but he is never mentally prepared to become a peasant, He is a native village boy, but he is anxious to leave this barren and backward place and live in a much broader world. He loves the pure, intelligent, and beautiful rural girl, Qiaozhen (巧珍), and feels closely attached to her emotionally even when he is in a relationship with his high school classmate, Huang Yaping (黄亚萍), but still he does something ethically intolerable in deserting Qiaozhen for a chance to succeed. He deplores those rural officials who abuse their power for personal gains, deceive their superiors, and suppress their subordinates, so much so that he is determined to fight against them, but once realizing that he can make a fortune by taking advantage of power, he does it with equanimity and discards his conflict with the officials imperceptibly. He wants to accomplish something instead of living a mediocre life, but he goes astray and becomes an individual striver who is cut off from his hometown and his relatives. Many of his pursuits seem quite reasonable, but some of his actions are highly paradoxical. Because of all the contradictions, readers who are used to flat characters might have a hard time understanding him. Through the intriguing personality of this character, nevertheless, readers can see the true picture of the kaleidoscopic social life (J. Chen, People’s Daily). Instead of interpreting the complex personality of Gao Jialin as a young ambitious man, Chen Juntao carefully probes into the multiple factors of his complexity in the context of the rural environment, in which Gao grew up, and the society during the Reform and Opening-up period. Chen uses the word “but” several times in one paragraph in order to create a dialogical effect in his comment on the character. This is one of the most common methods of realist literary criticism, a method that allows the critic to play the role of a thinker and eloquently address the text, or rather his readers. The critic, at this point, is no longer a worker of literature who is trying to make a living by writing for journals, but more like a street politician. He

Fiction Criticism during the New Period  131 aims to guide the public to think about the meaning of life and to turn their ideas into an action that transforms society. Just as the old saying puts it well, “the style is the man.” The style of Bai Ye’s criticism resembles his personality perfectly as he prefers a gentle, consultative, and exploratory approach, only pointing out the writing problems that will not embarrass writers. His comments on the works by Lu Yao, Jia Pingwa, and Chen Zhongshi read like chatting among villagers. In his review, “Strength and Depth: on Lu Yao’s The Ordinary World,” he states at the outset, While many writers, young or not so young any more, were all seeking something different or new at a time, the Shaanxi writer, Lu Yao, unobtrusively produced the first, second, and third parts of The Ordinary World, with the same tricks from his novella, A Thrilling Scene (⟪惊心动魄的一幕⟫), and the same style from his novella, Life. At that time, many people were attracted to something uncommon or strange, so they didn’t know what to say to Lu Yao’s trilogy of The Ordinary World, which remains unchanged all along. (18) Then, Bai shifts his attention to the reason why this novel received a chilly reception. As for the author’s writing, he notes that the narrative in the first part is simple and straight, and the entire novel seems so draggy and voluminous with unnecessary details that anxious readers just run out their patience to read on. The reviews of the novel do not help much, either. Given their limited understanding of full-length realistic novels, especially those associated with realist tendency, the critics become disinterested in all of them indiscriminately (Bai 18). Nonetheless, Bai still warmly acknowledges what Lu Yao does really well in characterization, arguing that Lu is good at portraying his characters, such as the young men and women in the novel, Sun Shaoan, Tian Runye, Sun Shaoping, Jin Bo, and Hao Hongmei, through their tough struggle in hardships and setbacks, either in their effort to become rich or in their marriage. None of them has an easy ride in life, and hardship almost becomes a key part of their experience. The protagonists in the novel are all portrayed as characters who always forge ahead against the headwinds, get up after their fall, sing triumphantly all the way, and will not stop until they achieve their goals. In Bai’s opinion, their tragedies are largely tied to their isolated, backward, and rigid rural environment. Lu Yao’s copious representation of how Sun Shaoan, Sun Shaoping, and others contemplate, rebel, and rise again and again in the face of fatal setbacks and harsh realities is actually intended to highlight their extraordinary spirit and resilient personalities while confronting unusual hardships and struggles. Each time Sun Shaoan and Sun Shaoping endure a blow of fate, they gain a deeper understanding of reality and adapt themselves more practically, thus becoming more mature amid the ­battle in life.

132  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction Bai claims, in a slightly exaggerated way, that although they are still ordinary farmers and ordinary miners, they are gradually absorbing more vitality as the new members of the time, developing the bones and muscles as strong citizens in society, and becoming the mainstay of a certain part of the world (19). In conclusion, Bai insists that as the artistic representation in The Ordinary World shows, Lu Yao’s pursuit of realism, which aims at portraying ordinary people of the times and speaking on behalf of the public in his novellas, A Thrilling Scene and Life, remains totally unwavering, but develops drastically (20). In recent years, critics in Shaanxi are acutely aware of the unfair treatment imposed upon realist writers like Lu Yao, so they try to draw people’s attention to his significance in the history of contemporary literature by compiling Lu Yao’s Biography (⟪路遥传⟫) and The Chronicle of Lu Yao (⟪路遥纪事⟫), publishing commemorative articles, and sponsoring various events. As a meaningful response to the criticism of Lu Yao’s fiction, all this reflects not only readers’ discontent with writers’ diminishing ability to write about the current realities but also their strong expectation to see more realist novelists like Lu Yao emerge once again. However, will things unfold as these critics wished? It will not be that simple. 8.6  “Double Critics”21 in Beijing In the mid-1980s, the “double critics” in the Beijing Critics Circle became the splendid phenomenon in fiction criticism. They are He Shaojun22 and Pan Kaixiong,23 and Li Jiefei24 and Zhang Ling.25 He Shaojun graduated from the Chinese Department of Peking University, while Li Jiefei and Pan Kaixiong graduated from the Chinese Department of Fudan University. He, Pan, and Zhang worked successively for the Newspaper of Literature and Art. Li worked at the Institute of Literature of the CASS. Both the Newspaper of Literature and Art and the Institute of Literature of the CASS have a tradition of literary criticism. The Writing Research Department of the Chinese Writers Association, the Newspaper of Literature and Art, and Contemporary Literature Research Centre in the Institute of Literature of CASS were once the powerhouses of criticism. Therefore, young critics from there had easy access to information about literary writing, writers, and editors. They are the people who were directly involving, witnessing, and participating in all the activities in the literary circle at the time. This provides them a launching pad, plus various unique advantages, to jump into the arena of literary criticism. They made their contributions to fiction criticism mainly during the early stages of the development of “Scar Literature,” “Introspection Literature,” and “Root-tracing Literature.” As the center of literary criticism shifted from Beijing to Shanghai where the criticism of “Avant-garde Literature” emerged, the double critics gradually ended their cooperation and started their critical practice individually. This section focuses on their work as “double critics.” What is worth noting is that thanks to the influence of the ideas of realist literary criticism in the Beijing Critics Circle, their concept of criticism at this stage was distinctly characterized by realist criticism.

Fiction Criticism during the New Period  133 As they separated from each other, their literary concepts changed greatly. He Shaojun taught as a professor at Shenyang Normal University. Pan Kaixiong served as the president of The People’s Literature Publishing House and vice president of the China Publishing Group. Li Jiefei switched his scholarly interest to investigating the history of the literature in the 17-year Period and studied classical literature. Zhang Ling was the long-term deputy editor-in-chief of the Newspaper of Literature and Art and the president and editor-in-chief of The Writers Publishing House. Pan and Zhang gradually left the field of literary criticism after the 1990s because of the changes in their positions. A brief account of the work by “double critics” can help readers observe the active development of literary criticism in the 1980s and the special role of young critics on the one hand and, on the other, learn more about the diverse styles of criticism and historical prosperity in the Beijing’s Critics Circle, apart from senior critics, along with Li Tuo, Huang Ziping, and Ji Hongzhen. As a group between senior and young critics, the “double critics” develop a strong artistic sensibility and a dynamic style in criticism through their sense of duties at the Association of Writers and their working experiences as reporters. Although their writings differ from the “correspondent’s report” of the Newspaper of Literature and Art, they do leave some traces, giving readers a sense of immediacy and foreshadowing. Li Jiefei and Zhang Ling have their observations and analyses of novella writing. They believe that the novellas, which appeared after the 1970s, reflect on the past and bear some characteristics of a transitional period. On the one hand, old ideas are replaced by new ones that surface one after another; on the other hand, new ideas often enable people to obtain new findings and understandings about the old things. It was a complex era in which all things, ancient and modern, domestic and foreign, were mixed together; or it was like a vortex in which countless whimsical ideas and weird fantasies kept rushing up and down. Li and Zhang argue that the reason for the rise of the novella is that literature carries a sense of tragedy, which is determined by a special way in which literature takes part in the reflections and changes of history. In the meantime, such a non-literary tendency to fill up the vacuum of social media can weaken the ideological intensity of a deep reflection. Another reason for the rise of novella is that “after bidding farewell to the era of short stories and novels, we usher in a so-called ‘era of novella’” (Li and Zhang 41). Short story writing still complied with the “Chekhovian structure” based on a cause-and-effect logic in narration, which evidently undermined its freer and broader horizons. Novel writing was overly keen on plot and, therefore, could not free itself from the Aristotelian plot structure – exposition, rising action, climax, and denouement – resulting in a kind of typical dramatic, namely, hypothetical presumption. Obviously, the structure of a novella can avoid the above-mentioned defects and reveal the meaning of new aesthetics. However, the tendency of “pure subjectivism” and “nonfiction” in novellas, such as The Chess Master (⟪棋王⟫), You Have No Choice (⟪你别无选择⟫), Bao

134  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction Village (⟪小鲍庄⟫), and A Transparent Carrot (⟪透明的红萝卜⟫), was worrisome as it was, after all, a kind of perverse development. As Li and Zhang point out, We are not so sure if we could say that novella is to us just like poetry was to the Tang Dynasty, and it will become the best literary form that corresponds well with the times and the aesthetic psychology in society. On the contrary, what we have seen is that novella has secured its status simply because the concepts of short story and novel became too rigid. (43) They conclude that fiction writing would drop its “anchor” here, but do not offer any further explanation about the convoluted reasons. Amid the “novella fever” in the 1980s, they were brave enough to criticize issues appertaining to the novella, which was beneficial to the healthy development of literary writing. As compared with the subsequent new wave of criticism, the criticism in this phase was more reserved, and its terminology still had some traditional and sensitive touches. Meanwhile, He Shaojun and Pan Kaixiong zeroed in on the hottest literary topics. As contemporary literary writers are becoming more and more daring in cultivating the forbidden areas of human nature, the “sexual consciousness” of men and women in real life is repeatedly represented, with radically graphic details, in works of fiction, such as Zhang Xianliang (张贤亮)’s Mimosa (⟪绿化树⟫) and Half of Man Is Woman (⟪男人的一半是女人⟫), and Wang Anyi (王安忆)’s Love in a Small Town (⟪小城之恋⟫), Love on a Barren Mountain (⟪荒山之恋⟫), and Love in Brocade Valley (⟪锦绣谷之恋⟫). The two critics, He and Pan, respond to this positively, saying that “if we examine fiction writing in the New Period from the perspective of sex, sexual consciousness, or sexual psychology, we will be surprised to find that it has taken on the role of Adam” (47). After rebutting the notion of sexual abstinence in the “17-year literature,” He and Pan argue that the representation of sexual consciousness in fiction conveys at least two implications: for one thing, writers are not content with the general revelation of social history, but instead they try to transcend history and start their philosophical deliberations on sexual culture, the very issue that has baffled people for a long time. For another, writers concentrate on exploring sexual consciousness in terms of values and perceiving it as the pursuit of values based on the natural development of human nature (48). Also, He and Pan claim that writers are too squeamish in artistic expression as if they take a big step forward after freeing themselves from conventional consciousness, but perhaps due to inertia reaction, the other foot sinks back in it once again. When it appears to be the right moment to pick the ripe fruit of sex, men often tend to shrink away from it. Even though it is already within reach, they still expect the women to stretch out their delicate hand for rescue. How can this phenomenon be explained? (He and Pan 49)

Fiction Criticism during the New Period  135 But Jia Pingwa’s treatment of this issue wins their approval. Jia Pingwa is a writer who is very good at portraying brave women who struggle against traditional morals. “They are full of the vitality of humanity and the charm of the New Era. Mrs. Hei (黑氏) is definitely one of the most credible characters” (He and Pan 49). After the discussion of “Scar Literature” and “Introspection Literature,” theorists called for an “inward turn,” confining their attention to literary texts only. As young critics, He Shaojun and Pan Kaixiong also have a strong interest in such a theory. Pan stresses that in 1987, the debate on literary theory was not as lively as that in 1985 and 1986, mainly because there were few topics that caught the theorists’ attention. Relatively speaking, Lu Shuyuan (鲁枢元)’s article, “On the ‘Inward Turning’ of Literature in the New Period,” can be regarded as a highlight, because it releases a strong signal that literature has truly returned to itself. According to He Shaojun, the Newspaper of Literature and Art offered an extremely generous coverage on the discussion of “inward turn,” publishing 14 related articles that started from its third page. When the last piece was published in 1987, the journal even facilitated a discussion on a full page. But Pan Kaixiong states that the discussions are short of theoretical depth as a whole and they always stay on the superficial description (Pan and He 37). He goes so far to declare that if the so-called debate centers around a descriptive, generalized issue, then it hardly has any academic value. He Shaojun reinforces the point with his observation that Pan brings up something common in the debates on literary theory after the founding of the People’s Republic of China, such as the debate on the nature of beauty among the four estheticians, Cai Yi (蔡仪), Zhu Guangqian (朱光潜), Li Zehou (李泽厚), and Gao Ertai (高尔泰), Liu Zaifu (刘再复)’s discussion on the duality of character, and the discussion on “Root-tracing Literature” (Pan and He 38) Pan explains that he is not against such a way of thinking, but if all the academic debates adopt the only way of thinking, that will be somewhat monotonous (Pan and He 39). The main reason why the debate on “inward turn” cannot go further is that it is stuck in the definition of right and wrong, without the enlightenment of new theories. In He Shaojun’s opinion, it is probably an issue pertaining to the conversion of a basic concept. The participants in the debate neither understand Western theories completely nor apply them properly. As for the monotonous way of thinking, perhaps there are more complex reasons. “Hegel’s Dialectics makes a great contribution to philosophical theories, whereas the introduction of Marxism raises the classic dialectics to the new height of dialectical materialism, thus turning it into a more scientific of way of thinking” (Pan and He 40). Frankly, Pan suggests that it seems necessary to write an article entitled “A ­Debate on Dialectical Thinking,” because “the doctrine of the mean” cannot work all the time. He Shaojun’s view is that in academic debate critics should look at both inside and outside if necessary. Sometimes, it might be a good idea to think from the opponent’s point of view; other times, one might discover something helpful by thinking outside the box. Scheming constantly on how to attack or diminish the other’s academic value might not necessarily achieve the expected effect of ­academic debate (Pan and He 45).

136  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction Notes 1 Wang Meng (1934–), a writer, his ancestral home is in Nanpi County, Hebei Province. Born in Beijing, he joined the communist group in middle school. After the founding of the People’s Republic of China, he became an official of The Communist Youth League in Dongcheng District, Beijing. He finished a novel, Youth Forever (⟪青春万岁⟫) in 1953. Three years later, he wrote a short story, “A Young Newcomer in the Department of Organizations” (⟪组织部新来的青年人⟫) and ran into a lot of trouble. Wang taught at the Chinese Department, Beijing Normal University for a short period. Later, he became an editor in the literary federation of Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region. At the end of 1979, he was “exonerated.” Wang once served as a vice president of Chinese Writers Association, editor-in-chief of People’s Literature (⟪人民文学⟫) and the minister of Ministry of Culture. Wang published novellas, like The Eye of the Night (⟪夜的 眼⟫) and Buli (⟪布礼⟫), as well as a novel, The Person of Activity Fluctuate (⟪活动变 人形⟫). 2 Zhang Jie (1937–), a writer, her ancestral home was Fushun, Liaoning Province. Born in Beijing, she finished her study in the Department of Planning and Statistics, Renmin University of China in 1960, and then worked in the Ministry of the First Machine Building Industry. Zhang became famous after her short story, “Love Must Not Be Forgotten” (⟪爱, 是不能忘记的⟫), was published. She also published a novella The Ark (⟪方舟⟫) and novels, such as Heavy Wings (⟪沉重的翅膀⟫) and Wordless (⟪无 字⟫). 3 Zhang Xianliang (1936–2014), a writer, his ancestral home was Nanjing, Jiangsu Province. Born in a rich family, he was labeled as a “rightist” because of his poem, “Song of the Great Wind” (⟪大风歌⟫) which was published in 1957. Then he worked on farms for 22 years. Early in the New Period, he published Flesh and Spirit (⟪灵与 肉⟫). Later, he published two controversial novellas, Mimosa (⟪绿化树⟫) and Half of Man Is Woman (⟪男人的一半是女儿⟫). He became the president of the Literary Federation of Ningxia Hui Autonomous Region and the president of the Writers Association of Ningxia Hui Autonomous Region. Later, he switched his profession to business. 4 Ji Hongzhen (1955–), a literary critic. Born in Longquan, Zhejiang Province, Ji graduated from the Chinese Department, Jilin University and received her BA in 1982. She got her MA from the Chinese Department, Peking University in 1884. Ji became an Associate Research Fellow and then Research Fellow, working in the Creation and Research Department of Chinese Writers Association from 1984 to 2005. She is a Distinguished Professor of Shenyang Normal University. Her works include The Clash between Civilization and Ignorance (⟪文明与愚昧的冲突⟫) and Hsiao Hung (⟪萧红 传⟫). 5 Zhang Jiong (1933–), a literary critic. Born in Fu’an, Fujian Province, he began to work at City Work Department of CPC Fuzhou Municipal Committee in 1948. Later he continued his education and graduated from the Chinese Department, Peking University in 1960. He was once the Director of the Institute of Chinese Literature in Chinese Academy of Social Sciences and the deputy editor-in-chief of Literature Review (⟪文学评 论⟫). He published Selected Works of Zhang Jiong’s Literary Criticism (⟪张炯文学评 论选⟫) and other works. 6 Jiang Shouqian (1936–), a literary critic. Born in Huaiyin, Jiangsu Province, he graduated from the Chinese Department, Fudan University in 1960. Jiang was a Research Fellow of the Institute of Chinese Literature in Chinese Academy of Social Sciences. He published Personality of Literary Creation (⟪创作个性⟫) and other works. 7 Cai Kui (1934–), a literary critic. Born in Liyang, Jiangsu Province, he graduated from the Chinese Department, Fudan University in 1956. He published Literary Criticism of Long Novels (⟪长篇之旅⟫) and other works.

Fiction Criticism during the New Period  137 8 Zeng Zhennan (1946–), a literary critic. Born in Zhangpu, Fujiang Province, he graduated from the Chinese Department, Peking University in 1970. Zeng was the Research Fellow of the Institute of Chinese Literature in Chinese Academy of Social Sciences. He published On Wang Meng’s Works (⟪王蒙论⟫) and other works. 9 Yan Gang (1932–), a literary critic. Born in Liquan, Shanxi Province, he was assigned to work in Chinese Writers Association after graduating from the Chinese Department, Lanzhou University in 1956. He published Literature in Eight Years (⟪文学八年⟫) and other works. 10 Liu Zaifu (1941–), a literary critic. Born in Quanzhou, Fujian Province, he graduated from the Chinese Department, Xiamen University in 1963. He was once the Director of the Institute of Chinese Literature in Chinese Academy of Social Sciences and the editor-in-chief of Literature Review (⟪文学评论⟫). He published an article, “On Literary Subjectivity,” and a monograph, On the Composition of Character (⟪性格组合 论⟫). Liu was an active literary critic in the 1980s. He lives in the United States now. 11 Li Tuo (1939–) is a writer and a literary critic. His original name was Meng Keqin. Born in Daur Autonomous Banner of Morin Dawa, Inner Mongolian Autonomous Region, he grew up in Beijing. Li graduated from 101 Middle School in Beijing in 1958 and then worked at Beijing Heavy Machinery Factory. He was the deputy editor-in-chief of the literary journal, Beijing Literature (⟪北京文学⟫). His works include novels, such as Free Fall (⟪自由落体⟫) and Lady Cheng (⟪七奶奶⟫), screenplays, and literary criticism. 12 Huang Ziping (1949–), a literary critic. Born in Meizhou, Guangdong Province, he received his MA from the Chinese Department, Peking University in 1982. His supervisor was Xie Mian (谢冕). After graduation, Huang became a teacher in the Chinese Department, Peking University. He went to America in the late 1990s and later became a professor at the Chinese Department, Hong Kong Baptist University. His works include Talks on Chinese Literature in the 20th Century (⟪二十世纪中国文学三人谈⟫), The Spirit of the Brooding Old Tree (⟪沉思的老树的精灵⟫), and The Narrative in the ­Circle of Chalk (⟪灰阑中的叙述⟫). 13 Lei Da (1943–), a literary critic. Born in Meizhou, Guangdong Province, he graduated from the Chinese Department, Lanzhou University in 1965. He once worked for China Federation of Literary and Art Circles, Xinhua News Agency, Newspaper of Literature and Art, and the Creation and Research Department of Chinese Writers Association. His published Recasting National Soul (⟪民族灵魂的重铸⟫) and other works. 14 Wang Zengqi (1920–1997) was born in Gaoyou, Jiangsu. In 1939, he entered the Department of Chinese, the National Southwestern Associated University, and studied Chinese under the guidance of Shen Congwen. In 1950, he became the editor of Beijing Literature and Art. In 1958, he was branded as a “rightist” and forced to labor in Shalingzi, Zhangjiakou City, Hebei Province. In 1961, he worked as a playwright for the Peking Opera Company. In 1964, he adapted a Shanghai opera, “Fire in Reed Field” (⟪芦荡火种⟫), into a namesake Peking opera. In 1970, he participated in the adaptation and artistic modification of the Peking opera, Shajia River (⟪沙家浜⟫). He published a few works, such as Revenge (⟪复仇⟫) and Famous Poultry Raiser (⟪鸡鸭名家⟫), in the 1940s. He reclaimed his place in the literary circle with his short stories, including “The Love Story of a Young Monk” (⟪受戒⟫), “Special Gift,” (⟪异秉⟫), and “A Tale of Big Nur” (⟪大淖纪事⟫) after 1980. 15 Beijing Literature and Art changed its title to Beijing Literature from Issue 10 in 1980. 16 Lu Yao (1949–1992) was originally named as Wang Weiguo (王卫国). Born in a poor farming family in Qingjian County, Shaanxi Province, he was adopted by his uncle at the age of seven and later grew up in Yanchuan County. He once worked as a farmer, teacher, and worker in his hometown. In 1973, he was admitted to the Chinese Department at Yan’an University. After graduation, he became the editor of Shaanxi Literature and Arts (now Yanhe). In 1982, he published a novel, Life. In 1988, he finished a full-length novel, The Common World, which influenced many readers. In 1992, he died of liver cancer.

138  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction 17 The term, “17-year Rural Fiction,” refers to the novels about villages, published between the founding the People’s Republic of China in 1949 to the outbreak of the “Cultural Revolution” in 1966 – by the translator. 18 Chen Juntao (1936–), a literary critic. He is a native of Putian, Fujian Province. He graduated from the Chinese Department of Fudan University in 1963 and later worked at the Institute of Literature, Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, and Literature Review. He published Literary Concepts and Artistic Charm (⟪文学观念与艺术魅力⟫). 19 Bai Ye (1952–), a literary critic. He is a native of Huangling, Shaanxi Province, whose pen name is Wen Bo and Xiao Bai. He graduated from the Chinese Department, Shaanxi Normal University, and later worked as a researcher at the Institute of Literature, ­Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, and the president of Chinese Association of Contemporary Literature. He published The Charm of Criticism (⟪批评的风采⟫). 20 “Double critics” was a historical phenomenon in the 1980s. At that time, two critics often collaborated to comment on certain literary works and published papers. The most influential double critics were Pan Kaixiong and He Shaojun, Li Jiefei, and Zhang Ling, Wang Zheng (汪政), and Xiao Hua (晓华) – by the translator. 21 He Shaojun (1951–), a literary critic. Born in Changsha, Hunan Province, he graduated from the Chinese Department, Peking University in 1983 and worked for the Newspaper of Literature and Art (⟪文艺报⟫) of the Chinese Writers Association. He is now a professor and deputy director of the Institute of Chinese Culture and Literature at Shenyang Normal University. He was the executive deputy editor-in-chief of the Newspaper of Literature and Art and the editor-in-chief of Selected Fiction (⟪小说选刊⟫). 22 Pan Kaixiong, a literary critic. He graduated from the Chinese Department, Fudan University in 1983 and worked for the Newspaper of Literature and Art. He was the former president of People’s Literature Publishing House and vice president of China Publishing Group. 23 Li Jiefei (1961–), a literary critic. Born in Hefei, Anhui Province, he graduated from the Chinese Department, Fudan University in 1982. He worked as an editor of Xinhua News Agency’s magazine, Outlook Weekly (⟪瞭望⟫), an editor of Literature and Art (⟪文艺研究⟫) of the Academy of Arts of China, and a researcher at the Institute of Literature of the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences. 24 Zhang Ling (1955–), a literary critic. His pen names were Mu Gong (木弓) and Xiao Ke (小可). A native of Xiamen, Fujian Province, he worked as an editor in the Reference News Department of the Xinhua News Agency from 1982 to 1985 and became an editor and later a deputy editor-in-chief of the Newspaper of Literature and Art in 1985. He retired as the president of Chinese Writers Association Publishing Group.

Works Cited Bai, Ye. “Strength and Depth: On Lu Yao’s Ordinary World.” Literature and Art Forum, vol. 6, no. 4, 1991, pp. 18–21. Chen, Juntao. “Call for the Reform in Reality: The Medium-Length Novel Life.” People’s Daily, 22 March 1983. Cheng, Depei. “An Unspeakable Feeling: Wang Zengqi’s Recent Short Stories.” Shanghai Literature, vol. 30, no. 2, 1982, pp. 86–89. Cheng, Guangwei. “Historization” of Contemporary Chinese Literature. Peking UP, 2011. Contemporary Literature Research Center of CASS. Six Years of the New Period Literature: (1978.10-1982.9). China Social Sciences Publishing House, 1985. “Editor’s Remarks.” Beijing Literature, vol. 31, no. 10, 1980, p. 80. Featherstone, Mike. Consumer Culture and Postmodernism. Yilin Press, 2000. Feng, Jicai, et al. “Letters about Pseudo-Modernism.” Shanghai Literature, vol. 30, no. 8, 1982, pp. 88–96.

Fiction Criticism during the New Period  139 He, Shaojun and Kaixiong Pan. “Reflections on a Cultural Phenomenon: Sexual Consciousness in the Novels of the New Period.” Contemporary Literature and Art Exploration, vol. 2, no. 4, 1986, pp. 47–53. Hong, Zicheng. Introduction to Contemporary Chinese Literature. Youth Literary Press, 1997. Huang, Ziping. “‘Pseudo-Modernism’ and Its Criticism.” Beijing Literature, vol. 39, no. 2, 1988, pp. 10–26. Huang, Ziping. “Significance of Wang’s Fiction.” Works and Contention, vol. 9, no. 5, 1989, pp. 11–21. Huang, Ziping. The Spirit of the Brooding Old Tree. East China Normal UP, 2014. Ji, Hongzhen. “The Clash between Civilization and Ignorance: Themes of Fictions in the New Period (II).” Social Sciences in China, vol. 6, no. 4, 1985, pp. 151–172. Ji, Hongzhen. “Philosophical Consciousness and Aesthetic Attitudes in Wang Zengqi’s ­Fiction.” The Clash between Civilization and Ignorance. East China Normal UP, 2014, pp. 39–46. Ji, Hongzhen. “Traditional Life and Culturally Forged Character.” The Clash between Civilization and Ignorance. East China Normal UP, 2014, pp. 29–38. Kuang, Xinnian. Contemporary Literature. Shanghai Education Publishing House, 2005. Lei, Da. “Live an Unregretful Life: Interview of Wang Meng.” The Newspaper of Literature and Art, 1 April 1979. Lei, Da. “On Gao Jialin’s Tragedy.” Youth Literature, vol. 2, no. 2, 1983, pp. 93–96. Lei, Da. “A Magnificent Painting of Poetry and History: Lu Yao’s The Ordinary World.” Qiushi, vol. 3, no. 4, 1990, pp. 44–48. Li, Jianzhou. “Between Literature and Social Imagination: Viewing ‘Classicalization’ of Avant-Garde Fiction from Ma Yuan’s Novella ‘Fiction’.” Southern Cultural Forum, vol. 24, no. 2, 2010, pp. 70–76. Li, Jiefei and Ling Zhang. “Fiction Anchors Here: Contemporary Fiction.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 3, no. 1, 1986, pp. 40–43. Li, Tuo. “Realism and ‘Stream of Consciousness’: The Narratives of Two Short Stories.” October, vol. 3, no. 4, 1980, pp. 239–244. Li, Tuo. “More Thoughts About ‘Pseudo-Modernism’ and Its Criticism.” Beijing Literature, vol. 39, no. 4, 1988, pp. 31–42. Li, Tuo. “Wang Zengqi and Modern Chinese Writing.” Flower City, vol. 20, no. 5, 1998, pp. 126–142. Li, Xue. “‘Leaving Home and Going Far Away at the Age of 18’: as a Starting Point.” Research Series on Chinese Modern and Contemporary Literature, vol. 34, no. 12, 2012, pp. 14–24. Liang, Xiaosheng. This Is a Magical Land. Xinhua Publishing House, 2010. Liu, Zaifu. On the Composition of Character. Shanghai Literature & Art Publishing House, 1986. Pan, Kaixiong and Shaojun He. “‘Inside’ and ‘Outside’: Dialogues Triggered by the “Inward Turn” of New Period Literature.” Writers, vol. 53, no. 5, 1988, pp. 37–46. Qian, Guangpei. “The In-Depth Development of Realism: A Review of Beijing Literature’s Award-Winning Fiction in 1980.” Beijing Literature, vol. 32, no. 5, 1981, pp. 80–87. Qian, Zhenwen. “The ‘Alternative’ Style and the ‘Alternative’ Effect: Wang Zengqi’s Short Story ‘The Love Story of a Young Monk.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 23, no. 2, 2006, pp. 30–37. Wang, Anyi and Jindong Liu. “Am I a Feminist?” Zhongshan, vol. 24, no. 5, 2001, pp. 115–128. Wang, Feng. “From Legend to Fantasy.” Afterword. Collection of Wang Zengqi’s Work, edited by Wang Feng. Beijing October Literature and Art Publishing House, 2012, pp. 393–400. Wang, Xiaoming. “Solomon’s Bottle: Zhang Xianliang’s Ficiton.” Shanghai Literature, vol. 34, no. 2, 1986, pp. 88–97.

140  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction Wang, Zengqi. “The Love Story of a Young Monk.” Selected Works of Wang Zengqi. Lijiang Publishing House, 1987, pp. 223–242. Yan, Gang. “A New Approach to Fiction Writing: Wang Meng’s Recent Works.” Journal of Beijing Normal University, vol. 25, no. 4, 1980, pp. 26–31. Yang, Xiaofan. “Tracing Roots in the Educated Youth Fiction.” Southern Cultural Forum, vol. 14, no. 6, 2010, pp. 40–49. Yue, Daiyun. “Awakening of Women’s Consciousness in China.” Free Forum of Literature, vol. 7, no. 3, 1991, pp. 45–49. Zeng, Zhennan. “A Confused Elf: A Brief Study on Wang Meng’s Novels.” Literature Review, vol. 32, no. 3, 1987, pp. 54–64. Zhang, Zhong, et al. Introduction to Contemporary Chinese Literature. Peking UP, 1986.

9

The Critics during the Exploratory Craze of Fiction

No doubt, there was a significant turning point, known as the “1985 Shift,” in the trend of contemporary Chinese fiction, a shift that has moved the focus of contemporary criticism to the south and altered the traditional landscape of fiction criticism. It was a group of young critics from Fudan University and East China Normal University who played an instrumental role in such a shift. What is new within the field of criticism, as articulated in the foreword of this book, is the appearance of the “Shanghai Critics Circle” in the wake of the historical transition. During the campaign of “combating spiritual pollution” in 1983, the critics in Beijing lost the edge of their spirit as the members of the circle were slowly adjusting their knowledge structure. At the same time, two literary journals, Shanghai Literature and Harvest, attached great importance to the avant-garde novel, which to some extent renovated the critical practice of the “Shanghai ­Critics Circle.” Under such circumstances, with the support from Ba Jin (巴金), Xia Yan (夏衍), and other veteran writers, as well as the strong push by two chief editors, Li Ziyun and Zhou Jieren, the “Shanghai Critics Circle” (also called “trendy criticism”) relied on their journals as its nucleus and embarked aggressively on the stage of contemporary literature. The Shanghai critics, as pointed out by a young critic, Yu Jinxing (虞金星), did not have “the consciousness of avant-garde novel” at first (2). There is a noteworthy piece of prehistory of Tibet in the process. After 1982, the inner circle of the “New Tibetan Fiction,” led by Ma Yuan, Tashi Dawa (扎西达娃), Jin Zhiguo (金 志国), Se Bo (色波), and Liu Wei (刘伟), started exploring the representation of Tibetan culture and geography and the artistic forms of fiction writing simultaneously. Ma Yuan went relatively further in his experiment with forms, while writers like Tashi Dawa also indulged themselves in cultivating the regional culture in Tibet. Apparently, what the small circle of Tibet fiction did caught the attention of the center of literature. In a letter to Cheng Yongxin (程永新), the editor of Harvest, in August 1986, Tashi Dawa writes, I am very pleased that the June issue of Tibetan literature (⟪西藏文学⟫) got some rave remarks from your journal. Other writers have received your ­letter, too. We had a conversation among us and felt quite confident about our DOI: 10.4324/9781003565031-12

142  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction writing later. Some of us are still writing, while others have almost finished. It looks like all of us could wrap up our writings around October and submit a set of pieces to Harvest. (qtd. in Yu 6) Here, we can pick up some rough ideas about the whole story. The “Special Issue of Magic Fiction” in No. 6 of Tibetan Literature in 1985 attracted the attention of the editors at Harvest. To this end, Cheng Yongxin wrote to these Tibetan writers, hoping to solicit some manuscripts for an issue of Tibetan literature. In other words, “avant-garde fiction” appeared before “avant-garde criticism.” Although the former emerged in a remote area like Tibet, it clearly initiated the wave of “avant-garde criticism.” Apart from the circle in Tibet, writers in Zhejiang and Jiangsu provinces also began their experiment with “avant-garde fiction.” The active avant-garde critics in Shanghai were Wu Liang, Cheng Depei, Cai Xiang, Li Jie, Wang Xiaoming, Chen Sihe, and Nan Fan, whose favorite weapons for criticism are Western theories, such as New Criticism, Structuralist Linguistics, Narratology, and Cultural Anthropology. Additionally, this group has something in common, that is, all trying breaking away from the ideological and occupation tendency in criticism. In Li Jianzhou’s view, it was the cooperation, or collusion, between the two forces – “academy” and “writer’s association” – in the mid-1980s that led to the extensive propagation of the discourse on avant-garde literature. Shortly afterward, as the formalization and standardization of literature and education were set in motion, most of the academic critics became part of the institution and, under the pressure from knowledge classification and their discipline, consciously converted their own critical function. Gradually, they put stress on the scholastic and disciplinary quality of their work, distanced themselves from the kind of literary criticism inflated with passion, and discarded ideological anxieties as the sole focus of criticism. That was the key impetus for the emergence of the “language-centered theory,” representing the extreme tendency in pure literature (The Rise of Avant-Garde Novels 126–128). Wang Xiaoming and Chen Sihe realized the change in the function of criticism not only because of their status as teachers but more because of the social environment in Shanghai. According to Li Jianzhou, there were some changes among the critics working at the office of creative writing and research in the Writer’s Association. For example, Wu Liang focused more on the consumption sect in urban life and intellectuals’ complicated mentality, whereas Cheng Depei delved into the special study of novel narratology. There was a corresponding relation between the professionalization and differentiation of critics and the rise and fall of avant-garde literature (The Rise of Avant-Garde Novels 168–169). Such a change in the function of criticism and the role of critics seems to embody the most notable pursuit of the “Shanghai Critics Circle” in criticism: promote the construction of “pure literature” in the history of contemporary Chinese fiction on both fronts of narratology and the linguistic turn.

The Critics during the Exploratory Craze of Fiction  143 9.1 “The Conference in Hangzhou” and the Root-Tracing Fiction The emergence of the “Shanghai Critics Circle” is somehow related to the symposium, “New Period Literature: Retrospect and Prospect,” held in Hangzhou in December 1984. The novelist Li Hangyu (李杭育) recalled that the chairman of the Shanghai Writers Association, Ru Zhijuan (茹志鹃), introduced his novel, The Last ­Fisherman (⟪最后一个鱼佬儿⟫), to the audience in a speech during her visit to the United States, though they had never met each other. At the time, Li was quite distressed by loneliness and confusion while writing, but he got a new idea out of this news. “On the way back to Huzhou,” he says, “I wondered if Shanghai were a place for me to make a fresh start or pursue a new topic more easily and more freely. But then I had a hunch that something was missing. What is that? I didn’t know; it was just a vague idea” (“My 1984,” Part I, 88). He told Wu Liang and Cheng Depei, who came to Hangzhou for a panel on his works, about his vague idea, and they concurred. When Li asked why his writing got a cold shoulder in Beijing, Chen Depei replied: they [those critics in Beijing] have not figured out what to say about you. Wu Liang chimed in: your fiction exceeds their cognitive inertia and the scope of their topics. Cheng added, with a touch of humor, “the old revolutionary has encountered a new problem.” “So, they choose to be silent,” said Wu gleefully. Qingxi jumped in, “Perhaps, they’ll remain silent.” I found it hard to believe. Did that mean their time was over? Cheng agreed, “at least soon.” (“My 1984 (Part II)” 92) Li Hangyu claimed that his encounter with Cheng Depei and Wu Liang, the second gift gained from that panel, strengthened his determination and confidence to shift the focus of his literary activities partly from Beijing to Shanghai and that the third gift he had gained from the panel was his realization of his successful attempt to write something different from “Scar Literature,” “Introspection Literature,” and “Reform Literature.” (“My 1984,” Part II, 93). Upon their return to Shanghai, Wu and Cheng reported this conversation and their opinions to Zhou Jieren, the editor of Shanghai Literature. With the consent and support of the editor-in-chief, Li Ziyun, Zhou planned to hold a symposium on the innovation in contemporary fiction in Hangzhou. Unexpectedly, the symposium, seemingly a gathering of legendary talents, quietly changed its course from a hazy discussion on “fiction innovation” to a brainstorming on “root-tracing consciousness.” It was during these private conversations that Han Shaogong and A Cheng conceived their concept of “Root-tracing Literature.” This is where they started the momentum for waving the banner of “root-tracing” in the literary world half a year later. During the forty years of the New Period Literature, critics were mostly the ones who initiated movements and thoughts. It was rare to see a case like “Root-tracing Literature” which was led by writers. The earliest accusatory

144  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction articles were written by writers. Of course, it could not have happened without a lively discussion at the symposium. The writers and critics who joined the “Symposium in Hangzhou” included Li Tuo, Chen Jiangong (陈建功), Zheng Wanlong (郑万隆), A Cheng, Huang Ziping, Ji Hongzhen, Xu Junxi (徐俊西), Zhang Delin (张德林), Chen Cun (陈村), Cao Guanlong (曹冠龙), Wu Liang, Cheng Depei, Chen Sihe, Xu Zidong (许子 东), Song Yaoliang (宋耀良), Han Shaogong, Lu Shuyuan (鲁枢元), and Nan Fan. Others include the members of the Shanghai Writers Association and editors of Shanghai Literature, Ru Zhijuan, Li Ziyun, Zhou Jieren, Cai Xiang (蔡翔), and Xiao Yuanmin (肖元敏), along with more than 30 people from Zhejiang Province, such as Li Qingxi (李庆西), Huang Yuhai (黄育海), Dong Xiaochang (董校昌), Xu Xiaoyu (徐孝鱼), Li Hangyu, Gao Songnian (高松年), Xue Jiazhu (薛家柱), Zhong Gaoyuan (钟高渊), and Shen Zhiping (沈治平). Nearly half of the critics present at the symposium were from Shanghai, including Wu Liang, Cheng Depei, Chen Sihe, Xu Zidong, Cai Xiang, and Nan Fan. This list has a significant implication, just like the city of Shanghai, emblematizing a hidden wave of innovation sweeping across the site, bringing about fresh air, and signifying a shift in the direction of the symposium. Let’s take Wu Liang as an example and observe the subtle changes in him on the eve of a literary revolution. Before the start of the Root-tracing Fiction, the characteristics of Wu’s literary criticism may be found in his comments on the realist novels of Wang Meng, ­Jiang Zilong, Zhang Xian, Gao Xiaosheng, and Chen Rong. After the symposium in Hangzhou, he began his probe into root-tracing writers. Initially, he took an approach of “historical aesthetics” to Wang Meng’s fiction, Zhong Yicheng’s (钟亦成) [the protagonist in The Butterfly] belief is the persistent pursuit of and loyalty to historical truth because the subsequent progress in history has indeed removed the paranoia and ignorance that shroud the truth. Now that he associates himself with an inevitability or a cause to which he has dedicated himself, all his gains and losses are merely incidental. But is it worthwhile to reflect on one’s belief? We have seen such a reflection in The Butterfly. Reflection is neither repentance nor humble selfreproach. The reflection in The Butterfly is a kind of inner monologue, a painful reflection, after a wretched experience. It is often in pain that truth is conceived. … The deep feeling that permeates the entire text of The Butterfly make it doubly riveting. Such a feeling, which accompanies humankind all the time, does not necessarily depress anyone, but may help someone stand on a new height. (Wu, Choice of Literature 146) Judging from what he said here, Wu Liang appears to be a Hegelianist at that time, discussing absolute concepts like “historical truth,” “introspection,” and “inevitability.” After the purification and reconsideration of various thoughts at the Hangzhou symposium, there has been a dramatic change in Wu Liang’s perception of the works by Li Hangyu. The “historical truth” is no longer the starting point of

The Critics during the Exploratory Craze of Fiction  145 his fiction criticism; instead, it has accommodated trendy ideas like “contemporary consciousness” and “nature.” This talented critic begins to look at the writings by new literary writers from a perspective that minimizes “historical truth.” He still uses that unquestionable tone but starts to reveal doubts about his previous confidence. In his article on Li Hangyu, Wu writes, “When Li Hangyu’s Gechuan River novel series attract widespread attention in the literary world, people offer their praise along with a series of confusions” (Choice of Literature 197). He was perplexed and a little panicked himself. He noted, with some uncontainable excitement, that the “old people, old events, and old things of yesterday” did not disappear or get buried in the “impellent and illuminating momentum of historical evolution.” On the contrary, they somehow found an opportunity to resurrect and reappear in front of people once again. The “dead” came back to life. It was the “last” fisherman in the novel who incarnates the new “contemporary consciousness.” Wu states self-deprecatingly, In the Gechuan River novel series, the contemporary consciousness is, above all, manifested by the living people’s interest in the people and events of the past, an interest that has not solely originated from curiosity or a desire for the knowledge and lessons about the past, but rather a pursuit of spiritual enrichment. (Choice of Literature 198) A similar astonishing transformation has happened to Chen Sihe. He writes in “Dialogues on Red Sorghum” that Mo Yan’s novels show the potentially diverse ways in which people perceive and represent the real world. First, it is a new way to know the world. Originally, we all believed that the world was upheld by a kind of rationality and was in constant motion based on certain historical patterns. When we perceive the world, we ought to know the rationality behind it first (288).” Mo Yan’s novels, Chen claims, break through this point completely, and Mo does not make his breakthrough in specific content. It is a bold rebuttal to the traditional approach of perceiving the world in literature (289). “Through his novels,” Chen stresses, “readers are not reading the world of life, but the world of the author’s mind” (289). The new argument about Root-tracing Literature proposed at the symposium in Hangzhou not only inspired people’s reconsideration of contemporary literature but also promoted further diversification within the critics’ community. As a result, the influence of senior critics was declining on the one hand, and, on the other, the avant-garde critics in Shanghai became more active. Chen Sihe was one of them. After his return from Hangzhou, Chen began to explore the significance of the writings by root-tracing writers from the perspective of “cultural criticism.” He pointed out that cultural root-tracing had garnered a tremendous amount of response. Although writers had different interpretations of “culture” and “root-­ tracing,” everything would converge into one single trend. There could only be one direction. In Shaanxi, The First Record of Shangzhou (⟪商州初录⟫), a note-style

146  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction book published by Jia Pingwa in 1983, is deeply immersed in the spirit of Qin and Han culture. In Hunan, the odd but amazing novels, Dad, Dad (⟪爸爸爸⟫) and Home Returning (⟪归去来⟫), by Han Shaogong, attempt to represent the vitality of Chu culture. In the south of the Yangtze River, Li Hangyu proposed the slogan “Wuyue Culture” and produced one masterpiece after another by blending scholars’ elegance and loneliness with the Yue people’s wit and cunning tricks. In addition, Zheng Wanlong (郑万隆) and Wure’ertu (乌热尔图) tirelessly cultivated the cultural treasures of the Northeast China, Kong Jiesheng (孔捷生) showed the colorful life of the Hainan region in his Big Vegetation (⟪大林莽⟫), and the literature in western China, like Xinjiang and Gansu, and the writings of Magical Realism in the Tibetan region also proved that the literature about cultural roottracing was not just an accidental work by a few writers or a willful novelty at a time (Chen 27). Using his doubt about the historical aesthetic criticism in the past as a starting point, Cai Xiang has switched his concern to the “natural consciousness” of the Root-tracing Fiction. According to Cai’s observation, the authors of the Roottracing Fiction set their sights on nature, writing about mountains, seas, the Gobi, the grasslands, the tropical rainforests of the south, as well as the night sky, the day, the stars, and the blazing sun. In the natural space that is way off the beaten track, they discover the beauty full of slightly primitive simplicity and vigorous glamor. They do not have much interest in capturing a particular scene of nature, but they prefer to embrace nature with a broad mind and employ it as the primary space in their fiction. Their characters live their life amid the grandeur of nature (Cai 181). Young critics began to bid farewell to traditional ideas and methods as they introduced and applied the intellectual visions of New Criticism and Cultural Anthropology to their new literary practices. Cai Xiang once stated, “While reading through these works, I feel as if my mind is being widely broadened. At least, they literally set me free, for the time being, from the grave thoughts on the human world and the excessively utilitarian exploration of life” (182). Not so long ago, however, he still wrote, with a tone of an “idealist,” such well-received articles as “Gao Jialin and Liu Qiaozhen: the Characters in The Life.” History should forgive the young critics for their defection. The history of fiction has always been reconstructed alternatively by removing the old and bringing in the new. The history of fiction criticism is no exception. It is nothing surprising to literary historians. The reason is that as the Reform and Openingup campaign is well underway, China has realized that she should get rid of the heavy historical burden of the “class struggle” as soon as possible and reorient the axis of its development to “going global.” The “cultural root-tracing literature,” though a literary trend that first emerged in Latin America in the 1950s, seems to correspond, in effect, to the grand backdrop of the so-called historical re-examination that was prevailing in the world of Western thought after the WWII. It was in such a context that Western literary criticism began to shift from “literary criticism” to “cultural criticism.” Structuralist criticism and Cultural

The Critics during the Exploratory Craze of Fiction  147 Anthropology were the new critical paradigms that sprang up in this historical trend of diversifying criticism. Similarly, the historical opportunity for the symposium in Hangzhou and the avant-garde critics in Shanghai could not have been better timed. As mentioned earlier, China’s historical choice of the Reform and Opening-up policy was accompanied by the decline of the “socialist realist literature.” Only the critics of the Root-tracing Fiction can bypass this major historical obstacle and easily embark on a journey toward the goal of “world literature.” Even Wang Xiaoming, a critic who did not attend the symposium in Hangzhou, keenly felt the “anguish of criticism” amid the tides of defection among critics. He knew that knowledge reconstruction was bound to happen sooner or later. He writes, It often occurs to me that a serious literary critic is probably unable to avoid stress. He analyzes a text based on certain artistic concepts, only to find that it does not follow those concepts. Of course, he does not want to arbitrarily embed the text in the framework of these concepts. However, like all of us, he is inevitably constrained by habit and inertia, and cannot readily modify his own ideas before engaging the text. At a moment like this, doesn’t he feel distressed? Literary criticism always operates on established standards, whereas artistic practice always runs ahead of anyone’s summary of it. In this way, such anguish would accompany the critic forever, just like the cross around the neck of a Christian. (The Bottle of Solomon 253) What he says here sounds like an exaggeration, but makes some good sense, for Wang was still a young man under 30 years old at that time. Xu Zidong1 also talked about the pain in his mind before and after his “­defection.” He recalled that he interacted regularly with Wu Liang and Cheng Depei back then. After the publication of New Ideas on Yu Dafu’s Works, he focused his study on contemporary literature. He started teaching at East China Normal University after graduation. He lived in the city but often went to the small room behind the building of the Shanghai Writers Association, the smoke-filled office for creative writing and research, in which Wu Liang and Cheng Depei were working and the manuscripts of Ma Yuan, Wang Anyi and others received their first reading and criticism (New Ideas on Yu Dafu’s Works 318). In hindsight, it was also a turning point in contemporary literature and literary criticism, which has accidentally turned into a part of history. Xu came to realize that literary criticism must first figure out how to handle the complex relationship between literature and politics. The symposium in Hangzhou resolved this issue tactfully by reiterating the autonomy of literature, which did not cause a head-on conflict. The outcome of this symposium, as concluded in the literary history today, is the rise of Root-tracing Literature in 1985. About the symposium, Xu Zidong recalled that what was more noteworthy was the very cause that initiated the symposium, namely, the debate between the journal, Shanghai Literature, and the Chinese Writers Association over whether

148  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction literature and art must serve politics or not, and whether China could have modernist literature or not. Li Ziyun and Ru Zhijuan racked their brains in deciding to invite more young writers and critics than the middle-aged or older ones for both fiction writing and fiction criticism. As for the venue of the symposium, they reached a decision, after a careful consideration, to choose neither Beijing nor Shanghai, but Hangzhou instead. Unexpectedly, once the young writers and critics from the North and South got together and started talking, about the “relationship between literature and politics” and “modernist literature,” the topics that had distressed Li Ziyun and other senior writers and critics so much, were never considered as touchy issues at all. They all believed that literature should not cover politics only and that China could certainly introduce modernism and figure out how to learn from the techniques of Western fiction. The consensus established from the majority of various stories, interpretations, discussions, and exchanges among dozens of young writers and critics at the Hangzhou symposium is that literature should not merely write about politics, but more about culture; we should not just learn through literary translation, but explore new language in traditional writings (especially literary sketches) for language (Xu, New Ideas on Yu Dafu’s Works 318–319). Xu also revealed that Han Shaogong, who is always known for his composure like a student leader, audited the symposium for two days without uttering a single word. After dinner, he declared by the West Lake that he would write something new after going back. In the following year, he published his famous article, “The ‘Roots’ of Literature,” thus giving the Root-tracing Literature its name (New Ideas on Yu Dafu’s Works 320). This is how Xu Zidong offered a footnote for the collective “defection” of the critics in Shanghai. The “defection” led to a radical change in concept within the Shanghai Critics Circle. The critical thinking of “historical determinism” was replaced by the distinctive trend of cultural studies and formalist criticism. In March 1983, Wu Liang pointed out in his article, “The Historical Change of ‘the Typical’,” that the concept of traditional literary criticism would transit into “a multi-quality, multi-direction, and multi-implication version” due to social changes and the rapid adjustment of people’s conceptions in the forthcoming modern society. The contact and communication among the writers and critics from various places at the Hangzhou Symposium made this transformation of criticism highly probable (49–51). “For the contemporary Chinese literature,” Wu says emotionally, “many people still consider the 1980s to be a fantastic turning point, or an aborted enlightenment movement about humanism, or even as an attempted historical and ideological reckoning.” His view, Wu admits, is slightly different now because “the important legacy of the 1980s is that you, we, and they have all finally learned to speak in our own way” (Choice of Literature 243). This is the first posture of “turning inwards” in fiction criticism before Lu Shuyuan put forward this in 1986. Wu Liang did not publish his article, “The Narrative Trap of Ma Yuan,” until 1987. In other words, what the “Hangzhou Symposium” is significant to fiction criticism because it not only facilitated the swift change in critical concept from the criticism of “historical aesthetics” to the

The Critics during the Exploratory Craze of Fiction  149 criticism of “cultural consciousness” but also opened a window for the ­fiction criticism within the text. From the critics’ viewpoint, as Nan Fan suggested, the relationship between criticism and society was undergoing a quiet but important change. The writing in the 1980s seems to have offered more traces of selffulfillment. “Since then, writing is not merely a job, but rather a daily habit, constantly pondering, debating, researching, doubting, and interpreting, and ­repeatedly brainstorming, drafting, and revising. At the same time, it is also a continuous process of self-definition” (Choice of Literature 379). This is exactly the strategy in convening the Hangzhou Symposium and the unexpected achievements out of it. In retrospect, this symposium changed not only the trend of contemporary ­fiction but also the course of life for the young critics of the “Shanghai Critics Circle.” In the subsequent period, the rise of this community of critics would assert a direct impact on the development and change of contemporary Chinese fiction writing and play an instrumental role in reshaping contemporary literature. 9.2 Shanghai Writers Association and Two Universities In addition to the impetus from literary trends, the emergence of the “Shanghai Critics Circle” is also indebted to the open-minded Shanghai Writers Association (especially the two literary journals, Shanghai Literature and Harvest) and the support and encouragement from the faculty at Fudan University and East China Normal University. After the campaign of “combating spiritual pollution” in 1983, the literary circle in Beijing fell into silence for a period, the “modernist literature” ran into a persistent resistance, and the overall situation in the literary circle became nebulous. While the debate was dragging along, people chose to remain silent. For ­observers, it was hard to understand the silence, but for the literary circle in Beijing the fall from its peak to trough had its causes and effects. However, they had a rough time to publish their articles. The literary journals in Beijing did not dare to publish them due to the sensitivity of “modernism.” Li Tuo had to seek assistance from publishers in Shanghai, where the atmosphere was relatively relaxed. He contacted Li Ziyun, deputy editor-in-chief of Shanghai Literature, who managed to publish these articles in Shanghai Literature, Issue 8, 1982. Soon, accusations came out one after another in succession. On the day the copies of the issue, in which the articles written based on their correspondence were published, left the printing shop, Li Ziyun received a call from Feng Mu right after his arrival at the office in the morning. Feng ordered him to withdraw those articles. Li explained that the journal had already been printed and it was too late to withdraw. Feng claimed that the topic of their correspondence was too sensitive, and it would cause trouble if the issue were discussed publicly. But Li did not think so. Feng Mu hung up the phone angrily and, for years, he ignored Li Ziyun. They did not even talk when they met each other.2 As the editor-in-chief of The Newspaper of Literature and Art, Feng had enough political astuteness in judging the situation at the time. He summed up his view of

150  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction the trendy thoughts in these words: “follow your heart, not the trend” (Liu 169). His concern turned out to be quite valid despite Li Ziyun’s disagreement. After publishing the correspondence regarding “modernism,” Shanghai Literature published “A Reply,” a letter Ba Jin wrote to the Swiss writer Ms. Madeleine Sanchez, and a long article, “A Letter to a Friend,” submitted by Xia Yan (夏衍). The two old gentlemen seemed more open-minded. “After the publication of their articles,” Li Ziyun recalls, “I received an aggravated blame. From Beijing to Shanghai, there was a widespread rumor, saying that somehow I solicited Ba Jin and Xia Yan to back me up” (The Persons and Things I Met 159). Given Ba Jin’s and Xia Yan’s involvement, the matter gradually spun out of control. At an expanded meeting of the Publicity Department held in April and May 1983, Zhou Yang said, “Xia Yan’s article puts us in a bind. I respect him dearly. … But the basic viewpoint of his article published in Shanghai Literature is not right and therefore has some negative impact. We don’t know how to deal with it” (Gu 69). The situation in Beijing was very dire, but no one saw any sign of it in Shanghai. One could conclude from Zhou Yang’s speech that a forum was immediately held in Shanghai after Xia Yan’s article was published, and that a summary of the forum was issued as a response to Xia’s article, claiming that it was time to promote democracy in literature and art and treat modernist literature objectively.3 It was by no means an easy act for the Shanghai Writers Association to stand firmly behind the correspondence among Li Tuo and others. The conference they convened in Hangzhou put an end to the dreary state of the literary circle, freed the minds of writers, and served as a catalyst for the further exploration of new ideas and techniques. They were brave enough not only to break through “the forbidden zone” but also to discover, employ, and mentor the new talents among the young writers and critics in Shanghai without overstressing qualifications. Both Wu Liang and Cheng Depei used to be amateur worker writers who had never attended university. Amid the great atmosphere of “valuing and respecting talents” around the turn of the 1970s and 1980s, their diligent writing of critical articles caught the attention from veteran critics, such as Li Ziyun and Zhou Jieren. As Wu and Cheng became prominent in contemporary fiction criticism, Li and Zhou broke the usual protocol to transfer them from their factory to the Creative Writing and Research Office of the Shanghai Writers Association, where they began their career as professional critics. In his comment on this phenomenon of critics emerging from workers in Shanghai, Xu Zidong says, Wu Liang and Cheng Depei are two workers who like reading. Wu reads a lot and favors Western theories. Although he has not received any formal training, he is really good at writing articles. In his article, “Conversations between a Critic and His Friends,” Wu uses the translated theoretical terminologies to interpret perplexing aesthetic issues from both positive and negative perspectives perfectly. Cheng Depei, who excels in his close reading of works, such as Wang Anyi’s early novel, Rustling in the Rain (⟪雨, 沙沙沙⟫), and Jin Yucheng’s (金宇澄) recent novel, Flowers (⟪繁花⟫), is one of the most devoted and diligent readers of contemporary Chinese

The Critics during the Exploratory Craze of Fiction  151 novels. Even though they were “recruited into the official institution,” Wu and Cheng would never settle with writing the traditional reviews by the Writers Association. During the years when I frequently visited their office, they had the most frequent contact with Ma Yuan, Mo Yan, Wang Anyi, Han Shaogong, Sun Ganlu, Ge Fei, Can Xue, and other so-called “exploratory writers.” They were able to offer the feedback before the works by these writers were published. As soon as the works were published, they would put forward some slogans or labels to create more publicity and boost the writers’ confidence, just as what Cheng Fangwu and Chen Xiying did for the New Moon School of the Creation Society back then. It is no exaggeration to say that the so-called “Avant-garde Literature” in 1985, be it a success or failure, was to some extent jointly created by this group of writers and young critics. The writing style of Wu Liang and others changed the theoretical edition of Shanghai Literature, which in turn influenced Chinese literature in the 1980s (not so much different from the way in which Literature Review shaped up the study of modernist literature after the Cultural Revolution). (New Ideas on Yu Dafu’s Works 316–317) The diligent nurturing by Li Ziyun and Zhou Jieren resulted in the maturity and success of Wu Liang, Cheng Depei, and Cai Xiang. In Xu Zidong’s view, the favorable environment of the Shanghai Writers Association was essential, but the role that Li Ziyun had played personally could not be overlooked (New Ideas on Yu Dafu’s Works 316). Even during the golden age of literature, the influence of Shanghai Literature could never match that of Harvest or People’s Literature, especially when Wang Meng was the editor-in-chief of the latter. Usually, the journals of local Writers Association are supposed to mostly publish literary writings. And their theoretical edition is merely an embellishment, intended to train and encourage local writers. With Li Ziyun in charge, the theoretical edition of Shanghai Literature became quite different from others. For a time, it made the exception of presenting a different voice in the stateowned cultural production system and assuming a different role (New Ideas on Yu D ­ afu’s Works 316–317). Before the 3rd Plenary Session of the 11th Central Committee in 1978, Shanghai Literature published its commentator’s article, “Redefine Literature and Arts Properly: A Rebuttal to the Perception of Literature and Art as ‘a Tool of Class Struggle’.” In 1982, it published a series of articles based on the correspondence among Li Tuo, Liu Xinwu, Feng Gicai, and Wang Meng (also known as the “Four Little Kites”), which set off a literary debate over “modernism” with The Newspaper of Literature and Art in Beijing. Sure, there were some personal and accidental factors involved. Li Ziyun, who served as Xia Yan’s secretary in the 1950s, maintained a good relationship with Ba Jin, Zhang Guangnian, and Wang Meng, and she was genuinely passionate about literature and known for her political courage and academic attainment. Also, there were a few inevitable factors of the time. In the 1980s, the political atmosphere was relaxing enough to allow the expression of

152  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction different literary criticism within the Writers Association even though it was part of the official institution. Similarly, local journals could even engage the central publications in substantive literary debates. Xu Zidong points out that these debates, or rather the right atmosphere for them, had far-reaching significance (New Ideas on Yu Dafu’s Works 317). Xu’s recollections provide valuable historical information for the study of Chinese literary history. The discussion of modernist literature, the first wave of the literary exploration in the 1980s, paved the way for the emergence of a new generation of critics. Li Jianzhou’s research has furthered the study of how Shanghai Writers ­Association mentored young critics. Li stated that the Creative Writing and ­Research Office of Shanghai Writers Association never stopped recruiting new talents. As early as 1978, Cheng Depei, a worker and amateur writer at the time, wrote a review on Jia Pingwa’s novels. After that, he participated in the activities of the amateur critics organized by Zhou Jieren, Tang Tiehai (唐铁海), Yu Bingkun (于炳坤) and others for Shanghai Literature. With a recommendation from Zhang Xian (张弦), Wu Liang took part in this activity in 1981. In keeping with the training practice for writers and critics retained from the “17-Year Period,” the editorial department took great pains in discovering and nurturing young talents from amateur writers. Zhao Changtian (赵长天) and Chen Cun (陈村) were also found and trained by Shanghai Writers Association among workers. Thanks to the introduction by Zhou Jieren, Wu Liang and Cheng Depei were able to expand their social circles constantly. They soon met Wang Shizhen (王世桢) and Bian Shanji (边善基) from New Films (⟪电影新作⟫), Chu Dahong (储大宏) from The Newspaper of Literature and Art, and Shi Zhongxing (史中兴) and Chu Yuquan (储钰 泉) from Wen Wei Po (⟪文汇报⟫). Like a school for literary talents or a salon for literary gatherings, the editorial department at the time invested as much time and effort as possible to cultivate amateur writers. Growing in such an environment, where talent and individuality were highly valued, with so many literary newspapers and journals in Shanghai, many new writers quickly came to the fore (The Rise of Avant-garde Novels 200–201). In Li Jianzhou’s belief, the transfer of Wu Liang, Cheng Depei, and Cai Xiang gave the team of critics at the Creative Writing and Research Office of the Shanghai Writers Association a shot in the arm. More importantly, it heralded a major change in the history of contemporary fiction criticism in China, namely, literary criticism was changing from an institutional practice by the Writers Association to professional criticism. Li asserts, In 1984, Cheng Depei and Wu Liang went to work in the Creative Writing and Research Office of the Writers Association, thus began their career in professional criticism. They are very different from the mainstream critics at the Writers, though criticism is their common profession. The mainstream critics pay more attention to ideological conflicts beyond literature and emphasize the guidance and control over literary writing, whereas the avant-garde critics, especially critics in Shanghai, such as Cheng Depei and

The Critics during the Exploratory Craze of Fiction  153 Wu Liang, have no such obligations because literary criticism seems more like a modern “specialty” to them. (J. Li, The Rise of Avant-garde Novels 202) Perhaps, such an imperceptible change was never anticipated by Li Ziyun and Zhou Jianren. In Li Jianzhou’s opinion, this change had a lot to do with the intellectual emancipation in China at the time on the one hand and, on the other, the urban environment that had developed in Shanghai over a hundred years. To a large extent, Wu Liang, Cheng Depei, and others would not be able to develop their personal style in criticism without their living experience in the urban environment in Shanghai as the changes in the function and structure of the city and the revival of its citizens’ urban consciousness directly affected the shift in avant-garde critics’ knowledge structure and cultural interests. Similarly, critics at the Writers Association were also thinking about how to interpret and deal with the ever-changing realities, such as the increasing consumption and the diversification of the cultural market, through their criticism (The Rise of Avant-Garde Novels 202). In his article, Wu Liang discusses the correlation between the scenes of consumption in urban life and the complex mentality of intellectuals, stating that a notable and significant change in social life is taking place in consumption – the forceful influx of commodities has awakened people’s long-suppressed needs and inspired their great enthusiasm for shopping to the extent that it “has had a profound impact on our social life and created a great fervor that has left its own fresh, vibrant, innovative, and transformative footprints all over the place” (Choice of Literature 62–63). Li Jianzhou was acutely aware of the role that criticism could play as a positive boost to avant-garde fiction writing, insisting that “the importance of critics depends on the importance of literature itself” (The Rise of Avant-garde Novels 202). However, the concept of criticism often greatly affects a writer’s view toward writing and becomes a factor in the brainstorming and writing process of fiction. There are many cases to prove it. The quiet revolution sparked by “Shanghai Critics Circle” could not be carried out by the Writers Association alone. It solicited the support from its allies – the newly appointed faculty critics from Fudan University and East China Normal University, including Chen Sihe, Wang Xiaoming, Xu Zidong, Li Jie, Nan Fan, Hu Heqing, Song Yaoliang, and Yin Guoming (殷国明). The involvement of the young critics from the two universities reinforced the lineup of critics in Shanghai. Unlike the mechanism that ran the mentoring of young critics at the Shanghai Writers Association, the system of “institutional education,” which was restored after the Cultural Revolution, allowed the two universities to discover and train critics in their own way. Naturally, such a system is deeply rooted in the academic traditions of the two universities. Fudan University was first founded as Fudan Public School after its separation from Aurora University in 1905 and was renamed as the private Fudan University in 1917. It had a limited reputation before the founding of New China. Its quick rise in status started with the “restructuring of departments and disciplines” in 1952, when the arts and science departments of public and private universities, such as

154  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction Zhejiang University, Jiaotong University, Nanjing University, Saint John’s University, University of Nanking, Aurora University, University of Shanghai, Tatung University, Kwang Hua University, and The Great China University, were merged into Fudan University, thus instantly turning it into a prestigious university that could rival with Peking University and Tsinghua University. In a sense, “The Scar,” the short story of Lu Xinhua, a student of Class 1977 from the Chinese Department of Fudan University kicked off the “Scar Literature.” Under the tutelage of Professor Jia Zhifang, two generations of the scholars and critics of contemporary Chinese literature, Zeng Huapeng (曾华鹏) and Fan Boqun (范伯群) first and then Chen Sihe and Li Hui (李辉), came to the fore. It is widely acknowledged that throughout the 1980s, the selfless mentorship from Xu Zhongyu (徐中玉), Qian Gurong (钱谷融), and other senior faculty probably facilitated a healthy environment for criticism and writing on the East China Normal University campus. For a time, the group of young critics from the university, including Wang Xiaoming, Xu Zidong, Li Jie, Nan Fan, Hu Heqing and Yin Guoming (殷国明), made up almost half of the avant-garde critics. The East China Normal University (ECNU) was established through the merge of private universities in Shanghai, such as Saint John’s University, Kwang Hua University, and The Great China University in the early 1950s. It was not well known at first, but as the tide turned, the new literary talents from this university took the pre-emptive opportunities in the competition with other established universities. These were the glory days of East China Normal University. According to Ge Fei’s recollection, the Chinese Department of East China ­Normal University maintains an unwritten rule that whoever studies literary theory must try at least one type of art, either painting, music, poetry writing, or fiction writing. Undergraduates can graduate with a literary work in lieu of a thesis. I don’t know who set up this rule. Someone said that it was Professor Xu Jie, but nobody was sure. Perhaps, the rule was intended to provide future theorists with more artistic intuition and perceptive abilities through practice, but its aim to encourage literary writing is certainly self-evident. To this day, Ge Fei still sees it as one of the best traditions of the Chinese Department of ECNU. He admitted that he had to learn to write poetry and fiction because he never had any training in painting or music (G. Cheng 107). During this period, there were more young critics who emerged from among the postgraduates of the Chinese Department of ECNU than any other university in the country, including Peking University. East China Normal University had a strong cultural and literary atmosphere on campus. In those days, each literary lecture attracted a full house of students, and the university was like an inn for avant-garde novelists who came to Shanghai. Ge Fei concentrated on his literary writing and began to make his way into the literary circle. Ma Yuan came to see Li Jie as soon as he arrived and stayed for several days. When Yu Hua came to Shanghai to revise his manuscripts, he often stayed at East China Normal University. Cheng Yongxin, Wu Liang, and Sun Ganlu often came for a conversation. Chen Cun mostly came there to visit Yao Fei (姚菲). Ge Fei remembered that on a winter afternoon, Wang Anyi came to his dormitory and found that it was so cold there. Later, she insisted on giving him the stove from her home.

The Critics during the Exploratory Craze of Fiction  155 Su Tong and Bei Cun were also among the people who traveled between the south to north. Zong Renfa (宗仁发), the editor-in-chief of Kanto Literature (⟪关东文 学⟫), always solicited contributions over drinks at the university. Ge Fei’s novel writing hit a few snags. His novel The Lost Boat (⟪迷洲⟫) was recommended to Shanghai Literature by his friend Wu Hongsen (吴洪森), but the editor-in-chief, Zhou Jieren, politely rejected it. After the novel was published in Harvest and was well received, Zhou regretted and invited Ge Fei to his office for a heart-to-heart conversation. More dramatic scenes happened on this campus. In the 1980s, the popularity of established writers certainly exceeded the imagination of later generations. When Ma Yuan came to deliver a lecture at ECNU, Ge Fei, then a faculty member on campus, noticed that as Ma Yuan approached the podium, flanked by a group of his fans, a few students standing by the door shivered with excitement. The temporary commotion in the crowd apparently infected one of the vice presidents of the Federation of Student Societies, who in his hectic rush put the lid of a teacup on the thermos while pouring hot water for Ma Yuan. One can only imagine what kind of reception will occur under the influence of this god-like worship and how much misinterpretation such a reception will generate. Li Jianzhou writes, Many people recalled later that although they did not really understand what Ma Yuan said that afternoon, they undoubtedly got some important inspirations: it just takes a certain kind of atmosphere to open a dust-laden window. … Though teasing in tone, Ge Fei’s remark reveals an important fact, namely, the control and influence on the audience from the communication context (atmosphere). It is difficult to say to what extent the “important inspirations,” which the students gleaned from the lecturer without a clear understanding of his words, are subjective imagination. In fact, these young students of literature, who were so anxious to see a master of literature, did not really care much about what Ma Yuan said, or what Ma Yuan said did not matter to them. What matters is that Ma Yuan provided an atmosphere and an occasion that triggered the readers’ infinite imagination. (“Between Literary Mechanism and Social Imagination” 71) The critics with a strong rising momentum, such as Wang Xiaoming, Xu Zidong, and Li Jie, were not as “innocent” as the students since they had contacted and communicated with these avant-garde novelists for a long time. As a matter of fact, it is the novelists who were anxiously seeking the attention and criticism from these critics. Being chased by students for adoration, inquiry, and advice, while living in such a nearly seething literary atmosphere daily, became a motivating force to immerse themselves in writing a lot of critical articles. Given their solid academic training, critics from universities will not see novels simply as something invented or innovated by writers, but take the “literary tradition” in the novels into consideration. They are engaged not only in current criticism of novels but also in reflective research on the history of literature, such as the

156  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction discussion on “rewriting the history of literature” initiated by Chen Sihe and Wang Xiaoming. In other words, these critics switch to fiction criticism from the fields of modern Chinese literary studies and literary theory, such as Xu Zidong’s study of Yu Dafu, Chen Sihe’s study of Ba Jin, Wang Xiaoming’s study of Lu Xun, and Nan Fan’s study of literary theory. The style of literary criticism generated from these academic backgrounds seemed quite historical and rational, as well as restrained and measured. In his analysis of Wang Anyi’s novel, Love in a Small City (⟪小城之恋⟫), Chen Sihe consciously includes her novel writing in the tradition of the May 4th New Literature. He says, In the new literature after the May 4th Movement, apart from Yu Dafu who had candidly revealed the physical and spiritual ordeals in life, who else has produced a novel that can rival with this one in telling you, at once poignantly and agonizingly, the unspeakable sufferings of young boys and girls? … This is exactly what Love in a Small City is attempting to do. I have already noticed this tendency in the author’s early writings. (231) In Wang Xiaoming’s view, it is hard to show the ideological profundity of Gao Xiaosheng’s fiction without contextualizing his writing in Lu Xun’s tradition. However, what Wang worried about turned out to be true because Gao insists on portraying his protagonist in the environment that has shaped up his personality in the past. Gao seems to be more interested in describing Chen Huansheng’s hardships and goes so far to put Chen at a guesthouse in the county, a move that creates a dissonance between the setting and the mindset of the characters. True, it adds a dramatic touch to the story, but won’t such a move aggravate Chen Huansheng’s discomfort toward his surroundings, hence diluting the pressing tragic quality of his character? (The Bottle of Solomon 112). Indeed, one thing that Gao lacks is the aesthetic ability to develop and deepen his real sense of life. The conflict between aesthetic consciousness and public enthusiasm, provoked by harsh realities within the heart of writers, has never ceased since the May 4th Movement. Instead, it has been more acute since the 1930s and almost become a traditional psychological conflict. Wang states, Half a century later, Gao Xiaosheng offered us a new variation of this tradition. It is not the writer’s social beliefs that suppressed his personal feelings, but rather it is the deep inner workings of mind, firmed up in his long-term personal experience, that refused to follow his aesthetic self-consciousness. In the past, it was only the social calls from outside that hindered the writing of those literary predecessors. Now, Gao Xiaosheng must eliminate the psychological deformation in his own mind first. Sure, we can express our discontent with his story of Chen Huangsheng, but we should find out how strong the obstacles that Gao has encountered must be. Per the zigzagging

The Critics during the Exploratory Craze of Fiction  157 pattern in historical evolution, his pursuit of artistic consciousness might not be easier than that of his predecessors, or it might even encounter more strenuous turns and twists. (The Bottle of Solomon 112–113) Wang Xiaoming’s blunt criticism is quite sharp and unforgiving. With the May 4th New Literature as his foundation and Lu Xun as his benchmark, he certainly would not show Gao Xiaosheng any mercy. His articles on Zhang Xianliang and Gao Xiaosheng respectively have been considered two outstanding pieces in the fiction criticism of that time. Thanks to his theoretical background, Nan Fan’s literary criticism has been characterized by theoretical and rational elements. Unlike Wang Xiaoming’s sensitive and sharp style, Nan’s critical writing is prudent and moderate, as one may see in his article, “Viewpoint of Wang Anyi’s Novels: A Character and a Conflict” (⟪王 安忆小说的观察点：一个人物、一种冲突⟫). He argues that it is not so difficult to find some flaws in Wang Anyi’s novels. After praising her talent demonstrated in the “Wenwen Novel Series” and analyzing Wenwen’s various activities and her uneasy relationship with society, Nan Fan argues that the novels undoubtedly have their undeniable values since they “are not listening attentively to the full and deep roar of life, but absorbing “some refreshing stories” like a light boat floating in life” (Understanding and Perception 172). Looking at Wang Anyi’s novels, however, one gets a sense of thinness about the series, more or less the same feeling one usually gets while comparing the insignificant scale of a novel like Jane Eyre against the grandeur of War and Peace. For this reason, Nan Fan is dissatisfied with Wang Anyi’s novels, claiming: Usually, a common order exists in these novels: social and historical misunderstandings may push some people in unsuitable positions in life. They are unfitting for these positions, but they lack self-awareness. Consequently, just as a soul goes into a wrong body, all the efforts they have made on these positions result in a series of dramatic conflicts with the demands of the positions. Wang Anyi’s recent novels fully demonstrate the specific conflicts between certain characters and their positions in life. (Understanding and Perception 177) At this point, Nan begins to examine Wang Anyi’s works in this period from a sober perspective. He never settles with superficial phenomena, but always tries to capture something regular within. In his opinion, such a conflict has become an important underpinning of her novels, or the center of plots (Understanding and Perception 178). Nan obviously judges Wang Anyi by a standard for mature writers, or a demand that is ahead of its time, yet it may not be in line with the actual writing by the author. However, Nan’s criticism could serve as a reminder for young writers because, as far as I can see, it offers a theoretical perspective and a certain dialogic connotation.

158  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction As Nan has stated, the 1980s is an “age of criticism” in which a group of critics with academic background stepped forward and the function and methodology of literary criticism became attractive topics. Literary criticism took the glorious spotlight among the numerous special articles that sprung up in succession (The Tension of Theory 3–4). It is also an age in which young critics showed their individuality. With Wu Liang’s acumen, Wang Xiaoming’s clarity, Chen Sihe’s depth, and Nan Fan’s rationality, the “Shanghai Critics Circle” stood out as a top team in the country. The emergence of new critics is an inevitable outcome from the transitions in contemporary literature. To a certain extent, critics can play a guiding role in literary trends and, at the same time, assert a profound influence on writers’ writing as well. 9.3 The Shanghai Critics Circle and Avant-Garde Fiction 1985 is a special year. It is a year in which the idea of Root-tracing Literature was put forward for the first time and the undercurrent of Avant-garde Fiction was quietly surging in the city of Lasa, Tibet. Writers like Ma Yuan and Tashi Dawa (扎西达娃) discussed the idea of avant-garde style in the newspapers of Lasa and, with the support from Cheng Yongxin (程永新), the young editor of Harvest, were ready to march into Shanghai and enter the arena of the national literary circle. As Yu Jinxing (虞金星) points out in his article, Tibet has the first circle of avant-garde novelists in the country. The change first appears in two short stories, Tashi Dawa’s “White Poplar & Garland & Dream” (⟪白杨林·花环·梦⟫) and Jin Zhiguo’s “Dreams Lost on the Prairie” (⟪梦, 遗落在草原上⟫), published in ­Tibetan Literature, No. 6, 1982. They took great pains to “build a symbolist bridge from image to idea,” “expand the scope of traditional subject,” “show a strong desire for the innovation of form,” and “mark the rise of contemporary Tibetan novel” (4). In his monograph, The Literary History of a Man, Cheng Yongxin states that around 1985, a powerful group of writers from the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau burst into the Chinese literary circle with their distinctive style in response to the surging literary waves across the country. The young writers from Tibet produced their works of fiction in bunches. By using the Tibetan culture as the backdrop and integrating various techniques in modern writing, they took advantage of different ingredients from folklore and mythology to not only maximize the imaginativeness and expressiveness of their works but also develop a unique style that differs from that of other inland regions. Ma Yuan and Tashi Dawa are the representative figures of this group, and its active members include Se Bo (色波), Li Qida (李启达), Pi Pi (皮皮), and Zi Wen (子文) (4).4 It is also during this period that avant-garde writers in Tibet joined forces with Yu Hua, Su Tong, Ge Fei, and Sun Ganlu from Jiangxi and Zhejiang provinces to form the most influential circle of “avant-garde novelists” at the time. Wu Liang and Li Jie are two critics who were deeply involved in the criticism of Avant-garde Fiction. In his article, “Farewell to 1986,” which seems to resemble

The Critics during the Exploratory Craze of Fiction  159 Lenin’s lecture in style, Wu declares that as he bids farewell to 1986, he would like to mention Ma Yuan’s novella Fiction (⟪虚构⟫) in particular. Although he has learned that it is indeed a “fiction” by Ma Yuan, he is convinced that Ma Yuan’s fictionalizing process is indeed his “personal experience.” By the time he finished his writing, he has certainly completed this unprecedented and unrepeatable experience. The novella Fiction, Wu admitted, made him think about one issue: writing is more than just documenting a pre-existing experience or a hypothetical one accomplished in imagination because writing has already constituted an experience. In Fiction, Ma Yuan visits the village of Maqu. Everything he has seen, heard, or done during his visit, such as his adventures, emotions, thrills, and lovemaking actions, is all completed in his writing process. Everything happens and ends with the writing simultaneously. Ma Yuan appears to have created a modern myth about the trinity of Ma Yuan, the narrator, and the doer. A modern man’s spiritual travel, imagination, and illusion in Tibet, plus partial experiences, has built a fixed core of plot in Ma Yuan’s fiction. Since Fiction, Ma Yuan’s fiction has become more readable because a certain original desire, which is constantly thrilling and simmering, and a fully saturated religious sentiment often generate an atmosphere just like a pervasive airflow circulating throughout his fiction incessantly (Wu, “Farewell to 1986” 87–88). Using witting and exaggerating words to proclaim the value of Avant-garde ­Fiction is a common critical style adopted by avant-garde critics like Wu Liang. What the frequent use of negative sentences in this style shows is the unequivocal respect to the new literary phenomenon and its decisive posture as well. Wu Liang explains this more clearly in his article, “The Narrative Trap of Ma Yuan”: In Fiction (⟪虚构⟫) and other works, Ma Yuan serves as a narrator, or one of the narrators. Here, Ma Yuan takes on the role and function not only of the first narrator, but also of an onlooker, an observer, a witness, or a secondary participant. While describing, pretentiously, the events in his personal experience through self-introduction or recollection, he gets carried away himself and, at the same time, leads the overzealous readers into a trap, in which they are unable to distinguish truth from falsehood, but question naively and redundantly, “Did Ma Yuan really experience this?” (If I were asked the question, I will say: “Yes, all this really happens in the story. But only God knows if it is true in reality).” (“The Narrative Trap of Ma Yuan” 45–46) This article seems to have played a part in naming the Avant-garde Fiction. If “Scar Literature” and “Introspection Literature” follow the writing principles of realist fiction, with an emphasis on the consistency of the three factors, character, place, and time, then Wu Liang’s narratological criticism adopts New ­Historicism as its starting point and seriously questions the realist concept of truth. From this standpoint, he insists, the truth of narrative means the truth of reality. He claims that “novelists who are fascinated by verbal narratives are truly imaginative ­because

160  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction they virtually live in the imaginary narrative. The best novelist regards the narrative and the world as one entity” (“The Narrative Trap of Ma Yuan” 46). Wu Liang also applies the “trap theory,” which he cultivated deeply in his ­criticism of in Ma Yuan’s fiction, to the works of Han Shaogong, Can Xue, Tashi Dawa, and others. With a little exaggeration, he claims that writers like Han Shaogong and Zhaoxi Dawa – the camp of avant-garde writers – have made ­positive contributions to the exploration of contemporary fictional forms simply because they all understood the secrete of the “trap.” The concept of truth, which chooses narratology as its foothold and commits itself to the reflection on socialist realism, is a phenomenon that occurred in the self-adjusting process of contemporary literature. The critical view of narratology had a tremendous impact on novelists’ writing at that time. In the articles written by Shanghai critics, phrases like “criticism as a choice,” “before an overview of …,” “the fantasy of criticism,” “critics’ anguish,” “in face of the language challenge,” “the idealist’s spiritual wanderings,” and “writers and we” are used frequently. Their bookshelves were probably packed with books on Psychoanalysis, Structuralist Linguistics, Cultural Anthropology, New Criticism, Western Marxism, literary psychology, semiotics, philosophy of language, Russian Formalism, Structuralist poetics, narratology, and the Frankfurt School. These subjects were discussed among graduate students at universities and in the offices of Writers’ Associations. It is conceivable, therefore, that the critics who emerged in this atmosphere must have immersed themselves deeply in Western influence. Compared to the middle-aged and elder critics of the early 1980s, the younger critics stood at the forefront of the knowledge explosion. The critics in Shanghai, in particular, were the most affected, and their criticism of Avant-garde Fiction explicitly manifested the substitution of new knowledge. When the “linguistic turn” found its way into China and became a popular subject for the entire generation in the mid-1980s, Li Jie published a long article, “The Linguistic Structure of Contemporary Chinese Avant-garde fiction,” in an attempt to read the works of the avant-garde writers intensively by analyzing the structure of the sentences: I am indeed that Han Chinese, called Ma Yuan. This is how Fiction begins. It shows the basic sentence pattern in the entire novella (and arguably in all his works) and exemplifies the narrative style of the entire novella (and even all his works). To this end, one may delve into the text for an analysis, starting from the most basic syntactic structure. In terms of its basic grammatical components, this sentence is a simple, regular, and complete sentence with a subject, a predicate, and a predicate. “I am the Han Chinese.” The subject is “I,” the predicate (to be) “am,” and the object “Han ­Chinese.” The adverb, “indeed,” and the attribute, “called Ma Yuan,” are used to describe the predicate and emphasize the object respectively. If we interpret the sentence in terms of phonology, semantics, and rhetoric, we cannot see what

The Critics during the Exploratory Craze of Fiction  161 the mystery is. Because the mystery lies in its syntactic structure. It is also a self-relative sentence structure, but its structural focus is not on semantic selfrelativity, but on syntactic self-relativity. The subject “I” is enriched by the postpositive attributive “called Ma Yuan” and the object “Han Chinese.” In fact, the Han Chinese called Ma Yuan is me, too. Here, the verb superficially serves as an introduction, but is actually a transition from the subject to the ­object, a very smooth one, just like the Canon of Bach. The word “­indeed” before the verb ensures the transition so subtly that the subject may move to the object seamlessly: “I am—indeed—the Han Chinese—called Ma Yuan.” While the subject seems gradually definite and explicit, it gradually ­becomes difficult to define. Sun Ganlu focuses on the language of the ­sentence, whereas Ma Yuan emphasizes the interweaving function of the grammatical ­components within the sentence. The former obtains a semantic image through semantic parsing, while the latter obtains a symbolic image through the entanglement of grammar, i.e., the subject is and isn’t an object at once. (115) Li Jie’s article was really an eye-opener at the time, but reading it through retrospectively today, we find it obscure, awkward, and unprofessional. This shows how naive and immature the critical practice at the time was despite its commitment to exploration and innovation. However, their individualistic posture and their intrepid imitation and learning highlight the critics’ great valiance to break through the sluice gate for theoretical exploration. In 1986, Li Jie was keenly aware that the novels of 1985 enriched the spirit of the time, enhanced the literary consciousness, and presented a colorful landscape in art. What was striking was the drastic change in narrative structure. The artistic renewal of the novels in 1985, Li reiterated, prompted people to turn their aesthetic psychology, along with their way of thinking, from a closed state to an open one. In the past, the aesthetics of the novel was always hinged upon the old linear pattern of storytelling, plot, cause-and-effect links, and happy endings, but some writers suddenly discovered in 1985 that the storyline could be watered down, the cause-and-effect links could be broken, and even the so-called endings could be omitted. Such a creative practice proved that aesthetic psychology and way of thinking could also be isomorphic. In Li Jie’s opinion, the novels in 1985 made not only a major leap forward in the history of the New Period literature but also a pioneering breakthrough in the history of the new Chinese literature since the May 4th movement. Here, Li seems no longer content with tearing down the fence of the traditional concepts in literature. He is ready to break through all the fences of the 20th-century Chinese literature. He asserts: The literature of the May 4th period also emphasizes individuality, but the more urgent need at that time was to liberate the semi-feudal and semi-colonial society and Chinese people from miseries. In terms of historical urgency, the latter task is of more significant than the former. Nonetheless, the sense of

162  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction individuality presented in the novels of 1985 is a major part of the endeavor to renew the national cultural psychology in the new historical context of building the Four Modernizations. In other words, the trend in the 20th-century Chinese literature would begin with the new construction of aesthetic psychology that has been first envisioned in the novels of 1985. (Wen Wei Po) It doesn’t matter whether Li’s prediction would come true. The young critic believed it sincerely. The deep involvement of the young Shanghai critics in the criticism of the Avant-garde Fiction has something to do with their close contact with writers. Their “alliance” was strengthened by the exchange of writing skills, the goodwill, the empathy, and intensive conversations among the people of the same age. The time when Avant-garde Fiction was on the rise, as Xu Zidong confirms, is exactly the period in which Wu Liang, Cheng Depei, and Cai Xiang interacted most frequently with the so-called exploratory writers, such as Ma Yuan, Mo Yan, Wang Anyi, Han Shaogong, Sun Ganlu, Ge Fei, and Can Xue. “It is no exaggeration to say that the Avant-garde Literature of 1985, whether it is successful or not, is to some extent ‘co-created’ by these writers and young critics” (New Ideas on Yu Dafu’s Works 312). Chen Sihe’s correspondence with Zhang Wei offers an insight into the interaction between critics and writers. In a letter to Zhang Wei, Chen presents his views on the novel, The Ancient Ship (⟪古船⟫): Dear Zhang Wei, At the beginning of last year, I met with you once at the Jing Feng Hotel, but we did not have a chance for a good conversation. Only after returning to Shanghai and reading through The Ancient Ship again, did I think about a lot of things and regret about my failure to seek your advice in person while in Beijing, hence missing a good learning opportunity. …The first time I read The Ancient Ship, my impression was that it was fully packed and therefore too crowded to accommodate the echo of the dreamlike spirit. The second reading left me a much deeper impression. I see two layers of narrative in the text. One is the layer of realities, tracing the old Sui family’s fall from glory to disgrace and depicting life, society, and history, namely, the most essential parts of the secular world and the noblest realm of humanity. The other is the layer of abstraction, or a world of symbols, which is centered around characters’ various recollections, reflections, and discussions, cultivating humanity, locality, and intuition, and presenting the title of The Ancient Ship as the greatest image. The latter is essential to the former because it elevates all the personal entanglements depicted in the former to the significance of Chinese culture, imbues it with new understandings and deeper connotations, and allows it to shift its narrative from the ­history of a single family, or a town, to an infinite time and space. (338–339)

The Critics during the Exploratory Craze of Fiction  163 In the end, he points out the shortcomings of The Ancient Ship with a friendly tone: There should be no difference between writing and reading a book. Reading The Ancient Ship could lead the reader to a spectacular discovery, but the pity is that there is hardly any easy flow of the narrative because so much is packed in the novel. Also, the writing is not splendid and lack of stylistic finesse. The former shortcoming might be perceived while writing the book, whereas the latter can only be detected in reading. If The Ancient Ship had a more meticulous description of the scenes in daily life, it might have made a new and qualitative leap in its artistic value and probably become a monumental work. (“Correspondence on the Structure of Novels” 343) Cai Xiang used the word “friendship” when he talked about the literary circle in the 1980s, saying, “What is left behind from the 1980 is sincerity, and friendship, too. By tacit agreement, we all try to keep it going. I think it is good, really good” (312). Cai mentioned his interactions with editors Li Qingxi (李庆西) and Huang Yuhai (黄育海) at Zhejiang Literature and Art Publishing House while trying to compile and publish his collection of criticism, An Idealist’s Spiritual Cruise. He knew Li Qingxi a little earlier, but he didn’t meet with Huang Yuhai until the end of 1984. At that time, Shanghai Literature, the journal he was working for, was going to hold a literary conference together along with Zhejiang Literature and Art Publishing House and Hangzhou Federation of Literary and Art Circles. The conference was later commonly known as the “Hangzhou Conference.” Cai and Huang were in charge of the routine affairs of the conference. At that time, Huang was energetic, riding an old bicycle all over the city to buy the return train tickets for writers (Cai 311–312). A year later, in 1986, Cai put together the articles he had published, estimated their total number of words, and gave them to Huang. In the following spring or autumn, Huang informed him about the publication of the book in a letter and urged him to pick up the book in Hangzhou. Both Huang and Li just moved into a new flat with two bedrooms and a large lawn in front of the door, where adults and children were playing at dusk. Cai was very envious. Huang and Li had their flats on different floors, so Cai slept in Li’s flat and ate at Huang’s. He had a good time for two days. When he went to pick up the book the next day, he also received the royalties for the book. Naturally, he was very delighted, for it was a big sum of money, several thousand yuan, with stacks of ten-yuan bills. On the train back to Shanghai, Cai saw a little girl crying in front of her mother for a Coca-Cola. Out of sympathy, he bought it for the child. Later, he regretted it because he had his own son at home (New Ideas on Yu Dafu’s Works 311–312). The above details show how critics interacted with avant-garde writers. Clearly, friendship was undoubtedly a key factor in generating the literary atmosphere in the 1980s. Such an atmosphere could ease the wariness between people. As we see from Chen Sihe’s blunt assessment of the shortcomings in Zhang Wei’s novels,

164  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction it is always easier to delve into a writer’s novelistic world from an informed and personal perspective. The critics and the avant-garde writers were all in their thirties at the time, so they were so energetic and eager to show off their talents and compete. The scenes in the history of the novel are only dimly perceptible today in many fascinating articles. For example, Cheng Depei identified a unique “childhood perspective” in Mo Yan’s novel, A Transparent Carrot (⟪透明的红萝卜⟫), and thereby provided a preliminary conclusion on Mo’s earlier writings. He insists that despite his experience as a soldier and his publication of several novels, such as The Wind on the ­Island (⟪岛上的风⟫), Mo Yan still lacks the soul of a soldier because in his heart of hearts he is still a peasant. If one compares Mo Yan’s fiction with the Rural Fiction by Zhang Wei and Jiao Jian (矫健), one can see that the “countryside” in Mo Yan’s fiction has a space for childhood, and that the memories about childhood come to life artistically in his writing (“A World Haunted with Memories” 16). In his reading of Mo Yan’s other novels, however, Cheng realizes that the childhood depicted by Mo is not so happy and even regretful. The rural children in Mo’s fiction are all more or less challenged physically and mentally. Often, they do not have a close relationship with their parents, who are frequently on the verge of being depressed or blowing off their steam due to the burdens of history and reality. In A Transparent Carrot, Hehai (黑孩) is constantly disturbed by a strong sense of insecurity, a kind of mental anxiety, and an inexplicable fear of certain events, objects, people, or places (“A World Haunted with Memories” 17). Cheng Depei continues, While struggling with the poverty and the lack of love and wealth, the golden time of childhood begins to fade away. Hence, the light that has diminished in real life is turning into a spirit of sensation and illusion in a space of imagination, or the shimmering match light in the hand of the little girl in Andersen’s book, but the dim light shines on her grandparents and her childhood friends as well. (“A World Haunted with Memories” 18) Among many talented young critics, Cheng Depei might not be the best, but if he is put in the long run of history, he is definitely one of the critics most worthy of our attention. He is neither as eloquent as Wu Liang, nor as mesmerizing as Li Jie with his avant-garde concepts and methods. He is not as sharp as Wang Xiaoming, and not as combative or aggressive as Chen Sihe, either. Though a typical selfeffacing and low-key person, Cheng is always able to uncover the important things hidden in the text, things that even the writer might not be aware of. He states, The dim light is both a spiritual resistance against darkness and a kind of replenishment. The more a person lost in his or her childhood, the stronger his or her resistance and desire for replenishment would be. The mind is undoubtedly the most poetic and magical regulator for man because it knows how to replace what a man does not have, or replenish what he has lost. (“A World Haunted with Memories” 18)

The Critics during the Exploratory Craze of Fiction  165 Cheng Depei identified the features of Mo Yan’s writing right after Mo’s debut in the literary circle. Later, Cheng applied Jung’s “theory of psychological compensation” to his observation on Mo Yan’s spiritual world and moved the study of Mo Yan a step further without flaunting Mo’s craftsmanship. To this day, his comment is still referenced by scholars and has become one of the most cited assessments in avant-garde criticism. Cheng admitted in self-reflection that he never had any illusions about what he wrote, only more doubts and self-negations. “It’s like you write something in high spirits,” he says, “but you often get a sense of disappointment after reading it again. I always believe that only when you dislike the writing you have finished the day before can you write something different or better than what you wrote yesterday” (The World of Novelists 241). In his view, writing is fueled by self-denial and selfdoubt. He cited Wu Liang as an example half-jokingly as he and Wu worked, face to face, for several years at the theoretical research office of the Shanghai Writers Association in the latter half of the 1980s. As far as I can remember, the first thing Wu Liang would do after ­arriving at the office was reading through his newly published article and a few ­letters carefully. On the contrary, I didn’t have the courage to reread my own articles, just like a person afraid of looking at himself in the mirror. Only ­after I returned to the field of criticism around 2006 because I had nothing better to do did I get the opportunity to read my previous critical articles. I used to call my leisure writing and reading “the work of an amateur performer.” Reading through my writings from over thirty years ago, I jotted down a line of self-evaluation, “It’s too embarrassing to see,” in my notes, which was my first self-negation, ever. (The World of Novelists 241–242) Among that group of young critics who were in their prime, a person as selfdeprecating as Cheng Depei is very rare to see. However, it is Cheng Depei’s “selfdoubt” and “self-negation” that inspired my desire for reflective criticism. Today, while rereading his so-called critical articles written by an amateur performer, I feel that I ought to look at them with new eyes. Apparently, he is an excellent critic who was underrated and almost overlooked. In his critical articles, Cheng Depei is good at exploring the textual structure from the author’s point of view, juxtaposing the author’ humanity with that of characters in an attempt to figure out the hidden implications between the lines. In Wang Anyi’s eyes, Cheng observes, the parting of loved ones in life or death is not necessarily the only occasion filled with humanity and human feelings. In fact, the humanity and feelings reflected in the daily meals could probably be more intense and more authentic. The human world is holistic and its authenticity is not merely limited to the social factors, yet it also contains other non-negligible factors. In her novella, Big Liu Village (⟪大刘庄⟫), Wang Anyi does not compare the strengths

166  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction and weaknesses of urban and rural areas, but instead describes objectively their respective tracks of life (The World of Novelists 72): In her description of these two big sects of life, the author stresses both the reflection of present life and the expression of artistic creativity. Obviously, nonetheless, her focus has begun to shift from the plots and characters to the structure. The structure is not only a configuration for the conflict between personality history and plot, but also an independent unit that functions as the framework and supporting point for the novella. (The World of the Novelists 73) As early as in 1985, Cheng Depei had recognized Wang Anyi’s temperament as a professional writer. And it was on this basis that he put forward the “structure theory.” In his view, the so-called professional writer could only get certified when the “structure” can free itself from the conflict between personality history and plot and gain its independence in literary style. Wang’s Big Liu Village, he adds, evolves with a trapezoidal structure, which signifies a temporal development from the wide end to the narrow end. The flow of time conveys the author’s understanding of life. “Wang Anyi’s use of the structure,” Cheng suggests, “is the most striking feature in her recent works simply because the art of structure is presented not only as a form but also an attitude towards life” (The World of the Novelists 75). Taking the character, Yingchun (迎春), as an example, Cheng considers ­Yingchun’s brave action in pursuing an autonomous marriage really admirable, but he makes a point of stating that the author also writes about Yingchun’s dissatisfactions after her marriage, including the frequent quarrels and fights between the couple and even her regret for her initial choice. By contrast, Cheng argues, these narrative details are undoubtedly much more profound and realistic than the usual plot movement, namely, “what comes around goes around,” a mode that we have seen in too many stories. Judging from its deep implication, Cheng concludes, the structural form of Big Liu Village contains the philosophical connotation of “on-again and off-again relationship.” In fact, it may refer to not only the changing relationship between city and country but also the development of the universe and humanity in the long run (The World of the Novelists 76). With a step-by-step observation and analysis, Cheng Depei offers a summary of the structural characteristics in Wang Anyi’s recent works. First, there are no unified threads of plot, events, and stories. Even if there are some loose subplots, such as the marital conflict at the beginning of Big Liu Village, they do not intersect with each other and fail to escalate into a dramatic entanglement or conflict. Second, her works deliver the author’s objective observation and dispassionate analysis. In her fiction, the narrative tone is calm and steady. Even her characters seldom, if ever, reveal their feelings without a proper reason, so as to maintain a sort of inner reservedness. Clearly, the author begins to observe life more dispassionately.

The Critics during the Exploratory Craze of Fiction  167 Third, a certain distance is maintained. There is a distance between the author and what she writes about and between the novel and the reader. The author does not want readers to get too intimate with the novel, that is, neither share the characters’ ­experience nor identify with them. The most common technique in her recent fiction is diversion. Fourth, collage is widely used. From time to time, Wang Anyi inserts many specific and easily identifiable details of life in her fiction with interweaving and interconnecting techniques. Since Big Liu Village evolves its narrative by alternating between two big sects of life, the structure of the entire novella is basically all set. Wang adds numerous enlightening details to this orderly sequence in order to move her story closer to its prototype in life. Even though these details are inessential to the overall plot, they still could be collaged nicely because of the basic framework in the novella. Five, Wang Anyi uses the device of repetition well. Her use of repetition, rhythm, and cogent wording generate a balancing and complementary effect in her recent works (The World of the N ­ ovelists 77–79). Instead of standing at the forefront of the literary tide to advocate “exploration” or promote “narrative,” Cheng Depei settled down on the study of literary texts and presented his ideas in meticulous articles. All his criticism is directed toward specific issues of the author’s writing. In his opinion, What Wang Anyi pursues is more than abandoning old patterns, and more importantly, the art of her structure exemplifies her thirst for truth. She favors documentary style, so she makes sure to avoid excessive subjective intervention and rely on facts, as much as possible, in representing and conveying the implications of the text (The World of the Novelists 79). Comments like this speak volumes about Cheng’s finesse as a critic. Wu Liang’s talk about the “narrative trap” highlighted the literary claims of avant-garde novelists. Cheng Depei did much more than sharing his ideas. He delved into the mysterious world of Avant-garde Fiction and, by means of revealing its interior structure, provided a relatively ideal model for its criticism. These two critics joined force in delivering their authoritative criticism on the Avantgarde Fiction across the country and firmly consolidating Shanghai’s status as a stronghold of avant-garde literature. In the “prefaces” written by Zhou Jieren and Li Ziyun for their two protégé, we can see their appreciation of the two critics’ achievements in criticism. Zhou Jieren writes, “I agree with you that criticism is choice. I believe that a critic, who never needs to choose but can comment on any work with copious and fluent words, is not a serious critic with a discerning eye” (1). He warns, Given the importance of the penetrating and explosive power to a critic and the difficulty to acquire it, I think you must keep accumulating and exercising your subjective initiative in the future. Strength comes from deep accumulation and repeated practice as well. I hope you will further expand the scope of your cultural knowledge (for example, in addition to your interest in classical and modern Western philosophy, you can further extend your understanding of our own cultural traditions). (5–6)

168  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction In this preface, Li Ziyun recalls her first encounter with Cheng Depei at a meeting for young amateur critics held at the office of Shanghai Literature. She argues that Cheng’s articles on Jia Pingwa’s short stories seem a little shallow and immature, but his article, “The Emotional World of Wenwen,” shows a critical style different from others’ (“Preface” 1). In her judgment, Cheng’s critical articles are “serious in attitude and rigorous in style,” and most of them retain “the same consistency.” Also, she adds, “Depei’s writing is not that fancy. Like his speech at meetings, it is slightly rigid, simple, and sometimes inadequate to convey what he wants to say” (“Preface” 3). The reason is that he does not belong to that circle of critics who are so talented that they can write profusely each time and use others’ works to whoop up their own opinions on philosophy, society, politics, and ­aesthetic. Li adds, Based on his conditions, Depei has chosen a different approach: dwell on the text and know it by heart; pinpoint the author’s intentions after a careful analysis and assessment of the text. He strives to bring his judgment closer to the facts in the text. (“Preface” 3) As Li mentions in her conclusion, Cheng works on his criticism with utter concentration without any desire to seek a quick success. So far, his hard work has produced some effective result (“Preface” 4). 9.4 The Shanghai Critics Circle and Other Fiction Critics of the Shanghai Critics Circle have a broad critical vision beyond their coverage on Avant-garde Fiction. They create new concepts and approaches while tracking other writers in different circles and styles. Wang Xiaoming is an expert of textual interpretation with a discerning eye and a sharp insight from the angle of literary history. To some extent, he deserves his reputation as an excellent critic who writes worth reading articles. His analyses of the complexity in the relationship between Zhang Xianliang’s and Gao ­Xiaosheng’s personalities and history and his observations on the lack of creative impetus among “modernist” writers, such as Zhang Xinxin (张辛欣), Liu Sora (刘 索拉), and Can Xue (残雪) have left a deep impression on his peers. His criticism follows the critical tradition of modern literature, especially that of Li Jianwu (李 健吾), and his literary analysis delves into the texts for a subtle response, based on emotional engagement rather than rigid concepts, before articulating his own precise and accurate understandings. He is not one of those “strongman-type” critics surfacing during his time, but rather a critic like Jin Shengtan (金圣叹), who has a golden touch for words. His semi-old and semi-new style of criticism was certainly a rare dazzlingly sight at that time.

The Critics during the Exploratory Craze of Fiction  169 When everyone was taking the delight in talking about the “Lu Xun style” of Gao Xiaosheng’s fiction, Wang Xiaoming was able to present a sober observation: Living a life in harsh conditions for twenty years seems to have thoroughly deprived him of his instinct, forcing him to choose a lifestyle unrelated to writing and even forget that he is a writer. No matter how sincere his hope was upon his return to the hometown, once he had his “Rightist” label ­removed but only to find that everything remained the same, and that he was still a pariah who had nothing to do with literature, a sort of psychological variation, which appears to be the most tragic experience to a writer, occurred unstoppably inside him. He not only regarded himself as a peasant, but also started feeling and thinking like a peasant. (The Bottle of Solomon 109–110) In Wang’s belief, it is this narrow-minded psychological feeling about a shared destiny that has hindered Gao Xiaosheng. He resumed writing in 1978 and quickly returned to writers’ community with a rational self-consciousness, but deep inside his mind he could not bid his farewell to the world of peasants with the same resolution. In his short story, “Chen Huansheng Goes to Town” (⟪陈奂生上城⟫), Gao still presents himself as a close neighbor of Chen Huansheng. He must know that he should reconsider his memory and try to overlook Chen Village (陈家村) from the high ground of aesthetics and observation, but he often runs straight to the village entrance involuntarily to tell passers-by loudly about the sufferings of people like Chen Huansheng. At this juncture, Wang Xiaoming points out the problem in Gao Xiaosheng’s writing, “Though his intimate perception of Chen Huansheng is not inferior to Lu Xun’s perception of Ah Q (阿Q), the pity is that he is unable to develop the same powerful aesthetic insight as Lu Xun did, or deepen his feelings as Lu Xun did while portraying Ah Q.” (The Bottle of Solomon 110). Wang’s article, “Before Overlooking Chen Village: Gao Xiaosheng’s Recent Fiction (⟪在俯瞰陈家村之前——论高晓声近年来的小说创作⟫)” seems to have brought so much critical attention to Gao’s fiction and explained the reason for the slip of his writing after the two short stories, “Li Shunda Plans to Build a House” (⟪李顺大造屋⟫) and “Chen Huansheng Goes to Town,” thus revealing the historical limitations of such “personal biographic writing” by “return writers.” Wang regards this as a “trap” that Gao sets up for himself: I understand why he would lose his self-control. Even if he has decided, in his brainstorming, to portray Chen Huansheng from a commanding height, such a rational intention often fails to go through in the actual writing process. Particularly, the specific narrative style is, to a large extent, directly subject to his psychological state. Once he attempts to read Chen Huansheng’s mind again and speak like him, his own unresolved psychological depression, which is quite similar to Chen’s, will inevitably leak out right away. (The Bottle of Solomon 110–111)

170  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction Using a work as an entry point for a holistic analysis of a writer’s writing is one of Wang Xiaoming’s best critical approaches. For instance, he reached the wonderful conclusions, namely, “the ideal of a countryman” and “the literary style of a city resident,” about Shen Congwen (沈从文) by analyzing several of his novels. When he applied this analytic method to his criticism of contemporary fiction, the effect turned out to be more wonder. When the critical community lobbed excessive praise on Zhang Xianliang’s novels, Mimosa (⟪绿化树⟫) and Half of Man Is Woman (⟪男人的一半是女人⟫), Wang Xiaoming did the very opposite, criticizing the problems in his writing. He claimed that the previous criticism on Zhang Xianliang’s novels was “often too careless, forgetting that there stood a narrator between the novelist and the scenes in his description” (The Bottle of Solomon 130). In Wang’s opinion, “an appealing narrator appears in Zhang’s fiction, a tall man who presents himself as Shi Zai­ (石在) in Love in the Cachot (⟪土牢情话⟫) and narrates his experiences from the first-person point of view. He is Xu Lingjun (许灵均) in Spirit & Flesh (⟪灵与 肉⟫), in which the narrative adopts the third-person point of view, but still unfolds the story based on his ideas. The same narrator appears in most of Zhang Xianliang’s subsequent novels. In his latest appearance, he is named as Zhang Yonglin (章永麟), playing a dual role as the male protagonist and the narrator of the story (The Bottle of Solomon 132). Zhang Xianliang’s decision to abandon the traditional narrative mode in portraying such a narrator allows us to see the “sad history of personal sufferings” in his fiction. Who can save Zhang Yonglin from hunger and sexual impotence after all? The author selects Ma Yinghua (马缨花) and Huang Xiangjiu (黄香久), the two women from the northwestern countryside with great vitality and tolerance. As a result, Zhang Yonglin’s love affair with them is sublimated by most critics into a “sense of repentance.” Wang seriously questioned this, pointing out that in Mimosa and Half of Man Is Woman Zhang Yonglin not only secretly despises Ma Yinghua after filling himself with her potato buns but also dumps Huang Xiangjiu and disappears after Huang helps restore his sexual potency. Perhaps, “it is this sustained focus on the narrator’s betrayal that endows Zhang Xianliang’s novels with an overwhelming revealing power” (The Bottle of Solomon 137). Such a gloomy mentality, Wang Xiaoming claims, is the direct outcome from the “sad history of personal sufferings.” In those hellish days, betrayal occurred almost unconsciously, just like a drowning man who couldn’t help but cling to whatever was floating around him. Zhang Xianliang uncovers for the first time the deep psychological cause for betrayal, which is not a failure of irrational thinking, but the selfishness in human nature. Wang aimed his critical reflection at the “­emotional structure” of Zhang Xianliang’s novel directly: It is in these novels that the real cause of moral degeneration is gradually exposed. A series of factors, from Shi Zai’s fear of the cachot, his instinct for survival, and his fanatic jealousy toward all others who are luckier than him, to Zhang Yonglin’s hunger and sexual impulse, his deepseated and lingering sense of cultural superiority and personal ambition,

The Critics during the Exploratory Craze of Fiction  171 and especially the moral paralysis he has developed after sustaining a longterm inhumane treatment, have triggered the successive actions of betrayal. The face of that man becomes clearer by now. He is neither a hero, nor a big evil person. In fact, he can’t be considered a real man. He is a mixture of the frustration from disillusion, the panic caused by naivety, the anguish from the remaining shred of his conscience, the despicable behavior prompted by his survival instinct, or a victim who embodies both weakness and resourcefulness. (The Bottle of Solomon 140) This article, which was firstly published in Shanghai Literature, Issue 2, 1986, and later collected in Wang Xiaoming’s collection of critical essays, The Bottle of Solomon, broke up “the myth of Zhang Yonglin.” The intensity of its reflection was quite rare in literary criticism back then and a few years afterward. To tear down the feudal fortress of the “Cultural Revolution,” the intelligentsia raised the banner of humanitarianism in 1979. New literary schools like Misty Poetry, Scar Literature, and Retrospection Literature had their field day after overcoming all kinds of obstacles. Amid this particular historical atmosphere, conceptual terms that flaunt humanitarianism, such as “I” and “self,” surfaced one after another and received a record-high recognition since the May 4th Period of New Literature. Writers could easily score a success in their writing as long as they camouflage themselves with a cloak of “self.” Once humanitarianism became a cognitive device in literary criticism, all critics involved in the discussion would run the risk of becoming marginalized among intellectuals. Wang Xiaoming showed his exceptional vision and courage. He never took an eye-catching critical approach to overpower the opponent superficially, like the way Li Jie (李颉) challenged Li Zehou (李泽厚) or the way Chen Yangu (陈燕谷) and Jin Dacheng (靳大成) challenged Liu Zaifu (李再复). Wang is a reasonable and brilliant critic whose articles remind people of Li Jianwu’s critical works – Zuihua Collection I (⟪咀华集⟫) and Zuihua Collection II (⟪咀华二集⟫). His well-prepared and step-by-step reading of texts seems like the silent little rain, a clear and reasonable clarification, and a critical practice that applies the humanitarian spirit to the analysis of specific works. From a historical point of view, fractured criticism might prevail for a period, but only the analytical articles on specific works, especially the articles of competent intensive criticism by critics like Wang Xiaoming, can be regarded as a few great achievements in the ups and downs of literary history. In addition to the abovementioned two articles, Wang also published other articles, such as “The Weary Mind: The Novels of Zhang Xinxin, Liu Suola, and Can Xue” (⟪疲惫的心灵——从张辛欣、刘索拉和残雪的小说谈起⟫). These articles are commendable because they go beyond the general commentary of “modernist fiction” and “Avant-garde Fiction” and reach their conclusion on “the weary mind” by focusing their criticism on a group of young writers and defining them one by one. After reading through Zhang Xinxin’s novels before 1984, Wang was surprised to find out that the author is not the kind of sophisticated person who enjoys

172  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction hiding behind her fantastic stories, but a warm-hearted person who is candid and eager to get all the stories off her chest (“The Weary Mind” 67). Since the narrative in Zhang Xinxin’s novels proceeds as if no one is around, Wang caught a glimpse of its “monologic feature.” At a time when everyone was heaping all kinds of praise on Liu Suola’s novels, Wang reached a clear conclusion in his mind: Liu Sola should never have switched to the type of novel writing like Blue Sky and Green Sea (⟪蓝天绿海⟫). As a matter of fact, she was unable to keep moving straight forward on the tracks of You Have No Choice (⟪你别无 选择⟫) due to the lack of leg strength. Even if she had not got on the sideroad of Blue Sky and Green Sea, she would still have taken another wrong path. From the day she gave up her cynical attitude, her writing was doomed to lose all its vitality. (“The Weary Mind” 69) It should be noted that Wang Xiaoming always has the ability to indulge himself in textual analysis despite the noisy distraction from the lopsided approbation of a certain writer. He claims in the article that Liu Suola “does not have the adequate leg strength.” The phrase, the “leg strength,” is a wonderful usage because it exactly pinpoints the weakness of the “modernist” and “avant-garde” novelists. Amid a strong atmosphere that encourages literary innovation and exploration, you might be able to succeed with a great effort, but whether or not you can maintain your “leg strength” in the process of “innovation” and “exploration,” namely, your capacity for self-reflection and self-adjustment, or the most precious artistic creativity of a writer, is still a crucial issue to tackle. The good thing about Wang Xiaoming’s article is that it points out some serious problems in the seemingly prosperous literary world, problems that no one cared about at the time. Only by revisiting thought-provoking articles of criticism like this after a long development of contemporary Chinese fiction, can we fully appreciate Wang Xiaoming’s broad and forward-looking vision. Chen Sihe, both a critic and a scholar of literary history, attaches great importance to the framework in his critical articles. He likes to set up a critical viewpoint first, bring in a writer’s works, and then dissect them one by one. He might be a fiction critic who is good at “long-distance running” as he values critics’ endurance and perseverance. In his belief, these races will determine if a critic will eventually go down in literary history. From the 1980s to the 1990s, he was not a critic standing at the forefront, or basking in a spectacular spotlight. However, it is his gift for long-distance running that enabled him to sustain through the very end. By the 1990s, only a few critics who had emerged in the 1980s, as he did, remained active in the front line of literary criticism and literary history studies. In addition to his idea of “imperial court,” Chen also put forward the concept of “folk writing,” which seems quite persuasive and credible in explaining the turn in literary writing since the 1990s. His critical writings are patient, relaxed, and serious based on a gentle and fair approach to writers and their works. His study of Ba Jin (巴金),

The Critics during the Exploratory Craze of Fiction  173 which was conducted prior to his fiction criticism, bolstered his perception of literary history and convinced him that literary criticism would not go very far without the corroboration of literary history. Chen lays out the shortcomings in Wang’s writings in his article, “Goodbye to the Orange Dream: Reading Wang Anyi’s Three Novels.” Though much richer that Wen Wen’s (雯雯) story, he argues, Wang’s novel Junior High School Students Graduated in 1969 (⟪69 届初中生⟫) is still inadequate in representing the destiny of that whole generation. While acknowledging what works well in Wang’s Bao Village (⟪小鲍庄⟫), he insists that this novel does not have the same kind of smooth and comfortable integration between content and form as in Junior High School Students Graduated in 1969. Her novel, Love in a Small City (⟪小城之 恋⟫), is slightly different as it follows the tradition of Yu Dafu (郁达夫)’s “selfnarrated biography.” “Yu Dafu is inevitably infected with the ‘romantic disease’ of the time,” whereas “Wang Anyi has made her progress in highlighting the state of human life truthfully by excluding all the external excuses” (234). In his article, hereas “Wang Anyi has made her progress in highlighting the state of human life truthfully by excluding all the exA Transparent Carrot is Hei Hai (黑孩): Starting from A Transparent Carrot, Mo Yan has been skillfully demonstrating his own writing style. The sense of novelty and magic in the novel does not come from its reflection of the miserable rural life during the ten-yearlong turmoil, or its depiction of the tragedy of human degeneration during the dismal decade. Instead, it initially comes from a concrete and tangible image, Hei Hai. (268) Mo Yan, Chen claims, has already deviated from the traditional realist fiction and delved into his unique artistic reinvention. “Hei Hai does not look like a real person in life, but more like a mysterious elf. Many of his strange feelings almost belong to the realm of fairy-tale” (268). In 1989, Chen Sihe and Wang Xiaoming hosted the column, “Rewriting Literary History” for the journal, Shanghai Literary Theory (⟪上海文论⟫). In Chen’s opinion, the infinite richness of researchers’ spiritual world is bound to result in a diversified study of literary history. Rewriting literary history, like other histories, is an inevitable process. The infinity of this process not only shows the contemporary nature of “history” but also makes the “history” closer and closer to its “authenticity” (Chen & Wang 35). Here, the phrase, “the contemporary nature of history,” refers to the historical process of China’s Reform and Opening up in 1978, a process that has seriously shaken the framework of traditional literary history and greatly expanded “the infinite richness of researchers’ spiritual world.” The column hosted by Chen and Wang exhibited their penetrating and forward-looking vision and courage. The concept regarding the rewriting of literary history has been ­specified in many of Chen’s articles on fiction writing.

174  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction Chen argues in his article, “Modern Consciousness of Resistance in Contemporary Literary Writing (⟪当代文学创作中的现代反抗意识⟫),” that modern ­consciousness of resistance is a variant of the literary spirit. Its attitude toward reality is rigorous and completely consistent with the realistic fighting spirit. Its worldly critical stand seems to have “not only inherited Lu Xun’s tradition of uncompromising defiance toward social norms, but also resonated with the ideological criticism against the capitalist world in the West” (54). At the same time, he adds, the consciousness of resistance occurred in the novels during 1966–1976 is different from the modern literary tradition, but it reflects the spiritual orientation of the Chinese people in their march toward the modern society. Liu Suola’s You Have No Choice (⟪你别无选择⟫), Chen argues, may be perceived as a novel with a strong sense of modern resistance. If measured with the standard of real life, Professor Jia might be clearly over-caricatured, but such an exaggerative falsity turns the resistance to “Jia’s norm” by the students at the conservatory into something symbolic. The resistance by each of them shows the individual criticism of the ­living environment from an ontological perspective (55). In his article, “The Psychology of War Culture in Contemporary Literary Views (⟪当代文学观念中的战争文化心理⟫),” Chen cultivates the theme of “war culture” by sorting through the long history of wars since the Revolution of 1911. He believes that “war culture” breeds, nurtures, and encourages a literary view with military thinking in contemporary literature, a view that has run through most of the history of contemporary Chinese literature and manifested in literary writing in several ways. First, literature has a clear and practical purpose, which may lead to a conflict between its propaganda function and its authenticity; second, similar modes permeate literary writing due to the misapplication of dichotomous thinking; third, the heroic and optimistic tone is established at the expense of socialist tragedy (73–81). Using this view as his foothold, Chen carries on his critical reflection on the contemporary literature over the past few decades: The dichotomous thinking of war does not allow the term “tragedy” to ­appear in the positive discourse. Likewise, as for historical development, people always describe history from the perspective of a summarizer and firmly believe that all tragic events can only happen in the past, or a verified wrong era. There must be a separation between this ear and today. (82) Also, Chen wrote another substantial article, “Hu Feng’s Contribution to the Construction of Realistic Theory (⟪胡风对现实主义理论建设的贡献⟫),” ­under the guidance of his mentor, Jia Zhifang (贾植芳). By reconsidering the issue ­regarding Hu Feng, Chen carefully sifts through the entire process of Hu Feng’s critical reflection on the “subjective formula doctrine”5 and states that Hu Feng’s ideological perspective was inherited from the tradition of the May 4th New Literature, especially from Lu Xun. Hu Feng’s significance, as Chen argues, lies in that

The Critics during the Exploratory Craze of Fiction  175 all he tried to figure out in his life is how realism could get rid of the influence from vulgar sociology, which shrouded the left-wing, or socialist, literature and art, and establish its realistic fighting spirit, developed from the May 4th New Literature, as the guiding theoretical principle for literary and artistic creation (85). This article shows Chen’s courage to rehabilitate Hu Feng’s “realist theory” as well as his courage to fight against any mistakes intended to interfere or sabotage this theory. On the surface, Chen’s discussion of “rewriting literary history” or his comments in these long articles does not touch upon specific fiction criticism. On a higher level, though, both parts can be regarded as a kind of important criticism by “historians” because their questioning, discussion, and deciphering of the key ­issues in contemporary literary history have broken up the most difficult fortress and opened a wide path for the further development of fiction writing. Also, discussions like this facilitated a much broader social and cultural environment, created more space for literary and aesthetic concepts, and provided a larger platform for writers’ contemplation. In the history of fiction criticism, there should be “on-thespot critics” who closely follow the writing practice of writers on the frontline, critics who keep a little distance and analyze a certain text through the writing history of a writer, and critics like Chen Sihe who take a step back and intervene in the practice of contemporary fiction criticism through a summative reflection of the literary history. This is the kind of fiction criticism that operates on deep accumulation and spontaneous burst. That is the very reason why Chen Sihe has not retreated from the practice of fiction criticism, but still garners great attention to this day. Cai Xiang is also a young Shanghai critic discovered by Li Ziyun and Zhou Jieren. After graduating from the Chinese Department, Shanghai Normal University, he went to teach in a technical school run by a factory. If it hadn’t been his love for literary criticism, he would have been buried in the routine of life. His fiction criticism is known for its delicate feelings, accurate questions, and exquisite writing. He published a series of brilliant critical articles during his most active days in the 1980s. After the turn of the 21th century, he has shifted his focus on studying the history of contemporary literature and made gratifying achievements so far. In 1982, he made his debut in the literary world with his article, “Gao Jialin and Liu Qiaozhen: The Characters in Life (⟪高加林和刘巧珍——⟨人生⟩ 人物 谈⟫).” With a style of informal talk on literature and art, the article appears to be relaxed but has a unique vision. In his view, Gao Jialin’s tragic destiny is far from two-dimensional. Just as the author Lu Yao puts it well, it involves various complex factors. One of them is the rural reforms launched in 1979. The contradiction between the old and the new eras traps Gao Jialin in the confusion of the “urbanrural intersection.” Cai Xiang captures the fierce conflict between the protagonist and the realities of the backward countryside. Gao Jialin, an ordinary but talented young intellectual from the village, longs for a new life and pursues the modern civilization anxiously. Unfortunately, he lives in such a “little corner,” a suburb that can breathe the air of urban civilization but still retains the ancient and backward norms, or a specific living environment that interweaves truth and falsehood, good

176  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction and evil, beauty and ugliness. His ideal and the reality, as well as his character and the environment are intricately intertwined, but seem so incompatible at the same time (1–2). Cai analyzes Gao Jialin’s way out and the misfortune of Qiaozhen’s love based on the relationship between environment and characters. He believes that the tragedy of Gao Jialin and Liu Qiaozhen exceeds love itself. “The novella provides us with the ineffaceable information about real life. That is the inherent tragic element of the outcast in the new historical period” (7). Cai Xiang’s smart move is going beyond the usual relationship among characters and placing their stories in the large picture of history. In his article, going beyond the usual relationshi ⟪什么是刘思佳性格⟫), Cai is not satisfied to merely discuss the storyline of Jiang Zilongd pl 蒋子龙) novels. Instead, he dwells on the formation of Liu Sijia Jiang Zilongd placing their stories in the large picture of history.n exceeds love itself. “The novella provis on a sort of extended attribute to expose an inner character. But once we extend this concept infinitely and evaluate characters with an abstract notion of values, we might have forgotten life itself because of something conceptual (11). He finds that since Liu Sijia’s life course stretches from the 1950s to the 1980s, he has some qualities of a transitional figure. His life spans two eras. You can hardly find in him the characteristics of the young people who lived in the 1950s. Their entire life has been adjusted by their living experience. They no longer have a blind faith in life, yet they are full of confidence in themselves. They are eager to find their niche in the ­coordinate system of society. It is an urge that has become much stronger after being forced through a time of half-dead experience. (13) Compared with his analysis of Gao Jialin, Cai Xiang went one step further, discerning from the change of Liu Sijia 1950s. Their entire life has been adjusted by their living experienceg one’s position in life. Clearly, Cai Xiang is not just a critic in general sense. He is a sensible critic who has constantly been seeking a topic for his criticism. Cai Xiang went one step Twelfth & First Lunar Months (⟪行为冲突与观 念的演变——读贾平凹的 ⟨腊月 • 正月⟩ ⟫), ⟩ ⟫⟫ ⟨腊月 • 正月⟩ ⟫⟩ ⟫平凹的 ⟨腊 月 • 正月⟩ ⟫ hsf Gao Jialin, Cai Xiang went one Remote Village and Old Well (⟪悲 剧 • 叛逆·诗情——评郑义 ⟨远村⟩ 、⟨老井⟩ ⟫), 义 ⟨远村⟩ 、⟨老井⟩ ⟫义 ⟨远凹的 ⟨腊月 • 正月⟩ ⟫ hsf Xu Zidong, a member of the “Shanghai Critics Circle” who acquired his fame earlier, scored his sensational success in fiction criticism with two books, New Ideas on Yu Dafu’s Works (⟪郁达夫新论⟫) and For That Forgetful Collective Memory: Interpreting 50 Fictional Stories of the Cultural Revolution (⟪为了忘 却的集体记忆——解读 50 篇文化大革命小说⟫). He always writes with scrupulous care and never starts writing without adequate preparation. While reading through his articles, one gets the impression that he is patient with a writer’s work, and he would not start writing unless he catches something meaningful. As he was

The Critics during the Exploratory Craze of Fiction  177 preoccupied with his study of modern writers, such as Yu Dafu, in his early days, he was a merely dispassionate observer of the fiction in the 1980s. He remembered that it was probably on an afternoon in April 1979 when he incidentally borrowed a thin, old copy of Selected Works of Yu Dafu (⟪郁达夫选集⟫) from a library on Fuzhou Road, Shanghai (i.e., “Sima Road,” the previous location of the Beixin Bookstore). That was the first time he read Degradation (⟪沉沦⟫). His first impression was that the book was fresh, uncommon, candid, and almost daring. In the summer of the same year, he switched his major from electrical automation to liberal arts (“Afterward” 304). The year of 1979 is a major turning point in Xu Zidong’s personal career. Again, his research shifted from modern literature to contemporary literature around 1985. “For Shanghai scholars,” Xu admits, this academic shift from modern to contemporary and even to cultural studies is more like an independent action motivated by personal interests” (New Ideas on Yu Dafu’s Works 313). After that, he went to the United States and earned his M. A. in literature from the University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA) and then Ph. D. from the University of Hong Kong before joining the faculty at Lingnan University in Hong Kong. Among his contemporary critics in Shanghai, Xu is one of the few people who have done so well both in criticism and academic career despite the constant interruptions and shifts. With his immersion in the ideas during the 1980s and his academic training in the West, Xu Zidong wrote his book, For That Forgetful Collective Memory: Interpreting 50 Fictional Stories of the Cultural Revolution, as a conclusive study on the origin of the literature in the 1980s and a unique critique on the history of fiction. The book is full of reflections on the ideological path of his generation. Xu’s personal growth coincides with the publication of these fifty novels. Amid all the things that took place in this period, there are both steps left behind by the author and echoes of the distinctive sounds from literary works. In this sense, therefore, the unique value of this book is self-evident. Among the fifty representative fictional stories of the Cultural Revolution, Xu points out, at least eight of them belong to the category of “historical reflection,” only two of them are short stories, “Memory” (⟪记忆⟫) and “Cemetery and Flowers” (⟪墓场与鲜花⟫), while the rest are novellas and novels that unfold the progress of history (“Patriotic Historical Reflection” 36). While rereading these stories, Xu finds the so-called historical reflection in the 1980s quite problematic. The lack of a clear villain, he states, is one of the key differences between the “intellectuals – cadres” and the ordinary people in their memory of the Cultural Revolution. “What common folks perceive as the distinction between good and evil merely means the difference between right and wrong to the scholars who have a great concerned about the country and the public” (“Patriotic Historical Reflection” 36). In ordinary people’s eyes, the “disasters and incidents” are usually caused by the powerful people and the rebels. Intellectuals reflect on the Cultural Revolution in the name of old cadres to criticize history. In addition to these differences, the way the protagonist is rescued from

178  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction hardships is basically determined by their social status. A rightist scholar confined in a prison camp must be saved by an unfortunate woman. The most typical example is certainly the affair between Zhang Yonglin, Ma Yinghua, and Huang Xiangjiu. An intellectual type of cadre who is out of power may only get over the difficulties with the help from intellectual women, such as Zhang Siyuan (张思 远) and Qiu Wen (秋文), Wang Huifan (王辉凡) and Liu Liwen (刘丽文). Obviously, these are just subjective scenarios by male writers (“Patriotic Historical Reflection” 40–41). Xu raises the question, “Why would these scenarios circulate among and ­resonate with so many readers, including women? Or is it true that these ­scenarios were not necessarily made by male writers individually?” (“Patriotic Historical Reflection” 41). Nearly ten years after the heyday of the 1980s fiction, Xu conducted a reflective study on the fiction of the Cultural Revolution with a “rereading approach.” His re-interpretation forms an interesting dialogue with writers’ works. His rereading is intended as a self-reflection based on his review of what is right and wrong in literary history, so it is both a study of literary history and the history of literary thoughts as well. Without his education abroad and his living experience in Hong Kong, it would be difficult for him to get a sense of historical distance from what he had experienced in the 1970s and 1980s. Having introduced some major critics, we would like to mention Hu Heqing (胡河清), a critic who should not be forgotten at all.6 He was a talented critic but unfortunately died young. Born in a family of intellectuals in Shanghai, he received quality education. Like Wang Xiaoming, Xu Zidong, and Yin Guoming (殷国明), he studied under the guidance of Professor Qian Gurong (钱谷融). His criticism is meticulous and deep. Despite a little touch of rare sensitivity and eccentricity, it seems to have the penetrating power through the paper. One of his articles presents his impression on Mo Yan: On the title page of Mo Yanous A Transparent Carrot, there is a sketch of Mo Yan drawn by Ah Cheng. Mo Yanle touch of rare sensitivity and eccentricity, it seems to have the penetrating power through the paper. One of his articles presents his impresill see something special on this seemingly ordinary face, that is, Mo Yan has a pair of enigmatic eyes, which appear to be genial, bright and smiling on the one hand and, on the other, contain profound but elusive wisdom. How much the sketch resembles Mo Yan himself is not a big concern here, but what is confirmed is that anyone who has read Mo Yan’s fiction will shout bravo at the sketch because it has captured the unique beauty of Mo Yan’s fiction. I have the feeling that Ah Cheng’s limited strokes on this sketch offer more in-depth interpretations of Mo Yan’s fiction than one hundred literary reviews combined. (“On Ah Cheng’s and Mo Yan’s Pursuit” 41) This is the comment by Hu Heqing, a precocious, sensitive, and gifted critic.

The Critics during the Exploratory Craze of Fiction  179 In his article, “On Jia Pingwa (⟪贾平凹论⟫),” Hu defines the origin of Jia’s literary style in detail. He states that Jia Pingwa and Zhang Yimou (张艺谋) are two geniuses who emerged from northwest China in recent years. From an occult point of view, their emergence has its own reason. Before the Warring States (战国) period, Lanzhou (兰州) used to be the center of China. Things changed a little between the Qin (秦) and Han (汉) dynasties when Chang’an (长安) took its place. The dynasties that established their capitals in Xi’an (西安) were the most powerful empires in Chinese history. This shows that the northwest is where the national pulse of China lies. This is also implicitly consistent with Qimen Dunjia’s (奇门遁甲) art of escaping and becoming invisible (“On Jia Pingwa” 13). Though not totally convincing, there seems to be some verifications in the status quo of Chinese literature. Then, in a mean and almost extreme tone, he writes, “the literati in Beijing are mediocre, as they just jump around but cannot free themselves from the framework of traditional realism. There are many star writers in Jiangnan (江南), yet they are merely interested in doing things on small scale, with no gutsy moves” (“On Jia Pingwa” 13). Hu’s article includes a meticulous account about the history and geography of Jia Pingwa’s hometown, Danfeng (丹凤), located in Shangzhou (商州), Shaanxi (陕西) Province, a place known for its strong atmosphere of ancient culture. Longju Village (龙驹寨) is on the north bank of the river. Its terrain goes up slowly all the way to the Fengguan Mountain (凤冠山) in the north. The mountain is very peculiar, with no extension of its range or other mountain next to it. It rises straight out of the ground, about 3 miles long and 3 miles wide. Viewed from afar, the mountain peak jaggedly cracks in the shape of a phoenix crown. Though a little hyperbolic, Hu’s depiction presents a valid explanation of the literary tradition and style associated with Jia’s writing. Now, let’s look at what he writes about Jia Pingwa’s name. Hu believes that the implication of Jia’s given name, the two Chinese characters, “平凹” (ping wa), is probably more complex as it also contains the meaning of “Yin and Yang (阴阳).” “平” refers to any place where the sunlight can reach, so it is Yang. The meaning of “凹” goes much deeper than Yin. Jia Pingwa himself has explained it many times (“On Jia Pingwa” 13–14). Here, Hu proceeds to provide an assessment on Jia Pingwa’s overall writing style, with an emphasis on the special “qi” or trait of Jia’s characters. “In contemporary Chinese literature, Jia Pingwa’s perception of the gender between male and female (yin and yang) best displays the connotations of traditional Chinese culture” (“On Jia Pingwa” 14). Hu holds that this is evident in Jia’s portrayal of several characters. For instance, Jingou (金狗), a commoner, finally pops out of the boulder-like patriarchal relations only after he is possessed by a divine spirit with a masculine will. Later, he goes through many setbacks and even ends up in jail, but he somehow lands on his feet and surprises everyone by taking over the shipping business on the river. Similarly, Bai Lang (白朗), a handsome man with some ladylike charm, awakens the homosexual desire in the subconsciousness of his escorting soldier (“On Jia Pingwa” 14). Hu’s conclusion is a bit strange, but full of whimsical claims. That is what excellent literary criticism should be.

180  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction Finally, Hu infers that Jia Pingwa seems to have a split personality. “One half of him is immersed in the fantasy of carnal desires, with extremely strong sensibilities, while the other half strives to break away from the true nature of life and enter the profound Eastern spiritual realm” (“On Jia Pingwa” 16). We can safely claim, with no need to look at his analysis on Jia’s other novels, that Hu has captured the soul of Jia’s writing in thirty years because all the following novels, Heishi (⟪黑氏⟫), Ruined City (⟪废都⟫), Gaolao Village (⟪高老庄⟫), Shanxi Opera (⟪秦腔⟫), Old Furnace (⟪古炉⟫), The Lantern Bearer (⟪带灯⟫), The Mountain Whisperer (⟪老生⟫), and Broken Wings (⟪极花⟫), can be interpreted along the same lines. In his fiction criticism, Hu Heqing is good at catching the lifelike elements in a work of fiction. Su Tong (苏童)’s novel, Rice (⟪米⟫), he recalled, reminded him of the traditional Chinese rice carving. It is just a grain of rice, but when viewed under a magnifying glass, it is almost a world in miniature. In his view, Rice really has the right to be the basic material for carving a world. Chao Cuo (晁错), a famous official of the Western Han Dynasty, once said, “a wise emperor values the five grains over gold and jade.” This has become an indelible tenet. The protagonist Wu Long (五龙) in Rice works hard all his entire life, yet what he feels proud of is not his two rows of hard and smooth teeth made of gold, but a cart of snow-white rice! His legacy to his son is also a box of rice. This reflects the old man’s great wisdom. Therefore, it is indeed a timeless truth that rice outvalues gold and jade. (“Su Tong’s Rice Carve” 54) Hu regards Su Tong as a discerning writer, observing the wonders in the world with perceptive eyes. This piece of “rice carving” seems to indicate that Su Tong has really entered his name into history (“Su Tong’s Rice Carve” 55). Probably, since he is very familiar with The Book of Changes (⟪周易⟫), physiognomy, and other ancient books, he is more interested in the works that touch upon the traditional Chinese culture than those addressing realistic issues. As for the former category of writings, he does have some extraordinary visions. He seems to like Ah Cheng’s fiction. Ah Cheng has a little-noticed short story, “The Fool” (⟪傻 子⟫), which was once rated by someone as a story with “shallow implications,” but Hu Heqing suggested to use it as a key to understanding its author. The so-called fool is just the nickname of the amateur calligrapher Lao Li (老李) in the story. Hu’s further explanation of the relationship between “fool” and traditional Chinese culture reminds us of the characters’ “silliness” in Ah Cheng’s fiction: There is a typical paradox in the Chinese culture, which has sustained for thousands of years. In Chinese history, those who often claim to have seen through everything, as if they were truly otherworldly, turn out to have no morals at all. The discerning critics of literature and art in ancient times were well aware of this and, therefore, they never took a person’s self-expression

The Critics during the Exploratory Craze of Fiction  181 seriously. Instead, they took “willpower” as the primary criterion in defining personality. It is Ah Cheng’s emphasis on “willpower” in evaluating his characters’ personality that has ensured the image of his characters to transcend physical resemblance. (“On Ah Cheng’s and Mo Yan’s Pursuit” 42) Thanks to his wide-ranging knowledge about classical literature, Hu Heqing has a sense of judgment quite different from others’. I did not pay much attention to Hu Heqing’s fiction criticism in the past, but I found this charming critic extraordinary while rereading the writings he left behind. But his extraordinary quality has been covered up by the ostensible stress on consensus within the circle of critics. Excellent fiction criticism can win the upper hand in a severe competition and exist in the articles written by stifled critics as well. It is clear, then, that the “Shanghai Critics Circle” in the 1980s is indeed a place full of “hidden dragons and crouching tigers,” where critics were working with their individual skills and diverse styles. Reviewing the history of contemporary fiction criticism is a chance to sort through history and carry out a task of cultivation and discovery, but it might encounter more difficulties and obstacles. 9.5 The Journal Zhongshan and the Criticism of New Realistic Fiction In 1989, the Nanjing-based Journal, Zhongshan (⟪钟山⟫), published “A Preface to Collected New Realistic Fiction” (⟪“新写实小说大联展”卷首语⟫) in its third issue of the year, declaring that “we would like to prudently announce to the readers and writers of our journal that Zhongshan will emphatically promote New Realistic Fiction (新写实文学) amid a diverse literary trend in 1989” (1). After putting its slogan out there, the journal offered a more detailed definition of such a concept: Simply put, the so-called New Realistic Fiction is different from both the existing Realism in history and the modernist “avant-garde literature.” It is just a new literary trend that has emerged from the trough of fiction writing in the past few years. The writing method of New Realistic Fiction still retains most of the features of Realism, but it attaches special significance to restoring the original form of real life to confront realities and life sincerely. Although the overall style of New Realistic Fiction indicates that it can still be included within the big scope of realism, it has undoubtedly obtained a new type of openness, inclusiveness, and adeptness at absorbing and drawing on the artistic strong points of various modernist schools. Another feature of the New Realistic Fiction in observing life and understanding the world is that they not only have a distinct contemporary consciousness, but also a clear immersion of strong historical and philosophical consciousness. However, it has cleansed the blunt and utilitarian political overtones of the

182  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction pseudo-realism in the past for the purpose of seeking a richer and broader literary realm. (1) This paragraph shows that the New Realistic Literature has no intention to follow the footsteps of “Scar Literature” and “Avant-garde Literature,” but rather to forge a new path. They have their own judgment and analysis in response to the secularizing tendency in recent works. To meet the need for a quick secularization in social development, the New Realistic Fiction shifted the trend in fiction writing to everyday life. Literary observers found that members of the “Shanghai Critics Circle,” except Nan Fan, collectively kept quiet about this new trend, whereas some members of the “Beijing Critics Circle” raised their concerns. Lei Da, a critic who foresaw a new change in literature, expressed his opinions in his article, “Exploring the Nature of Existence and Exhibiting the Charm of Originality: New Changes in the Aesthetic Consciousness of Recent Fiction (⟪探究生存本相展示原色魅力——论近期一些小 说审美意识的新变⟫),” stating that he did not see anything new after reading Chi Li’s (池莉) novel Troubled Life (⟪烦恼人生⟫) carefully. In his view, the novel itself is irritatingly plain and annoyingly trivial because the entire book is no more than a running account based on the keen observations and scrupulous experiences of a female writer. But he admits that he can understand all this: “When all these distress, simplicity, and triviality are subtly woven into an ontological symbol, we will instantly feel that it can explain itself. But it’s brutally banal” (The Newspaper of Literature and Art) In his article, Zhang Ren (张韧) points out, uneasily, a worth noting phenomenon. While the “scolding criticism,” such as the criticism of Avant-garde Literature, the rebuke against Root-tracing Literature, and the complaints about the “trough of literature,” was prevailing for a time, only novels about human existence and the essence of life, such as Troubled Life, Landscape (⟪风景⟫), Fuxi (⟪伏羲伏羲⟫), Recruits Company (⟪新兵连⟫), and The Bridge of Heaven (⟪天桥⟫), became people’s favorite and did not receive a single faultfinding or negative review. For this drastic contrast, Zhang asks, “Why did they win such a great reputation? Are they as perfect as people claimed?” (The Newspaper of Literature and Art). Jie Min (洁泯)’s article is more forthright as he states indignantly and sarcastically that he admires some critics for their ability to sum up certain literary schools with a new term, such as the “New Realistic Fiction” that has been hotly discussed at the moment. To distinguish this kind of fiction from the widely acknowledged realist novel with a “new” label seems to have indicated its major characteristic. Evidently, the problem does not lie with the name, but the examination of this literary phenomenon. “Why did it appear in late 1980s when the culture, including fiction writing, hit the rock bottom? Why was it the only literary genre that earned the popularity among readers back then and sustained it to this day? These are the questions that worth considering” (Wen Wei Po). If the abovementioned critics are a little old and, therefore, they need some time before they can embrace new ideas, the publication of Nan Fan’s article, “New

The Critics during the Exploratory Craze of Fiction  183 ­ ealism: The Illusion of Narrative” (⟪新写实主义：叙事的幻觉⟫), was particuR larly eye-catching. He affirms, generously, the significance of the New Realism: In any case, New Realism has become a spectacular literary reality. Many notable novels are centered around this concept with a formidable lineup; many competent writers are regrouping with a new aesthetic slogan and anxious for a try; critics are offering their enthusiastic interpretations of these novels and, thereby, raising this literary reality to a relative theoretical level. (“New Realism” 38) Nan admits that it is “an unusual gathering for fiction writing, a shrewd publishing strategy for journals, a thoughtful design of literary topics, a clever piece of advertising, and a certain creation of an aesthetic icon” (“New Realism” 38). Nan claims, however, that he would like to have a dialogue with Wang Gan (王干),7 a critic and an advocate of the New Realism. First, he believes that the concept of New Realism does not precisely define its direct theoretical boundary with realist novels. For example, merging Liu Zhenyun, Yu Hua, Ge Fei, and Wang Shuo (王朔) into New Realism would be quite problematic. Secondly, the other trouble New Realism might encounter is its theoretical foothold because the notion of “realism,” which has been downgraded by some critics, contains varying degrees of fiction and the content that the New Realism claims to cover cannot be validated by theory. Finally, New Realism advocates on showcasing “the original state of reality,” but critics forgot to give narrative a proper place. Obviously, according to the theory of fiction writing, narratology exists not only as a theoretical background but also as the fundamental element that shores up a work of fiction as fiction (“New Realism” 39). It is evident that Nan Fan intends to use narrative as his primary firing point in his criticism of New Realism. He wants to thoroughly explore the concept of New Realism through this key point. He attempts to downplay the impact of this trend in fiction writing upon writers, so he could take a more rational attitude in dissecting the contradictions and flaws of New Realism. He points out that it’s impossible to separate the “new narrative” claimed by New Realism from the existing theoretical conventions of narratology simply because a narrative often contains a certain artificial structure and pre-fabrication. It often involves something that people have seen or heard before. In other words, narrative is always a kind of historical cycle to a certain extent. “Once the narrative begins, its internal historical conventions come into effect immediately” (“New Realism” 40). Indeed, Nan Fan does not deny the value of New Realistic Fiction, but merely points out that New Realistic Fiction shares a certain kinship with traditional realism, and that one should not lose objective observation of the phenomenon due to the excessive hype in journals. Critics in Nanjing (南京) benefited from the advocacy of New Realism. Ding Fan (丁帆),8 Xu Zhaohuai (徐兆淮),9 Fei Zhenzhong (费振钟),10 Wang Gan, the couple of Wang Zheng (汪政) and Xiaohua (晓华)11 became famous in the 1980s, but as compared to the critics in Beijing and Shanghai, they are relatively less influential due to the lack of cohesion among them. To a certain extent, New Realism

184  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction has become a symbol, a banner under which the team of critics within the “Nanjing Critics Circle” begins to reintegrate, with Ding Fan at its core. With a strong sense about the history of criticism and conscientious feelings toward realities, Ding Fan is one of the inheritors and disseminators of the realist tradition in contemporary literature. He emphasizes in his article, “On Jia Pingwa’s Four New Works” (⟪浅谈贾平 凹的四部新作⟫): Today, as the writing method of realism is facing the assault and challenge from various foreign literary schools and thoughts, how can a writer, especially a young writer, remain invincible? Adhering strictly to conventions or waiting for realist techniques to be perfected and matured is undoubtedly a dead end. Only by absorbing the strengths from others and constantly seeking vigorous forms and techniques to enrich, improve, and substantiate our own writing methods and techniques can we expand our artistic course and stand at the forefront of contemporary literature. (“On Jia Pingwa’s Four New Works” 24) Thanks to his adoption of the techniques like the so-called interspersed chapters from Latin American Structural Realism in structuring his narratives, Jia Pingwa turned his four new novels, Shangzhou (⟪商州⟫), Tiangou (⟪天狗⟫), Charcoal in Ice (⟪冰炭⟫), and Love in the Wilderness (⟪远山野情⟫), written in the mid-1980s, into big successes. Ding Fan’s focus on Rural Fiction and city fiction of the New Period is another approach he took in experimenting realist literature. In his article, “Rural Fiction and City Fiction of the New Period: Deconstruction of the National Cultural Psychology (⟪新时期乡土小说与市井小说：民主文化心理结构的解构 期⟫),” he lists many works as “new rural fiction” in a broad sense, including Lu Yao’ (路遥) novella, Life (⟪人生⟫), Zheng Yi’s (郑义) novel, Old Well (⟪老井⟫), Ke Yunlu’s (柯云路) novel, New Star (⟪新星⟫), Tie Ning’s (铁凝) short story, “Ah, Xiangxue” (⟪哦, 香雪⟫), Jia Pingwa’s novels, Family in Jiwouwa (⟪鸡窝 洼的人家⟫) and Twelfth & First Lunar Months (⟪腊月·正月⟫), Han Shaogong’s novel, Dad, Dad (⟪爸爸爸⟫), Wang Anyi’s novel, Bao Village (⟪小鲍庄⟫), Zheng Wanlong (郑万隆)’s novel, Strange Tales from Strange Lands (⟪异乡异闻⟫), Gu Hua’s (古华) novella, Two Virtuous Women (⟪贞女⟫), and Li Hangyu’s (李杭育) “Gechuan River (葛川江) Series.” Ding believes that the “new rural fiction” arose in its upward development like the high terrace fields. From 1979 to 1984, the disparity and gap between urban and rural areas were most effectively presented in novels that reflect the urban-rural intersections, such as Lu Yao’s Life, Zheng Yi’s Old Well, and other novels, in which all characters would coincidentally experience a collision of symbolic equivalents between modernization and tradition; from 1985 to 1986, with the emergence of Root-tracing Literature, Rural Fiction started its transformation on a much higher level, hence shifting its focus from addressing the superficial thematic implication of the conflict between the old and new ideas to cultivating more rigorously the

The Critics during the Exploratory Craze of Fiction  185 cultural psychology of national traditions with a critical spirit (“Rural Fiction and City Fiction of the New Period” 3–5). At the end of the article, he offers his prediction for the developmental prospects of this novelistic genre. Ding supports Wang Gan’s proposition about New Realism, considering it as an adaptation from Western aesthetic concepts and methods. In his belief, it is no accident that New Realism appeared as a literary movement in the wave of the assimilating and integrating modern literary ideas in the middle and late 1980s. By the late 1980s, positive conditions, both external and internal, were already available for New Realistic Fiction to adopt or incorporate Western aesthetic concepts and methods (Ding and Xu 85). While sorting through Ding Fan’s critical practice, one can find that he did not call for a return to the old road of traditional realist literature. Instead, he has been actively exploring a new course of realist literature. Specifically speaking, what he has advocated is an “open style of realist literature.” Wang Zheng and Xiaohua put a stress on the close reading of text in their criticism. Their style is a notable highlight of the “Nanjing Critics Circle.” They are known for their plain writing style, low-key presentation, exquisite wording, and keen observation. Particularly, they have done an excellent job in cultivating not only writers’ subtle mentality during the writing process but also the domino effect of a novel’s structure, narrative mode, plot, and characterization. In their discussion of the theme in Jia Pingwa’s early writings about “rural reform,” they assert that Jia has been mainly influenced by Shen Congwen and Kawabata Yasunari. “As soon as we open Jia Pingwa’s works, the first thing we see is mostly landscape rather than people. Such a structure has almost become a pattern since Shangzhou (1983) and Twelfth & First Lunar Months (1984)” (Z. Wang 157). In their article, “Mythology, Fantasy, and Chu Culture: Brief Comments on Han Shaogong’s Writing” (⟪神话·梦幻·楚文化——论韩少功创作断想⟫), they express their reservations about the popular criticism of Han Shaogong’s novels at that time. They argue that Han Shaogong’s works are fundamentally non-mythological because once the mythology of prehistoric people is integrated into modernized art, it is no longer a literary genre but an aesthetic category. “It is with this hope that Han traveled to the state of Chu (楚国) and western Hunan (西湘). As soon as he dove into this cultural atmosphere, a major transformation happened in his writing subsequently” (Wang and Xu, “Mythology, Fantasy, and Chu Culture” 13). In their view, regional culture is a cultural network based on the combination of natural and economic geographies for its inception and growth. “When a writer consciously gets involved, he will inevitably become entangled in the network, which in turn invades his writing in various ways” (Wang and Xu, “Mythology, Fantasy, and Chu Culture” 14). They praise Han’s exploratory spirit, but seem to be skeptical about the prospects of his writing. As a matter of fact, Han Shaogong’s later novels are indeed trapped in this “geographical cultural network.” Their concerns eventually became a reality. In addition, their analysis of Wang Anyi’s works in “A Review of Wang Anyi (⟪论王安忆⟫)” is one of their impressive articles. It delves into Wang’s writings, analyzes their novelistic structure, demonstrates its relationship with

186  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction the surrounding environment, literary traditions, the author’s personality, and narrative form in an attempt to present the most splendid artistic contributions in Wang Anyi’s fiction. They offer rave remarks on Wang’s short story, “Bengbu” (⟪蚌埠⟫), for its vivid reflection of the town. They also make extraordinary comments on how the author controls the narrative pace, captures the subtle and instant changes of characters’ mindset, and handles the stillness and motion of the surrounding environment in the short story, “On the Ferry” (⟪轮渡上⟫): The story sets up the narrative space on the ferry, or a part of a journey. Its main characters are a group of wandering folk artists, two men and one woman, with no names. They are country people, but among the folks gathering on the ferry they are just more willing to show their identity, knowledge, sophistication, and above all their desire to show off in front of others. “They are active. They move about the cabin, talking loudly and laughing. That woman is especially active, walking up and down more frequently and drawing the attention from the people around her.” The whole story is basically a narrative full of detailed descriptions, running at a slow and relaxing pace. (“On Wang Anyi” 187) The critical style of Wang Zheng and Xu Xiaohua is quite close to modern literary criticism but maintains a little distance from the mainstream critical tendency and aesthetic style of contemporary literature. They are not interested in such hot topics as ideological theme, the spirit of exploration, or innovative capacity. They maintain a plain, even honest, stance in their criticism. Such a simple and introverted critical style seems to be very rare in current fiction criticism. Their criticism is intended as an expression of respect for writers’ creative activities, a peaceful dialogue with the text, a discovery of imperceptible subtleties, and a showing of joy after a close reading. So, their criticism can be hailed as masterful writings within the community of critics. Among this group of critics, Wang Gan was known for being active. He was optimistic about the development of fiction. In his opinion, the driving force behind the fiction in 1985 is closely related to its cross-reference to world literature. It is mainly characterized by an intensifying subjectivity, a huge influx of new ideas, methods, and techniques, and a rapid differentiation of the writing subjects. In a word, it can be summarized with one word, “fission.” Here is his comment on Su Tong: It is fair to say that Su Tong has created a new fiction discourse, namely, an imaginative “baimiao” [a straightforward style of writing] or the “baimiao” of imagination. As a unique writing technique in Chinese fiction, “baimiao” took on a new effective feature through Lu Xun’s renovation during the May 4th period, but it was simplified and vulgarized later.… Su Tong was daring to incorporate the aesthetic mechanism of imagery into the practice of

The Critics during the Exploratory Craze of Fiction  187 “baimiao” technique, so he changed its original monotony and gave it more elasticity and tension as we see in modern fiction. (“Su Tong’s Imagery” 198) Though a critic by profession, working on fiction criticism and literary writing simultaneously is Wang Gan’s distinctive feature. Fei Zhenzhong and Xu Zhaohuai were also active critics during this period. Their critical style is between the traditional literary criticism and the trendy criticism, tracking closely the current trend in literary writing and offering timely comments on new works. Both have built an impressive record in their fiction criticism. The achievement of the New Realistic Fiction might not have been as pessimistic as people have expected since it earned a lot of support from some scholars. Liu Na (刘纳), an expert in modern literature studies, voiced her understanding of this new phenomenon, arguing that we can’t use the concept of “tragic consciousness” rashly. The “tragic consciousness’ of a writer is normally generated in his struggle against reality, yet the New Realistic Fiction has already given up the confrontational tendency in its artistic spirit (106). This is because, she suggests, writers of New Realism are still adapting to the changes in social life: Often, the identity of “ordinary people” that writers choose for their protagonists contain some elements of their self-identity. Both protagonists, Yin Jiahou (印家厚) and Xiaolin (小林), have or used to have literati temperament, so they are feeling a much greater stress than those around them and having a more difficult assimilation with the existing environment. The author’s empathy toward these “ordinary people” demonstrates that the dissolution of the “self” in the so-called New Realistic Fiction is merely a superficial illusion. (106) Chen Xiaoming affirms the positive role that New Realistic Fiction has played in literary reform. He does not think that writers of New Realism are escaping from reality. On the contrary, they are revealing the truth of real life. By focusing on the people at the bottom of society, Chen insists, New Realistic Fiction tries to dissipate the spiritual image established in classics and restore the original image of the “low-class people.” Liu Zhenyun soberly depicts the real life of “lower-class people” in his short story, “Pagoda Depot” (⟪塔铺⟫, 1987). Instead of a deliberate representation of the hardships in low-class people’s life, Liu delineates all aspects of their living conditions (and their life). Their “hardships” and “difficulties” are pushed into the background and only disclosed occasionally between the intervals of intrigues and the fleeting moments of fantasies (89). Unlike Liu Na, Chen Xiaoming has a decent knowledge background in Western literary theory and the French New Novel. Also, he has personally experienced the secular life during the social transformation in the 1990s. That is why he can not only understand the original intentions of New Realist writers but also can benefit from the abovementioned knowledge resources for his criticism. It is those resources that pushed his understanding of New Realistic Fiction to a new stage. In

188  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction his opinion, the New Realistic Fiction reflects the “anti-tragedy and irony” value orientation in literature in the past few years: Obviously, the different types and characteristics generated by “irony” technique in New Realistic Fiction differs from person to person. The most common descriptive irony can be found in various fiction of New Realism. By rewriting historical stories, Li Xiao (李晓) mocks strict and sacred myths. His deconstructive irony destroys some deep-rooted ideas. Liu Heng (刘恒), on the other hand, excels in providing ironic evaluations during the critical moments of characters’ actions for a more blatant exposure of their awkward situations. His Fuxi and White Vortex (⟪白涡⟫) could be cited as perfect examples. (97–98) Zhang Yiwu (张颐武), another young critic, also supports the New Realistic Fiction. He defines the New Realistic Fiction in the broad context of social background, stating that the New Realist literature in the 1990s is an important trend in literary writing, and that it is the profound changes in the society, economy, and culture back then that led to the formation of a new literary landscape. Two major factors regarding the background should be made clear. One is that the new economy based on the market economy model began to take shape after more than ten years of economic reform in China. The other is that the international situation, namely, the reshuffling of the “post-Cold War” world order based on interest adjustment asserted certain inevitable impact on the trend of cultural concepts. This has caused a widespread concern and reflection in the domestic cultural and ideological community (Zhang, et al. 9). Additionally, Zhang adds, the changes of writers themselves should be taken into consideration because their feelings in life would certainly find their way into their writing. In Zhang’s view, the cultural transformation in the 1990s has brought drastic changes to writers’ spiritual and daily life. Amid such a great change, their confusion genuinely emanated from their feelings. Consequently, they would attach the greatest attention to their own existence and, from themselves to others, try to get a good grip of the living condition in this era (Zhang et al. 14). This is the way in which the critics in Nanjing presented themselves in the exploration of fiction writing in the 1980s. A group of younger critics would soon emerge in the literary trend of the 1990s, but that would be another story. Notes 1 Xu Zidong (1954–), a literary critic, was born in Shanghai. In 1970, Xu went to Jiangxi and settled in the countryside as an educated youth. In 1978, he was enrolled in the Chinese Department of East China Normal University, where he was taught by Professor Qian Gurong. After graduation, he became a teacher at the university. In 1990, Xu went to the University of California-Los Angeles to study for his Ph. D. In 1993, he taught at the Chinese Department of Lingnan University in Hong Kong. He published New Ideas on Yu Dafu’s Works (⟪郁达夫新论⟫), For That Forgetful Collective Memory (⟪为了忘 却的集体记忆⟫) and other works.

The Critics during the Exploratory Craze of Fiction  189 2 See Xie Shangfa’s article, “The Minutes of ‘Symposium in Hangzhou’: Doubtful Point of the Origin of Root-Seeking Literature,” which didn’t get published, and Wang Rao’s article, “Brief Account of Correspondences among ‘Modernist School’: Oral History of Literature in the New Period,” Literary and Artistic Contention, no. 4, 2009. 3 See Gu Xiang’s monograph, Zhou Yang’s Later Years, Wenhui Press, 2003, p. 69. The above materials were collected by Xie Shangfa. Here I borrowed them. 4 Cheng Yongxin’ work, The Literary History of a Man, includes correspondences between Cheng and other avant-garde novelists, like Yu Hua, Ma Yuan, Wang Suo, and Su Tong. It is useful for the study of avant-garde novels. 5 Subjective formula doctrine means that writers do not reflect the real social life, but abuse the fixed formula, such as revolution plus love, to depict the fake reality. 6 Hu Heqing (1960–1994), a literary critic, is a native of Jixi (绩溪), Anhui (安徽) Province. He taught at the Chinese Department, Shanghai College of Education (上海教育 学院) and East China Normal University before committing suicide in 1994. He published Remembrance of the Spiritual Land (⟪灵地的缅想⟫) and Hu Heqing’s Literary Collection (⟪胡河清文存⟫). 7 Wang Gan (I960–), a literary critic, was born in Yangzhou, Jiangsu Province. He graduated from the Chinese Department, Yangzhou Normal College in 1985 and served successively as the editor of the journal, Zhongshan, and deputy editor of Selected Novels (⟪小说选刊⟫). 8 Ding Fan (1952–), a literary critic, was born in Suzhou, Jiangsu Province. He has several pennames, such as Fengzhou (风舟) and Mafeng (马风). He graduated from the Chinese Department, Yangzhou Normal College in 1977. In 1988, he was transferred to Nanjing University (南京大学) where he served as a professor and the chair of the Department of Chinese Literature. His works include History of Chinese Vernacular Novels (⟪中国乡土小说史论⟫) and New Draft of the History of Contemporary Chinese Literature (⟪中国当代文学史新论⟫). 9 Xu Zhaohuai (1939–), a literary critic, was born in Dantu, Jiangsu Province. He graduated from the Department of Chinese Literature, Nanjing University in 1964. He successively served as the deputy editor and executive editor of the journal, Zhongshan. His publications include Tough Search (⟪艰难的寻找⟫) and others. 10 Fei Zhenzhong (1958–), a literary critic, was born in Xinghua, Jiangsu Province. He graduated from the Chinese Department, Yangzhou Normal College in 1986. He has served as the editor of the journal, Yuhua (⟪雨花⟫), and the deputy director of the Creation & Research Office of Jiangsu Writers Association (江苏省作家协会). He has published critical articles with Wang Gan. His publications include Jiangnan Literati’s Morality and Jiangsu Literature (⟪江南士风与江苏文学⟫) and others. 11 Wang Zheng (1960–), a literary critic, was born in Hai’an, Jiangsu Province. After his gration from Nantong Normal College (南通师专), he has taught in middle schools and normal colleges in Hai’an and Rugao. In 2001, he was transferred to Jiangsu Provincial Federation of Arts and Culture (江苏文联). Xiaohua (1963–), formerly known as Xu Xiaohua (徐晓华), was born in Rudong, Jiangsu Province. She graduated from the Chinese Department, Yangzhou Normal College in 1988. She was a teacher in Rugao Normal School and the deputy director of the Creation & Research Office of Jiangsu Writers Association. Her works include The Tides (⟪涌动的潮汐⟫) and others.

Works Cited Cai, Xiang. An Idealist’s Spiritual Cruise. East China Normal UP, 2014. Chen, Sihe. Criticism and Imagination. East China Normal UP, 2014. Chen, Xiaoming. “The Crisis of Resistance: New Realism.” Literary Review, vol. 37, no. 2, 1993, pp. 88–100.

190  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction Chen, Sihe and Yang Binhua. “Dialogue on Red Sorghum.” Criticism and Imagination, edited by Chen Sihe, East China Normal UP, 2014, pp. 287–297. Cheng, Depei. “A World Haunted with Memories: Childhood Perspective in Mo Yan’s Writing.” Shanghai Literature, vol. 34, no. 4, 1986, pp. 16–20. Cheng, Depei. The World of Novelists. East China Normal UP, 2014. Cheng, Guangwei. “The Literary World of Ge Fei.” Literature Review, vol. 59, no. 2, 2015, pp. 107–115. Cheng, Yongxin. The Literary History of a Man. Tianjin People’s Publishing House, 2007. Chen, Sihe and Wang Xiao Ming. “Dialogues on the Column Rewriting Literary History.” Shanghai Literary Theory, vol. 3, no. 6, 1989, pp. 35–40. Ding, Fan. “Jia Pingwa’s Four New Works.” Exploration of Contemporary Literature and Art, vol. 2, no. 1, 1986, pp. 23–30. Ding, Fan. “Rural Fiction and City Fiction of the New Period: Deconstruction of the National Cultural Psychology.” Novel Review, vol. 4, no. 1, 1988, pp. 3–8. Ding, Fan and Xu Zhaohuai. “The Reference of New Realistic Fiction to Western Aesthetic Concepts and Methods.” Literature and Art Studies, vol. 14, no. 2, 1993, pp. 85–93. Editorial Board. “A Preface to Collected New Realistic Fiction.” Zhongshan, vol. 12, no. 3, 1989, p. 1. Gu, Xiang. Zhou Yang’s Later Years. Wenhui Press, 2003. Hu, Heqing. “Ah Cheng’s and Mo Yan’s Pursuit of Personality Beauty and Oriental Cultural Traditions.” Contemporary Thoughts on Literature and Art, vol. 6, no. 5, 1987, pp. 41–48. Hu, Heqing. “Su Tong’s Rice Carve.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 8, no. 6, 1991, pp. 54–55. Hu, Heqing. “Jia Pingwa.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 10, no. 6, 1993, pp. 13–19. Jie, Min. “New Realistic Fiction.” Wen Wei Po, July 27, 1991. Lei, Da. “Exploring the Nature of Existence and Exhibiting the Charm of Originality: New Changes in the Aesthetic Consciousness of Recent Fiction.” The Newspaper of Literature and Art, March 26, 1988. Li, Hangyu. “My 1984 (Part I).” Shanghai Literature, vol. 61, no. 10, 2013, pp. 88–92. Li, Hangyu. “My 1984 (Part II).” Shanghai Literature, vol. 61, no. 11, 2013, pp. 91–93. Li, Jianzhou. “Between Literary Mechanism and Social Imagination: Classicalization of the Avant-Garde Novels Seen from Ma Yuan’s Fiction.” Southern Cultural Forum, vol. 24, no. 2, 2010, pp. 70–76. Li, Jianzhou. The Rise of Avant-Garde Novels. China Social Sciences Press, 2014. Li, Jie. “The Language Structure of Avant-Garde Fiction in Modern China.” Literature Review, vol. 29, no. 5, 1985, pp. 110–118. Li, Jie. “New Construction, New Breakthrough.” Wen Wei Po, February 3, 1986. Li, Ziyun. The Persons and Things I Met. Wenhui Press, 2005. Li, Ziyun. “Preface.” The World of Novelists, edited by Cheng Depei, East China Normal UP, 2014, pp. 1–4. Liu, Na. “The Helpless Reality and Helpless Fiction: Another Thought on New Realism.” Literary Review, vol. 35, no. 4, 1993, pp. 105–113. Liu, Xicheng. Old Stories of the Literary World. Wuhan Press, 2005. Nan, Fan. “New Realism: The Illusion of Narrative.” Literary and Artistic Contention, vol. 7, no. 5, 1992, pp. 38–46. Nan, Fan. The Tension of Theory. SDX Joint Publishing Company, 2003. Nan, Fan. Understanding and Perception. East China Normal UP, 2014. Wang, Gan. “Exploring the Nature of Existence and Exhibiting the Charm of Originality: New Changes in the Aesthetic Consciousness of Recent Fiction.” Journal of Literature and Art, March 26, 1988. Wang, Gan. “Su Tong’s Imagery.” Flower City, vol. 14, no. 6, 1992, pp. 198–211. Wang, Gan, et al. “A Three-Person Talk about the New Realistic Fiction.” Literary and Artistic Contention, vol. 9, no. 3, 1994, pp. 6–17.

The Critics during the Exploratory Craze of Fiction  191 Wang, Xiaoming. “The Weary Mind: The Novels of Zhang Xinxin, Liu Suola, and Can Xue.” Shanghai Literature, vol. 36, no. 5, 1988, pp. 67–74. Wang, Xiaoming. The Bottle of Solomon. East China Normal UP, 2014. Wang, Zheng. “Jia Pingwa.” Zhongshan, vol. 25, no. 4, 2002, pp. 157–158. Wang, Zheng and Xiao Hua Xu. “Mythology, Fantasy, and Chu Culture: Brief Comments on Han Shaogong’s Writing.” Sprout, vol. 33, no. 2, 1988, pp. 12–18. Wang, Zheng and Xiao Hua Xu. “Wang Anyi.” Zhongshan, vol. 23, no. 4, 2000, pp. 187–203. Wu, Liang. “Farewell to 1986.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 4, no. 2, 1987, pp. 87–95. Wu, Liang. “The Narrative Trap of Ma Yuan.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 4, no. 3, 1987, pp. 45–51. Wu, Liang. Choice of Literature. East China Normal UP, 2014. Xu, Zidong. “Patriotic Historical Reflection: The Narratives of Fiction in the Cultural Revolution.” Literary Review, vol. 44, no. 3, 2000, pp. 35–42. Xu, Zidong. New Ideas on Yu Dafu’s Works. East China Normal UP, 2014. Yu, Jinxing. “The Prehistory of Vanguard Novels Through Ma Yuan.” Journal of Hainan Normal University, vol. 52, no. 2, 2009, pp. 1–10. Zhang, Ren. “Exploring the Essence of Existence and Disappointment: the Gains and Losses of New Realistic Fiction.” The Newspaper of Literature and Art, 27 May, 1989. Zhou, Jieren. “Criticism and Description: A Preface.” Choice of Literature, edited by Wu Liang, East China Normal UP, 2014, pp. 1–6.

Part III

Move Forward with Adjustment (1992–2018)

10 Fiction Criticism during the Social Transformations in the 1990s

Major events at home and abroad at the turn of the 1980s and 1990s were the key factors that promoted the social transformations in China. As a matter of fact, the economic and social structures were also undergoing some self-adjustment in ­response to historical circumstances. Since the start of the Reform and Opening-up initiative in 1978, there has been a persistent call for a departure from the planned economy in the previous 30 years and the establishment of a market economy in accordance with the trend in world development. The transformation of economic structure can inject practical impetus into social transformation. If the economic structure shifts itself from a system of planned economy to a new course guided by market economy, then the social transformation must certainly adapt itself to such a drastic transition. As for the literature during this time period, writers, critics, and literary producers were forced to embrace the market in the wake of the transition from the system of planned literary production to the one with market economy at its core. All these exerted a strong impact on contemporary literature and fiction criticism. Under such circumstances, fiction criticism began to differentiate into various categories, such as “Media Criticism,” “Scholarly Criticism,” and “literary scene criticism.” The frequent occurrence of “literary events” and media’s deep intervention in literary production fundamentally affected writers’ creative writing. Amid these transitions, writers’ words and works became the target of disputes, in which they themselves often couldn’t help but be embroiled. The evaluation of literary works fluctuated up and down, and their artistic values were either artificially ­exaggerated or deliberately depreciated. Fiction critics were acutely divided into different factions. Some people believed that literary criticism was no longer a sacred cause, while others retreated into their study to seek spiritual comfort or inspiration for a restart from the classics. In the 1990s, a time when “truth” and “lies” were constantly at odds, upholding the verisimilitude of literature was extremely difficult, whereas the idea of pursuing best-sellers fanatically became increasingly appealing to some writers. Literature was undergoing some unprecedented drastic changes. What writers could learn from these changes is that being eliminated from the competition would be another kind of selection. Like waves sifting sand, history would reselect its favorite writers and critics. And the writers who could represent the literary talent at the highest DOI: 10.4324/9781003565031-14

196  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction level in this era would surely emerge. The following explications will be as objective as possible, with reflections and selections, based on certain principles. 10.1 Controversy over the “Wang Shuo Phenomenon” Wang Shuo (王朔, 1958–) is another highly controversial novelist. He was born in Beijing, but his family came from Liaoning Province. He moved to Beijing in his childhood with his father, a serviceman, and grew up in a military compound. He studied in Cuiwei Primary School, Dongcangmen Primary School, No. 164 Middle School, and No. 44 Middle School in Beijing. In 1977, he began to serve in the North Sea Fleet; in 1980, he was transferred to civilian work, first as a staff member for a brief time at the Literature and Art Publishing House of the People’s Liberation Army (解放军文艺出版社) and then as a salesman in the wholesale drug store of Beijing Pharmaceutical Company. In the early 1980s, he quitted his job and began to scalp color TVs, and refrigerators. Later, he founded Hao Meng Film and Television Planning Company and became famous for creating the 50-­episode TV series “Desire (⟪渴望⟫).” After 1986, he successively published A Tale of Two Lives (⟪一半是海水, 一半是火焰⟫), I’m Your Father (⟪我是你爸爸⟫), Wild Beast (⟪动物凶猛⟫), and Masters of Mischief (⟪顽主⟫), etc. As someone wellknown for embroiling himself in media disputes and making abrasive comments on others, Wang Shuo has incurred not only the resentment from the critics and intellectuals, but also his notoriety as a so-called riffraff writer. In 1993, he was once again caught in the eye of the storm due to Wang Meng’s defensive article, “Avoiding Sublime (⟪躲避崇高⟫).” In the discussion of “humanistic spirit” initiated by Shanghai intellectuals in 1993, the “Wang Shuo phenomenon” was a major target for their criticism of literary marketization. Wang Xiaoming (王晓明) expresses his concerns about the negative effect of Wang Shuo’s plunge into private business: Today, the crisis in literature is very obvious as literary journals are shifting their focus one after another, the quality of new works is deteriorating across the board, and the number of readers with a discerning eye is dwindling. Many writers and critics have found themselves in the wrong profession, so they quit their writing job and plunge into private business. I used to think that literature plays a key role in life, but now I realize that it is just an illusion. Even when literature had the greatest potential for “sensational effect,” what the public really cares about is not literature itself, but rather the nonliterary components hidden inside the literary disguise. Unfortunately, we are blindsided by that “sensation” until now, and we suddenly discover that most of the people in society have lost their interest in literature long before. (Wang et al. 63) Zhang Hong (张宏), a doctoral candidate at East China Normal University and a participant in the discussion, claims that the cultural crisis in the 1990s has two manifestations in writers: one is kitsch, and the other is self-amusement. Wang

Fiction Criticism during the Social Transformations in the 1990s  197 Shuo mainly takes the first approach. Some people consider him a satirist, but the general tone in his writing is “ridicule (调侃)” rather than satire (讽刺). Despite their striking resemblance on the surface, these two are fundamentally different. “Satire always treats life with a serious critical attitude,” while Wang Shuo’s ridicule “eliminates any seriousness in existence,” which appears to be “an inanimate state without will or emotion.” Zhang Hong points out acidly, “With such a stance of ridicule, Wang Shuo has catered his writing to the spectatorship of the public by using more or less the same tricks of a charlatan” (Wang et al. 64). Another doctoral candidate, Xu Lin (徐麟), argues that the “Wang Shuo phenomenon” is, in fact, not rare in literary history. It is simply a wicked repetition of what is implied in The Scholars (⟪儒林外史⟫), the denouncement novels, and the so-called satire literature in the 1940s, including Fortress Besieged (⟪围城⟫). Although these writers take on different social roles, we may still detect many similarities in their attitudes toward language and their maneuvering in writing because they are the consequences from the collapse of orthodox values. To reiterate his point, Xu cites A Tale of Two Lives, Masters of Mischief, and other literary works as his primary examples (Wang et al. 65). At the end of 1993, Bai Ye (白烨) set up a symposium on the topic, “freedom of choice and cultural dynamics,” in Beijing to address the criticism of Wang Shuo during the discussion of humanistic spirit. “Recently,” he states, “some young scholars in Shanghai have been discussing the crisis in literature and the issue of humanistic spirit.” Some of the symposium participants have their own companies, so Bai adds, “In the eyes of others, you actually have a dual identity of literati and businessman. Then, how do you make of the criticism from others (such as Wang Shuo)?” (Bai 68). Wang Shuo presents his cutting retort, saying that “some people kept whining in their articles as if they had run into an outrageous injustice. In reality, everyone is in a situation that is better than ever before as all of us can live equally and freely.” “Nowadays,” he continues with his usual acrimonious tone, critics tend to regulate and mandate writers with their own ideas. For e­ xample, they always try to teach writers how to write about lovemaking, and how to do it based on their set of ideas and procedures. However, since there are a thousand ways to have sex, my description of lovemaking does not have to be in consonance with your preference. Are you saying that the lovemaking in my description doesn’t count if it goes against your preference? (Bai 71) In his opinion, little has been accomplished since the May 4th Movement because quality works are hard to find. In literature, only Qian Zhongshu (钱钟书), Shen Congwen (沈从文), and Lao She (老舍) published a few good pieces, but many writers became literary masters merely by virtue of their age and popularity (Bai 71). The synopsis of the symposium, which was published in Shanghai Literature (⟪上海文学⟫), reveals a clear intent to confront the critics in Shanghai. With a sobering look at their statements, one could see that their argument was focused on how to define market value. The critics argue that the market has damaged

198  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction literature, while Wang Shuo embraces the equality and freedom brought by the market. Wang does not think that he has drifted away from literature, but rather he is just adapting to the ongoing historical changes, so there is no need to make a fuss about it. The criticism of Wang Shuo, a self-employed writer, involves various problems associated with the social system in the 1990s. Since the debate is triggered by the relationship between literature and market, it’s not surprising that it attracts the attention from all kinds of people. Wang Meng and Zhang Yiwu, who hold tolerant attitude toward the literary transformation in the 1990s, have expressed their understanding of the “Wang Shuo phenomenon.” Wang Meng publicly lays out his opinions in his article, “Avoiding Sublime,” published in early 1993. In his belief, the market economy has sounded the horn of a new era and freed China from its old system. Thanks to the emergence of Wang Shuo, a social topic that used to be a taboo in the past has been openly addressed. What he has done is nothing less than unlocking the historical gate at the expense of his reputation as a writer. Wang Meng states In the eyes of some solemn writers, the titles of his novels, such as Playing for Thrills (⟪玩的就是心跳⟫), Please Don’t Call Me Human (⟪千万别把我 当人⟫), Die Satisfied (⟪过把瘾就死⟫), Masters of Mischief (⟪顽主⟫), and I’m Your Father, and the titles of his TV series like “Love You No Matter What (⟪爱你没商量⟫)” really look like the kind of riffraff language used by hooligans, totally irrelevant to the loftiness of literature, the mainstream literature, or any editorials in newspapers.… This is Wang Shuo, a writer at age 33 or 34, who has not published his first novel until 1978. Many of his works have been adapted into films and TV series. The TV series, Stories from the Editorial Board (⟪编辑部的故事⟫), for which he worked and led the screenwriting, has become a huge success (12). Wang Shuo’s works can be found in many bookshops and bookstalls, and his name has been used for hyping to solicit more readers. The fact that he is neither on a public payroll nor making his living as a professional writer signifies his role and significance. True, Wang Meng admits, there is an air of cynicism in some of Wang Shuo’s works, and blasphemy is his common tactic, but Wang Shuo has depicted the hardships of many insignificant people, who enjoy laughing and joking and seem to be clever, mischievous, self-complacent, and basically good citizens. In this article, Wang Meng also tells the reader that it doesn’t matter if readers accept it, like it, or comment on it, because this is already a type of literature, an unprecedented literary choice, to which no one could turn a blind eye. Wang Meng concludes his article with a rebuttal against the accusation of Wang Shuo as the socalled riffraff writer (Wang 15–17). In his defense of Wang Shuo, Zhang Yiwu claims that the loss of “humanistic spirit” confined the 20th-century intellectuals in a cultural predicament and subsequently incurred a binary opposition between secular culture and humanistic spirit.

Fiction Criticism during the Social Transformations in the 1990s  199 Within such an opposition, the self turns into a transcendental myth, rejecting today but placing the hope on a mythical past. The word “loss” indicates a sort of fantasized sacred haven. It has no interest in exploring today jointly with other p­ eople but flaunts the aristocratic superiority with admonition and exhortation. Zhang ­defines such a mentality as the “agitation and anxiety associated with melancholia” (Zhang, Writer’s Daily). Chen Xiaoming lends his support for Wang Meng and Zhang Yiwu, stating that it is no big deal if Chinese people who have long restrained themselves start to indulge in sensual pleasures and a relaxing consumption culture free from ideological pressures. “Of course, we can criticize those junks and tear them up in front of the public, but we should allow people to make their own choices at the same time” (“Humanistic Care” 16). Consequently, the literary exploration in the 1980s did not touch upon the deeprooted contradictions within the social system. With the further development of the market economy, more problems accumulated in society surfaced. Wang Shuo’s appearance became the focus of these problems and presented them in front of people. The dispute over the “Wang Shuo phenomenon” indicated two different ways in which contemporary literature evolved in the 1990s: If we may, for the time being, separate the concepts surfaced during the discussion on “humanistic spirit” in two directions, though some people might have a different take on this, we can see a clear distinction between the scholars in Shanghai and the scholars, critics, and writers in Beijing in terms of their reaction toward the 1990s, the decade that witnessed the transition of market economy in full swing. With a closer observation, we will discover that it was all because the two sides entered the 1990s through different routes. (Cheng, “­Citation Research” 7).

10.2 The Critique of A Dictionary of Maqiao From the initiation of the Root-tracing Literature in 1985 to his start of the magazine The Frontiers (⟪天涯⟫) after he moved from Hunan to Hainan in the 1990s, Han Shaogong (韩少功, 1953–) always remained in the spotlight in the literary community. Born in Changsha, his family came from Li County, Hunan Province. In 1968, he was sent to a farming team in Miluo County (now Miluo City), Hunan Province, where he started his writing career. In spring 1978, he was admitted to the Chinese Department of Hunan Normal University and, soon afterward, made his literary debut with his short stories, “The Thatch Field on the West (⟪西望茅 草地⟫)” and “Flying over the Sky (⟪飞过蓝天⟫).” In 1985, he became a leading literary figure after spearheading the “root-seeking literature.” In the 1990s, he joined the ranks of entrepreneurs and went to Hainan Island, where he set up the magazine, The Frontiers. His major works include Dad, Dad (⟪爸爸爸⟫), A Dictionary of Maqiao (⟪马桥词典⟫), Hint (⟪暗示⟫), and The Book of Day and Night (⟪日夜书⟫). On 13 October 1996, a symposium on his new novel, A Dictionary of Maqiao, was held in Shanghai. On December 5, two critical articles, “Spiritual Deprivation

200  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction (⟪精神的匮乏⟫)” by Zhang Yiwu and “Watching Han Shaogong’s Hyping (⟪看 韩少功做广告⟫)” by Wang Gan (王干), were published in a Beijing newspaper, At Your Service (⟪为您服务报⟫), delivering some quite negative comments on the novel and accusing the author of plagiarism. In his article, “A Dictionary of Maqiao: A Shoddy Imitation (⟪ ⟨马桥词典⟩ ：粗陋的模仿之作⟫),” published in Yangcheng Evening News (⟪羊城晚报⟫) on December 24, Zhang Yiwu laid out some further revelations about the issue of “imitation” in Han’s novel. Instantly, the article triggered a critical uproar over the novel. On 8 January 1997, Han responded with a rebuttal in Chinese Reader’s Weekly (⟪中华读书报⟫), and soon a report, “Han Shaogong Does Not Rule Out the Possibility of a Lawsuit,” appeared in Yangcheng Evening News. The debate between the two sides was getting more and more intense. On January 30, Zhang Yiwu listed eight reasons for his insistence on “A Dictionary of Maqiao’s imitation of Dictionary of the Khazars (⟪哈扎尔辞典⟫).” On February 4, Han refuted Zhang Yiwu’s accusation again in his phone call to the The Newspaper of Literature and Art. On March 28, Han filed a lawsuit with the Intermediate People’s Court of Haikou City against Zhang Yiwu, Wang Gan, and several newspapers, seeking 300,000 yuan for compensation. Han insisted that the purpose of the lawsuit was to teach these people a lesson about making false accusations in the name of literature and to facilitate the healthy development of literature as well. The lawsuit brought the critical uproar over Han’s novel to a halt, but it turned into a marathon case and ended in smoke eventually. In a way, this literary tumult foreshadowed the forthcoming changes in the environment of contemporary fiction criticism, changes that were marked by “new media criticism” since they mostly appeared in the weekend editions of the mass media and thereby seemed more appealing to the readers. In the meanwhile, criticism in journals of literary criticism began to shrink. To expand its readership, At Your Service, a public newspaper established by Beijing Foreign Enterprise Service Group Co., LTD. for promoting industrial and commercial activities, was really keen on carrying various sensational news and anecdotes in its supplement. Under such circumstance, the “Critical Uproar over A Dictionary of Maqiao” shifted ordinary consumers’ attention to other unfamiliar writers. The public followed the dramatic development of this incident, along with all the subsequent but unverifiable “inside information” and “secrets,” as if they were watching a TV series. This is definitely an unprecedented phenomenon in the 50-year history of contemporary Chinese fiction criticism. Guiding the reading public with a newsworthy link to Serbian writer Milorad Pavić’s Dictionary of the Khazars, Han’s critics declared in a sensational fashion: A Dictionary of Maqiao is “an unsuccessful imitation.” Also, they expressed their dissatisfaction with the recognition of Han’s novel from the literary community: “After the publication of A Dictionary of Maqiao, there have been many baseless evaluations, and some of them are grossly exaggerated.” “Simply put, they ­initiate the irresponsible and overrated assessments as well as the equally irresponsible hearsays and rumors transmitted through the media subsequently.” However, the readers will find out everything if they take some time to read the novel (Yi,

Fiction Criticism during the Social Transformations in the 1990s  201 The Newspaper of Literature and Art). Due to the involvement of new media, the regular literary criticism retreated to a disadvantageous position, so writers had to step up and defend their newly published works personally. Ordinary people, who were unaware of the truth, were shrouded in such a mysterious atmosphere. As a result, the “uproar over A Dictionary of Maqiao” ran its course in such a state of ­bafflement and ambiguity from beginning to end. New Media Criticism succumbs to the hegemony of the media. Its appearance as a form of literary criticism has the same effect as a headline news, which is obviously different from traditional fiction criticism. The dispute between Zhang Yiwu, Wang Gan, and Han Shaogong is focused on whether the latter has committed an act of plagiarism. It is a dispute over copyright but has nothing to do with the ­author’s writing itself. Such a critical approach seems to have changed the original ecology of literary criticism. Just as Zhu Hougang (朱厚刚) points out Han Shaogong is clearly in an unpropitious position where he gets the blame no matter what he does. Zhang Yiwu and Wang Gan can air their view as critics in the public sphere, whereas they require Han Shaogong to accept their criticism, as a writer, in the sphere of traditional literary criticism. Even though Zhang Yiwu calls for and values dialogues, the two sides have unequal opportunities to speak to the media. With the help of the media, the suspicion about the possible offense of “plagiarism” will spread quickly and hurt the author inevitably. From his completion of A Dictionary of Maqiao in 1996 to 2000, Han Shaogong did not publish any novel. It would be wrong to say that the “uproar” has no bearing on this. (Zhu 24) To elaborate on the unequal relationship between the two sides, Zhu cites a dictum, “the medium is the message,” from McLuhan, who always sees the content of any medium as another medium. “When an article of literary criticism is widely disseminated in the mass media, its content takes on the characteristics of news” (Zhu 29). It was reported that the article, “Spiritual Deprivation,” became a piece of sensational news in the literary community across the country simply because it ­accused Han Shaogong of “fully duplicating” the Dictionary of the Khazars. When informed of the criticism from Zhang Yiwu and other critics, Han Shaogong contended that since someone had openly accused him of plagiarism, they should publicize a comparison of the themes, characters, plots, and details between the two novels, so readers could see which of the main components of the novel were copied or even plagiarized. Otherwise, they couldn’t convince anyone completely. Apparently, Han regarded the article as a piece of literary criticism, but still “he was astounded by the widespread dissemination of accusatory terms like ‘­plagiarism,’ ‘copy,’ and ‘full duplication’ in the media” (Wu 47). In Han Shaogong’s view, when critics resort to mass media, an asymmetric instrument to criticize novels but writers cannot protect their own rights and interests through the traditional appeal pipeline in literature, then writers have to use the law, a non-literary measure, to fight back. To a certain extent, New Media Criticism

202  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction has facilitated the style of harsh criticism in the literary circle. For instance, the criticism of Jia Pingwa’s (贾平凹) Ruined City (⟪废都⟫) is not based on textual analysis, but subjective imposition of untruthful labels on the novel and its author instead. After the uproar over A Dictionary of Maqiao, the involved parties gradually calmed down and began to publish some research-based articles, thus launching a preliminary probe into the cause of the incident. Wang Gan said in an interview: The uproar over A Dictionary of Maqiao is indeed an unjust case against me. It all started with my article, “Watching Han Shaogong’s Hyping,” published in At Your Service News in December 1996. Actually, it was an old article that I wrote for Reading (⟪读书⟫) in 1995 before A Dictionary of Maqiao was released. I wrote that article after Han Shaogong published “A Note to Friends (⟪致友人书简⟫)” in the Yangcheng Evening News. I was amused to see that because at that time he was what we would now call “a high-profile writer” who would disdain to publish articles in an evening newspaper, which is not much different from a tabloid. At the same time, the magazine, The Frontiers, was just established. After reading through Han’s “A Note to Friends,” I felt as if Han was merely trying to advertise his magazine. That’s why I wrote my article based on textual analysis exploring his literary style, namely, how he pretends to discuss literary writing, but actually engages in hyping. That was really amazing to me. My article was written for Reading, because I believed that the style and quality of my article roughly suited Reading’s requirements. Besides, the editor, Wu Bin (吴彬), was asking for my submissions, and they have never rejected my articles before. So, this article was indeed written for Reading. Its style, including its length of 6000-words, complied with Reading’s requirements. According to my recollection, the editor-in-chief, Wang Hui, who had just taken over the office, said to me that since it was pretty hard for Han to run a magazine, it would be better not to publish any sarcastic articles, so he declined my manuscript. I remembered that my manuscript was kept in the office of Reading for quite some time. I never touched it after it was returned to me. After a while, when I went to Beijing on a business trip, Qiu ­Huadong (邱华栋) arranged my accommodation. Then an editor surnamed Yang from At Your Service News, who graduated from the Chinese Department of ­Peking University, visited me with Qiu Huadong and invited me to write an article for their newspaper. They told me that their newspaper was looking for long articles back then. I said that I had one. Since email was not available yet, I mailed the article to him after I returned to Nanjing. Editor Yang thought that my article was too long and asked me if he could modify and abridge it a little. I said yes, but didn’t read the revised version. On the day when it was published, I was in Beijing by coincidence. Although I saw the article, I didn’t read it through carefully. It was only after I heard about the pending litigation that I read the article in the newspaper again and found the section on A Dictionary of Maqiao

Fiction Criticism during the Social Transformations in the 1990s  203 added by the editor. In fact, everything concerning A Dictionary of Maqiao in that article came from the editor, not me. When you read the article, you will get a sense that this section appears to be an awkward insertion that is incongruous with the rest of the article. Later, I included the original ­version of the article, with a new title, “Hyping (⟪广告⟫),” in my collection of critical essays, The Age of Bumping Message (⟪灌水时代⟫) in 2002. With a comparison between both versions, you will see that there is no such thing as “a joint attack on A Dictionary of Maqiao.” My article was written way in advance. It was the editor who placed it next to Zhang Yiwu’s article. Of course, there is some input from the editor. If he did it for the page ­arrangement of the newspaper, that would be a different matter. Even so, I don’t think the article is offensive enough for a lawsuit. Interestingly, Yangcheng Evening News reported the whole thing in its entertainment section. Then, it gradually spun into an entertainment topic or incident. At first, I suspected that Han Shaogong, or the publisher, wanted to hype up the book, but later I found out that he was serious about filing a suit over this matter. I didn’t disclose, at the time, that the editor had tampered with my article for fear that it might put him in a tough spot. Besides, I thought the comments added by the editor were not nearly as offensive as a reputation infringement. That’s why I felt deeply wronged.3 Of course, Wang Gan believes that if he had been more mature or more experienced, the whole incident might not have happened. He thinks that Han Shaogong, Zhang Yiwu, and himself were all being used and victimized by the media in this uproar over A Dictionary of Maqiao. He has no idea why Xie Haiyang (谢海阳), a long-time reporter of Literature News and his old friend for years, wants to publish an article that is no better than a publicity stunt or what is commonly labeled “clickbait” today.4 This “clickbait” misleads all the media, and the latter seems quite willing to be misled. At that time, it went viral instantly, branding Han Shaogong as a plagiarist and A Dictionary of Maqiao a work of plagiarism. The media played an ugly role in the entire process. In Wang’s view, the incident started with Xie Haiyang’s “clickbait” article, which misrepresented Zhang Yiwu’s and his intentions. Later, when the article was republished in various press digest, their intentions were misrepresented for the second time and again, for the third time, when the media made a big fanfare over the incident. Ultimately, everything was distorted way beyond what they meant initially. Wang Gan’s recollection seems to have cleared up some of the misunderstandings about him. With a complete historical record, plus a comparison with Xie Haiyang’s own statement, the full story could be presented more objectively. Looking back retrospectively, Wang Gan realizes that the incident occurred mainly because mass culture, especially the media, went through a sudden surge in the early 1990s, “but we – writers, critics, and intellectuals – failed to learn how to face the media. If we want to reflect on this issue now, this is an important point.”5

204  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction 10.3 The Critical Uproar over Ruined City In 1993, Jia Pingwa’s novel, Ruined City (⟪废都⟫), was well received by the literary community after its publication but became a target of criticism shortly afterward. The detractors of the novel scrutinized the relationship between the market and literary writings and harshly reproached the author’s motive and selection of theme in writing this novel. As a result, Jia Pingwa faced tremendous pressure from the society. In Jia’s opinion, the novel stirs up the most heated controversy and creates the greatest social volatility since the founding of the People’s Republic of China. Naturally, it brings him the biggest disaster in his life. The shadow of Ruined City has been haunting him to this day. The only benefit he received is that it has expanded his readership. For ten years, the novel cannot be officially reprinted, but its piracy has never ceased. In other words, the piracy is still going on, so is the controversy and the discussion. A book, Collected Criticism of Ruined City (⟪废都大评⟫), was published in Hong Kong later that year, but domestic newspapers usually avoided the two words, “Ruined City.” A newspaper in Shaanxi mentioned them and was then asked to submit a written self-criticism (Jia 207). According to Jia, when first published, the novel was printed by two printing houses, with 250,000 copies in each. These were the 500,000 official copies. As soon as the novel came out, so many people wanted to buy. Many of them, in ­different provinces, drove their cars to buy it with cash. Sensing their inability to produce enough copies, the publishers sold the printing template to other six or seven publishing houses. Each of them printed at least 100,000 copies. Altogether, there were approximately 1 million official and semi-official copies. Later, the ­piracy of the novel exploded and went out of control. According to the statistics from the people involved, the number of official, semi-official, and pirated copies reached 12 million within two years (Jia 208). As Jia remembers well, the controversy about Ruined City was mainly focused on the representation of sexuality and decadent sentiment in the novel. Some people just raised the issue to the level of ideology. A senior writer in Shaanxi, for instance, even reported Jia to the Central Committee, accusing him of producing a novel that propagating sex, violence as well as anti-party and anti-socialist sentiments. He did not mail out the report because he failed to find anyone who was willing to co-sign it. Also, it was even reported that a young man murdered a woman after reading the novel. The novel was so popular upon publication, but soon it was banned and denounced. Jia admits that the twist taught him a great lesson, In my entire life, I have learned a great lesson about the ways of the world on two occasions. One is the Cultural Revolution when my father was branded as a counter-revolutionary; the other is the uproar over Ruined City. The Cultural Revolution triggered a series of changes among the regular ­people in society, but this “uproar” brought many changes within the cultural community. (208–209)

Fiction Criticism during the Social Transformations in the 1990s  205 The accusation of Ruined City is centered around two issues, the sexual d­ escription, intended for the pursuit of marketing benefits, and the decadent sentiments, conceived as a big part of the theme. The allegations from critics are ­unprecedentedly harsh. In Chen Xiaoming’s judgment, Here comes Jia Pingwa, dressed in a coat armor of “serious literature” and riding a northwestern heifer, leading a bunch of womanizers and flirtatious or slutty beauties slowly toward us. He earnestly tells us the greatest myth of sexual desire at the end of the century, a myth that could mesmerize the readers to reach a state of intoxication, delusion, dream, or fantasy. (24) Such kind of salacious sexual description, as Yin Changlong (尹昌龙) suggests, conveys nothing about life, history, or society but merely presents a raw documentation of the pleasure in bed, which is almost reduced to pornography by its sensual ecstasy and flesh exhibition (241–242). Critics like Tian Bing’e (田秉锷) not only examine the close connection between Jia Pingwa’s writing and the market driven by various material desires but also take issue with a few people’s praise of the novel. In Tian’s view, the fame of Ruined City is deeply indebted to the subtle propaganda and excessive hype by the press and the publishing industry, but what is undeniable is that its popularity is mostly fueled by the sexual innuendoes that almost saturate the entire novel because they can tantalize readers’ reading desires and stimulate their sexual fantasies. Moreover, Tian continues, “Ruined City could neither sound the death knell for the decadent nor blow the bugle for the newborn. What it depicts is the disillusionment of a bunch of worthless social outcasts who do not create anything valuable at all” (Tian 55). Li Jiefei (李洁非), a critic who is known for his knack of textual analysis and his consistent support for exploratory writing, claims that the description of the love affair between the protagonist Zhuang Zhidie (庄之蝶) and other women in the novel does not help much in deepening the theme but instead interferes with the main thread of the narrative. As Li puts it well, the legendary style of Zhuang Zhidie as a “celebrity” is more essentially captured by the sexual relationships in the novel. Readers may summarize Ruined City as “a story about a man and his many women.” The man is the famous writer, Zhuang Zhidie, who remains as the core of the story and never changes. Whereas, the women who are in love with him, or in constant competition and annoyance because of him, or willing to devote their lives to him, come and go one after another, including his wife, his friend’s wife, his old flame, the merry lady who has eloped to the city with her lover, young nanny, woman from another province, and disguised prostitute. These multifarious women have their distinctive charm, but they have two things in common: “first, all of them are beautiful and lovely; second, each of them wants to sleep with him at first sight” (Li 32). In contrast to the excessive accusations from other critics, Li Jiefei’s comment retains some restraint. He writes, “there are a large number of characters in Ruined

206  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction City; at least more than twenty characters appear with names; over ten of them play a major role. With all due respect, I think none of the characters is clearly portrayed” (Li 34–35). In addition, Li points out that the plot, language, and characters of the novel are full of flaws, inconsistencies, and loopholes. The root cause, as he articulated previously, is the author’s narcissistic tendency in his writing. This time, Jia Pingwa has broken a taboo: he forsakes art for himself (35). Due to the influence from the trends in criticism, Li Jiefei backpedals his judgment on the characterization and the art of language in this novel. The turn-of-the-century mood of the characters is quite clear, but it should not affect the objectivity in the analysis of its description. What we can discern here is that the conceptual inclination in literary criticism during the 1990s interferes with the independent work of perceptive critics, which seems to have been a problem in varying degrees in several critical movements. Judging from the perspective today, Ruined City can still be considered an artistic success, or perhaps one of his best novels so far despite Jia Pingwa’s frustration and gloomy mood at the time of writing. Given the fact that the novel appeared at a critical point of social transformation and during the climax of the discussion on “humanistic spirit,” it is inevitably that some people overreact to the graphic description in the novel and lose their rationality, or fail to grasp a higher discretion in assessing the novel. With the novel back in print in recent years, academic studies began to appear. According to Wei Huaying (魏华莹), the criticism of Ruined City mainly concentrates on its vulgarness and degradation for the sake of appealing to the market and the public. On the one hand, critics lament the prevalence of commercial culture and the decay of humanistic spirit as highlighted by the sensation of Ruined City, but on the other hand, they complete their fierce bombardment on it by publishing 13 monographs in a densely succession, which is nothing short of paradox. Today, the literary community has taken a completely different approach toward this novel, mostly affirming its literary value and unique significance in cultural transitions (Wei 23). Just as what is stressed in the classic The Literary Mind Carves Dragons (⟪文心 雕龙⟫), “literary changes are affected by what is going on in the world, and the rise and fall of a literary style are related to the changes in times.” Wei also insists that the criticism of Ruined City is closely related to the mentality of the time, namely, after the intellectuals in the early 1990s realized that their long-cherished idealism had no chance to become a feasible and practical action plan, they started wondering in a mood of bewilderment, nihility, and helplessness, and harboring secret worries in their mind about their unknown future. Ruined City quickly became the target of public heteroglossia simply because it presents a stark exposure of their decadence, emptiness, and despair (Wei 23). Jia Pingwa writes in the postscript of the novel, “writing this work was at once a great blessing and a great punishment from God. It is really a bright and dazzling flame that first tempted me, a moth in the dark, with excitement and aspiration, but then lured me toward it for a selfimmolation” (qtd. in Wei 23). As “a classic case in the era of mass media,” Wei Huaying further stresses, ­Ruined City illuminates the mosaic picture of the 1990s with the same kind of

Fiction Criticism during the Social Transformations in the 1990s  207 pathetic beauty, often perceived in a scene of “a moth flying to a flame,” and it informs the intellectuals who are wandering around on the other side of the threshold that pure literature, with proper packaging, could find its own market. The novel’s staggering sales proves to everyone that novels could also sell well and take over the dominance from novellas and short stories after the New Period. In addition, Wei attempts to show the novel has redefined the nature and power of literature: It helps writers and publishers see literature’s potential for mass communication and its ability to break away from its predicament. It prompts more “spiritual aristocrats” to take off their “literary disguise,” discard their “spiritual masks,” and get ready for a fresh start… However, in the midst of the struggle and turmoil in deciding if everyone should cross the threshold, ­Ruined City becomes the target of the sentiment and discourse at the time and the victim of intellectuals’ action for a restart as well. During the uproar over Ruined City, the media, publishers, critics, and rumormongers oddly join hands in staging this grand “literary event.” (23) It remains to be seen whether these articles in defense of Jia’s novel will be followed by more sobering research articles that evaluate his writing from a holistic rather than a partial perspective and restore the novel to its rightful place in literary history. 10.4 The Critical Uproar over Big Breast and Wide Hips In 1995, Mo Yan’s (莫言) novel, Big Breasts and Wide Hips (⟪丰乳肥臀⟫), was serialized in Issues 5 and 6 of the magazine Master (⟪大家⟫). Its offprint was published by The Writers Publishing House in December 1995. In 1997, he was awarded the “Prize for Literature Master” with 100,000 RMB at a ceremony held in the Great Hall of the People. The amount of this prize money is the highest among all the literary prizes since the founding of the People’s Republic of China. For that matter, it created quite a stir. Mo Yan recalls The day I win the prize, I have a feeling about imminent trouble. Before that, the title of the novel had already been criticized in the press. Critics assert arbitrarily, without having read the entire novel, that the title is the author’s packaging for commercial purpose. Under such circumstances, I write an article, “Explanation of Big Breasts and Wide Hips,” for self-defense against my better judgment. I know my defense is weak because it’s difficult to express my true feelings. (qtd. in Cong 47) Mo Yan had no clue that the tone of criticism would escalate, and he clearly felt the tremendous pressure from all sides. He was required to submit a piece of self-criticism at his workplace and reflect on his mistakes with the help of his colleagues.

208  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction He Shenbang (何慎邦) said, “I heard that he wrote such a big pile of self-criticism reports that his stomach trouble acted up again, but some people just won’t let him off the hook” (58). Mo Yan recalls more details of this incident: My article fails to subside the criticism of Big Breasts and Wide Hips, but rather inflames their hatred. To take me down, they skillfully play some tricks of political campaign. Most of them have made a career by persecuting others, as if they were the “enforcers in literary arena.” Some of them were adversely affected during the Cultural Revolution and the Anti-Rightist Movement or even identified as “Rightists,” but that is merely a mishap. It is, in fact, these people who inflamed both movements, which would not even occur in the first place without their instigation. Now, they are trying, deftly, to use the same tactics they had relied on during the two movements in trashing me and my novel. The first one is writing letters to the leaders of the state and the army in hope of utilizing their power to compass my ruin; the second one is writing letters, with various anonymous names, such as “Eight Old Workers” or “Seven Mothers,” to my workplace, the state’s publicity department, and the Public Security Bureau with a demand for my arrest; the third one is urging a bunch of their “buddies,” who used to be bureaucrats at different levels, to call, write or even talk, in person, to their former superiors, comrades, and subordinates based on their network of connections, so that they can express their opinions or take actions against me; the fourth one is taking advantage of the magazines and newspapers under their control to publish a series of critical articles against me. Their articles are very similar to those written during the Cultural Revolution, full of insults, threats, and personal attacks on me. Their fifth tactic is distributing their publications and tabloids to the delegates at the Fifth Congress of the Chinese Writers Association (CWA) in an attempt to discredit me within the association. (349–350) This incident was one of the main reasons why Mo Yan left the army for a job at The Procuratorate Daily (⟪检察日报社⟫) of the Supreme People’s Procuratorate. Big Breasts and Wide Hips is an influential novel, which sings the praises for the creator of human lives, the mother and her great, unadorned, and selfless maternal spirit. In the writer’s view, the continuity of life is of unparalleled importance. This novel or, rather, this grand picture of life cycle floats a cloud of smoke from the battlefield almost like re-enacting the history of a certain time period. The mother, who is featured as the protagonist in the novel, has eight daughters named respectively as Laidi (Coming Brother), Zhaodi (Calling Brother), Lingdi (Ushering Brother), Xiangdi (Craving Brother), Pandi (Expecting Brother), Niandi (Yearning Brother), Qiudi (Seeking Brother), and Jade Girl. The first two girls are the illegitimate daughters of the mother and her own uncle; the third is the result from the mother’s adultery with a duck seller from another town; the fourth is the child of the mother and a charlatan; the fifth’s biological father is a bachelor; the sixth’s father is a monk; the seventh is born after the mother is raped by four

Fiction Criticism during the Social Transformations in the 1990s  209 defeated soldiers; the eighth is the love child of the mother’s affair with a Swedish priest. The first six daughters are married, respectively, to bandits, the Kuomintang soldiers, and Americans. All the daughters follow their husbands as “fellow travelers,” but the eighth child, her son, takes a slightly different course of life. The Swedish priest names his illegitimate son Jintong (Golden boy). Even though he is a man with high IQ and a handsome and masculine appearance, he is a useless loser in life. However, he is a filial son who accompanies his old mother in her last days and takes care of her burial personally. The story is laced with peculiarity and fantasy as the fate of the characters is highly dramatized. What is implied in the exaggerated depiction, though, is the author’s comprehensive view of the centennial history. Citing the “pornographic description” as a cover, critics have expressed their strong dissatisfaction with the so-called distorted account of history in the novel. Also, ideological orientation is another focus in the criticism of Big Breasts and Wide Hips. More than ten articles were published consecutively, from Issue 5 to Issue 12, in the journal, Midstream (⟪中流⟫), edited by Huang Gang (黄钢), in 1996, in which the orientation of the novel is intensively criticized.6 Liu Baiyu (刘 白羽) refers to Mo Yan’s novel as a sign that “public morals are going downhill like a river,” lamenting that we create a great nation through a bloody struggle only to have nurtured a few “parasites” like this, which makes people feel tragic and angry. Peng Jingfeng (彭荆风), a veteran novelist from the military, disparages this novel as a piece of reactionary and filthy literary garbage, which somehow wins the award after being cracked up by a few irresponsible “famous writers.” Sai Shili (赛时礼), the screenwriter of the movie, An Express Train (⟪三进山城⟫), and the former leader of an armed working team in Jiaodong, Shandong Province during the Anti-Japanese War, observes that the novel misrepresents, without a proper cause, the history of the war in this area, and vilifies the armed forces under the leadership of the Party. For veteran soldiers and survivors of the war, such as Liu Baiyu, Wei Wei (魏 巍), and Sai Shili, Mo Yan’s portrayal of the war is unacceptable because of so many fictional and false details in the novel. Both Liu Baiyu and Sai Shili were soldiers who went through tough challenges back then and held deep nostalgic feelings and memories about the revolutionary war. The core values of the 17-year military literature had been deeply rooted in their spiritual world. After the 1990s, a wave of obsession with New Historicism swept through the literary community and influenced writers in one way or the other. It is actually in this backdrop that Mo Yan completes this novel. Their different positions, therefore, create a gap between the critics and the criticized in their spiritual world, which seems to have highlighted a peculiar symptom of the literature in the 1990s. Wen Bo (文波), a critic, published an article in 1997 to express his opposition to the condemnation of Mo Yan’s novel launched by the articles in Midstream at that time. “Since its inception in 1990,” he writes, “Midstream has always been carefully retaining its own voice while attaching equal importance to literary works and commentaries.” After 1996, he adds, “it has raised sharp questions and expressed radical opinions from a political perspective on a frequent basis and attracted wide

210  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction attention in the literary community.” In its 12th issue of 1996, the article, “The Degeneration and Betrayal of the Literary Community (⟪文坛的堕落与背叛⟫),” written by its own correspondent, points out that it is only those involved in all the incidents in this century, rather than any self-proclaimed famous writer or anyone else, who have the greatest right of speech and the best qualification to make ­authoritative comments on Big Breasts and Wide Hips (qtd. in Wen 64). To this end, the editorial board interviewed six Red Army men and veteran soldiers from Gaomi, Shandong Province. All of them cited their personal experiences as evidence and “expressed their strong indignation” against all the denigration, distortion, blasphemy, and defamation of Gaomi’s revolutionary history, its people, and the history of the revolutionary war in the novel (Wen 64). Apparently, one may discern from this article that its author, Wen Bo, disagrees with the criticism of the novel published in Midstream. Such a conclusion can convince us that people had quite different views of Big Breasts and Wide Hips, and that the diverse opinions spawned by the social transformation at that time are constantly engaged in a mutual competition or adaptation, which is still far from over. Notes 1 Zhang Wei (张炜), a writer, published articles, such as “Poet, Why Aren’t You Angry (⟪诗人, 你为什么不愤怒⟫).” Together they became representatives of the “Resistance Literature.” See Wen Wei Po, 30 March 1993. 2 Zhang Yiwu (张颐武, 1962–), a literary critic, was born in Beijing, and his family came from Wenzhou, Zhejiang Province. He graduated from the Department of Chinese ­Language and Literature, Peking University in 1984, and finished his graduate study in the department in 1987. He studied under Professor Xie Mian (谢冕), a literary critic. He is the author of Pursuit on the Sideline (⟪在边缘处追索⟫) and From Modernity to Postmodernity (⟪从现代性到后现代性⟫). 3 This is Zhao Tiancheng (赵天成)’s interview with Wang Gan, one of the two critics involved in the “Maqiao Incident.” It had not been published due to the sensitivity of the matter. 4 Shortly after his and Zhang Yiwu’s critical articles were published by At Your Service News in 1996, Xie Haiyang published his article, “Is A Dictionary of Maqiao a Work of Plagiarism,” in Wen Wei Po (⟪文汇报⟫). At that time, The Sixth National Congress of the Chinese Federation of Literary and Artistic Circles (中国文学艺术界联合会第六 次全国代表大会) and the Fifth National Congress of the Chinese Writers Association (中国作家协会第五次全国代表大会) were held in Beijing. The newspaper, Wen Wei Po, which carried Xie’s article, was sent to every delegate’s hotel room, triggering a great sensation instantly. Later, many newspapers and TV stations reported this (a note by the translator). 5 Again, this is Zhao Tiancheng (赵天成)’s unpublished interview with Wang Gan, one of the two critics involved in the “Maqiao Incident.” 6 Midstream was founded in 1990. It is supervised and sponsored by Guangming Daily with Huang Gang as its chief editor. Later, Lin Mohan and Wei Wei were also engaged. The publication was closed in July 2001, probably because it upset many people.

Works Cited Bai, Ye, et al. “Freedom of Choice and Cultural Trends.” Shanghai Literature, vol. 42, no. 4, 1943, pp. 68–76.

Fiction Criticism during the Social Transformations in the 1990s  211 Chen, Xiaoming. “This Is the Real ‘Liberation’.” The Taste of Ruined City, edited by Duo Wei, Henan People’s Publishing House, 1993, pp. 22–48. Chen, Xiaoming. “Humanistic Care: A Kind of Knowledge and Narrative.” Shanghai ­Culture, vol. 50, no. 5, 1994, pp. 13–23. Cheng, Guangwei. “Citation Research: Discussion of Restoring Humanistic Spirit.” ­Literature and Art Studies, vol. 35, no. 2, 2013, pp. 5–15. Cong, Weixi. “Speaking of Mo Yan.” Times Literature, vol. 13, no. 1, 2001, pp. 46–48. He, Shenbang. “Mo Yan and I.” Times Literature, vol. 13, no. 1, 2001, pp. 57–58. Jia, Pingwa, and Youshun Xie. Dialogues between Jia Pingwa and Xie Youshun. Soochow University Press, 2003. Li, Jiefei. “Failure of Ruined City.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 10, no. 7, 1993, pp. 29–35. Mo, Yan. “The ‘Bible’ in Gaomi Northeast Township: Postscript of the Japanese Version of Big Breasts and Wide Hips.” Let’s Talk, Mo Yan, edited by Mo Yan, Haitian Publishing House, 2007, pp. 348–352. Tian, Bing’e. “Ruined City and the Decline of Contemporary Literary Spirit.” Journal of Xuzhou Normal University, vol. 19, no. 4, 1993, pp. 54–55. Wang, Meng. “Avoiding Sublime.” Reading, vol. 20, no. 1, 1993, pp. 10–17. Wang, Xiaoming, et al. “Remains in the Wilderness: The Crisis of Literature and Humanistic Spirit.” Shanghai Literature, vol. 41, no. 6, 1993, pp. 63–71. Wei, Huaying. “Changes in Literature Is Influenced by the Social Atmosphere: A Collective Study on the Criticism of Ruined City.” Literature and Art Studies, vol. 35, no. 2, 2013, pp. 16–24. Wen, Bo. “A Series of Criticism on Contemporary Writers’ Works by Midstream.” Southern Cultural Form, vol. 11, no. 3, 1997, pp. 63–64. Wu, Pingping. “From a War of Pen to Infringement Litigation: A Documentary of the ‘­Maqiao Incident’.” Shanghai Journal Review, vol. 15, no. 9, 1997, pp. 46–48. Yi, Shi. “The Legal Case Ends with a Wise Man: An Interview with Zhang Yiwu, an ­Associate Professor of Peking University.” The Newspaper of Literature and Art, 7 February 1998. Yin, Changlong. “Kitschy and Self-Amusement: On Ruined City.” Who Was Ruined by Ruined City, edited by Xiao Xialin, Academy Publishing House, 1993, pp. 239–259. Zhang, Wei. “Literature Is the Breath of Life.” Writers, vol. 42, no. 4, 1994, pp. 30–35. Zhang, Yiwu. “Humanistic Spirit: A Kind of Cultural Adventurism.” Writer’s Daily, 5 July 1995. Zhu, Hougang. “New Media Criticism and the ‘Maqiao Incident’.” Novel Review, vol. 29, no. 5, 2013, pp. 24–31.

11 Literary Criticism in the 1990s

This chapter covers the literary criticism in the 1990s, including “scholarly criticism,” “criticism on women’s fiction,” and the “post-60s fiction criticism.” These types of criticism use literary phenomena, genres, and works as vehicles to show the critics’ knowledge structure, background, and attitude toward history and philosophy. A main feature of them, as Yao Wenfang (姚文放) points out, is theorization: “Theory” is not a theory about literature because it does not directly discuss literary works. In his book, Literary Theory, Jonathan Culler rarely discusses the issue of literary theory and even scarcely brings up the concept of literary theory. The “theory” that he proposed goes beyond traditional literary studies and extends its tentacle into the broad field of cultural studies and criticism. (63) When opening theoretical works today, a bunch of words would leap to the readers’ eyes instantly, such as morality, religion, revolution, truth, class, race, identity, gender, territory, hegemony, ideology, imperialism, and colonialism. The inquiry into the scope of these concepts and the related issues behind them breaks the natural boundaries between academic research and practical action and leads the ­ideological theories directly to the transformation of productive relationships, social institutions, and intellectual concepts and, thereby, turns itself into real ­politics. In other words, Culler often considers the text itself as a “representation” and then interprets its symbolic implication toward certain social and political structures. According to Yao Wenfang’s analysis of Culler’s research mode in Literary Theory, criticism is placed outside the literary scene because it only perceives a writer’s literary work as a reflection of specific social ideas and trends. By interpreting a literary work, the critic intends to present his critical cognitions on these ideas and trends. There is a clear differentiation among the scholarly criticism, criticism on women’s fiction, and post-1960s fiction criticism in their analytic frameworks and critical modes. It is caused by two factors: first, the social transformation in the 1990s laid out some social and historical issues beyond the scope of literature in front of people. Literature can hardly define these issues without drawing on the knowledge of politics, sociology, economics, and cultural anthropology, including DOI: 10.4324/9781003565031-15

Literary Criticism in the 1990s  213 cultural studies; second, literature went through a process of bifurcation in the 1990s. The intergenerational replacement, a common occurrence in the 1980s, ­basically disappeared in the literature of the 1990s, with no more controversy but a harmonious coexistence for all. However, there was not communication among different schools of literary writing as writers preferred to work independently. For that matter, fiction criticism could no longer summarize and analyze various literary phenomena according to the holistic approach to historical knowledge in the past. They had to choose the target of criticism based on their preference. Such a change in circumstances made it possible for the “scholarly criticism,” which is adept at making intellectual analysis and strictly observing its knowledge structure and system, to embark on the stage of history. 11.1 The Rise of Scholarly Criticism In the public view, the term “scholarly criticism” refers to the literary criticism presented by the young and middle-age faculty from the Chinese departments of various universities, rather than the critics from the writing and research departments or theoretical research offices of Chinese Writers Associations at all levels. As a base for ideological propagation, the Chinese Writers Association trained most of the literary critics before the 1980s. In the 1990s, as economic construction became the first priority, its role gradually diminished, thus paving the way for the emergence of professional and scholarly criticism, with university faculty as its mainstay. In the 1990s, the rise of “scholarly criticism” benefited from two factors: the reestablishment of the postgraduate programs and the translations of Western academic books. As the admission of postgraduates was resumed in 1978, numerous promising youths were encouraged by a favorable environment and forceful policies, which promoted the “respect for knowledge and for talents,” to take the entrance examination. Many talented students followed the trend of the times and realized their dreams. Many of them were among the graduates majoring in modern and contemporary Chinese literature, admitted by Peking University, Beijing ­Normal University, and the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences. For example, among the first group of graduates at Peking University, Qian Liqun (钱理群) earned his BA from Renmin University of China before the Cultural Revolution; Zhao Yuan (赵园) and Wen Rumin (温儒敏) were enrolled in the five-year undergraduate program at Peking University and Renmin University of China, respectively, but did not graduate because of the breakout of Cultural Revolution; Wu Fuhui (吴福辉) had a high school education; Zhu Xiaojin (朱晓进) was enrolled in Peking University in 1978. The graduates admitted to Beijing Normal University, Wang Furen (王富仁) and Jin Hongda (金宏达), received their college degree before the Cultural Revolution. Among the graduates admitted to the Institute of Literature, Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, Yang Yi (杨义, from the Department of Journalism, Renmin University of China), Liu Na (刘纳, from the Department of Chinese, Beijing Normal University), and Lan Dizhi (蓝棣之, from the Department of Chinese,

214  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction Sichuan Normal University) either graduated before the Cultural Revolution or failed to graduate because of its outbreak. In addition, Wang Hui (汪晖) was a student of Class 1977 from the Chinese Department of Yangzhou Normal University. The state policy of “selecting talents regardless of their origin” attracted many aspiring people and created, figuratively, an extremely bright scenery in the history of contemporary literature. Around 1979, translators, led by those from the Institute of Foreign Literature of the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, began to translate Western classics, especially the most cutting-edge academic books of the 20th century. These books changed the mindset of a whole generation and renewed their knowledge structure. Among them, book series like “Modern Western Academic Library” published by SDX Joint Publishing Company, “Chinese Translations of Foreign Masterpieces” by the Commercial Press, and “Translations of Contemporary Academic Thoughts” by Shanghai Translation Publishing House played a crucial role. “In the classroom,” as a scholar reflects, “one question often lingers in my mind: How was the intellectual horizon of our generation established? I would ascribe this to the ‘Western world’ opened up by these book series” (Cheng, Lectures on Literature 105). More examples can be cited to show the influence of these series: I’m afraid that no one of our generation would forget the “cultural fever” that swept through the entire country in 1985. Under the slogan of “reflecting on the traditional Chinese culture,” SDX Joint Publishing Company and Shanghai Translation Press published “Modern Western Academic Library” (edited by Gan Yang), “Translations of Contemporary Academic Thoughts” (edited by Tang Yongkuan), and “Translations of Modern Foreign Literary Theory” (edited by Wang Chunyuan and Qian Zhongwen) one after another. Various book series, big and small, came out like a tsunami all in the name of “looking toward the future” and “reaching out to the world,” shattering our historical views on classes, reconstructing our historical concepts of humanity and culture, and restructuring the knowledge genealogy of our generation. The same knowledge structure and genealogy, which have lasted for thirty years between 1985 and today, educated several generations and formulated a ceaseless river of history. Therefore, no matter how many radical changes and adjustments have occurred in society during this period, nothing could shake starting point for our history. (Cheng, “Thirty Years of Cultural Fever in 1985” 1) Thanks to the restoration of graduate programs, universities became a cradle for literary critics once again. In a similar vein, the introduction of Western scholarly books through translation refreshed their concept, knowledge, and vision. Not everyone from the camp of “scholarly criticism” is a specialized critic because some of its members are literary theorists and foreign literature scholars. This is what I have stated in the “introduction.” As the mechanism for teaching and training graduates at university level gradually matured, a large number

Literary Criticism in the 1990s  215 of MA and PhD students quickly entered universities and research institutions. Before long, they initiated a drastic reshuffle within the team of fiction critics and removed the critics, who worked for the Chinese Writers Association and the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, from their traditional territory in the literary field, thus establishing their reputation as the main force of “scholarly criticism.” As compared with “Beijing Critics Circle” and “Shanghai Critics Circle,” the list of “scholarly critics,” which has gone through a shake-up or expansion from time to time, includes Wang Yichuan, Tao Dongfeng, Wang Yuechuan, Wang Ning, Zhang Yiwu, Chen Xiaoming, Dai Jinhua (戴锦华),1 Meng Fanhua (孟繁 华),2 Cheng Guangwei, Jin Yuanpu, Zhang Zhizhong (张志忠),3 Sun Yu (孙郁),4 Zhou Xian, Gao Jianping, Xu Dai, Zhang Fa, Luo Gang, Cheng Wenchao (程文 超),5 Cao Shunqing, Wang Jie, Kuang Xin’nian (旷新年), Han Yuhai (韩毓海),6 Wang Binbin (王彬彬),7 Gao Yuanbao (郜元宝),8 Zhang Xinying (张新颖),9 Wu Jun (吴俊),10 Li Jingze (李敬泽),11 Wu Yiqin (吴义勤),12 Zhao Yong, Zhang Qinghua (张清华),13 Shi Zhanjun (施占军),14 Xie Youshun (谢有顺), Hong Zhigang (洪治纲),15 Wang Yao (王尧),16 Luo Gang (罗岗),17 Li Jianjun (李建军),18 Li Yang (李扬),19 He Guimei (贺桂梅),20 Huang Fayou (黄发有),21 and He Xiangyang (何向阳).22 Wang Yichuan and Tao Dongfeng are literary theorists who were actively ­engaged in fiction criticism in the 1990s. Wang kept abreast of avant-garde novelists’ writing, while Tao focused on the creativity of avant-garde literary concepts. Their theoretical training and logical sense raised the “scholarly” caliber of fiction criticism. Unlike other critics, they looked at the issues from a different angle, exercised their fiction criticism with a distinctive framework and systematic discipline, and incorporated theories into their articles conscientiously. When the critical community was divided over “the image of riffraff” in Wang Shuo’s Masters of Mischief (⟪顽主⟫), Wang Yichuan relied on his sensitivity as a theorist to discover the “emotional structure” shared by the writer and the protagonist, citing this as a structural difference between the “Red Guards” and the “Little Red Guards,” and repositioning them in the context of “revolution.” This is a remarkable insight into the criticism of Wang Shuo’s novel writing. In his article, “The Imaginary Revolution: Wang Shuo and Wang Shuoism,” Wang Yicuan insists, It is necessary to draw a distinction between the two usually neglected terms, the “Red Guards” and the “Little Red Guards,” during the Cultural Revolution. The “Red Guards” were students from universities and high schools who directly participated in the Cultural Revolution, while the “Little Red Guards” were primary school students who were not directly involved in the movement but were imbued with the same revolutionary ideas. They formed a mimetic organization based on the model of the Red Guards… Such a difference is quite subtle and important as it exerted a great ­influence on the former guards’ personal identification and the ­preference and variance in their literary writing later on. In short, the “Red Guards”

216  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction participated in the Cultural Revolution as the main force in toppling capitalist roaders, staging armed struggle, smashing and looting properties, and relocating in the countryside. On the contrary, the “Little Red Guards” were too young at that time to do any of those things, so they were just onlookers or imaginary rebels. (28) Also, Wang Yichuan’s article discusses Wang Shuo’s ideological structure and behavioral pattern in details. If Wang Shuo relies on language manipulation, with a posture of revolutionaries imagined by the Little Red Guards, as the basic driving force in his literary writing, then the success of this writing depends on specific survival strategies in specific contexts. In this regard, Wang Shuo’s self-conscious survival strategies in three aspects are worth noting: first, his writing for a living; second, his pursuit of originality in writing; and third, his pan-media and interactive publicity through media like magazines, newspapers, films, and television (Y. Wang 30). As for the narrative style, Wang Yichuan points out that Wang Shuo’s novels have two characteristics. One is “sarcastic,” that is, sarcastic language; the other is “mischievous,” that is, the image of a mischievous master. The former shows his art of language, while the latter proves his expertise in characterization (32). Wang Yichuan’s intellectual and logical deduction seems more objective and convincing than the sentimental and emotional criticism of Wang Shuo’s novel writing. In an article on Yan Lianke (阎连科), Tao Dongfeng addresses the connotations and denotations of several kinds of realism, stating that instead of calling Yan’s novels as works of “Magical Realism” and “Grotesque Realism,” it would be more accurate to call them novels of “modern political allegory.” Tao’s ability to analyze lucidly the inner implications of Yan’s novels exhibits his well-rounded knowledge and unique insight. “Shock,” as Tao suggests, “is a lucrative site cultivated by Yan, but it could also be his logos or trap” (31). Yan creates a fictional world detached from history. Living in a secluded world like this, one knows nothing about what is really going on elsewhere. Just as the old Chinese saying tells us, “If you don’t know much about the Han Dynasty, then you definitely know nothing about the Wei and Jin Dynasties.” If we believe that many narratives about contemporary history are abstract, then we cannot claim that Yan’s nearly absurd and abstract description is unreal. On the contrary, it delivers a kind of unexpected “shock” ­effect through certain weird situations that do not necessarily conform to the logic of novelistic narrative. Chen Xiaoming, who has an academic background in literary theories, is good at understanding literary works based on theories, concepts, and definitions. In his article, “‘Consciousness of Power’ and ‘Irony’: An Understanding of Liu Zhenyun’s Fiction,” Chen uses the “consciousness of power” and “irony” as the entry points for his probe into the writing concepts of the novelist before exploring his plot pattern, characterization, and narrative mode. First of all, he introduces the origin and background of the term “irony.” “Thanks to his ironic style,” Chen argues, “Liu Zhenyun seems more unique and superior than other writers. If only for this,

Literary Criticism in the 1990s  217 Liu is merely a skilled craftsman with great technique in writing, and he can be ­offered a proper position in terms of his level of writing skill.” However, As he extends the tentacles of “irony” to the entire network of life, Liu exposes the shocking realities in daily routines. The trivialities of life that are usually taken for granted and the instinctive and subconscious reactions can be dictated by the force of the so-called power relations. (Chen 316) In Chen’s opinion, “people’s conscientious identification with the results of power” is a prerequisite for the penetration of power into society and family. This is precisely the nature of society that Liu attempts to reveal in his neo-realism ­fiction (Chen 317). In her discussion on Wang Shuo, the avant-garde literature, the uproar over Jia Pingwa’s Ruined City, Shaanxi writers’ Crusade in Beijing,23 and the Cloth Tiger book series24 in the 1990s, Dai Jinhua brings up a topic of “prying and spectacle.” During a certain period of the 1990s, she writes, as the state loosened up its grip of authority in some cultural fields, an open and brisk atmosphere prevailed and caused a little chaos in administration: There emerged countless multifarious writings and hearsays concerning the history of Chinese Revolution, contemporary Chinese history, and the history of the Cultural Resolution, such as secrets, unofficial accounts, reportage literature, biographies, legends of generals, tragedies and inside stories of the Cultural Revolution, etc. They spread around at an incredible speed as forcefully as a levee-breaking flood. (Invisible Writing 81) The serious history was reduced to spectacles, and the once fully sealed historical archives “seemed to have been thrown into an utter circulation without any normal transition, which is definitely a sheer taboo” (Invisible Writing 81). The consumption of history, which was accompanied by the rise of the popular prying culture, gradually restored its true nature. In the article, “Spiritual Tradition and Cultural Anxiety,” Meng Fanhua cites the theories from Erich Fromm, Daniel Bell, Gu Zhun, and Zhao Yifan and uses the concepts of “cultural anxiety,” “modernity,” “cultural white-collar,” “­pluralism,” and “middle class” for a further analysis, stating that “cultural white-collars” were more concerned with their interests as a group, but their sincerity toward the public and reality was very questionable. They affirmed the reality and praised the superficial richness and consumption, so they could hardly maintain an appropriate tension and distance toward reality. What they created was a false ideology of consumption and instant gratification. They established a good relationship with the group and acquired a sense of security by “pleasing” (“Spiritual Tradition and Cultural Anxiety” 26). It seems that Meng’s comments might be defined as cultural criticism rather than literary criticism.

218  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction When commenting on Wang Xiaobo’s novels, Dai Jinhua addresses Wang’s writing in the context of postmodernism and detects a spiritual quality of “self”: “To me, the most important quality of Wang’s literary writing is his originality or his non-mainstreamness. Here, I would not bother to define concepts like ‘masses,’ ‘people,’ ‘ordinary people,’ ‘the toiling masses’, etc., in an archeological way” (“The Plays of Wise Man” 23). Such a “self,” projected in a typical Wang Xiaobo style, has drifted away from the position of a traditional literary legislator. The teasing and self-deprecating tone in Dai’s voice transmits the expression of the self deeply hidden in many people’s minds in the era of mass consumption. In the 1990s, the “hatting” approach25 in criticism provoked different opinions among writers. Due to the accelerated reproduction of knowledge, it was a relatively common phenomenon for young critics to critique literary works with theoretical concepts. Wu Yiqin points out that writers not only present various profound ideas about society, life, history, etc. in their writings but also attempt to characterize the “self” as a true thinker. Clearly, Chen Zhongshi’s The White Deer Plain (⟪白鹿原⟫), Shi Tiesheng’s Notes on Retreat (⟪务虚笔记⟫), Han Shaogong’s A Dictionary of Maqiao, Zhang Wei’s Bai Hui (⟪柏慧⟫), and Bei Cun’s The River of Baptism (⟪施洗的河⟫) (Wu 94). “Such a phenomenon,” Wu notes, “has continued in a direct line of succession. We should, of course, fully acknowledge the great progress that the ideological pursuit has brought to these novels because it has turned the novel writing into a well-deserving ‘complex genre’ and ‘great genre’ with its unique, profound, and deep connotation” (94). Zhang Xinyin introduces the cognitive perspective of structural linguistics and New Criticism into the criticism of Wang Shuo’s novels. Using the semantic meaning of the line, “I am your father,” as a starting point, he analyzes the father-son conflict, a topic that Wang is good at handling, and further delves into its “transcendental ethical structure.” In his opinion, Wang Shuo’s novels do not merely propagate the “neo-humanistic” sentiments of social rebellion. What is more important is that he has formulated an underlying semantic structure in the process. If you go through this structure toward the writer’s inner world, you would no longer settle with making a simple judgment, affirming or refuting what is right or wrong, but obtain a rational vision, which is a significant quality for critics today. Zhang’s observation on the ethical structure is equally revealing: Ma Rui (马锐) sustains tremendous repression from his father Ma L ­ insheng (马林生). Just as we see in other similar cases, their tense father-son ­relationship contains a transcendental ethical structure behind the concrete confrontations. Within such a structure, the human and concrete image of the “father” is generalized into an abstract symbol. The long-sustaining ­culture has been constantly reinforcing, consolidating, and aggravating the innate inhibition of this symbol to the extent that it has overshadowed all the other more prominent features of the symbol. (34)

Literary Criticism in the 1990s  219 According to Shi Zhanjun, two details in the novel Patricide (⟪弑父⟫) by the Hunan writer Zeng Weihao (曾维浩) are worth noting: one is the “museum” of human life, death, love, and hatred; the other is the “new genre of supernatural fiction.u When the novel was first published, many people regarded it as a novel of Magic Realism. In fact, the novel has the “charm of supernatural fiction” because of its care-free orientation, the mingling of human and ghost, and Wei Jin (魏晋) style. The masterpieces of supernatural fiction are Gan Bao’s The Book of Searching Gods (⟪搜神记⟫) and Liu Yiqing’s The Book of the Mysterious (⟪幽明录⟫). There is another one, Natural History (⟪博物志⟫) written by Zhang Hua in the Jin dynasty. Shi claims that Lu Xun’s analysis of supernatural fiction in A Brief History of Chinese Fiction (⟪中国小说史略⟫) makes good sense. To some extent, these books became the source of inspiration for the ghost stories in Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio (⟪聊斋志异⟫) later on. Regarding Patricide, Shi offers his interpretation in detail: Supernatural fiction is quite cramped in coverage. Its intention is not to prove the existence of ghosts, but to prove the human existence as well as the ­coexistence of humans shared with other beings previously. The author adopts the non-documentary approach and the concept of equality among all living things in traditional supernatural fiction. Today, writers describe tyrants’ faces and warriors’ spirits with humanistic hesitation and confusion. And it is difficult to remove the boundary between the nature and human world. If supernatural fiction were black, Patricide would be green. The former is about interconnection between man and ghost, whereas the latter is about the unification of man and ghost; in other words, man is indeed his own ghost. (37) The rise of scholarly criticism in the 1990s changed the pattern of traditional literary criticism, which had been characterized by perceptual criticism, and brought a new ambience to the community of literary criticism. However, it also led to a tendency of over theorization in the dialogue between writers and critics, a tendency that would inevitably undermine critics’ rich, delightful, but indispensable aesthetic senses while engaging in literary criticism. 11.2 Criticism of Women’s Fiction The introduction of The Second Sex (⟪第二性⟫) written by the French feminist Simone de Beauvoir, to China in the 1980s stirred up a whirlwind of feminist theory and criticism. In the early 1990s, American critical theories concerning issues like ethnicity and gender caused another sensation, with feminist criticism being particularly active. Feminist criticism explains extensively and deeply various issues, including male chauvinism, the history of man-woman relationships, the female body, and female consciousness, based on its values and critical sensibilities.

220  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction The earliest achievement in Chinese feminist criticism is Breaking the Surface of History: A Study of Modern Women’s Literature (⟪浮出历史地表——现代妇 女文学研究⟫), a monograph co-authored by Meng Yue and Dai Jinhua. In the “Introduction” of the second version,26 the authors write: Breaking the Surface of History is the first monograph that systematically applies feminist ideas to the study on the history of modern Chinese women’s literature. Drawing on theories of psychoanalysis, structuralism, and poststructuralism, the book provides an in-depth analysis of nine famous modern female writers, including Lu Yin (庐隐), Bing Xin (冰心), Ding Ling (丁玲), and Eileen Chang (张爱玲) etc., and outlines the formation and expansion of women’s writing in the context of modern China’s overall history and culture. Through an organic integration of theoretical approach, textual analysis, and historical description, it aims at not only demonstrating the main features of women’s writing at different times and in different aspects, but also defining its unique position in modern literary history. Since its release in 1989, the book has had a wide impact and has been hailed as a landmark book that symbolized “a break from the surface of history” for Chinese feminist ­criticism and theoretical discourse. (1–2) As more and more books on feminist criticism became available through translation, feminist criticism gradually became a hot topic. Soon afterward, conferences were held, research organizations were established, and a new momentum was created for feminist studies in China. A group of women critics specializing in the study of women’s fiction emerged, such as Le Daiyun, Liu Siqian (刘思谦), Dai Jinhua, Li Xiaojiang (李小江), Wang Fei (王绯), Qiao Yigang (乔以钢), Lin Danya (林丹娅), Cui Weiping (崔卫平), Liu Huiying (刘慧英), and Huang Lin (荒林). Using the theory of feminist criticism, they mainly target their research on women’s fiction that criticizes the system and order of the patriarchal society, as well as the restriction on women’s interests under its dominance. This kind of ­criticism seems to have transcended the usual scope of literary criticism and ­increasingly evolved into a sort of ideological and social criticism. In Yao Wenfang’s view, this is not a field of literary theory because many fascinating books in question do not directly address literature; it is also not a field of philosophy, as some people have claimed at this point, because it touches upon not only Hegel, Nietzsche, and Gadamer but also Saussure, Marx, Freud, Goffman, and Lacan. Evidently, such a new category of literary criticism is something heterogeneous, which transcends the previous disciplinary framework and poses a powerful challenge to the existing disciplinary boundaries (62). Yao claims that one gets a strong sense that at the time when people had grown tired of nasty politics, theory literally served as a synonym for politics. “And each of the new theoretical trends carries a certain political intention toward reality” (64). As suggested by the abovementioned scholars, feminist criticism is self-­ consciously ideological, but it is not a type of politics in a narrow sense. Instead,

Literary Criticism in the 1990s  221 it criticizes, from the standpoint of women’s own values, anything that violates their individuality and rights. For this reason, pitting women against men is its most common critical stance. Huang Lin cites Lacan’s mirror theory in analyzing Can Xue’s fiction, saying that mirror, a narrative tool used frequently by Can Xue, serves as the doorway that connects the conscious and the subconscious; as a counterpart of femininity, mirror is always the only measure of women’s selfexamination. It must be noted that the existing way of women’s life has never offered them any index of their social value, and that a woman’s social value is never equal to the value of her appearance. The patriarchal society only acknowledges the value of women’s appearance, so women are particularly sensitive to the traces of time and fate in the changes of their appearance (Huang 87). “Only by rediscovering or reclaiming themselves in the mirror can women see the light of hope for rebirth. The mirror in Can Xue’s novel is both the entrance and exit of her dreamy narrative” (Huang 88). Wang Fei applauds Jiang Zidan’s unrelenting mockery of men’s hypocritical and despicable attitude toward women’s chastity in her short story, “Chastity Game” (⟪贞操游戏⟫) (22). Despite her pessimistic feeling about the prospect of women’s self-emancipation, Dai Jinhua is pleased to see the emphasis on women’s consciousness in Chen Ran’s novels, calling it a “spatial rift.” In Dai’s opinion, Chen Ran’s writing has been accepted with reservations, largely due to the obvious factor of misunderstanding. This signifies that drastic social changes would create some spatial rifts after all, and, therefore, personal writing may have its own show without exaggerating its significance or disguising itself as a social drama. Of course, this is undoubtedly a kind of “small theater drama.” If “personalization” is defined as the exploration and representation of personal experience and as the delving into history and times from a personal perspective rather than just artistic style, it is a fascinating truth that such a writing method, which has been long absent within the literary canon in China, now is pioneered by a talented young lady rather than her brilliant male contemporaries (“Chen Ran” 48–49). Words like woman, mirror, man, chastity, and self, which frequently appear in the criticism of women’s fiction, embody a structure of male dominance and underscore the critics’ ideology. What distinguishes the criticism of women’s ­fiction from scholarly criticism is that knowledge is free from objectivity, and it is ­endowed with a strong touch of subjectivity. In this sense, declaring its “value orientation” becomes the fundamental dimension in the criticism of women’s fiction and the origin of the very gender awareness that has stimulated all the courage and rigor in their criticism. Cui Weiping questions rhetorically, “My female identity? Oh, my God, it has always been there. No one ever doubts that, but I’m afraid I’m not a feminist” (48). Cui warns that if scholars always start from “-ism,” they would become less and less practical. Yet she also reiterates that we can obtain our knowledge about women from those in reality and history. It is an indisputable fact that all women, either in the past or today, are confined to a limited scope of mobility. Many broad fields are wary and less friendly to women, such as political and social organizations, places of extensive human interactions, and even certain conversational

222  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction settings, where women are often forced to remain silent and denied the right to speak (Cui 51). Qiao Yigang and Liu Siqian hope to replace the sharp argument with a milder one since they prefer to employ feminist theory in evaluating women’s fiction. Qiao Yigang points out that Zhang Kangkang’s novel, Invisible Companion, is a psychological novel that surpasses the usual analysis and assessment regarding the good and evil of human nature and strives to reveal the structural characteristics of the human world. The novel contains a pervasive anguish about the essence of human existence, which has increasingly baffled and worried the people in modern society (204). Liu Siqian urges readers to incorporate the gender perspective into the study of historical fiction so as to make gender theory more pertinent to reality and more effective in interpretation because it would boost the vivid image of male characters in fierce historical struggles. In Liu’s view, the grandfather in Silent Heroes (⟪英雄无语⟫), Scholar Hong in Sai Jinhua (⟪赛金花⟫), Wu Sangui in Chen Yuanyuan (⟪陈圆圆⟫), the history teacher in The Hungry Daughter (⟪饥 饿的女儿⟫), and so on, all reveal the other side of their human nature, namely, the true features in their spiritual world, in the presence and existence of female ­characters (229). Some male critics are also active in the criticism of women’s fiction. Their focus is not female writers’ demand for feminine awareness but their profound portrayal of the heroine’s fate. In Meng Fanhua’s opinion, Wei Wei’s (魏微) works, especially her short stories and novellas, have become a part of the high-end Chinese art of the time because of their ideological depth and artistic persuasiveness (After the End of Literary Revolution 201). Meng explains: Her novel seems to have covered so much about poverty and women’s ­humiliation, but what Wei explores here is not just an issue of women’s ­literature because it is a universal issue, a key issue about the way of the world and human souls. What Wei tells us is the painful history and experience of women’s souls, and what she discovers is the pain of the protagonist, Jiali, the pain shared by all people in times of poverty. (After the End of Literary Revolution 203) Obviously, from Wei Wei’s point of view, excessive emphasis on feminine awareness will diminish the issue of poverty addressed in the novel, and it will not be conducive to broadening the deep understanding of contemporary social problems and contradictions. Chen Xiaoming, another male critic interested in women’s writing, adopts the theory of feminist criticism but does not stick to ideology. On the contrary, he is more inclined to affirm the hermeneutic function of this theory in engaging in women’s literature. “In the late 1980s, the so called ‘post-new period,’ it was only after the centralized value system, acknowledged by the patriarchal society was in crisis did the personalized women’s discourse gradually emerge” (“The Grudging Liberation” 2). Realistic issues reflected in women’s literature deserve more

Literary Criticism in the 1990s  223 attention because women writers could cultivate issues like the gender role in their writings with more implications. “To this end,” Chen says, I prefer to use a relatively neutral type of “feminism” and a weaker level of “feminine awareness” in assessing women’s writings, in which women are presented as protagonists and women’s psychological characteristics and ­living conditions are examined with great care. (“The Grudging Liberation” 2) To him, this is absolutely necessary. 11.3 Criticism of the Post-1960s Writers In the 1990s, literary criticism seemed to have taken on a touch of personalization. Moreover, due to the influence of the theory of social stratification, critics did not care much about a novel’s thematic content but indulged themselves in writers’ ages and generations in naming different groups of writers. It was under these circumstances that the group of the “post-1960s novelists” emerged. In the beginning, critics assumed a somewhat wavering attitude toward this group, referring to the members of the group in ambiguous terms, such as the “latest generation writers,” “new generation writers,” “personalized writing,” and “writers born in the 1960s.” For example, Gao Yuanbao admits in his article, “The Spiritual Venerators in the Age of Scarcity: Impressions of the Writers Born in the 1960s,” that the term “writers born in the 1960s” is a very loose concept. In the works by the writers born during this decade, readers may see many different writing styles. However, the age factor is by no means meaningless. The 30 years between the 1960s and the 1990s can be counted as one generation. In the context of literary history, a literary spirit always belongs to a particular era. The 1990s marked the end of one literary era and the beginning of a new one. Writing during this historical transition, writers born in the 1960s certainly should open up a new spiritual space (Gao 52). Gao’s list of this group of “latest generation writers” includes Sun Ganlu (孙甘露), Ge Fei (格非), Yu Hua (余华), Su Tong (苏童), Beicun (北村), Lv Xin (吕新), Hong Feng (洪峰), Han Dong (韩东), Diao Dou (刁斗), Chen Ran (陈染), Chi Zijian (迟子建), Zhang Min (张旻), Li Feng (李冯), and Xulan (须兰). Gao’s concept of a “literary generation” is probably influenced by the French sociologist Robert Escarpit, who classifies writers of different ages in his monograph, Sociology of Literature (⟪文学社会学⟫). Gao’s use of the concept in this context is quite appropriate. With a few additions and deletions here and there, Gao’s list actually matches well to the lists from other critics, such as Li Shidong (李师东), Hong Zhigang (洪治纲), Ding Fan (丁帆), Wang Shicheng (王世成), He Zhongming (贺仲明), and Wu Yiqin (吴义勤). Li Shidong has also stressed the unique commonality of the “post-1960s writers” in their age and experiences because most of them had deep memories of their youthful experiences before participating in social life. For a long time, they exist merely as “observers.”

224  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction The purpose in critics’ emphasis on the uniqueness of the post-1960s writers’ age is to distinguish their novel writing from the mainstream writers born in the 1950s. From the standpoint of literary history, the critical circle would try, without any hesitation, to put forward a group of new writers by highlighting, emphasizing, and magnifying their individual characteristics. Two of the characteristics, as Gao insists, deserve some special attention. One is the substantial transformation in the concept of fiction since “the starting point of their writing has marked a departure from the unmitigated concept and avoided various ideological demands and norms intentionally, so that fiction could return to a loose, free, and secularized state.” The other is the change in the narrative style. What is absent in the narrative is “the pompous statement, the empty promises of any ideals or morals, the hard kernel that underpins the novelistic structure, or even a shared generational yearning or protest.” At the same time, the lives of individuals were delineated with nearly excessive adoration and overly self-indulgent attention (Gao 52). In a conversation on literature, Ding Fan, Wang Shicheng, and He Zhongming summarized this individualistic quality as a tendency of personalized writing. In Ding Fan’s view, many critics called the 1990s an era of personalization, as compared with the era of impersonalization before that decade, the time period in which there existed a series of common cultural discourses. However, they all collapsed in the era of personalization, and deviating from norms became a common practice. Writers suddenly realize that their creative writing is turning into a kind of writing without any tradition (Ding et al. 136). He Zhongming sees personalized writing as a phenomenon of literary pluralism. In a metaphorical sense, he suggests, The literature of the new period is a mighty river, whose flow direction used to be artificially determined. Now, however, it is free and resumes its selfrun in the natural riverbed (i.e., tradition). In the 1990s, namely, the era of personalization, literature became a multitude of streams crisscrossing the surface of the earth, with neither a unified flow direction nor a central point of departure or destination. (Ding et al. 137) Hong Zhigang and Feng Qun (凤群) urge writers to be wary of unleashing desire, titillating sexual instinct, demonstrating sexual experience, and dilating the liberalization of sexual interactions because if they don’t constrain themselves, their writing would turn into an extremely personalized catharsis in its perpetual self-repetition. In addition, Hong and Feng share a concern that if such kind of personalized writing goes to extreme, it would lose its essential literary spirit (15). Some critics have resorted to the closing reading method of New Criticism for an in-depth interpretation of personalized writing. For example, Chen Xiaoming regards Wang Xiaobo’s novella, The Golden Age (⟪黄金时代⟫), as a typical case of personalized writing. He thinks that the story depicts the subtle change in the relationship between two people, or a man and a woman. Wang Er and Xiao Sun,

Literary Criticism in the 1990s  225 whose behavior and mental state are rather abnormal, try to distinguish themselves from society and act freely according to their instincts, but run into rejection and ostracization from the social environment (The Mainstream 537). Chen’s analysis of the intricate relationship between the two characters is a bit long but insightful and, therefore, worth reviewing: The “two realms of Yin (阴) and Yang (阳)” mentioned in Wang Xiaobo’s novella are not simply divided into the world that Wang Er and Xiao Sun ­occupy in the cellar and the living world in the hospital on the ground. Even in the cellar, there are also two realms of Yin and Yang between them. In terms of their gender, Wang Er is Yang (male), while Xiao Sun is Yin ­(female). In terms of their mental state, though, Wang Er is Yin (gloomy), and Xiao Sun is Yang (sunny). Also, Wang Er himself contains the elements from both Yin and Yang. His impotence confines him in the realm of Yin, but when he is cured by Sun, he returns to the realm of Yang (recovery) again. It seems that Wang Xiaobo’s “two realms of Yin and Yang” may be differentiated infinitely. This is a state of constant différance involving others and one’s own self. It cannot sustain in any condition, yet it mutates at any time. According to Wang Xiaobo’s narrative, Wang Er seems to be more attached to the closed cellar, his “Yin realm,” where he can enjoy a kind of freedom, the freedom to be forgotten and abandoned by the society. So, the “Yin realm” appears to be a kind of real “Yang realm.” Clearly, one may see some Kafka’s influence in Wang Xiaobo’s novella because this cellar resembles the “castle” in Kafka’s fiction. (The Mainstream 537–538) In Su Tong’s writings, as Gao Yuanbao has keenly observed, there is a tendency of refusing to communicate with the public society, and the reason is that the author seems to prefer writing in a state of self-imposed isolation. Su Tong’s short story, “One Kilometer along the Railroad (⟪沿铁路行走一 公里⟫),” is about a young boy who often roams on the railroad next to his town. The narrator’s imagination does not go beyond the random thoughts of the teenager. The story merely covers the teenager’s miscellaneous experiences and chance encounters with people and events in the vicinity of the railway line. Everything is depicted, with poetic language, in a hazy and fragile impressionist painting of his world, nothing more, nothing less. In a way, one may assume that the story is trying to re-present a pure memory of childhood because no additional narrative purpose can be found between the lines. The teenager walks aimlessly along the railway for one kilometer, and the narrative that traces this aimless walk seems to have no purpose, either. To be precise, the purpose of “walking” and “narrating” is just walking and narrating. The purpose is the act itself. … Writing thus becomes a kind of closed and self-sufficient medium for meaning proliferation. (Gao 52)

226  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction Critics seem to appreciate the anti-social tendency in the “post-1960s” fiction, seeing it as a social progress to break away from the historical nightmare and move toward individual consciousness. A closer look reveals that this generation of writers has chosen to center their literary writing on individuals fundamentally because of the influence from the 20th-century Western novelists, such as Kafka, Salinger, and Carver. Besides, such a tendency has been gaining the momentum to evolve into a common practice in the literary community. Indeed, judging from the life experience of this generation, we can conclude that the historical sentiment of living on the “edge” used to be deeply rooted in their spiritual world. Their experiences and emotions easily prompt them to follow the works of the 20th-century Western writers as models and consider portraying individuals in their fiction as the mainstream trend of historical development. In recent years, nevertheless, readers have been more and more disappointed with the literary pursuit of excessive personalization. What is noteworthy is that people are still reading the classic literature of the 19th century these days, such as Tolstoy, Balzac, Lu Xun, and other great writers who could synthesize the overall history of life. Certainly, their reading list also includes writers like Mo Yan, Jia Pingwa, Wang Anyi, and Yu Hua. Because in the readers’ mind, the “Reform and Opening-up” period between 1979 and 2015 seems to fully coincide with the 18th and 19th centuries in Europe and America in terms of social modes and historical circumstance. In other words, when the readers and literary critics were fixated on their perception of fiction based on the 19th-century literature, the writers of the 1960s were tenaciously producing their writings with their 20th century concept of fiction. “It is important enough to warrant a robust candid discussion whether this is the reason why the writers of the 1950s remained as the mainstay in literature while the writers of the 1960s started to rise in prominence but failed to win wide popularity as expected” (Cheng, “Views on Fiction” 13). At this point, we have unveiled a new episode of “post-1960s writers” criticism. In terms of the research on literary history, the scholarship on literary criticism during this period is still inadequate. As a subject of historical studies, the literature of the entire 1990s has not yet been fully precipitated. That is the very reason why the study of literary history always lags behind literary criticism. Notes 1 Dai Jinhua (1959–), a literary critic, was born in Beijing. She graduated from the Chinese Department of Peking University in 1982 and is now a professor in the Chinese Department of Peking University. She published Emerging the Historical Surface (coauthored with Meng Yue) (⟪浮出历史的地表⟫), Invisible Writing (⟪隐形书写⟫), and other works. 2 Meng Fanhua (1951–), a literary critic, was born in Yanji, Jilin Province. He graduated from the Chinese Department of Northeast Normal University in 1982 and received his PhD from the Chinese Department of Peking University in 1995. He is now a professor at Shenyang Normal University. He is the author of The Carnival of the Gods (⟪众神狂 欢⟫) and other works.

Literary Criticism in the 1990s  227 3 Zhang Zhizhong (1953–), a literary critic, was born in Taiyuan, Shanxi Province. He graduated from the Chinese Department of Peking University in 1985. He is now a professor at Capital Normal University. He is the author of Comments on Mo Yan (⟪莫 言论⟫) and other works. 4 Sun Yu (1957–), a literary critic, was born in Dalian, Liaoning Province. He graduated from the Chinese Department of Shenyang Teachers’ College in 1988 and is now a professor at Renmin University of China. He is the author of Lu Xun and Zhou Zuoren (⟪鲁迅和周作人⟫), Scholars in the Age of Revolution (⟪革命时代的士大夫⟫), etc. 5 Cheng Wenchao (1955–2004), a literary critic, was born in Wuhan, Hubei Province. He graduated from the Chinese Department of Central China Normal University in 1979 and received his PhD from the Chinese Department of Peking University in 1990. He is the author of The Temptation of Meaning (⟪意义的诱惑⟫) and other works. 6 Han Yuhai (1965–), a literary critic, was born in Yantai, Shandong Province. He graduated from the Chinese Department of Shandong University in 1985 and received his PhD from the Chinese Department of Peking University in 1991. He is now a professor in the Chinese Department of Peking University. He is the author of The Ontology and Form of New Literature (⟪新文学的本体与形式⟫) and other works. 7 Wang Binbin (1962–), a literary critic, was born in Wangjiang, Anhui Province. He graduated from the Luoyang Foreign Language Institute of the PLA in 1982 and received his PhD from the Chinese Department of Fudan University in 1992. He is now a professor at Nanjing University. He is the author of Justifying Literary Criticism (⟪为 批评正名⟫) and other works. 8 Gao Yuanbao (1966–), a literary critic, was born in Tongling, Anhui Province. He received his BA, MA, and PhD from Fudan University. He is now a professor in the Chinese Department of Fudan University. He is the author of Six Lectures on Lu Xun (⟪鲁 迅六讲⟫) and other works. 9 Zhang Xinyin (1967–), a literary critic, was born in Zhaoyuan, Shandong Province. He received his BA, MA, and PhD from the Chinese Department of Fudan University. He is now a professor in the Chinese Department of Fudan University. He is the author of The Second Half of Shen Congwen’s Life (⟪沈从文的后半生⟫) and other works. 10 Wu Jun (1962–), a literary critic, was born in Shanghai. He graduated from the Chinese Department of Fudan University in 1984 and received his PhD from the Chinese Department of East China Normal University in 1990. He is now a professor in the Chinese Department of Nanjing University. He is the author of A Biographical Study on the Psychology of Lu Xun’s Personality (⟪鲁迅人格的心理传记学研究⟫) and other works. 11 Li Jingze (1964–), a literary critic, was born in Tianjin. He graduated from the Chinese Department of Peking University. He has served as the editor-in-chief of Selected Fiction (⟪小说选刊⟫) and People’s Literature (⟪人民文学⟫), as well as the vice president of the Chinese Writers Association. He is the author of To the Ideal Reader (⟪致理想读 者⟫) and other books. 12 Wu Yiqin (1966–), a literary critic, was born in Hai’an, Jiangsu Province. He graduated from the College of Literature of Suzhou University in 1995. He has served as a professor in the College of Literature of Shandong Normal University, the director of the National Museum of Modern Chinese Literature, and the secretary of the Secretariat of the Chinese Writers Association. He is the author of Novels and Artistic Problems (⟪长 篇小说与艺术问题⟫) and other works. 13 Zhang Qinghua (1963–), a literary critic, was born in Boxing, Shandong Province. He received his BA from the Chinese Department of Shandong Normal University and his PhD from the Chinese Department of Nanjing University. He is now a professor in the College of Literature of Beijing Normal University. He published On Contemporary Chinese Avant-Garde Literature (⟪中国当代先锋文学思潮论⟫) and other works.

228  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction 14 Shi Zhanjun (1966–), a literary critic, was born in Tongyu, Jilin Province. He graduated from the Chinese Department of Siping Teachers’ College in 1988. He received his master’s degree from the College of Literature of Shandong University in 1994. He has been a professor in the College of Literature of Shandong University and the editor-­­inchief of People’s Literature (⟪人民文学⟫). He published Handwriting at the End of the Century (⟪世纪末夜晚的手写⟫) and other works. 15 Hong Zhigang (1965–), a literary critic, was born in Dongzhi, Anhui Province. He ­received his bachelor’s degree from the Chinese Department of Anhui Normal University in 1988 and his master’s degree from the Chinese Department of Zhejiang Normal University in 1991. He has been a professor in the Chinese Department of Jinan University and the College of Literature of Hangzhou Normal University. He published The Pioneering Watchtower (⟪守望先锋⟫) and other works. 16 Wang Yao (1960–), a literary critic, was born in Dongtai, Jiangsu Province. He graduated from the Chinese Department of Suzhou University in 1985. He is now a professor in the College of Literature of Suzhou University. He published Narrative and Interpretation of the May 4th Movement and Modern Literature during the Cultural Revolution (⟪“文化大革命”对“五四”及“现代文艺”的叙述与阐释⟫). 17 Luo Gang (1967–), a literary critic, was born in Ganzhou, Jiangxi Province. He received his PhD from the Chinese Department of East China Normal University. He published Hong Kong in Literature: The Way to Imagine the City (⟪文学香港：想象城市的一种 方式⟫) and other works. 18 Li Jianjun (1963–), a literary critic, was born in Fuxian, Shaanxi Province. He graduated from the Chinese Department of Yan’an University in 1986 and received his PhD from the School of Liberal Arts, Renmin University of China, in 1999. He is now a researcher at the Institute of Literature, the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences. He published The Rhetoric of Fiction (⟪小说修辞研究⟫) and other works. 19 Li Yang (1963–), a literary critic, was born in Changsha, Hunan Province. He graduated from the Chinese Department of Peking University. He published The Road of Resistance: A Study on Socialist Realism (⟪抗争宿命之路：社会主义现实主义研究⟫) and Reinterpretation of Chinese Literature between the 1950s and 1970s (⟪50-70 年代中国 文学经典再解读⟫). 20 He Guimei (1970–), a literary critic, was born in Jiayu, Hubei Province. She graduated from the Chinese Department of Peking University in 1994. She received her PhD from the Chinese Department of Peking University in 2000. She published Knowledge Archives of “New Enlightenment”: A Study on Chinese Culture in the 1980s (⟪“新启 蒙”知识档案——80 年代中国文化研究⟫). 21 Huang Fayou (1969–), a literary critic, was born in Shanghang, Fujian Province. He received his bachelor’s degree from the Department of Economics of Hangzhou University and his PhD from the Chinese Department of Fudan University. He published Studies on Contemporary Chinese Literature and Media (⟪中国当代文学传媒研 究⟫). 22 He Xiangyang (1966–), a literary critic, was born in Zhengzhou, Henan Province. He received his bachelor’s degree from the Chinese Department of Zhengzhou University in 1988 and his master’s degree from the Chinese Department of Zhengzhou University in 1991. She published Nature in Fiction (⟪小说里的自然⟫) and other works. 23 The five Shaanxi writers are Gao Jianqun (高建群), Jia Pingwa, Chen Zhongshi, Jingfu (京夫), and Cheng Hai (程海). In 1993, all of them published novels in Beijing, which caused a stir in China’s literary community. 24 The Cloth Tiger series was published by Chunfeng Art and Literature Press (春风文 艺出版社) in the 1990s, including novels, short stories, and prose. All the works were popular at that time. 25 The so-called hatting is critics’ usual way of using certain systematic theories to analyze the newly published works. In spring of 2008, when I was in Dalian to attend a seminar

Literary Criticism in the 1990s  229 on Wang Anyi’s novel The Age of Enlightenment (⟪启蒙时代⟫) held by Lin Jianfa, the editor-in-chief of Contemporary Writers Review, I heard Wang Anyi’s sarcastic remarks about this phenomenon. She was disgusted at this phenomenon of “hatting criticism” on her works. 26 The monograph was first published in 1989 and reprinted by China Renmin University Press in 2004.

Works Cited Chen, Xiaoming. “‘Consciousness of Power’ and ‘Ironic Meaning’: An Understanding of Liu Zhenyun’s Fiction.” Postscript. The Officials, edited by Liu Zhenyun, Changjiang Literature and Art Publishing House, 1992, pp. 314–322. Chen, Xiaoming. “The Grudging Liberation: An Introduction to Women’s Fiction in the Post-New Period.” Preface. Selection of Chinese Women’s Fiction, edited by Chen ­Xiaoming, Gansu People’s Publishing House, 1994, pp. 1–23. Chen, Xiaoming. The Main Tide of Contemporary Chinese Literature. Beijing UP, 2009. Cheng, Guangwei. Lectures on Literature: “The 1980s” as a Method. Peking UP, 2009. Cheng, Guangwei. “Thirty Years of Cultural Fever in 1985.” Literary and Artistic Contention, vol. 30, no. 10, 2015, pp. 1–3. Cheng, Guangwei. “Views on Fiction by the Post-1960s Writers.” Literary and Artistic ­Studies, vol. 37, no. 8, 2015, pp. 5–13. Cui, Weiping. “I Am a Woman, but Not a Doctrine.” Literary and Artistic Contention, vol. 13, no. 6, 1998, pp. 45–52. Dai, Jinhua. “Chen Ran: Personal and Female Writing.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 13, no. 3, 1996, pp. 47–56. Dai, Jinhua. “The Plays of Wise Man: Reading Wang Xiaobo.” Contemporary Writers ­Review, vol. 15, no. 2, 1998, pp. 21–34. Dai, Jinhua. Invisible Writing: A Study on Chinese Culture of the 1990s. Jiangsu People’s Publishing House, 1999. Ding, Fan, et al. “Personalized Writing: Possibility and Limitation.” Zhongshan, vol. 19, no.6, 1996, pp. 135–144. Gao, Yuanbao. “The Spiritual Hangers of the Age of Scarcity: Impressions of the Writers Born in the 1960s.” Literary Review, vol. 39, no. 3, 1995, pp. 51–58. Hong, Zhigang and Feng Qun. “The Dance of Desire: The Third Discussion on the Writers of the Latest Generation.” Literary Review, vol. 38, no. 4, 1996, pp. 12–18. Huang, Lin. “Beyond Women: On Can Xue’s Fiction.” Contemporary Writers’ Review, vol. 11, no. 5, 1994, pp. 86–90. Li, Shidong. “A New Group of Writers Worthy of Attention.” Guangming Daily, 14 March 1995. Liu, Siqian. “Women’s Writing in the Tunnel of History: Reading Women’s New Historical Fiction.” Literary Research: Theory, Methodology and Practice, edited by Liu Zhenyun, Henan UP, 2004, pp. 217–230. Meng, Fanhua. “Spiritual Tradition and Cultural Anxiety.” Literary and Artistic Contention, vol. 10, no. 6, 1995, pp. 23–24. Meng, Fanhua. After the End of Literary Revolution: Essays on Literature in the New ­Century. Modern Publishing House, 2012. Meng, Yue and Dai Jinhua. Emerging the Historical Surface: On Modern Female Literature. China Renmin UP, 2004. Qiao, Yigang. Chinese Women and Literature: Selected Works of Qiao Yigang. Nankai UP, 2004. Shi, Zhanjun. “On Patricide.” Southern Cultural Forum, vol. 13, no. 2, 1999, pp. 35–37. Tao, Dongfeng. “Being Subjected to Life: The Masterpiece of Contemporary Chinese Political Allegory.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 30, no. 5, 2013, pp. 31–45.

230  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction Wang, Fei. “Jiang Zidan: Games and Trickery: The Proof of the Birth of a New Modern Feminist Fiction.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 12, no. 3, 1995, pp. 22–31. Wang, Yichuan. “The Imaginary Revolution: Wang Shuo and Wang Shuoism.” Literary and Artistic Contention, vol. 20, no. 5, 2005, pp. 28–49. Wu, Yiqin. “Difficulty, Length, Speed and Limits: Reflections on the Genre of Novel.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 19, no. 4, 2002, pp. 93–113. Yao, Wenfang. “The Postmodern Turn in the Relationship between Literary Theory and Literary Criticism: From Rene Wellek and Austin Warren’s Literary Theory to Jonathan Culler’s Literary Theory..” Chinese Journal of Literary Criticism, vol. 2, no. 3, 2016, pp. 60–69. Zhang, Xinyin. “The Semantic Analysis of ‘I Am Your Father.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 8, no. 5, 1991, pp. 33–36.

12 Criticism on Full-Length Novels

Since the 1990s, the creation of full-length novels has attracted more writers. Those writers who rose to fame in the 1980s were in mid-life or old age. Rich experience in writing enables them to perform well in producing novellas and short stories, and they begin to shift their focus to the creation of full-length novels. Meanwhile, the fierce competition among publishing houses leads them to invest money into soliciting contributions and publishing full-length novels. As mentioned above, some writers of full-length novels are those who formerly produced novellas and short stories, which makes it possible for us to explore the pattern of literature in the 1980s and 1990s through their lengthy writing career. This is exactly where we start a heated discussion over novels. 12.1 Jia Pingwa’s Novels Those who are engaged in commenting the early works of Jia Pingwa are mainly senior critics from Shaanxi Province, including Wang Yu (王愚), Li Xing (李星), Xiao Yunru (肖云儒), Fei Bingxun (费秉勋), and Liu Jianjun (刘建军),1 some of whom are Jia Pingwa’s teachers during his college years in the department of ­Chinese language and literature at Northwest University. Jia Pingwa started earlier in writing novels, with Turbulence (⟪浮躁⟫) completed in the mid-1980s and other renowned works, such as Ruined City (⟪废都⟫) and Gaolao Village (⟪高老庄⟫), published in 1993 and beyond. Many critics have made commentaries on Jia’s works, including Yan Gang, Lei Da, Wang Furen (王 富仁), Li Tuo, Wang Dewei, Bai Ye, Ding Fan, Zhou Zhengbao (周政保), Meng Fanhua, Chen Xiaoming, Zhang Zhizhong (张志忠), Wang Zheng (汪政), Hu Heqing, Fan Xing (樊星), Li Zhensheng (李振声), Kuang Xinnian, Gao Yuanbao (郜 元宝), Zhang Xinying (张新颖), and Xie Youshun (谢有顺). They have demonstrated the themes, aesthetic consciousness, and style, as well as writing techniques embodied in Jia’s works from different perspectives. Lots of valuable ideas can be found in articles written by Li Tuo, Chen Xiaoming, Wang Zheng, Gao Yuanbao, Li Jingze (李敬泽), and Xie Youshun. The critics first focus on “novels based on local chronicles” and the ­traditional culture behind them. For example, Li Tuo wrote an article titled “The Cultural and Aesthetic Consciousness in Chinese Literature” in 1985, which serves as the DOI: 10.4324/9781003565031-16

232  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction preface to Three Stories of Shangzhou ⟪商州三录⟫ by Jia Pingwa. The preface starts from the Tomb of Huo Qubing (霍去病), an ancient general, to A Dream of Red Mansions (⟪红楼梦⟫) and then continues to discuss the links between Jia’s novels and tradition. Li Tuo holds that “the Shangzhou series” falls in the category of “novels based on local chronicles,” the context of which originates from traditional literary sketches. The writer restores the aesthetic of traditional prose in his novels, which contributes to fostering a style typical of prose in his writing. In addition, Li points out in the preface that there is a noticeable phenomenon in recent years, which has something to do with Jia’s The First Record of Shangzhou and other novels based on local stories of Shangzhou (90). Li writes, Many people may think such works simply cannot be classified as novels, but people who are familiar with the historical evolution of Chinese novels can easily associate those works with literary sketches that date back to ancient times. It seems that The First Record of Shangzhou has produced a certain revival of literary sketches, while it is, obviously, a hybrid of local chronicles, travel notes and essays. Therefore, Jia’s works can cover every corner of Shangzhou, which includes various elements such as the geography of rivers and mountains, local people, folklore, special customs and unusual events, as well as changes that occur in worldly affairs, and the will of the people. All these elements can be fused and incorporated into his novels. (102) Li Tuo goes further to point out that Jia’s writing has been significantly influenced by The Historical Records (Shiji by Sima Qian), and Jia seems to integrate novels with history. Whereas he is not writing historical novels, but making his Shangzhou series as valuable as a record of local histories (103). He further predicts that “in the more distant future, when people reread these novels, I believe that they will not only enjoy the sensation of perceiving the aesthetic value that a fine work would definitely bring to its readers, but also get information about a past era” (104). This is because all great masters in Chinese history are excellent in writing prose and Jia has inherited such tradition from his predecessors, which enables his works to show “a certain style of prose” rarely seen in works of contemporary novelists (104). Li Zhensheng finds that Jia’s Shangzhou series seek to eliminate discontinuities in history and assures that the lines of continuity are able to remain persistent; on the other hand, the series “show that all valuable elements in traditional life cannot retain their beauty and further play their role without consciously being assimilated into a new life pattern.” And Jia’s novels have made it in this regard (93). Second, some critics regard Jia Pingwa as an unconventional and maverick genius who has created a distinct literary style. Gao Yuanbao claims that Jia moves into the literary scene mainly due to his relentless effort though he is named “an unconventional genius,” “a maverick,” and “a literary wizard” (1). Jia has developed

Criticism on Full-Length Novels  233 a unique literary style, which distinguishes his work from all other art forms. About this, Gao writes, Jia has absorbed trenchant and perceptive thoughts of Lu Xun, fluency and vividness of literary sketches, narrative structure of story-teller’s scripts, philosophies of life among literati and officialdom (in feudal China), and even an air of mystery in bizarre stories by Pu Songling in the Qing Dynasty. Jia attempts to create what is called “beautiful writings” with flowery language, showing writers’ supreme spiritual realm, and accept the long-standing literary pursuits of elegance, echoing among intellectuals in both ancient and modern times. (5) However, Jia still finds it difficult to reconcile highbrow literature with popular literature. Hu Heqing agrees to that. He points out that Jia Pingwa’s name itself is also very special. The Chinese character “贾” (Jia), his family name, can be divided into two characters – “西” (the Western region) and “贝” (treasure) – and then people can interpret them as the treasure in Western China (13). There seems to be a strong bond that has developed between Jia Pingwa and the geographical position, “and the Northwest region, a ‘geomancy treasure trove’ was what made Jia unique” (Hu 13). “Rural areas in Western China serve as the lifeblood of Jia” (Hu 13). Wang Zheng states that Jia is perceiving the oracular message embodied in a certain kind of mysterious culture. In his works, “mystique can be seemed as both a manifestation of the real world and a reflection of the writer’s subjective consciousness, and it is a kind of literary mindset” (157). Such mystique is obtained with a core element, namely, image, which is the essential part in his works. Jia introduces images into novel narratives to enhance the emotional function and enrich the contents (158). Xie Youshun emphasizes that Jia’s literary form is characterized by a combination of reality and virtuality. Taking Gaolao Village as an example, he further points out that this novel extensively depicts Chinese people’s daily life and other related details, which carries factuality to extremes. Xie claims, Such changeable, routine and trivial details are faithfully reflected in this novel, retaining their original atmosphere. The writing is quite unrestricted and bold. Plots proceed at a leisurely and sedate pace. Dialogue, in particular, accounts for a large proportion of the whole story. (“The Virtuality and Reality” 22) In unveiling the real life, Jia also gives a full play to virtuality, which is adopted to highlight his images on the whole, such as the painting of Shitou (a gifted but disabled boy), an unidentified flying object and Bai yun qiu, an area full of mysteries and supernatural power. Such images have something to do with Jia’s deep reverence for nature and other arcane things. The reality of life and the virtuality

234  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction of images are cleverly fused, which makes Jia boast “many merits that cannot be found in other writers” (Xie, “The Virtuality and Reality” 22). Wang Dewei2 believes that narrative tension of Old Furnace (⟪古炉⟫) lies in the mediation between violence and lyricism. When writing about the violence of the Cultural Revolution in this town, Jia turns to what he does best – lyricism. “It is noticeable that historical context of the novel is mixed and complicated, but its language is clear, like clean water, showing a tinge of emotions” (Wang, “The Narrative of Violence and Lyricism” 23). Wang also finds that the old woman, who adopts Gouniaotai (a disabled boy), “has an instinct for popular aesthetic and practical knowledge which have been handed down from generation to generation though she is humble in the village” (“The Narrative of Violence and Lyricism” 24). Jia has expressed his attachment to local cultural traditions in previous works. However, nostalgia is not the only element he wants to express in Old Furnace. To a certain extent, Jia has inherited the writing style of Shen Congwen, Wang Zengqi, and Sun Li (Wang, “The Narrative of Violence and Lyricism” 24). Since the 1990s, comments on Jia Pingwa have been centered on his novels as he gradually shifted the focus of his writing to this genre. According to Chen ­Xiaoming, Jia Pingwa wrote Ruined City amid the trough period of Chinese ­culture, attempting to go beyond those established achievements in contemporary literature. Thus, it is a bold move. Chen claims, Ruined City is even written in a self-harming way with so many boxes and ellipsis in the novel, aiming to conceal sensitive content prohibited under the social system at that time, which makes it an officially banned book. In this process, Jia explores the depressing aesthetics of death. (The Doors 366) Therefore, Chen points out that “it is not only a kind of mourning, but also a vow to start a journey” (366). From Ruined City to Shaanxi Opera (⟪秦腔⟫), Jia moves from city to his familiar rural areas. And the transition between the two novels realizes a sort of “castrating aesthetics.” “Jia unveils rural narrative by means of castrating, and as always, he turns to local customs. Shaanxi Opera mainly describes the decline of ‘Shaanxi Opera.’ Jia is good at writing about regional folk culture” (Chen, The Doors 367). However, Chen also finds that Shaanxi Opera is quite different from Jia’s previous works which are elegant and thorough, showing more of weirdness and indulgence. This indicates that “Jia’s novels no longer present a deep care of history or the tranquility of culture, while castrating the desires of historical rationality with an attitude of ‘nothing’” (The Doors 370). When it comes to the reviews of Ruined City, seldom have people discussed about the protagonist, Zhuang Zhidie. Li Jingze proposes that Zhuang Zhidie is both real and illusionary. Although this man is in the mundane world, he seems to take on an unreal and illusory atmosphere. “Such literary style originates from A Dream of Red Mansions. Is Jia Baoyu the scion of an aristocratic family in the Grand View Garden or a forgotten stone?” (15). “The artistic charm of A Dream of Red Mansions lies in reality and illusion which complements each other” (15).

Criticism on Full-Length Novels  235 Therefore, Li remarks that Jia Pingwa is a perspicacious person who has captured the essence of A Dream of Red Mansions. His artistic ambition in Ruined City is to reach what has been created in A Dream of Red Mansions. Jia carries reality and illusion to extremes. Li Jingze stresses that the excellent portrayal of Zhuang Zhidie makes readers believe that one hidden achievement of Ruined City is making the daily lives have a general political nature (16). Li goes further to state that “Jia Pingwa has to face the music, for he is the most badly misunderstood writer in China” (17). Zhuang Zhidie is quite beyond the understanding of Chinese critics, and his lewdness and even his running away are incomprehensible. According to Li Jingze, Zhuang Zhidie’s running away is the most representative decision made in accordance with his own will in the whole story. Li believes, I [Li Jingze] guess that when Jia Pingwa writes the final scene of railway ­station, he might think of Tolstoy. This old man, with so much attention, walks to the promised land in his heart, while he is finally stuck at railway station. From this moment on, Jia Pingwa might let himself become Zhuang Zhidie, undoubtedly feeling sadness welling up. (20) By comparing Zhuang Zhidie’s decision of running away to that of Jia Baoyu and Tolstoy, Li Jingze notes the predicament of Zhuang Zhidie, which as he suggests was incomprehensible among literary critics in the 1990s. Jia’s works like Shaanxi Opera, Old Furnace, The Lantern Bearer (⟪带灯⟫), The Mountain Whisperer (⟪老生⟫), and Broken Wings (⟪极花⟫) have received a lot of attention. Xie Youshun says, “Jia still pursues his general outlook of literature in Shaanxi Opera. Meanwhile, Jia has created a new form of narrative ­ethics in this work” (“Honoring Spirit” 9). Different from Ruined City and Gaolao Village, which have clear storylines, Shaanxi Opera devises “so many characters and ­detailed narratives, making it a collection of trivial and dull days” (“Honoring Spirit” 9). Chen Zhongyi holds that The Lantern Bearer is a novel to the future, which reminds him of Gone with the Wind. The two authors both have an indomitable spirit and proceed without hesitation. Their implicit worries about what is going to happen in the future can be found in their narratives (22). Sun Yu proposes that Jia employs “his skill in mixing dark and light to present the life condition of rural residents as well as various aspects of the human world, cold or warm in The Lantern Bearer.” And the latest social contradictions and the oldest emotion of mankind are unveiled (“An Essay on The Lantern Bearer” 31). The author intends to write this novel in the context of comparison between ancient society and modern society, providing a wider perspective on the story. He believes that the ancient society shares the same conceptual structure as today (Sun, “An Essay on The Lantern Bearer” 32). Nan Fan points out that Jia reaches a realm of “loose talk” in The Mountain Whisperer, in which Jia adopts a writing style of recording history with all stories,

236  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction both in the past and at present. Jia seems to have gone further, and the narratology of The Mountain Whisperer is formed (“‘Water’ and the Narratology” 55). Nan Fan stresses that “Jia does not further put those stories and characters under sociological analysis or moral criticism” (“‘Water’ and the Narratology” 58). The novel also does not escape from worldly affairs. “Many extracts of The Classic of Mountains and Rivers are just like a wonderful selvage attaching to the framework of the whole story” (“‘Water’ and the Narratology” 59). Such description of virtual reality does not get out of hand, whereas it again returns to the mundane world, which reminds readers of their own cases. Nan states that modern stories blend with ancient legend of mountains and rivers, “mitigating the urgency of marching on towards future. Somehow, ‘generations have come and passed away,’ making people feel small in the boundless universe. The emotion persists, just like a lingering background music” (“‘Water’ and the Narratology” 59). All sorts of feelings seem to well up. After the completion of Ruined City, Jia began to pursue an overall artistic ­effect of “chaos.” The thread running through the whole story is replaced by a divergent structure, which makes it harder for critics to comprehend. In addition, it also ­reflects Jia’s contradictions – as Zhang Zhizhong has mentioned – between “self and work,” “image and ideology.” Zhang Zhizhong claims, Jia’s works are quite influential in the trans-century Chinese literary world. His writing career, attracting much attention, extends over a period of twenty years. In different stages of new-period literature as well as self-­development, Jia does a good job and creates remarkable works. (“Several Contradictions of Jia Pingwa’s Writing” 50) Since Jia is among a few popular writers in modern society, whose works suit both refined and popular tastes, various contradictions stand out and are well worth studying. 12.2 Mo Yan’s Novels Mo Yan is best known for his novellas in 1980s, such as A Transparent Carrot (⟪透 明的红萝卜⟫), White Dog and Swing (⟪白狗秋千架⟫), and Dried-up River (⟪枯 河⟫). But in the past 20 years, he turned to full-length novels and his output has been prolific. Focusing less on vanguard literature, Mo Yan announces his shift to traditional literature and folk literature, which is epitomized by such elements as Maoqiang opera, a local opera, in the narrative of Sandalwood Penalty (⟪檀香 刑⟫). This shift has drawn critics’ renewed attention. Chen Sihe states that “the shift in Mo Yan’s writing style in recent years exhibits a folk pattern that has evolved from being immature to mature, unconscious to conscious, rather than completing the transition from ‘Western’ magic to local culture, or being a kind of retreat” (201). For example, in The Garlic Ballads (⟪天堂蒜薹 之歌⟫), Mo Yan depicts a peasant uprising and official corruption through three types of narratives – official style of documents, intellectual style of defenders,

Criticism on Full-Length Novels  237 and colloquial style of peasants. Big Breasts and Wide Hips (⟪丰乳肥臀⟫) is regarded to be an earthy folk tale, which eulogizes “mother earth.” Since then, Mo Yan has developed an emotional self-consciousness toward the folk pattern and assimilated foreign artistic elements into his own life (S. Chen 205). Wang Dewei proposes that Mo Yan’s writing shift to local colorism reminds him of Shen Congwen, a predecessor, despite their disparate aesthetic tastes and writing styles. Shen Congwen has enjoyed broad popularity among readers of New Literature because of the vivid depiction of local customs of his hometown, while Mo Yan’s works are full of marvelous plot twists and turns, which are quite different from those of Shen (“Thousands of Words Welled Up” 95). In addition, Mo Yan’s language adopted in works is also very different. In The Republic of Wine (⟪酒国⟫), the plot of a detective searching for the killer reveals a type of hermeneutics, which involves an attempt to get to the root of the matter and find out the truth. However, Mo Yan creates many unexpected sub-plots. Those gossips, nonsenses and jokes are more interesting than the main plot. Such plots as the absurd phenomenon of peasants competing for “selling child for meat” and the folk tale of “monkey wine” which is made by monkeys as legend has it, are enlivened by vivid descriptions, making it difficult to tell the truth from the false. What’s more, there is the arrangement of a regular correspondence between Mo Yan, the narrator, and a scribbler, in which they discuss tips for literary writing and issues concerning good people and bad people, good literature and bad literature, as well as historical justice and injustice. All mingle with complicated narratives. Just like the recurring image of excretion in the novel, it seems difficult for the writer to put a stop to the unconventional plot lines, leaving them unsettled among overwhelming filth and punctilious expressions. (“Thousands of Words Welled Up” 98) Luan Meijian (栾梅健), who has received the training of popular literature study, also views Mo Yan’s works from the perspective of folk culture. Luan contends that Mo Yan has been living in his hometown, Gaomi Village in Shandong Province for more than 20 years. Thus, his initial perceptions toward literature mostly originated from his life experience in the rural villages and local folklores. Mo Yan’s hometown is located in the Jiaodong area with typical geographical conditions, and it is also the place where “cock-and-bull story” prevailed in ancient times. Three hundred miles to the west of Mo Yan’s hometown, there is a district named Zichuan, the hometown of Pu Songling (蒲松龄), the author of Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio (⟪聊斋志异⟫). Luan Meijian believes that Mo Yan does not capture the fresh and creative inspiration from folk literature and artworks. Rather, he gets another kind of creative passion from Pu Songling. Luan continues, After a long period of writing, when Mo Yan consciously contemplates the concept of literature, he attributes Pu Songling’s success to his sheer folk standpoint, without utility elements. In that era, without publishing houses,

238  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction payments and royalties, let alone various awards, writing was indeed a lonely and even ridiculous endeavor. (319) Then, without expecting anything in return, Pu Songling wrote the masterpiece of Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio. According to Xie Youshun, dramatization has always been the basic feature of Mo Yan’s novels, while in Sandalwood Penalty, it is replaced by an extreme description of a penalty called “Ling Chi.”3 Xie says, The grand, tragic scene of the execution in Sandalwood Penalty is truly soulstirring, and the tragic impact of such cruelty is especially chilling. Rarely has a tragedy been written in such a shocking way, not as an event, or as a result, but as bloody statements between the lines. (“Death Is Hard than Survival” 26) Mo Yan’s extreme description may be called “executioner philosophy.” Novels with executioners as their protagonists are quite common, and in a broad sense, penalty has always been one of the popular themes of novels. But there has been no such novelist as Mo Yan who reproduces the whole process of punishment in a more elaborate and calmer way. Because Mo Yan captures the inner storm of the executioner as a unique character and makes it possible for readers to see his soul, it can be said that Mo Yan has created a cultural concept of “executioner philosophy,” while in the past, executioner was nothing more than a tool for killing people. Since the culture emerges from the executioner, there is a basis for this extreme narrative. Xie Youshun goes on to explain that such extreme narratives, born out of executioner culture, cannot survive without a particular educational setting. Only “excruciation education” can probably breed the so-called executioner culture and extreme literary narratives. Xie states, One of the most concentrated manifestations of the political philosophy of autocracy is the torture system. Torture has an unparalleled effect on the populace, and its purpose is to keep the subjects of a ruler from committing crimes, which makes people live in constant fear. According to Havel’s research, fear serves as the basis for autocracy. (“Death Is Hard than Survival” 22) It can be found that not only in Sandalwood Penalty but also in Red Sorghum, Mo Yan describes a penalty of flaying living people. The reason why Mo Yan adopts such extreme narrative is also closely related to the cultivation of and reflection on such education. Finally, Xie links the analysis of Mo Yan’s extreme narrative with Lu Xun’s spectator culture. Another critic Zhang Qinghua finds Mo Yan’s talent from his narratives but, at the same time, expresses his concern about Mo Yan’s excessively lengthy

Criticism on Full-Length Novels  239 narratives. Zhang puts forward “the limit of narration.” He explains that Mo Yan, in his novels, has reached the maximum of ideology and aesthetics as well as other dualistic elements in space (“The Narrative Extreme” 59). He lists Joy (⟪欢 乐⟫), The Republic of Wine, Sandalwood Penalty, and Big Breasts and Wide Hips as works that have reached their narrative limits. But he also finds that Mo Yan is trying his best to break through the limit that poses a hindrance to his writing by resorting to “rich senses of the earth,” “ethics of novels,” “polyphony and symphony.” Mo Yan launches the fiercest attack against the narrative limit like an untamable horse. And he succeeds. Thus, Zhang Qinghua speaks highly of Sandalwood Penalty and Big Breasts and Wide Hips. He holds that in both novels with extreme narratives, Mo Yan describes history with dramatic scenes and atmosphere, which can be viewed as “the creation of a text out of another text,” as if Mo Yan is not writing a novel, but interpreting an “existing drama,” annotating for the folk drama – opera sung with cat-like tone. Hence, history is activated in both texts: the history as “folk memory” in the drama echoed or played with the “official history” imitated by the narrator. In Mo Yan’s previous novels, the writer himself always can’t help engaging in the story. In Sandalwood Penalty, he creates many manipulable puppets to take his place in making “on-the-spot comments.” (“Death Is Hard than Survival” 74) In Zhang’s view, Mo Yan dramatizes the history to a large extent. What’s more, it is hard to find another example in his previous novels (“Death Is Hard than Survival” 74). Critics have been paying attention to Mo Yan’s narratives in a long period of time. The thoughtful analyses of full-length novels by critics like Zhang Qinghua and Xie Youshun still leave people a fresh impression. Magic and allegory were once the main focus of critics as for Mo Yan’s novellas, and they believe that such elements still exist in his novels, which are blended with Buddhism and the form of traditional novels. Nan Fan holds that Life and Death Are Wearing Me Out (⟪生死疲劳⟫) is a complete magic story. And folklore concerning metempsychosis helps form the original framework of the magical ­narrative (“Magic and Allegory of Reality” 68). In the novel, a ghost, who was a former landlord named Ximen Nao and suppressed during the initial postliberation period, believes that he has been wrongly killed and is grumbling in the Palace of Hell. The story enables readers to comprehend the true essence of life from vicissitudes. To some extent, the six-time reincarnation of the ghost is related to the theory of “six great divisions in the wheel of karma.” “Every time when he is reborn as a donkey, an ox, or a pig, and the like, his reincarnation is more or less involved with certain large scale social movements” (“Magic and Allegory of Reality” 68). Nan Fan believes that although Mo Yan finished the writing in such a short time which might led to a little bit roughness of its language, it still arouses great interest among readers with its uncanny narrative style and made it possible to “retell history with magic narrative” (“Magic and Allegory of Reality” 69).

240  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction Zhang Xinying proposes that magic allegory constitutes a dominant force in Mo Yan’s novels, which greatly broadens the narrative space. Life and Death Are ­Wearing Me Out describes the upheavals happened in China’s rural areas in half a century, which shows a striking artistic effect. The story is not ponderously fabricated by Mo Yan but based on real life. When Zhang Xinying recalled anecdotes in the Essays on Wumenglou (⟪无梦楼随笔⟫) by Zhang Zhongxiao (张中 晓) and those incredible events that Shen Congwen found during the land reform in Sichuan Province in the 1950s, he began to understand that most social changes were decided by the times and Mo Yan’s novels began to illustrate this (63). Zhang develops a delicate artistic perception toward novels. His amazement is beyond words, for he finds that magic realism which can be more disturbing in the real world than in the magical world. He laments, In the following chapters on the death of an ox, the second reincarnation of Ximen Nao, human nature is even more indescribable. The ox is strong enough to resist, but he never does; or he can yield, but never. Thus he can only endure the whipping of the crowd, the breaking of his nose by another ox, and the burning of his flesh. Bitter and brutal, how can he endure such torture. The ox can put up with it, while people show no mercy to the ox. (63) By citing this story, Zhang hopes to go beyond the framework of understanding magic elements in the 1980s and introduces this artistic method into historical analysis. In Zhang’s view, the magic allegory is only a superficial form in this novel, and what is fiercely criticized is rather clear. In Chen Xiaoming’s view, Big Breasts and Wide Hips is obviously a rewriting of historical texts. “This novel touches upon Chinese local history while it does not simply describe historical justice, but restores it to the justice of life” (Chen, The Mainstream 586). In this sense, the image of Shangguan Lu, the heroine, is portrayed to reveal the value of human life. The author takes her down from the altar of history and makes her the spiritual pillar of Shangguan family. It is women and mothers who have raised children, upheld the history of life, and defended human dignity. The inversion of history and life is, in Chen’s view, the novel’s most blatant intention, which can be certainly controversial. It is also the result of Mo Yan’s practice of historical irony and teasing narrative (Chen, The Mainstream 586). Sun Yu also finds that Mo Yan’s understanding of the dignity of human life is different from others. Showing the life of priests, hunters, bandits, evil merchants, and itinerant entertainers, his novels are filled with morbid solemnity, which spans from the Japanese invasion to land reform, from the Cultural Revolution, a decade of political chaos, to economic surge in the 1990s. The spiritual river running under the frozen land rolls with muddy water, revealing the dimension of time. Stories of life and death happening in Chinese land interpret

Criticism on Full-Length Novels  241 tragicomedies of human nature. Those victims and strugglers, showing details and information less recognized by historians, epitomize the soul of the earth. (“Mo Yan: The Literature Breakout of an Era” 30) In other words, critics argue that Mo Yan is writing an unofficial history circulating among the people in the cracks of official history. Mo Yan adopts litotes in his writing to reflect on the history, highlighting goodness with ugly deeds and uncovering the richness and complexity of human life, so as to expand the space for conversations between contemporary novels and history. 12.3 Wang Anyi’s Novels Wang Anyi is a prominent writer in novellas, short stories, and full-length novels. From her early works of “Wenwen series” to exploratory novels, from novels adopting Huaibei or Xuzhou city as the setting to those dealing with people’s life in Shanghai, she writes with great facility. Meanwhile, she remains one of the most influential novelists in the 1990s. For decades, realism has been her consistent writing style. Wang Xiaoming’s critical article, “From ‘Huaihai Road’ to ‘Meijia Bridge’: On the Transformation of Wang Anyi’s Novels,” is noteworthy. By putting forth questions in the textual analysis, Wang Xiaoming introduces those wonderful stories about Shanghai and describes the rise of new Shanghai and discloses the fate of girls like Fu Ping. Wang Xiaoming does a good job in disclosing that the writer’s literary writing against the historical changes echoes the rise of Shanghai city in the 1990s. Wang Xiaoming is adept at close reading in literary criticism, and his monograph Solomon’s Bottle, written in the 1980s, is a good example. This article on Wang Anyi has excellent analysis and can be regarded as a parallel. He comments, Fu Ping is a short story of 170, 000 words. It is about a peasant girl who seeks to make a living in Shanghai. The girl is named “Fu Ping,” from the countryside of Yangzhou. She is diligent, strong and clever. In Wang Anyi’s novels, there are many other characters like this girl. (5) Her first job in Shanghai is to work as a nanny, which enables her to go into the alleys of Shanghai and gets to know people from all walks of life. Such scene is quite common in Wang Anyi’s novels. Wang Anyi once spent three years in Huaibei during the movement of “intellectuals’ going down to the countryside and becoming a member of production teams.” This experience leaves her deep impression. “Although she eventually returns to Shanghai, she has been constantly introducing Huaibei farmers or other characters alike into her novels in the past twenty years” (X. Wang 5). Wang Xiaoming’s articles stick to a straightforward and plain narrative structure, studying different characters, stories, details, opinions, and themes. This kind

242  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction of writing method could be elaborate. After a thorough analysis of Fu Ping’s personality and her interaction with her surroundings, Wang Xiaoming begins to write about the great Shanghai. I am quite interested in Fu Ping, and there is one voice in this new i­ deological chorus that is particularly noteworthy: the chant for old Shanghai. Almost at the same time with the sound of piling in the development of Pudong district, a sense of nostalgia gradually arose in the old town. At the beginning, this emotion was expressed in a cautious way, through reprints of Eileen Chang’s novels and essays, secretly prevailing in universities and the literary circle. Then it becomes prominent. Cafes, bars, restaurants, and clothing stores open with titles like “1931,” “the 1930s,” or “Back in Time.” Restaurants and Entertainment venues are filled with replicas of antique tables and chairs, yellowed calendars, and blown-up black-and-white photographs. (10) The place that “reproduced the luxurious life style in the past” and the fact that “here was originally the residence of XX” never fail to fascinate (X. Wang 10). Compared with the previous articles by Wang Xiaoming, this one, “From ‘Huaihai Road’ to ‘Meijia Bridge’: On the Transformation of Wang Anyi’s Novels,” shows a slight shift in tone. The narrative is not as confident as before but is carefully laid out, gradually raising questions. Through the interpretation of Fu Ping, he has found the strategies of Wang Anyi’s writing transformation and expressed his greatest doubts and worries about the new ideology of capital that has penetrated deeply into the society. In his article “Another Inheritor of Shanghai-School Writing: Wang Anyi,” Wang Dewei implies that elements typical of Eileen Chang can be found in Wang Anyi’s works, which is not mentioned in previous studies about Wang Anyi. Wang Dewei receives Western education, and his literary criticism is gorgeous and brilliant. He has rich thoughts and is inclined to connect contemporary novelists with modern literary traditions, making the two sides complement each other. Linking Wang Anyi to Eileen Chang does not weaken the value of Wang Anyi’s novels but reveals the position that Wang Anyi holds in the literary tradition of Eileen Chang. The first section of the article, starting with “women, Shanghai, and life,” points out that the author’s transformation of writing style in the 1990s can firstly be found in her description of women’s life in Shanghai. In order to disclose Wang Anyi’s thoughts about women and life, critics should take the geographical environment into consideration, which can better show her literary features. Wang Dewei states, In this respect, Wang Anyi enjoys exceptional advantages. She was born in Shanghai, a colorful world of unprecedented prosperity and complexity before liberation. From the 1950s to the 1980s, the city experienced political strife and economic boom and bust. In the late Qing Dynasty, Shanghai served as the backdrop for such immoral novels as The Sing-Song Girls of Shanghai (⟪海上花列传⟫). During the republican period, Shanghai was not

Criticism on Full-Length Novels  243 only the stage of Mandarin Ducks and Butterfly literature, but also the focus of revolutionary literature. It was not only the source of inspiration for writers of the New Sensation school, but also the object in the narratives of people who reminisced about bygone days, especially Eileen Chang, Xu Xu (徐訏) and other writers, who show favoritism toward this city. The literature of Shanghai helps breed the special tradition of Shanghai-style culture. (39) He concludes that Wang Anyi was ambitious when she decided to write The Song of Everlasting Sorrow (⟪长恨歌⟫) under such a tradition. But he also timely warns that “Wang Anyi’s efforts are destined to challenge her predecessors such as Eileen Chang” (38). Wang Dewei compares contemporary novels with modern ones in a particularly wise way, without offending the writers. He looks directly at the writer’s writing purpose and reveals the truth, while protecting the writer’s dignity, which shows his style and kindness. He compares The Song of Everlasting Sorrow with The Golden Cangue (⟪金锁记⟫) by Eileen Chang, without concealing Wang Anyi’s intention to learn from Eileen Chang, while showing Wang Anyi’s literary talent. Thus, people can appreciate the difference between the two and the disconsolateness of the times. In Wang Dewei’s opinion, there is a lament about the Republic of China and the history. He is magnanimous when carrying out a contrast between the present and the past, which contributes to the popularity of his critical articles. It is reasonable that Wang Dewei holds an unusual position among highly ­talented critics in mainland China. He writes cheerfully, “the last part of The Song of Everlasting Sorrow is about Wang Qiyao’s May-December romance, which embodies Wang Anyi’s determination to exhaust the affection and love in Shanghai” (“Another Inheritor of Shanghai-School Writing” 43). However, the aristocratic atmosphere of Eileen Chang’s novels has then been replaced by the urban plebeian style [here]. The novel [The Song of Everlasting ­Sorrow] ends up in describing a gold jewelry box, which is the most “real” part of Wang Qiyao’s life and even her daughter does not have a chance to get one. Cao Qiqiao in The Golden Cangue mitigates her frustrated passions by accumulating wealth; Wang Qiyao has never been very rich in her life, always paying out while earning nothing. Therefore, what money means to them is completely different. (“Another Inheritor of Shanghai-School Writing” 43) According to Wang Dewei, Wang Anyi and Eileen Chang share a similar beginning in dealing with the entanglement of lust and material desire, but their conclusions are quite different (45). The study on Eileen Chang and her works began in the 1960s in Hong Kong and has been continued onto today. Wang Dewei is the first to point out the connection between Wang Anyi and Eileen Chang. Although he is not a person of foresight, he still makes a contribution.

244  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction When analyzing the similarities and differences among Wang Anyi, Mo Yan, and Jia Pingwa, Nan Fan points out that Wang Anyi wants to construct an “urban space.” The Song of Everlasting Sorrow intends to show a taste for appreciating the city. The writer is well aware of “those charming qualities behind the cafe, flowery curtains, and passing streetcars. She even kindly accepts elements of vulgarity, extravagance, and cunning which are common in cities” (Nan “The Portrait of a City” 66). It is clearly a portrait of the city. In addition, the city in The Song of Everlasting Sorrow is portrayed from the perspective of women. Female consciousness and feelings serve as the foothold of the narrative, so the urban space of Shanghai, to a large extent, is a female space. This makes the work “maintain another gentle tone. The whole novel is filled with women’s subtle feelings about the world” (Nan “The Portrait of a City” 68). Therefore, the novel is peppered with cheongsam patterns, delicate dessert, the aroma of coffee, embroidered drapery and table skirting, perfume of violet scent, various chignons, makeup compacts, poses for photographs, half-burned incense, gossip leaking from the back door, puffiness and wrinkles, airing clothes in dog days, and snacking on sunflower seeds. A group of girls pass the shop window arm in arm. The urban landscapes displayed in the work reflect actually Wang Anyi’s personal feelings as a woman. However, Nan Fan finds “matter” in the novel. With the sensitivity of a critic, he believes that Wang Anyi’s urban space is not illusory, and what she wants to write is a whole picture of people’s daily lives, including the familiar streets, the sound of passing trams, and women quarreling in the alleys. Nan Fan therefore concludes, the dense accumulation of these mundane details makes people feel fulfilled and rich. They constitute the base of a city, and all sorts of metaphysical ideas and historical ups and downs cannot be inserted into these mundane details. (“The Portrait of a City” 70) Thus, realistic writing is achieved through excellent detail selection and description. The writer’s taste for the city and her female sense of it are reflected. At the end of his article, Nan Fan pinpoints Wang Anyi’s intention of establishing urban space. He puts it that in her eyes, it is a historical cycle that cities are firstly encircled by the countryside (this was the right revolutionary path at that time), which results in the decline of cities, then cities rise and the space is established. Wang Anyi’s urban novels are at a crossroads of this circle. “Some novels stray from the traditional frame of historical narration, and some even break away from the traditional field of historical narration,” he says, “this may hint at some unusual historical understanding. Perhaps a great example of this is Wang Anyi’s The Song of Everlasting Sorrow” (“The Portrait of a City” 73). Nan Fan raises a question to conclude his article. He says, “emperors and heroes disappear, grand narratives are replaced by little narratives, and women and cities are coming to the fore. Isn’t all this calling for a profound explanation?” (“The Portrait of a City” 73).

Criticism on Full-Length Novels  245 As to the comments on Wang Anyi, there are always good articles, for example, Cheng Depei (程德培) and Li Jiefei (李洁非) published some excellent articles. When evaluating Wang Anyi’s early works, Cheng Depei points out, most of Wang Anyi’s novels area written from the subjective lens of the ­characters and the emotions of the heroines. Such emotional changes are mixed with the plots, contradictions, and events in the works, which makes the narrative real, natural, and smooth. In this way, the work has both lyrical characteristics and artistic appeal. (34) Therefore, Wang Anyi’s novels are gentle and full of emotions, and readers o­ ften have the feeling of intimacy. Being delicate, soft, and romantic, she is good at describing emotions. “Her elegant prose is less of the strong contrast of black and white, a technique usually adopted by wood carvers. She always prefers a certain orange-yellow hue” (35). Li Jiefei regards Wang Anyi as a writer who does not drift with the current and never gets involved in it. But she has done well amid the ebb and flow of literature. Her writing has been constantly adjusting and changing. The focus of her works shifted from characters’ emotion to social reality in 1984, and then she completes the transition from experience to techniques. Li asserts, When putting each story, consciously or unconsciously, in the context of ­personal experience, she seems to ensure that everything happening there can be verified by time or by a certain real person who has shared something with us. This enables her imaginary stories to retain “the outer reality,” which she preserves with great care, just like a turtle wagging its tail, leaving traces behind. (5) In any case, Wang Anyi is “absorbed in studying the way how a fiction is constructed, and uses her work as a demonstration of that construction. For her, it is far more valuable for people to observe how the story is told than what the novel has achieved” (8).4 Cheng Depei’s criticism is nuanced and he has always made comments from a fresh perspective, while Li Jiefei has a sharp eye for details and a smooth narrative that is quite persuasive, though not powerful. Apart from all the above comments, an article titled “On Wang Anyi” by Wang Zheng and Xiaohua should be highly recommended. Their interpretation of Wang’s short story “Bengbu” (⟪蚌埠⟫) is fascinating. They say, “Bengbu” apparently has get some inspiration from the Chinese historical writing of chronicles. The description of the town accounts for a substantial part of the story, with a detailed presentation of Bengbu’s geographic location, its economy, stations, wharfs, bathrooms, hotels, and people’s lives. It could be called geographical chorography or custom chorography, But a­ fter

246  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction reading it carefully, we would perceive a sentimental and nostalgic feeling lingering on between the lines. Although Bengbu occupies most of the story, it serves only as a specific background of time and space. However, people, whose lives were closely associated with Bengbu in the 1970s, ­gradually emerge from this background. They are actually the main body of the work. As regard to the portrait of people, “Bengbu” provides a new perspective for short stories, which means the images of people can be described with a group of characters in an anonymous manner. As to farmers living around Bengbu and especially those educated youths who once visited this place, their life style, mental state, and the living condition at a special time, are the subject of the story. It is those people who explain Bengbu, express it, and experience it. And Bengbu of a particular era becomes emotional and eternal because of this instantaneous experience and expression. Bengbu is a coordinate in the memory of a generation. (187–188) The two critics’ criticism is not leading the way, but moving forward with the rest of the critics, but when the tied is out, their article will stay on the beach, providing options for researchers to admire. There are many valuable ideas in their article. For example, they point out that Wang Anyi is a novelist with stylistic consciousness; she constructs her own unique urban space in her works. “Wang Anyi believes that Su Qing (苏青) [a female writer] has a better understanding of cities, such as Shanghai, than Eileen Chang and Ding Ling, and she has made her works so true to the life in a city” (Wang and Xiaohua 190), which helps lay the basis for her following literary writing. The two critics also emphasize that Wang Anyi devises another way to interpret history, namely, the “vertical-horizontal” vision, through which she illustrates the relations between individuals and revolutions, families and histories, cities and daily experiences amid great historical changes vividly. They point out that Wang is not adept at historical analysis, but extremely sensitive to history and especially good at capturing a certain historical moment. These characteristics are shown in her works such as Junior High School Students in 1969 (⟪六九届初中生⟫), People in the Yellow River Delta (⟪黄河故道人⟫), Time Passes Like Flowing Water (⟪流水十 三章⟫), Mini (⟪米尼⟫), The Sad Pacific (⟪伤心太平洋⟫), and Documentary and Fiction (⟪纪实与虚构⟫). These works could not get away from a sense of predestination, whether it is about personal growth or familial rise and fall. Wang Zheng and Xiaohua express their worry about Wang Anyi’s changeability in their article, and whether it is conducive to a holistic understanding of the writer is questionable. Meanwhile, they are aware that changeability may provide rich topics for periodical research. This is also the dialectical relationship between change and immutability. 12.4 Yu Hua’s Novels Yu Hua is one of those novelists who are not as simple as they might seem to be, and it is not easy to study him. His limpid prose is rich in meaning. He is deeply

Criticism on Full-Length Novels  247 influenced by Lu Xun and Kafka, but he does not write revolutionary novels or bildungsromans like them. Instead, he produces unique writings filled with adolescent trauma and violence. Yu Hua’s narrative is simple, while his mood is vague and changeable, which makes it difficult to fix it by logical analysis. This is one of the difficulties critics are confronted at present. Frankly speaking, there haven’t been many convincing reviews of Yu Hua’s novels. Several reviews by Zhao Yiheng (赵毅衡), Chen Xiaoming, and Wang Hui are worth noting. When Yu Hua debuted in the literary world at the end of 1987, Zhao Yiheng spotted him immediately, claiming that Yu Hua seemed to have been a mature writer. Zhao notices a connection between Yu Hua and Lu Xun, which is the so-called antagonism in the novel. However, they are different. Zhao writes, The main idea of Lu Xun’s novels is that the construction of meaning system of Chinese culture could be regarded as a crisis we have to deal with in a society which has embarked on an irresistible journey to modernization. In this cultural crisis, reality, confirmed by the rational rigidity of traditional systems of meaning, becomes a “paper castle” that could not stand up to close inspection. (34) Therefore, Lu Xun’s works has a strong desire to reevaluate the construction of meaning system, which he expresses through a series of unremitting “antagonism.” In Zhao’s opinion, the difference between Yu Hua and Lu Xun exists in the fact that “Lu Xun’s antagonism is presented by the view of old and new,” while “Yu Hua defines it by the classification of illusion and reality” (34). That is to say, Yu Hua’s illusion depends on subjective factors. In his early works, those subjective factors are derived mostly from a sort of self-experience. Yu Hua seems particularly concerned with the agonies of personality transition in growing to be adults. Another manifestation of Yu Hua’s antagonism is that a kind of illusion dominates his novels. What strikes readers most in Yu Hua’s novels is his specific description of brutal acts, which is a recurring them. And his calm description intensifies the overwhelming cruelty. Zhao states that cruelty is not the intention of Yu Hua’s writing, but “a refinement of history, a way of summing it up” (36). In this case, Yu Hua comes close to Lu Xun again, for both of them use illusion to confront reality, which can be regarded as a kind of great confrontation. Chen Xiaoming considers Calling in the Drizzle (⟪在细雨中呼喊⟫) to be Yu Hua’s psychological autobiography of despair. He studies the novel from the perspective of child psychology and states that Yu Hua’s stories are qualified as psychological autobiographies, for those stories describe the inner psychology of the protagonist “I” (a child) and reveal the striking psychological experience. “Children’s ignorance and sensitivity, innocence and misfortune, joy and fear, and the like, are always expressed in the context of a sharp contrast” (“Beyond Patriarchy” 5).

248  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction Wang Hui hopes to establish a corresponding relationship between Yu Hua’s writing and his inner heart, for Yu Hua claims in the preface to To Live (⟪活 着⟫) that a true writer always follows his heart as he writes. Shortly after this, Yu Hua states that all his works originate from the tension between the reality and his heart. Thus, Wang Hui puts forward that “in Yu Hua’s critical vocabulary, ‘writing,’ ‘reality’ (and ‘truth’), and ‘nothingness’ (and ‘heart’) constitute the most important concepts for understanding literature and its relation with life” (37). In addition, Wang Hui studies Yu Hua’s literary writing from Yu’s criticism. He first introduces Yu Hua’s understanding of Bulgakov. “Bulgakov’s simple writing is free from publication, honor, and vanity. It is not beyond the mundane world, but is the result of violence. Therefore, pure writing highlights the political nature of writing” (H. Wang 38). Then, he describes Yu Hua’s comments on Yukio Mishima, Isaiah Berlin, and Dostoyevsky, which can uncover the main characteristics of Yu Hua’s writing. Wang Hui says, Nihilism and returning to the heart are not escaping from the world, but entering the world. The world of Yu Hua’s criticism contains not only the chaos and richness of reality, but also the tension and opposition of reality, including the juxtaposition and struggle between “Russian attitude” and “French attitude.” He tries to illustrate both in a skillful way, allowing them to coexist harmoniously. He presents the world in the tension of creation, but ultimately has to face this contradiction. In my opinion, this contradiction is necessary. The world is changing. One narrative has replaced another, and one despotism has replaced another. There is no chance of salvation without contradiction. (40) From this point of view, the contradiction between Yu Hua’s heart and his writing constitutes the most striking feature of his works. This contradiction is reflected in this way: “Yu Hua has to talk about how to write when answering the question of what to write, and also had to tell the truth in his works when answering the question of how to write” (H. Wang 45). Wang Dewei attaches great importance to the novel, Chronicle of a Blood ­Merchant (⟪许三观卖血记⟫). He notes that Yu Hua’s previous works have exaggerated the self-mutilation and other self-injurious behaviors to illustrate the ­essence of life – desolation and nihility, but this novel suddenly changes. Chronicle of a Blood Merchant constitutes an important record of his writing in the past ten years, during which he has attracted (or offended) readers with grotesque situations and a narrative arc, cool and almost humorous. “As mentioned above, the change of relationship in patrilineal families, the tug of destiny, the lure of death, and the black hole of history, have become registered trademarks of his works” (“The Spectacle of Scars and Violence” 39–40). It is the same with Chronicle of a Blood Merchant, which also deals with such subjects, but Yu Hua develops a very different logic. Xu Sanguan is a bit of a boor. He not only works in the silk factory but

Criticism on Full-Length Novels  249 also runs a sideline – selling blood. His money is earned with blood and sweat. He marries Xu Yulan, but after the birth of his eldest son, he suddenly understands that the son is not his own child according to his appearance. Wang Dewei holds that Yu Hua focuses on the image of blood and gains more. Besides blood selling, the writer’s struggle between father seeking and patricide is noteworthy. The anxiety and longing during father seeking (and patricide) never cease, which become the most important key to starting the narration. Yu Hua deals not only with the tension between the narrator and his foster father, but also with the unceasing conflicts between the foster father and his own birth ­father. But when we step back and look at the wretched and decadent images of all the fathers, we can’t help but doubt the power of patriarchy. Why is that so mysterious? (“The Spectacle of Scars and Violence” 39) Wang also expands the story further, hoping to establish certain historical connection with “the destiny of the nation.” Critics should broaden their horizons and attach the story to the larger trauma of national memory, rather than merely link such reading perspective to Yu Hua’s personal experience. Calling in the D ­ rizzle is a biographical and personal concession, different from his previous works, from Going on a Long Journey at the Age of Eighteen to 1986. Wang Dewei then speculates that Yu Hua seemingly wants to develop a source for the indescribable temptation of violence in his works. However, in a Freudian family story, the love-hate relationship between the people and their “political fathers” is hard to explain. In fact, Yu Hua creates a similar plot in Calling in the Drizzle, explaining various adult mental symptoms and childhood memories (“The Spectacle of Scars and Violence” 39). When focusing on Yu Hua’s writing of self-mutilation and violence, critics may also find that this in turn limits the writer’s further writing. The scope of his novels is too restricted, and the description is too urgent and intense, which, to a certain extent, are not conducive to portraying a larger scene. In contrast, Lu Xun has profound and complex thoughts about the Revolution of 1911 (辛亥革命), including absurd descriptions and painful declarations. Yu Hua often plays with more humor than sorrow when reflecting the influence of the Cultural Revolution on the individual’s heart. He lacks Lu Xun’s deep and broad ­historical feelings. It is true that Yu Hua does not have too much potential in his account of historical and realistic matters. It has been shown in some of his novels such as Brothers (⟪兄弟⟫), and even his masterpieces such as To Live and Chronicle of a Blood Merchant are not without flaws. Chen Xiaoming proposes that Yu Hua has eclipsed Su Tong since the mid-1990s with his outstanding performances in To Live and Chronicle of a Blood Merchant, which deal with historical matters. He further points out that these two novels can be regarded as important evidences of Yu Hua’s well-recognized transformation from the influence of

250  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction Western modernist novels to the narrative tradition of traditional Chinese novels. Chen says, If the former is popular in the literary circle for Zhang Yimou’s acclaimed film adaptation, then the latter has gained popularity largely because of his writing about sufferings and his sense of humor. Yu Hua has repeatedly claimed that it is easy for him to write these two novels. It is not surprising since these two novels have returned completely to the tradition, which can be found in their stories, characters, and clear chronology of events, and perhaps more importantly, comprehensible human concerns, recognizable themes of suffering and so on. (The Mainstream 361) According to Chen, Yu Hua shows his astute observation in the difficulty of human existence, the endurance of Chinese people, and the twisted and strange relationship between people and their psychology. Although the narratives of these two novels are no longer regarded as vanguard, readers can still find his language style at that time. His narrative moves back and forth at the intersections between the characters and the times, showing certain strength and appeal (The Mainstream 361). Of course, it does not mean that Yu Hua’s artistic expression is perfect. For more reviews on Yu Hua’s works, one can also read articles by Wang Binbin, Gao Yuanbao, Zhang Ning (张柠), Wu Yiqin, Chang Qie (昌切), Zhang Qinghua, and Hong Zhigang. Wang Binbin argues that the narration of Yu Hua’s early novels present abnormal psychological symptoms, but the nonsense or crazy words are “so clear and definite,” which is very impressive (39). Zhang Qinghua holds that Yu Hua’s language is a “subtraction of literature.” He often reduces the characters to the oldest and simplest prototypes and directly reveals the universal situation of life with the purest expressions. Such language is close to philosophy, and when it is applied in fictions, it can be extremely limpid (“A Subtraction of Literature” 5). Gao Yuanbao, Wu Yiqin, and Chang Qie think highly of Yu’s artistic achievements and analyze the complexity of Yu Hua’s writing from different perspectives. 12.5 Chen Zhongshi’s The White Deer Plain Chen Zhongshi is an important novelist paralleling with Lu Yao and Jia Pingwa. He used to be a worker-peasant-soldier writer trained locally in Shaanxi Province. His early writing did not make much progress until he won the Award of National Excellent Short Stories in 1979 (1979 年优秀短篇小说奖). Chen Zhongshi was once influenced by Liu Qing (柳青)’s writing and later inspired by magical realism. He devoted himself to studying local records of Chang’an District and Lantian County and assiduously completed the excellent novel The White Deer Plain. In an interview after he was awarded Mao Dun prize for Literature, Chen Zhongshi stresses that the key is whether the writer decides to turn his novel into a symphony or an encyclopedia or a secret history. “There are

Criticism on Full-Length Novels  251 various factors, among which the most fundamental one is the time ethos that the writer concerns. That is exactly what determines the style of the work” (Yuan and Chen 74). Lei Da pays more attention to Chen Zhongshi’s writing. Soon after The White Deer Plain was published, he writes a critical article, speaking highly of it: I have never read a book like The White Deer Plain, which presents itself to me so forcefully with its amazing charm of such diametrically opposed factors as quiescence and movement, stability and chaos, space and time, which are blended into one harmonious whole. For thousands of years, the ancient white deer plain has lain quietly on the central Shaanxi plain. I, like a wanderer, enjoy the distant scenery of the plain bathed in the sunset. The surrounding is just so serene and quiet, except for the smoke curling up from kitchen chimneys and some barks far away. Amidst the rain in summer, snow in winter, and sowing in spring, as well as harvest in autumn, life varies with the seasons. People carry on the ancestral line, worship gods, and offer sacrifices to ancestors. The ancestral halls are filled with incense of benevolence and righteousness. Alleys in the villages present primitive local style. All creates a lingering sentiment, which looks like a creaking rotary water mill, heavy and profound. However, all of a sudden, a formidable force sweeps across the area, just like a conductor waves in front of the orchestra. All the creatures on this land then start to move, with shouting, struggling, conflict, collision, crossover, rise and fall, showing endless story of kindness and grievance, death and life. The whole white deer plain appears to be a caldron of boiling water. During the half century from the end of the Qing Dynasty to the beginning of the founding of the People’s ­Republic of China, social upheavals shook its internal structure like waves of hurricanes. Disturbance and order move in endless cycles. Here, the fate of the characters, with innumerable twists and turns, constitutes the ordinate, while the evolution of social history unveils the horizontal axis, stretching far into the distance. (105) Lei Da points out that the collision and convergence of several forces constitute the time and space of the story, rolling out a magnificent, dynamic, and sophisticated picture of realism, which depicts the national spirit (105). When reading the novel for the first time, readers would surely appreciate the multiple and ­complicated historical situation described by the writer. Lei Da analyzes the relationship between The White Deer Plain and the traditional realism, and the writer’s innovation in this long article. He holds that it is a great work with extensive reflections on history, which is once influenced by Hibiscus Town (⟪芙蓉镇⟫) by Gu Hua (古华). It not only describes directly the Chinese spirit and the personality cultivated by this culture but also explores the cultural and historical destiny of the nation. The protagonist Bai Jiaxuan (白嘉轩) is regarded as the writer’s “great discovery.” Even if there are similar characters

252  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction in the history of modern and contemporary literature, none of them would be so vivid and round. Lei Da stresses that “The White Deer Plain is ultimately a work to rediscover people and the soul of the nation” (112). Life and death, joys and sorrows, and separations and reunions have been incisively and vividly presented in the novel. Lei goes further to delve into the dual personality of Bai Jiaxuan: Bai Jiaxuan’s personality reveals those multiple contradictions, from which we could find the dual character of the patriarchal culture. It is not invariably the cannibalistic ethics of feudal society, nor leniency, but ­always shows the unsolvable contradiction between reason and humanity – the sharp contradiction between laying stress on reason and obliterating humanity. (110) Besides, Bai Jiaxuan also attracts readers for his sensibility. He is sincere and genuine, without any hypocrisy, which can be found in his friendship with a long-term hired laborer, Lusan. In addition, he treats equally Heiwa, Zhaopeng, and Zhaohai and other people from the Kuomintang and the Communist Party of China without discrimination, showing his benevolence. But once there is a person violating the rules of etiquette, he would be unrelenting. In Lei Da’s eyes, Bai Jiaxuan is a tragic figure. His tragedy is related to the national ethos. It is so unique, profound, and prophetic that even Chen Zhongshi himself may not be able to explain it clearly (111). Lei Da’s reaction is typical. In a period when writing about the mundane life of ordinary people became the mainstream, few writers touched on major historical matters. The White Deer Plain, with history as the coordinate, deeply reflects on the ups and downs of various characters in the important moments of history and shows the joys and sorrows of the Chinese people in more than half a century. This is the main reason why it strikes a chord with so many people. For all of the above reasons, the work has received favorable reviews from critics. Chang Guangyuan (畅广元) believes that against the backdrop of cultural decline and degeneration of public morality in the 1990s, The White Deer Plain satisfies the social aesthetic psychology of the public, who want to know the historical truth and review the cultural destiny. Its narrative style and way of story development are also in tune with readers’ habits and appreciation at that time, which is the key factor in the success of this work (16). Zhang Zhizhong points out that White Deer Plain brought Chen Zhongshi great fame and ensured his niche in the Chinese literary pantheon in the 1990s. The novel was reprinted three times in three months, with 210,000 copies sold out in bookshops. Such enthusiasm was extremely rare even in the 1980s when literature was in full swing. He attributes the novel’s success to the cultural root-seeking movement in the 1980s, which produced many excellent novellas and short stories but few notable novels. White Deer Plain fills that gap.

Criticism on Full-Length Novels  253 Another reason is its convincing portrayal of Bai Jiaxuan. Zhang states that the main plot in White Deer Plain is not the bitter political struggles or the change of times, but the ordinary people’s life represented by Bai Jiaxuan, including survival, work, marriage, raising and educating children. Bai Jiaxian’s two achievements are praised by Mr. Zhu and the county magistrate. One is the rebuilding of ancestral temple for the sake of paying respect and worship toward their ancestors. The other is the establishment of a school for better educating their descendants, so that they can continue their family line with superior intelligence. Bai Jiaxian’s behaviors of honoring history and culture and abiding by the doctrine of gentlemen implies the author’s introspection (“How to Step Out of White Deer Plain” 11). After White Deer Plain wins Mao Dun Literary Prize, the veteran critic Chen Yong, who has been an active supporter of Chen Zhongshi, warns that reviewing Chen’s previous works would be helpful to understand White Deer Plain. In his early works about rural life, the writer pays great attention to the complex contradictions and conflicts in real life. Chen Yong writes, Some contradictions and conflicts emerge in the new historical period after the liberation of the whole country, and others are left over from history, thus showing a mixture of the old and the new. Having been writing for a very long time, Chen Zhongshi accumulates rich experience in life and art. When going back to investigate the old China, he has a deeper understanding of the complex contradictions. (5) Chen Yong’s approach of historical comparison can trigger readers’ in-depth thinking about White Deer Plain. Without fancy words and concepts, the article is full of rational analysis, showing the veteran critic’s outstanding talent and extraordinary skills. Based on Chen Zhongshi’s writing history, Li Jianjun analyzes the writer’s ­writing process and his persistent attitude toward reality comprehensively. He claims that it already exists in embryo in Chen’s earlier novels that White Deer Plain will be magnificently conceived, which is the result of his arduous exploration. Therefore, realism does not lose its historical vitality, on the contrary, it will continue to revive in the suitable soil and acquire stronger artistic vitality. This novel’s success is a testament (22–25). Sun Shaozhen (孙绍振) disagrees with the majority. He argues that critics’ reviews on the work’s artistic value will be easily overwhelmed by the one-sided praises. To this end, he spends time on a theoretical review of the work, criticizes its shortcomings, and finally comes to the conclusion. In his opinion, critics should not focus only on the cultural value of a literary work but ignore its artistic value, for a work that consists mostly of reasonable description, analysis, definition, and judgment of culture cannot be called an artistic work (39).

254  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction A critic named Hao Ling (浩岭) criticizes Sun Shaozhen’s article, saying it seems to be a harsh commentary. He points out that the rise of popular culture promoted the emergence of entertainment of ideas, which fueled the phenomenon of harsh literary criticism in the 1990s. A work is criticized or praised, which is not inevitable. He holds that Sun Shaozhen’s article is biased and superficial, which may not be worth refuting. Hao Ling writes, White Deer Plain, published in 1993, not only aroused a sensation at the time, but has been an important topic in the literary world for nearly a decade. It is also the most important work in the teaching and research of Chinese contemporary literature in colleges and universities. Critics have studied this novel from different aspects in their articles, including its success and its function in refreshing the representation in in the New Period or modern Chinese literature. The total number of words in these articles probably several times that of White Deer Plain. (34) Hao Ling goes further to point out that Sun insists that the characters in this novel are conceptualized and idealized, and that the writer seems to manipulate the characters recklessly, which renders the work lack the unity in art and inner spirit. Based on his own judgment, Sun rejects the novel completely, which is absurd and unacceptable (38). To criticize the novel, Sun also cites a long list of so-called Western discourse theories, such as those put forth by Edinburgh School, Michel Foucault, and Halliday. In Hao Ling’s opinion, whether Sun’s way of applying those foreign theories to Chinese works is appropriate or not is still a question. As to his lengthy linguistic analysis, what he actually talks about is the refinement and accuracy of language in ancient Chinese literary theory. Even if he wants to criticize the writer, there is no need to beat about the bush, which will make his comment even less convincing (37). 12.6 Novels by Other Writers Apart from the abovementioned writers, critics also comment on the works of Han Shaogong, and others from different perspectives. Han Shaogong remains steadfast despite criticisms and doubts, and he finishes many new novels and essays, covering such issues as the social transformation in the background of globalization, and rural-urban contradictions. He also keeps exploring different styles in his novels. Nan Fan, Li Tuo, Cai Xiang, Meng Fanhua, and Kuang Xinnian ever comment on his works from different perspectives. Nan Fan points out that ideology has played a more and more important role in Han Shaogong’s literary career. About his style, “Could it be intense and cold, impulsive and analytical, lyrical and critical, or poetic and rational…. If you invoke such aesthetic word pairs, Han Shaogong would probably fall into the latter one in each pair” (“The Source of Poetry” 66).

Criticism on Full-Length Novels  255 Li Tuo’s comment on Intimation (⟪暗示⟫), one of Han Shaogong’s novels, is positive, using such exaggerated rhetoric as “a book that provokes thinking,” but after an intensive reading, he is a bit worried. He says, In Intimation the writer puts himself in an awkward situation. He has to write in a way that turns literature into theory, and theory into literature. The success of the writing is determined neither by the circulation of this book, nor by the number of readers who approve of it. (Intimation: A Book Provoking Thoughts 5) Meng Fanhua identifies with Han Shaogong after getting familiar with his journey of psychological growth. Meng holds that what attracted the public’s interest in the 1990s is not his novels but his essays, with which Han ruthlessly whips those dying souls. Yang Yang (杨扬) regards Intimation as a failed stylistic experiment. He claims that after finishing this novel, he feels a little puzzled, not by words or the way of conveying ideas but by its literary style. Han Shaogong seems to have anticipated the readers’ unfamiliarity with such style, so he points it out in the preface, but the question is whether a work like this can still be considered a novel (Yang, Wen Wei Po). Liu Zhenyun ever turned to film adaptation and TV drama and rarely wrote novels. He later returns to the literary world with the novel Someone to Talk To (⟪一句顶一万句⟫). Meng Fanhua points out that compared with Happy Dreams (⟪高兴⟫), this novel lacks romance or literati ambience, and it is indeed closer to the style or spirit of All Men Are Brothers (⟪水浒传⟫). Characters like Wu Moxi (吴摩西), Wu Xiangxiang (吴香香), Niu Aiguo (牛爱国), and Pang Lina (庞丽娜) have been living a rushing life, without a destination in their heart. The rushing life unveils all their hardships. “The concept of happiness in Chinese culture is living and working in peace and contentment, but the two generations always have a hard and busy life. Whatever the reasons are, one thing is certain that their life is miserable” (Meng, “‘Talking’ Is the Politics of Life” 45). Meng claims that it is one of the most interesting, thoughtful, and insightful novels he has read in recent years. The novel is the great music with the faintest notes and it will usher in a new era of storytelling (“‘Talking’ Is the Politics of Life” 45). Chen Xiaoming regards Someone to Talk To as work of mourning, which mourns the vanishing local civilization and its cultural memory and constructs a ceremony of delivering a eulogy. From this novel, Chen finds that “the rural era ends forever, and all our imagination about countryside has drained away. It will never appear again” (The Doors of Perception 411). All that remains is survival. Therefore, “mourning is also the metaphorical expression of the subject’s impasse in writing” (The Doors of Perception 411). Those comments on Su Tong and Ge Fei are also worth mentioning. Su Tong was committed to writing short stories in his early years and made remarkable achievements. He started writing from the 1990s. Zhang Xuexin (张学昕) makes

256  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction a systematic study on his writing in this period.5 Wang Dewei argues in his article titled “The Depravity and Temptation in the South” that Su Tong is born to be a good storyteller, but what makes his works so attractive? The literary geography in these works may have played an important role, which mainly refers to two cities – Suzhou and Nanjing. It represents the regions lying south of the Yangtze River with cultural environment and atmosphere different from that in the north. This is what makes Su Tong’s novels unique. “Both cities have long history, with the misty rain in Suzhou and the flourishing social life in Nanjing lingering in people’s memory. Both cities have witnessed numerous historical events” (“The Depravity and Temptation in the South” 71). Wang Dewei states that the south has its own literary tradition, such as The Songs of Chu (⟪楚辞⟫), and the latter fu-poetry in Han Dynasty (Han Fu, 汉赋), which is different from that of the north. And laudable comments are ordinary things (“The Depravity and Temptation in the South” 71). However, such traditions determine the artistic temperament of writers and their pursuit of writing style. Zhang Qinghua holds similar views. He thinks that Su Tong’s name links two psychic Chinese characters – Su (苏) and Tong (童) – together, which makes him unique. “Su” has something to do with the city of Suzhou, which is a very beautiful city. There is a saying that just as there is paradise in heaven, there are Suzhou and Hangzhou on earth. The other character Tong (童, meaning child in Chinese) is related to childlike innocence and childhood. Therefore, Su Tong’s novels embody not only the elegance and gorgeousness of heaven but also the purity of childlike innocence as well as the freedom of childhood, having a unique temperament of classical romance and noble sentimentality (“The Elegy of Paradise” 197). Ge Fei started writing at the same time as Su Tong. But he experienced a longer period of language experiment and stylistic exploration. Later, he gradually finds a form that is most suitable for his novels. To some extent, The End of Spring in Jiangnan Region (⟪春尽江南⟫) and The Cloak of Invisibility (⟪隐身衣⟫) are his mature works. After the transformation, Ge Fei shakes off those tender and romantic sentiments which are hard to understand and keeps an open mind to whatever things he can get. From this perspective, it will be reasonable to regard The End of Spring in Jiangnan Region as the best work on the fate of intellectuals in the 1990s. The realistic writing in the novella The Cloak of Invisibility is also rare in recent years, which makes Ge Fei more eye-catching than Yu Hua and Su Tong. Ge Fei seems to step into an increasingly broad historical realm and is more closely connected with continuous social changes, along with a sentiment of compassion and transcendence. One critic comments on The End of Spring in Jiangnan Region that though the novel embodies the Borgesian illusion, it touches upon the most abstract topic – death, through the heroine Jiayu’s death. And the abstraction is the most important thing in the novel. Ge Fei’s subjective consciousness has matured gradually during the long process from his college years in East China Normal University to his love for Borges’ works and from the vanguard to his thorough understanding of himself. Finally, Ge Fei showcases his talents as an excellent writer before readers, with

Criticism on Full-Length Novels  257 The End of Spring in Jiangnan Region and The Cloak of Invisibility as two vivid manifestations (G. Cheng 108–110). Notes 1 Wang Yu’s articles “In Pursuit of Life Aesthetics: On Jia Pingwa’s Writing” (co-­authored with Xiao Yunru) was published on No. 12, 1981, Journal of Literature and Art; and “Changes in Jia Pingwa’s Creation: On Xiaoyue and Households in Jiwowa” was published on No. 7, 1984, Journal of Literature and Art. Li Xing’s articles “Belief and Artistic Order in the Chaotic World: On Turbulence” was published on No. 6, 1987, Novel Review; and “The East and the World: Find His Own Position – Notes on Jia Pingwa’s Artistic Thinking” was published on No. 6, 1991, Contention in Literature and Art. Fei Binxun’s articles “On Jia Pingwa’s New Novels” was published on 22 Oct., 1980, Guangming Daily; “On Jia Pingwa” was published on No. 1, 1985, Contemporary Writers Review; “Jia Pingwa and Chinese Ancient Culture and Aesthetics” was published on No. 1, 1986, Litterateur; “On the Modern Consciousness in Jia Pingwa’s Novels” was published on No. 4, 1986, Novel Review; “The Structural Order of Jia Pingwa’s Shangzhou Series” was published on No. 4, 1987, People’s Literature; and “The Aestheticization of Life: An Analysis of Jia Pingwa’s Temperament” was published on No. 2, 1992, Contemporary Writers Review. Liu Jianjun’s articles “A Study of Jia Pingwa’s Novels” was published on No. 1, 1985, Contemporary Writers Review; and “On Jia Pingwa” was published on No. 3, 1985, Literature Review. Their critical articles published on Shaanxi local journals were excluded. 2 Wang Dewei (1954–), a literary critic, was born in Taiwan, China, while his ancestral home was in Jilin Province. He graduated from foreign languages department of National Taiwan University in 1976 and obtained his doctorate degree in comparative literature from the University of Wisconsin. He once taught at National Taiwan University and Columbia University and now is a professor in the Department of East Asian Languages and Civilizations at Harvard University. He published Methods to Imagine China (⟪想象中国的方法⟫) and Twenty Contemporary Novelists (⟪当代小说二十 家⟫). He has been an active critic in recent years. 3 Lingchi was a form of punishment in old times. The criminal was put to death by dismembering the body – by the translator. 4 Wang Anyi quite agrees to this article and has mentioned it on various occasions. It can be seen that Li Jiefei is fully aware of the transformation of Wang Anyi’s creation. 5 See Zhang Xuexin’s article: “Seeking for Spirituality in Reality.” The Northern Forum, vol. 44, no. 4, 2002, pp. 93–96.

Works Cited Bao, Shijun and Chen Zhongshi. “An I nterview after The White Deer Plain’s Awarding of Mao Dun Prize for Literature.” Yan’an Literature, vol. 19, no. 6, 1997, pp. 73–76. Chang, Guanyuan. “The White Deer Plain and Social Aesthetic Psychology.” Novel Review, vol. 4, no. 1, 1998, pp. 10–16. Chen, Sihe. “The Folk Narrative in Mo Yan’s Recent Novels.” Zhongshan, vol. 24, no. 5, 2001, pp. 201–206. Chen, Xiaoming. “Beyond Patriarchy: Psychological Autobiography of Despair—On Yu Hua’s Calling in the Drizzle.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 9, no. 4, 1992, pp. 4–10. Chen, Xiaoming. The Mainstream of Chinese Contemporary Literature. Peking University Press, 2009.

258  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction Chen, Xiaoming. The Doors of Perception. Peking University Press, 2015. Chen, Yong. “On Chen Zhongshi’s Literary Writing.” Literature Review, vol. 42, no. 3, 1998, pp. 5–21. Chen, Zhongyi. “On Jia Pingwa’s The Lantern Bearer and Other Works.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 30, no. 3, 2013, pp. 22–31. Cheng, Depei. “Wenwen’s Emotion: On Wang Anyi’s Recent Short Stories.” Shanghai Literature, vol. 24, no. 7, 1981, pp. 33–36. Cheng, Guangwei. “On Gefei’s Literary World.” Literature Review, vol. 59, no. 2, 2015, pp. 107–115. Gao, Yuanbao. “Preface.” Research Materials on Jia Pingwa. Tianjin People’s Publishing House, 2005, pp. 1–8. Hao, Ling. “Being Biased and Superficial: A Discussion with Mr. Sun Shaozhen over White Deer Plain.” Literary and Artistic Contention, vol. 16, no. 6, 2001, pp. 34–39. Hu, Heqing. “On Jia Pingwa.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 10, no. 6, 1993, pp. 13–19. Lei, Da. “Spirits on the Ruins: On The White Deer Plain.” Literature Review, vol. 37, no. 6, 1993, pp. 105–118. Li, Jianjun. “Chen Zhongshi’s Literary Wriying in the Transitional Period.” Journal of Hainan Normal University (Social Science), vol. 17, no. 1, 2003, pp. 22–30. Li, Jiefei. “The New Legend of Wang Anyi: A Theoretical Analysis.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 10, no. 5, 1993, pp. 4–8. Li, Jingze. “On Zhuang Zhidie.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 26, no. 5, 2009, pp. 14–20. Li, Tuo. “The Cultural and Aesthetic Consciousness in Chinese Literary—Preface to Three Stories of Shangzhou by Jia Pingwa.” Shanghai Literature, vol. 34, no. 1, 1986, pp. 90–104. Li, Tuo. Intimation: A Book Provoking Thoughts. Taiwan United Literary Publishing House, 2003. Li, Zhensheng. “Shanzhou: The Novelistic World of Jia Pingwa.” Shanghai Literature, vol. 34, no. 4, 1986, pp. 90–96. Luan, Meijian. “The Folk Legend: On the Literary View of Mo Yan.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 30, no. 1, 2013, pp. 54–65. Meng, Fanhua. “Ideological Storm in an Ordinary Age: Han Shaogong’s Writings in 1990s.” Literary and Artistic Contention, vol. 9, no. 5, 1994, pp. 54–58. Meng, Fanhua. “‘Talking’ Is the Politics of Life: On Liu Zhenyun’s Novle Someone to Talk To.” Literary and Artistic Contention, vol. 24, no. 8, 2009, pp. 43–45. Nan, Fan. “The Portrait of a City: Reading The Song of Everlasting Sorrow by Wang Anyi.” Novel Review, vol. 14, no. 1, 1998, pp. 66–73. Nan, Fan. “The Source of Poetry: Centered on Han Shaogong’ Prose of in 1990s.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 19, no. 5, 2002, pp. 66–77. Nan, Fan. “Magic and Allegory of Reality.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 30, no. 1, 2013, pp. 66–70. Nan, Fan. “‘Water’ and the Narratology of The Mountain Whisperer.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 32, no. 1, 2015, pp. 55–59. Sun, Shaozhen. “What Is the Cultural Value of Art: A Case Study of White Deer Plain.” Fujian Forum, vol. 19, no. 3, 1999, pp. 35–39. Sun, Yu. “An Essay on The Lantern Bearer.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 30, no. 3, 2013, pp. 31–36. Sun, Yu. “Mo Yan: The Literature Breakout of an Era.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 30, no. 1, 2013, pp. 27–34. Wang, Binbin. “Yu Hua’s Crazy Words.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 6, no. 4, 1989, pp. 39–45.

Criticism on Full-Length Novels  259 Wang, Dewei. “Another Inheritor of Shanghai-School Writing: Wang Anyi.” Reading, vol. 18, no. 6, 1996, pp. 37–43. Wang, Dewei. “The Depravity and Temptation in the South.” Reading, vol. 20, no. 4, 1998, pp. 70–80. Wang, Dewei. “The Spectacle of Scars and Violence: Reading Going on a Long Journey at the Age of Eighteen.” Reading, vol. 20, no. 5, 1998, pp. 36–40. Wang, Dewei. “Thousands of Words Welled Up: The Writing of Mo Yan.” Reading, vol. 21, no. 3, 1999, pp. 95–102. Wang, Dewei. “The Narrative of Violence and Lyricism: On Old Furnace and Other Works by Jia Pingwa.” Southern Cultural Forum, vol. 25, no. 4, 2011, pp. 22–24. Wang, Hui. “Endless Writing: On the Preface to Could I Trust Myself—A Selection of Yu Hua’s Essays.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 16, no. 3, 1999, pp. 37–45. Wang, Xiaoming. “From ‘Huaihai Road’ to ‘Meijia Bridge’: On the Transformation of Wang Anyi’s Novels.” Literature Review, vol. 46, no. 3, 2002, pp. 5–20. Wang, Zheng. “A Review of Jia Pingwa.” Zhongshan, vol. 25, no. 4, 2002, pp. 157–158. Wang, Zheng and Xiaohua. “On Wang Anyi.” Zhongshan, vol. 23, no. 4, 2000, pp. 187–203. Xie, Youshun. “The Virtuality and Reality of Jia Pingwa.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 9, no. 2, 1992, pp. 18–22. Xie, Youshun. “Death Is Hard than Survival: An Analysis on the Humanity in Sandalwood Penalty.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 18, no. 5, 2001, pp. 20–27. Xie, Youshun. “Honoring Spirit and Life: Jia Pingwa’s Shaanxi Opera and Its Ethics.” ­Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 22, no. 5, 2005, pp. 4–17. Yang, Yang. “Intimation: A Failed Stylistic Experiment.” Wen Wei Po, 21 Dec. 2002. Zhang, Qinghua. “The Elegy of Paradise: On Su Tong.” Zhongshan, vol. 24, no. 1, 2001, pp. 197–204. Zhang, Qinghua. “A Subtraction of Literature: On Yu Hu.” Southern Cultural Forum, vol. 6, no. 4, 2002, pp. 4–8. Zhang, Qinghua. “The Narrative Extreme: On Mo Yan.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 20, no. 2, 2003, pp. 59–74. Zhang, Xinyin. “The Power hat Manipulates People: Reading Notes of Life and Death Are Wearing Me Out.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 26, no. 6, 2009, pp. 62–65. Zhang, Zhizhong. “How to Step Out of White Deer Plain: Some Thoughts on Chen Zhongshi.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 15, no. 4, 1998, pp. 8–516. Zhang, Zhizhong. “Several Contradictions of Jia Pingwa’s Writing.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 16, no. 5, 1999, pp. 50–57. Zhao, Yiheng. “The Success of Non-Semantization: An Intensive Reading of Yu Hua.” ­Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 9, no. 4, 1992, pp. 33–38.

13 Fiction Criticism since the Start of the 21st Century

The term “New Century Literature” used to mean a literary concept discussed in a column of Literary and Artistic Contention (⟪文艺争鸣⟫),1 but now it stands for a clear distinction between the literary writing since the start of the new millennium in the year 2000 and the historical features of the literature created before. Now that “New Century Literature” has evolved for almost 20 years; it is necessary to revisit the fiction criticism during this period. 13.1 The “Post-1970s” and “Post-1980s” Writers The labels of the so-called post-1970s and post-1980s writers are directly related to the naming pattern in the 21st-century literature. Since they were born in the late years of the Cultural Revolution and the New Period, they have no memories of social instability, and their relatively peaceful growth was in line with the basic atmosphere of the Reform and Opening-up Movement. The long duration of peace, nevertheless, seems to have left them a sense of deep estrangement toward the major historical events in previous decades. At the same time, cultural consumption came along with the New Period, flooding into their spiritual world and undermining their judgment on historical truth. This is indeed a historical period, in which one can hardly tell the truth from the fallacy, and all the young writers are being tested, even though many of them are not aware of such a fact in their literary writing. In my opinion, the discussion about “New Century Literature” is mainly centered around its significance, which actually remains to be substantiated through a process of definition and designation. An active critic in the 21st-century literature, Meng Fanhua (孟繁华), authored the monograph, After the Literary Revolution: Criticism on Literature in the New Century (⟪文学革命终结之后——新世纪文学论稿⟫), which presents a basic coverage of the literary writing in this period. He states that New Century Literature has evolved nonchalantly for ten years amid different reactions. Whatever has happened in this decade will be picked up by various narratives. What is more important is that the New Century Literature in the last decade has shed some light on many issues that we have not discovered or realized up to this point. Also, it has gradually revealed so much about itself (382). According to Meng, among the works that reflect the contemporary life and engage in public affairs in a literary DOI: 10.4324/9781003565031-17

Fiction Criticism since the Start of the 21st Century  261 way, Cao Zhenglu’s (曹征路) novel, Asking the Bondless (⟪问苍茫⟫), is evidently the most influential one. “What is equally worth noting,” he adds, “is that the greatest literary achievement in the 21st century so far, is novella writing” (382). In addition, since the new century began, vernacular literature (乡土文学), women’s literature (女性文学), urban literature (都市文学), and even “bureaucratic novels” (官场小说) have all contributed, to a different extent, their localized experiences (even their not so successful experiences) and constructed jointly the modernity of the 21st-century literature (382). Within the timeframe defined by Meng Fanhua, we may see that the 21stcentury literature so far includes the writings by the seasoned writers and the writers of a new generation as well. Meng’s monograph offers a list of “post-70s” writers, such as Wei Hui (卫慧), Mian Mian (棉棉), Ding Tian (丁天), Zhao Bo (赵波), Wei Wei (魏微), Zhu Xinying (朱新颖), Chen Jiaqiao (陈家桥), Zhou Jieru (周洁茹), Sheng Keyi (盛可以), Dai Lai (戴来), Jin Renshun (金仁顺), Xu Zechen (徐则臣), Mi Hong (弥红), Jin Lei (金磊), Chen Hong (陈红), Li Fan (李 凡), Lu Min (鲁敏), Qiao Ye (乔叶), Liu Yudong (刘玉栋), Ba Qiao (巴乔), Li Hao (李浩), Zhao Yan (赵彦), Wang Qijun (王齐君), Dong Yina (董懿娜), Jiang Yu (姜宇), Wang Shiyue (王十月), Fang Ziyu (方子玉), and Liu Yuanjin (刘元 进) (382).2 In Listen to the Voice from the Western Salt Lake: A Collection of Short Stories by the “Post-80s” Writers (⟪听盐生长的声音——80后短篇小说集⟫), compiled by Song Geng (宋耕) and Yang Qingxiang (杨庆祥), the following writers are selected: Zhang Yueran (张悦然), Di An (笛安), Yan Ge (颜歌), Fu Yuehui (甫跃辉), Zhou Jianing (周嘉宁), Ma Xiaotao (马小淘), Su Cici (苏瓷瓷), Shou Zhi (手指), Su De (苏德), Zhang Yiwei (张怡微), Wang Weilian (王威廉), Zheng Miaoli (郑小驴), Fei Dao (飞氘), Shu Qiao (殳俏), Hao Jingfang (郝景芳), and Chen Yingfan (陈楸帆). The list might be incomplete, and it will certainly be modified later. Obviously, the term, “post-80s” writers, was first originated from the list of award-winning authors for the “New Concept Writing Competition (新 概念作文大赛)”3 and then slowly established after several rounds of changes and reversals. In the foreword to their book, Song and Yang state that in 2013, “post-80s” was still the most widely recognized term in the cultural community of the Chinese mainland. Two films, “Tiny Times 1.0” (⟪小时代1⟫) and “Tiny Times 2.0” (⟪小时 代2⟫), directed by the most marketable writer, Guo Jingming (郭敬明), hit the big screen respectively in July and August and caused a huge sensation. All this shows that the “post-80s” writers have formulated a view of history that differs from that of their predecessors, or, in other words, the writers of this generation have grown up in “Tiny Times.” Moreover, Song and Yang points out In the historical context of the Chinese mainland, the “post-80s” writing should be distinguished both in a narrow sense and a broad sense. In the narrow sense, it refers to the young writers who began to step into the public view around 2000. At the very beginning, most of these writers belonged to two groups: one is the group of “New Concept” writers who emerged from

262  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction the New Concept Writing Competition sponsored by the Shanghai-based magazine, Budding (⟪萌芽⟫), including Guo Jingming and Zhang Yuran who mainly engage in fiction and essay writing; the other is a group of poets. (4–5) Strictly speaking, therefore, the “post-80s writing” specifically refers to the group of mostly “New Concept” fiction writers whose writings are typically market-oriented. The emergence of these writers at that time corresponded, to the greatest extent possible, to the imagination of capital about Chinese literary writing. Song and Yang believe that the “aesthetic symptoms” of these writers’ works fall into two categories: the writing of urban fiction and the narrative of personal experience (5). Critics like Meng Fanhua, He Shaojun, Bai Ye, and Chen Fumin (陈福民), as well as a few of their young colleagues, followed the fiction writing by the “post-70s” and “post-80s” writers very closely. Shen Xiayan (申霞艳) observes in her article, “Narrative of Desires in Beijing: On Xu Zechen” (⟪北京的欲望叙 事——徐则臣论⟫), just like how Paris and the out-of-towners generate so much significance for Balzac, the out-of-towners (Beijing drifters) and Beijing contribute the most fundamental narrative tension in Xu Zechen’s fiction (131). According to Meng Fanhua, Lu Min became famous with her “Dongba” series of small-town novellas. Small towns have become a legend in China today, like a kind of cultural memory that could only be imagined but not experienced once again. Meng writes In 2009, nonetheless, her writing embarked on a different course because the novellas that she published successively, such as Hungry Embrace (⟪饥饿 的怀抱⟫), The Thin Red Line (⟪细细红线⟫), and Feather (⟪羽毛⟫), were all dedicated to the representation of urban life. This was certainly a new challenge. Feather, a story about family ethics, unfolds the emotional life of a specific family, rather than dwelling on the glamorous and raucous metropolitan life: Teacher Fei (费), a single mom, her 16-year-old daughter, Xiao Yin (小茵), Hao Yin (郝音), an art teacher, and her husband, Mu (穆) who is a doctor. (68) No matter how the author changes her perspective, or whose life she writes about, her writing is actually based on the experiences of small-town life. While discussing Huang Yongmei’s (黄咏梅) writing, Meng notes that Huang is good at portraying ordinary people and discovering the hidden corners and characters’ inner world, which are not easily detectable in the mundane life. Her novel, Archives (⟪档案⟫), is equally thrilling. Even though we are living in an era when the archival system has loosened up to the extent that it no longer dictates people’s destiny, the deterrent effect of archives on people still has not become something in the past (72). Also, Meng has his own opinion about Xu Zechen, who is good at writing about small-town life. He thinks Xu Zechen’s short story, “Long Journey” (⟪长途⟫),

Fiction Criticism since the Start of the 21st Century  263 may seem simple and plain, but after reading it through, one realizes that it is a well-structured story. What is most worth discussing about the story is the relationship between the nephew Chen Xiaoduo (陈小多), a graduate student, and the eldest son, Chen Zigui (陈子归). It is neither a relationship between intellectuals and ordinary folks nor a relationship in which one enlightens the other (76). In the course of the narrative, Chen Xiaoduo plays the role of a tourist. Another critic, Chen Fumin (陈福民), chooses to take a bird-eye view of the story, claiming that in the broad horizon of history, the author can do nothing but offer variated conclusions of history. As for writers with great talent, they will be able to present their variations on a much wider scale, hence generating a kind of expansion of the connotations in literary history and filling up some forgotten corners in the horizon of history. For instance, Chen regards the writing of Shi Yifeng (石一枫), a young writer in Beijing, as an innovative extension of Wang Shuo’s (王朔) spiritual genealogy. Shi’s writing could easily remind people of Wang Suo. Many people prefer to cite Wang Shuo in defining the spiritual spectrum of Shi’s writing. Time has changed, however, and Shi is not Wang Shuo after all. In his fiction, Shi is always pestered by a certain force, or something that he just cannot let go completely but has been underpinning his writing. For the lack of a better word, we may just call it “the sequela of youth.” “Through his writing,” Chen insists, “Shi has vividly delineated the tough struggle and recalcitrant resistance of various patients in this era. And he has defended, with his fiction writing, a small group’s rights and legitimacy over their sequela of youth” (158–159). In his comment on Wang Shiyue (王十月), Chen argues that Wang resorts to novels to remember history and shows how his characters defy their humbleness and confront the drastic changes in history with a positive attitude even though they are merely insignificant folks caught in the torrents of history. Chen holds that what appears to be so extraordinary in Wang’s novel No Monument (⟪无碑⟫) is the way in which the portrayal of Lao Wu (老乌) thoroughly reveals the multiple complicated relationships all migrant workers have to deal with during the transformation of the Chinese society. Their life is full of mental torment and physical trauma (167). Bai Ye is one of the first critics who expressed their enthusiasm for the young writers of the “post-80s” generation. He tried to present these young and fledging writers to the reading public by organizing symposiums and writing introductory articles. In recent years, Meng Fanhua and He Shaojun have also started to select the new works by young writers for the Annual Anthologies of Short Stories and Novellas (⟪中短篇小说年度选本⟫). Critics working on the front line of literature read numerous new works and wrote many follow-up critical articles. All this has given the writers of a new generation a big boost in their professional growth. 13.2 Other Writers Since the start of the 21st century, many writers have published their new works from time to time. They are Zhang Wei (张炜), Tie Ning (铁凝), Chi Zi Jian (迟 子建), Liu Qingbang (刘庆邦), Lin Bai (林白), Fang Fang (方方), Ye Zhaoyan (叶兆言), Zhou Daxin (周大新), Fan Xiaoqing (范小青), Liu Xinglong (刘醒龙),

264  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction Bi Feiyu (毕飞宇), Li Er (李洱), Dong Xi (东西), Ai Wei (艾伟), etc. The city novel, Flowers (⟪繁花⟫), by the senior editor, Jin Yucheng (金宇澄), From the South to the North (⟪北去来辞⟫) by Lin Bai, and Brother in Kind (⟪实物兄⟫) by Li Er attracted a lot of attention from critics. In his article on Fang Fang, Yu Kexun (於可训)4 offers a brief account of the author’s writing. Fang Fang was born in an intellectual family with ties to the academia, but some of her experiences and unique personality traits predisposed her to be a “life-oriented” or a highly “secularized” writer. Citing her novel, Ants on the Blade (⟪刀锋上的蚂蚁⟫), as an example, Yu argues that like the down-andout painter in the novel, the people in China who had lived through the Cultural Revolution and some of the extremely politicized periods before that, especially those who somehow carried some sort of “political baggage,” have more or less the similar feeling about standing on the blade like ants (195). Yu sees Fang Fang as an expert in addressing the issue of fate. For instance, what happens to He Hanqing (何汉晴), the protagonist of Going Out to Die (⟪出门 寻死⟫), is her own fault, whereas Li Baoli (李宝莉), the heroine in Ten Thousand Arrows through the Heart (⟪万箭穿心⟫), is forced into that tragic situation. He Hanqing goes out to kill herself simply because of some trivial family affairs and quarrels in her daily life. Li Baoli’s impulsive killing of her husband is triggered by his betrayal. Consequently, the killing changes not only her fate but also her son’s. In Yu’s judgment, “Fang Fang is a relentless writer who shows no mercy in representing life or exposing human nature” (196). Yu draws a conclusion, based on his in-depth analysis of Fang’s novel, Water under Time (⟪水在时间之下⟫) and her recent novella, The Personal Grief of Tu Ziqiang (⟪涂自强的个人悲伤⟫), that the living experiences of the two protagonists, Shui Shangdeng (水上灯) and Tu Ziqiang (涂自强), reflect how people displayed the life essence of their “sensual existence” from what Carl Marx called “a position of passivity” (being contained or restricted). Yu points out Just like He Hanqing and Li Baoli, Shui and Tu are so different from each other. Shui turns herself from an outcast to a star of Han opera (汉剧) ­after enduring all kinds of hardships. Similarly, Tu develops himself from a youth in the countryside to a college student through his own tenacious endeavor. The difference between them is that Shui has been in the limelight and reached the glorious height in life, whereas Tu lives through his life without a fame or any accomplishment, and his unyielding commitment ends in vain. One becomes a somebody, while the other remains a nobody. They are worlds apart in terms of their dynamics and values in the worldly life. Nevertheless, Fang Fang arranged a similar ending for both: Having survived various setbacks, removed vengeance from her mind, and cleansed her worldly pretentiousness, Shui decides to live seclusively in town and, after settling all the matters before and after her death, dies peacefully in sleep.Tu loses his job, suffers from a terminal disease, and arranges his mother’s funeral after learning that his days are numbered. (197)

Fiction Criticism since the Start of the 21st Century  265 Yu offers an explanation for Fang Fang’s seemingly extreme narratives. If p­ eople place her novels in a broad context of the novel writing since the turn of the century, it is not so difficult to see that the “blade-sharp narratives” favored by Fang Fang in her novels embody a major aspect of the “radicalized” trend in novel writing since the 1990s (Yu 198). Clearly, Yu’s explanation implies a touch of criticism. Needless to say, though, it shows Fang’s strength and weakness as well. In recent years, Yu seldom if ever issued his comment on writers’ new works, but the detailed and precise analysis in this article reflects his serious and responsible attitude toward writers and their works, thus exemplifying a reasonable and professional approach in criticism. Chang Qie (昌切) is also a critic who doesn’t publish critical articles on a frequent basis. Known for his discerning eye and raze-sharp judgment, he never shows any mercy in criticizing works by famous writers. He is the first one to suggest that while reading Bi Feiyu’s (毕飞宇) novels, critics should know where they stand. Unlike Mo Yan (莫言) and others who prefer to lay emphasis on emotion, Bi Feiyu pays more attention to rationality in his writing, a feature that is quite similar to that of Mao Dun, Han Shaogong, and Lu Wenfu (陆文夫) (37). According to Chang, the late scholar Fan Jun (樊骏) once stated that the reason why it was difficult to study Mao Dun was not because his works were so complicated, but because he described everything so clearly that there was not much left for critics to say. In other words, reading Bi’s novels is not that hard. What is really hard for critics is to figure out how to chime in. “What I learned from reading Bi’s Blind Massage (⟪推拿⟫),” Chang explains, “is the semantic opposition between the two terms, ‘able-bodied’ and ‘disabled’, and its derivative, namely, the rational constitution of the inequality between healthy people and people with disabilities” (37). Also, what he learned from reading Bi’s novellas Yu Mi (⟪玉米⟫) and Yu Xiu (⟪玉秀⟫) is the semantic association between the two terms, gender and rights, and its derivative, namely, the rational constitution of the inequality between men and women (37). In Chang’s belief, the rational constitution in Bi’s novels functions as their artistic structure. Accordingly, Chang admits in his article that what the two novellas struck him most is the idea that time is static. The year “1971” is merely an abstract symbol, which doesn’t necessarily mean the year in which the stories of Yu Mi and Yu Xiu take place. Rather, it could refer to any point in time before and afterward (Chang 38). With this idea in mind, Chang Qie didn’t rush to a conclusion on the novellas but rather gave up his usual critical approach of theoretical deduction and started pondering over every move made by the characters. At first, Bi Feiyu describes, in great detail, how Yu Mi and Yu Xiu do the farm work and take care of the household chores, as if he is going to set them up as the main characters, but the author pauses abruptly and says that the real protagonist is actually their father, Wang Lianfang (王连方). That’s pretty amazing. Under their father’s protection, the two sisters live their life just like other country girls, peacefully and uneventfully. But after their father, the party secretary of their village, loses his power, their life is turned upside down and their destiny drops into the hands of others. Yu Mi falls in love with a pilot, Peng Guoliang (彭国梁), but he

266  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction doubts about her unchastity. Once trapped in the icy love relationship, she resorts to self-torture as a compensation for the terrible mistake she made while trying to protect her chastity. Yu Xiu is notorious in the Wang Village, so she feels hopeless and acts recklessly. Later on, she starts to repent her own behavior and wants to marry the educated young man Guo Zuo (郭左). Just before he decides to accept her, Guo finds out that she has been gang-raped before and therefore changes his mind immediately. But he still manages to get her into bed and then impregnates her. After Guo’s departure from the village, Yu Xiu becomes utterly disenchanted. It is the tiny baby moving in her womb that wakes up her maternal instinct and rekindles her compassion. In Chang Qie’s opinion, Bi Feiyu not only analyzed the patriarchal structure in the countryside and revealed the good and evil of humanity through the joys and pains in the two sisters’ love affairs but also presented to the readers a pair of dynamic characters whose lives are full of conflicts and hardships. Such an analysis is indeed extraordinary (41–42). Chen Xiaoming offered an in-depth interpretation of Tie Ning’s novella, How Far Is Forever (⟪永远有多远⟫), articulating his general understanding of Tie Ning’s writing style. He believes that the most distinctive feature in Tie Ning’s works is her description of distance, namely, the distance between a person and the destination he or she tries to reach. Readers might be able to see a unique landscape in her novels. Her novels are “highly descriptive and even picturesque (188). Chen defined How Far Is Forever as a “nostalgic but plain” novella, but “it always leaves the readers infinite food for thought because the more nonchalant the novel seems, the more endless aftertaste it delivers.” And this is also true with the works by Wang Zengqi (汪曾祺) and Sun Li (孙犁) (188). In Chen’s judgment, Tie Ning first portrays Bai Dasheng (白大省), the heroine in How Far Is Forever, as a holdout of the remaining values of the old Beijing (188). Here, the image of a “holdout” conveys a deep sense of nostalgia. Then, Tie Ning carefully delineates the simple and honest traits of Bai Dasheng (白大省). Though a typical Beijing girl, tall and average-looking, she has a strong feminine desire. This desire spells self-doubt in her. She has been envying Xidan Xiaoliu (西单小六) all along, but the feminine desire in her stimulates so much self-doubt that she is constantly tormented by a nagging feeling of self-inferiority. Then, how did Tie Ning manage to let readers see Bai Dasheng from a bird’s-eye view? She borrowed a “narrator” from somewhere. This narrator follows Bai Dasheng around, like a video camera, or an analyst, leading readers, step by step, from Bai Dasheng’s external movements into the inner workings of her mind. According to Chen Xiaoming, Bai Dasheng’s jealousy of Xidan Xiaoliu evolves into a sense of “self-alienation” within her. “Self-alienation” is actually Bai Dasheng’s unique self-consciousness, or the unusual “self” that she has been attempting unyieldingly to reconstruct from the formulated and socially conditioned “ego.” And Xidan Xiaoliu is her ­alter ego. The distance is no longer an external point of view. The “self” looks at the sentient being of Bai Dasheng from a certain height or a window; instead, it is her “alter ego” split from her inner world, but existing

Fiction Criticism since the Start of the 21st Century  267 elsewhere. The “self” lives inside her, whereas her “alter ego” stays around her, as a sort of alienation from the “self.” Living under such circumstances, she has no control over her “self,” and she yearns for her freedom, her ­unusual ­transcendence, and her seductive charm for men. (193) Evidently, Chen’s psychological analysis is quite incisive. Indeed, as critics put it well, while writing her novels about women, such as The Gate of Rose (⟪玫瑰 门⟫) and The Bathing Woman (⟪大浴女⟫), Tie Ning is good at setting up her female characters for contrast, so as to create multiple perspectives and interweave a network of observational positions. These perspectives and positions may compare, contrast, question, and even repudiate one another. Chen Xiaoming’s critical approach is not the usual kind of textual analysis, but a kind of in-depth interpretation based on a combination of theory and criticism. By questioning the issues no one has touched upon before and expressing the views no one has shared before, Chen covers so many areas that haven’t been adequately cultivated in the study of Tie Ning’s novels. His interpretation has greatly expanded the world in her novels. Lin Bai made her debut on the literary state with her novel, A War of One’s Own (⟪一个人的战争⟫), in 1994 and published another novel, From the South to the North (⟪北去来辞⟫), in 2003. If the former earned some rave remarks for its writing style through the gender narrative and was offered a conspicuous boost to its growing value by the literary trend at the time, the latter is certainly good enough to prove its author’s creativity as a mature writer and thereby deserves to be considered a major novel about the social transformations in China in the 1990s. In an article, “The Exodus in the 1980s and 1990s: A War of One’s Own and From South to the North by Lin Bai,” the author of this book traces the correlation between the two novels, so as to point out that the growth of the two protagonists, Duo Mi (多米) and Hai Hong (海红), is deeply tied with the transformation of the contemporary Chinese society, which is a key factor in Lin Bai’s construction of the encompassing emotional chemistry within her novels (Cheng 4). In his opinion, Lin Bai could very well be identified as an autobiographical writer in future literary history, but From the South to the North has turned out to be a big breakthrough for her because she has made some substantial progress in her understanding of characters’ destiny and the life through historical periods (Cheng 5). This article follows the storyline and sticks to the plot development closely, with a series of section headings, such as “Leaving Nanning,” “Coming to Beijing,” “Leaving Beijing,” and “Reminiscence and Reappearance,” with the intent to restore the general framework of the stories first. He then probes into the interconnections among the writer’s writing, characterization, family structure, and the social transformations in the 1990s step by step and eventually demonstrates how to address the issue of “self-repetition” in Lin Bai’s novels through an intensive reading of the texts. By citing what Stephen Owen,5 a renowned Harvard scholar of Chinese poetry in Tang Dynasty, said about the similar issue in his Remembrance: The Experience of Past in Classical Chinese Literature, the author of this book argues that the

268  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction strategy of repetition in Lin Bai’s novel writing is intended to represent, through remembrances, the protagonists’ lives over and over again. And such a recurrent presentation seems to allude to something hard to discard from the inner world of the author, or a persistent exploration of the “self.” In this sense, Lin Bai might be one of the writers who have addressed the issue of “self” most intensely and most successfully in recent years. In her writing, “self” is not merely a monologue, but it is also a dialogue. It celebrates individuality and, perhaps, attempts to reconstruct it more vigorously at the same time (Cheng 10–13). 13.3 The “Post-1980s Critics” The concept of the “post-80s critics” was first introduced in the column entitled “Discussions of Three Scholars of the ‘Post-80s’ Generation” initiated by Zhang Yanling (张燕玲), the editor-in-chief of Southern Cultural Forum (⟪南方文坛⟫) in 2012. Zhang asserts that the column, “Discussion of Three Scholars,” has become an emblematic event in literary criticism, whose significance might surge as time goes by. The collection, Pursuing a Literary Career – Discussions of Three Scholars of the “Post-80s” Generation (⟪以文学为志业——’80 后’学人三人 谈⟫), contains much more than just tributes and anecdotes (1). In the postscript of the book, the editors also emphasize Six dialogues were published in the discussion column. The last one, “The Diversity of Current Writing,” is not included in the book because we felt its writing was too slopy. In this collection, the sixth dialogue, “The ­Writing of the ‘Post-80s Generation’ and the ‘Chinese Dream’,” is based on our first three-way dialogue, and it was first published in Shanghai Literature, ­Issue 6-7, 2011, approximately three years before the national ideology of the “Chinese Dream” was proposed. At the time, we just discussed this ­issue entirely from a literary perspective. The seventh dialogue, “What Is the ‘Post-80s Literature’,” started with a conversation between Jin Li (金理) and Huang Ping (黄平) back in 2014. Given its thematic connection with the sixth dialogue and our common interest in intensifying the discussion about the writings of this generation, Yang Qingxiang (杨庆详) was invited to join the Jin-Huang conversation, which was subsequently expanded into a three-way dialogue and included in this book. This dialogue was put together over a three-year span, during which we, as young scholars, constantly went through self-adjustment, exploration, and even hesitation. (222) The concept of the “post-80s critics” was adopted due to many factors, such as Yang Qingxiang’s What’s Next for the “Post-80s Generation?” (⟪“80 后” 怎 么办?⟫), the “Visiting Researcher” program at the National Museum of Modern Chinese Literature (中国现代文学馆),6 A Collection of Articles by the “Post-80s Critics” (⟪“80 后” 批评家文丛⟫) published by the Yunnan People’s Publishing House (云南人民出版社), and some other activities in literary criticism.

Fiction Criticism since the Start of the 21st Century  269 Among the “post-80s critics,” some are well-established, such as Yang Qingxiang (杨庆祥), Jin Li (金理), Ping Huang (黄平), Xu Gang (徐刚), Yang Xiaofan (杨晓帆), He Tongbin (何同彬), Zhang Dinghao (张定浩), Huang Dehai (黄德 海), Fu Yichen (傅逸尘), Xiang Jing (项静), Li Denan (李德南), Wang Qingfei (王晴飞), Cong Zhichen (丛治辰), Chen Si (陈思), Liu Tao(刘涛), and Zhang Tao (张涛). Some were born in the 1960s or 1970s but remain quite active in the critics circle, such as Huo Junming (霍俊明), Liang Hong (梁鸿), Li Yunlei (李 云雷), Zhang Li (张莉), Zhou Limin (周立民), Fang Wei (房伟), Zhang Dinghao (张定浩), Huang Dehai (黄德海), Zhang Lijun (张丽军), Zeng Liguo (曾立果), Liu Zhirong (刘志荣), Liu Daxian (刘大先), Guo Bingru (郭冰茹), Li Danmeng (李丹梦), Ma Bing (马兵), and Zhang Pingjin (张屏瑾). These critics launched their career in different ways: some were recommended by journals; some were promoted through the thoughtful program at the National Museum of Modern Chinese Literature; some won their recognition through their own endeavors. After the critics who emerged in the New Period became middle-aged and old, the literary community urgently needed young critics. Under such circumstance, the group of the “post-80s critics” rapidly thrived and grew into a brilliant force in literary criticism. The young critics with the most outstanding accomplishment so far are Yang Qingxiang, Jin Li, Huang Ping, Xu Gang, Yang Xiaofan, He Tongbin, Zhang Dinghao, Huang Dehai, Fu Yichen, Xiang Jing, Li Denan, and Wang Qingfei. Dr. Yang Qingxiang graduated from the School of Liberal Arts, Renmin University of China, and he is currently a professor there. He earned his fame with his article, “A Historical Analysis on Lu Yao’s Self-Consciousness and Writing Attitude as well as the ‘Literary Field’ around 1985 (⟪路遥的自我意识和写作姿态—— 兼及 1985 年前后 ‘文学场’ 的历史分析⟫).”After that, he published a number of articles on literary history and criticism from sensible and forward-thinking perspective, such as “How to Interpret ‘Literature of the 1980s’” (⟪如何理解 “80 年代文学”⟫), “Aesthetic Principles, Narrative Styles, and the ‘Power’ of Literary History (⟪审美原则、叙事体式和文学史的’权力’⟫),” “‘Literary History’ in ‘Macro-History’ (⟪在’大历史’中建构’文学史’⟫),” “Individuals Who Can’t be Named (⟪无法命名的个人⟫),” “Historical Consciousness and Subjective Imagination of the Contemporary Petty Bourgeoisie (⟪当代小资产阶级的历史意识和 主体想象⟫),” and “The Dilemma of Historical Reconstruction and Historical Narrative (⟪历史重建和历史叙事的困境⟫).” In addition, he published a long report on social criticism entitled “What’s Next for the ‘Post-80s Generation?” (⟪80后, 怎么办⟫), which had a great impact on his contemporaries. Dr. Jin Li graduated from the Department of Chinese Literature, Fudan University, and he is now a professor there. His rigorous training in the history of modern ideology and in modern Chinese literature became his great asset and his source of inspiration after he dabbled in the study and criticism of contemporary literature. His critical articles include “Deep in the Conflicts and Dilemmas of the Times: Reflecting on Sun Shaoping (⟪在时代冲突和困境深处：回望孙少平⟫),时 “The Wind from the South: Ge Liang (⟪有风自南：葛亮论⟫), 风 “The Twist and Deconstruction of the Facts and Events in Literary History (⟪文学史“事实”、、事件”

270  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction 的缠绕、拆解⟫),绕 and “The Fable of Ego’s Development: Rereading The Journey at Eighteen (⟪“自我” 诞生的寓言——重读 ⟨十八岁出门远门⟩ ⟫). Dr. Huang Ping graduated from the School of Liberal Arts, Renmin University of China, and he is now a professor at the School of Liberal Arts, East China Normal University. He first attracted the attention from the public with his articles, including “The Entanglement between ‘Man’ and ‘Ghost’: The Abandoned Capital and ‘Man’s Literature’ in the 1980s (⟪“人”与“鬼”的纠葛—— ⟨废都⟩ 与八十年代 “人的文学”⟫),” “From Laborer to Labor Force: ‘Inspirational’ Literary Reading, Reform and Ordinary World (⟪从“劳动者”到“劳动力”——“励志型”读法、改革 文学与 ⟨平凡的世界⟩ ⟫),” and “Nihility in the Revolutionary Period: Wang Xiaobo (⟪革命时期的虚无：王小波论⟫).” In recent years, he immersed himself in reading the literary journals and historical data of the 1970s and 1980s and wrote a series of long research articles on the general subject, “The Inception of the New Period Literature,” in which he revealed all the complex factors that contributed to the entanglement, contention, and compromise between various historical forces before and after the inception of the New Period Literature, hence giving a tangible boost to the research in this field. Dr. Xu Gang graduated from the Department of Chinese Literature, Peking University, and is now an associate research fellow at the Institute of Literature, Chinese Academy of Social Sciences. Xu is adept at anchoring his literary criticism in the text itself and cultivating his understanding of the author’s fiction writing and personal consciousness through a close reading. He is also fond of integrating his interpretation with history and effectuating a dialogue about the author’s specific writing process in his criticism. These characteristics of his criticism have been demonstrated in his research publications, such as “How Novels Penetrate Reality: Reading Notes on Recent Novels (⟪小说如何切入现实：近期几部长篇小说的阅读札 记⟫),” “‘Peasants Migrating to Cities’ in the ‘Seventeen-Year Literature’ (⟪“十七年 文学”中的“乡下人进城”⟫),” and “Women’s Liberation in the Family Melodramas of the ‘Seventeen-Year Period’ (⟪“十七年”家庭情节剧的妇女解放主题⟫).” Dr. Yang Xiaofan graduated from the School of Liberal Arts, Renmin University of China, and is now an associate professor at the School of Liberal Arts, Central China Normal University. Yang received solid training in literature and art under the tutelage of Professors Wang Yichuan (王一川) and Chen Xuehu (陈雪虎) for her BA and MA programs at Beijing Normal University, so she is able to adopt fitfully a theoretical perspective and set up a clear topical framework in her critical articles. Such a unique feature may be easily found in the following articles: “Root Seeking in Educated Youth Fiction: The Classicization of ‘The Chess Master’ and the Peeling Criticism of Root-Seeking Literature (⟪知青小说如何寻根—— ⟨棋 王⟩ 的经典化与寻根文学的剥离式批评⟫),” “Historical Reinterpretation and Literary Imagination at the Beginning of the New Period: Re-reading Goldbach Conjecture (⟪历史重释与 “新时期”起点的文学想象——重读 ⟨哥德巴赫猜想⟩ ⟫),” and “A Different Way, a Different Place, and a Different Kind of People: The Revised Edition of History of the Soul and the ‘Turning Point’ in the 1980s and 1990s (⟪走异路, 逃异地, 寻求别样的人们——改定版 ⟨心灵史⟩ 与八九十年代 “转 折”⟫).”

Fiction Criticism since the Start of the 21st Century  271 In recent years, there are indications that some young critics have moved to different research areas. Huang Ping is mainly focusing on the early literary history of the New Period literature; Yang Qingxiang and Xu Gang are more interested in the current trend in the fiction writing; Jin Li is indulging himself in modern and contemporary literature simultaneously; Yang Xiaofan remains enthusiastic about her study of the literature in the 1980s; Fu Yichen is active in the criticism of military literature; Xiang Jing has a delicate artistic taste and an accurate sense about the essence of various problems; Wang Qingfei maintains a sharp edge in his criticism; He Tongbin retains a lucid sensibility in his criticism of literary history; Fang Yan (方岩) prefers to explore the literary history of the 1980s and 1990s. What this divergence indicates is that they are formulating their own research consciousness, critical concept, and distinctive personal style. In his article, “A Historical Analysis on Lu Yao’s Self-Consciousness and Writing Attitude as well as the ‘Literary Field’ around 1985,” Yang Qingxiang presents an in-depth analysis of the interconnection between the “Lu Yao phenomenon” and history based on his keen observation, saying that all studies and discussions regarding Lu Yao seem to have become more and more “ceremonious.” For instance, Lu Yao is considered someone who “ignited the torch of spirit” in one article, whereas in another fishy survey report, Lu Yao is ranked as one of the top ten most popular writers among contemporary college students, along with classic writers like Lu Xun and Qian Zhongshu. “It is fair to say,” Yang adds, “that most of the existing scholarly articles on Lu Yao are ‘antihistorical’, and that neither the groundless snub nor the unconditional hype for Lu Yao is a pragmatic approach of historical analysis” (74). Also, Yang’s article delivers an enlightening analysis of Lu Yao’s “self-consciousness” and “writing attitude.” In the 1990s, Wang Xiaobo used to be perceived as a spiritual beacon for young people, but the academic community has failed to reflect seriously or ­adequately on a cultural myth like the “Wang Xiaobo phenomenon.” Huang Ping took a pre-emptive move to share his insight on the issue in his article, “Nihility in the Revolutionary Period: Wang Xiaobo.” Huang first reflects on the previous studies of Wang Xiaobo within the dual structure of liberalism and cultural study and then takes Wang’s novel Love in the Time of Revolution (⟪革命时期的爱情⟫) as an example to analyze his unique “outsider’s view” in terms of the book’s narrative scheme. Huang outlines a deep layer of threads – “historical trauma, irony, nihility, and freedom” – for the understanding of Wang Xiaobo’s works, so as to figure out the historical origin, formal characteristics, and spiritual vein of his works. Huang compares Wang Xiaobo with Murakami Haruki, which helps readers explore why the magic of Wang Xiaobo’s fiction, written with a postmodern style in the Chinese context, could heal the readers’ guilt toward contemporary history. In the end, Huang makes a further discussion on whether narrative could truly heal “spiritual wounds” (16). Huang’s opinion a­ ppears to be more p­ rofound than others. Jin Li’s article, “Deep in the Conflicts and Dilemmas of the Times: ­Reflecting on Sun Shaoping,” stands out as a distinctive piece of historical research.

272  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction Unlike the usual analysis of characterization, Jin proceeds with “Sun Shaoping’s subjective imagination,” “the literary youth and his reading history,” “Sun Shaoping’s self-consciousness,” “the symbols of history,” and “the resistance of history,” and then delivers his analysis from a broad historical perspective on the basis of Sun’s historical situation, status, and personal feelings. As usual, this article epitomizes Jin’s keen and meticulous sense of history and his tightknit writing style as well. For instance, he realizes and cautions others in the article: Sun Shaoping’s image might be interpreted, today, as a “pre-history” or “­imaginative aesthetic rehearsal” of the emergence of a certain mainstream discourse (the philosophy of “living,” or the myth of “striving”). This idea, of course, stemmed, subsequently, from the historical criticism and reflection by others. What really matters is that the vitality of contemporary literature lies in its historicization on the one hand and, one the other, literature and literary characters must be defined in that process of historicization, namely, how Sun Shaoping tried, as presented by Lu Yao (because the artistic representation shows that, to borrow the words from Mr. Qian Gurong, Sun Shaoping is undoubtedly a “real person” with flesh and blood), to change his destiny by at the turning points of times or on various historical occasions, what his existence and spiritual life accomplished under special circumstances, and what kind of lessons Sun could offer to us. (141–142) Yang Xiaofan left readers a memorable impression with his article, “Root ­ eeking in Educated Youth Fiction: The Classicization of ‘The Chess Master’ S and the Peeling Criticism of the Root-tracing Literature.” The challenge for Yang was to understand the complicated process in which the “educated youth fiction” evolved into the “root-tracing fiction,” and to find out what forces of literary criticism changed the course of history and integrated innovatively two different types of fiction into one. Before “The Chess Master” was classified as a “representative piece of the Root-tracing Fiction,” Yang reveals in her article, the author, A Cheng, claimed in “A Talk on Writing” that the story was “a story of educated youth.” Once the story was reclassified, however, he changed his mind, and he has been trying tenaciously to link this story, as closely as possible, to the historical narrative that the “Root-tracing Fiction” really needed. What makes such a historical analysis so brilliant is not “exposing the truth,” but rather restoring, in an ­objective, calm, and transcendent manner, the narrative of history in its original historical context. The sudden rise of the “post-80s critics” was much faster than everyone’s expectation. At the same time, everyone assumed that this generation of critics would have a long way to go because all of them are still under 40 after all, who are sharp and aggressive, but full of academic creativity. Once all things fall into place, each of them will pioneer his/her own research field and cultivate it conscientiously in a much broader realm just like their predecessors.

Fiction Criticism since the Start of the 21st Century  273 Notes 1 See articles by Zhang Weimin (张未民), Zhang Yiwu, and Bai Ye, published in the first issue of Literature and Art Contention, 2006. 2 This list may not be finalized and may be expanded or narrowed as their creative status evolves. 3 The first New Concept Writing Competition was launched by the literary magazine Budding (⟪萌芽⟫) in conjunction with Peking University, Fudan University, etc., in 1998. The competition did not limit the subject matter of writing but set up the maximum word limit at 5,000. The competition was very influential and many winners later became writers. – by the translator. 4 Yu Kexun (1947–), a literary critic, was born in Huangmei, Hubei Province. He ­settled in the countryside as a member of the agricultural production brigade in 1968. He ­graduated from the Chinese Department, Wuhan University in 1982, where he has been teaching ever since. He is now a professor at the College of Chinese Language and Literature, Wuhan University. He published New Changes in the Novel (⟪小说的新变⟫) and other works. 5 Stephen Owen pointed out that “remembrances” was an artistic action, which not only repeated the past but also looked forward to a meaningful future in his monograph, ­Remembrances: The Experience of the Past in Classical Chinese Literature (⟪追忆 : 中 国古典文学中的往事再现⟫).” – by the translator. 6 The “Visiting Researcher” program initiated by the Chinese Association of Writers at the National Museum of Modern Chinese Literature is mainly administrated by Li Jingze (李敬泽), Wu Yiqin (吴义勤), and Li Er (李洱), the leaders of the Association and Museum. They diligently cultivated and promoted the system, which has had a great impact on the domestic literary community. This system, which selects a group of visiting researchers annually, holds a critical forum monthly, and finally publishes a critical anthology, has greatly stimulated the enthusiasm among young critics.

Works Cited Chang, Qie. “Gender and Rights: A Review of Bi Feiyu’s Yu Mi and Yu Xiu.” Literature and Art Studies, vol. 36, no. 6, 2014, pp. 37–42. Chen, Xiaoming. The Doors of Perception. Peking UP, 2015. Chen, Fumin. The Power of Criticism and Reading. Writers Publishing House, 2016. Cheng, Guangwei. “Drifters’ of the1980s and 1990s: The War of One’s Own and From South to the North.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 31, no. 5, 2014, pp. 4–13. Huang, Ping. “Vanity in the Revolutionary Period: On Wang Xiaobo.” Literary and Artistic Contention, vol. 9, no. 9, 2014, pp. 6–19. Jin, Li. “Deep in the Conflicts and Dilemmas of the Times: Reflecting on Sun Shaoping.” Literary Review, vol. 56, no. 5, 2012, pp. 136–142. Meng, Fenghua. After the Literary Revolution: A Manuscript on Literature in the New ­Century. Modern Publishing Press, 2012. Shen, Xiayan. “Narrative of Desires in Beijing: On Xu Zechen.” Contemporary Writers Review, vol. 26, no. 6, 2009, pp. 131–137. Song, Geng and Yang Qingxiang. “Foreword.” The Sound of Salt Forming: The Short ­Stories by the Post-80s Generation in China, Foreign Language Teaching and Research Press, 2016, pp. 4–6. Yang, Qingxiang. “A Historical Analysis on Lu Yao’s Self-Consciousness and Writing ­Attitude as Well as the ‘Literary Field’ around 1985.” Southern Cultural Forum, vol. 21, no. 6, 2007, pp. 71–77. Yang, Xiaofan. “Root Seeking in Educated Youth Fiction: Classicization of ‘The Chess Master’ and the Criticism of Culture-Retrospection Literature.” Southern Cultural ­Forum, vol. 14, no. 6, 2010, pp. 40–49.

274  A Critical History of Contemporary Chinese Fiction Yang, Qingxiang, et al. “Postscript.” Pursuing a Literary Career: A Discussion of Three Scholars of the Post-80s Generation, Press of Guangxi Normal University, 2016, pp. 222–223. Yu, Kexun. “New Century Depicted in Fang Fang’s Literary Works: Impressions of Fang Fang’s New Century Novels.” Literature Review, vol. 58, no. 4, 2014, pp. 194–202. Zhang, Yanling. “Literary Criticism of Three Scholars of the Post-80s Generation.” Preface. Pursuing a Literary Career: A Discussion of Three Scholars of the Post-80s Generation, edited by Yang Qingxiang, et al, Press of Guangxi Normal University, 2016, pp. 1–8.

Acknowledgements

This book is the product of a year-long translation project that has demanded a tenacious and collaborative team work. For the first draft, Su Feng translated Chapter 1, and the project leader, Prof. Li Jinyun, translated the rest of the book. Other team members, Wu Wanwei, Shen Guohuan, Huang Junping, and Cui Jiajun, revised some parts of the draft. Throughout the process, we received lots of help from many scholars and colleagues. First, our sincere gratitude goes to Prof. Cheng Guangwei, the author of the source text, for his trust, generosity, and assistance. Whenever we reached out to him for his advice on a question about the understanding and translation of special terms, literary incidents, and textual complexities, he immediately responded with great care and valuable guidance. Second, we’d like to extend our great gratitude to Dr. Aiping Zhang, ­Professor of English Emeritus from California State University, Chico, who offered not only his generous assistance in revising the wording, sentence structure, and scholarly expressions, but also providing his scholarly expertise on content, translation ­strategies, and formatting standards. We have also benefited immeasurably from Liu Jiaqi, the highly capable and ­professional editor from China Social Sciences Press. Her rich experience, wise suggestions, precise instruction, and incredible patience are greatly appreciated. She is the one who kept us on time schedule and a smooth course toward publication. We could not have gotten anywhere on this project without the funding from Chinese Academic Translation Project of the National Social Science Fund and the support from the leaders and peers in the School of Foreign Languages, Wuhan University of Science and Technology. Finally, we can find no words adequate to express our gratitude to our families for their understanding, support, and so much more.

Index

academic critics 16–17; vs. pure literary critics 19 A Cheng 106, 107, 115; The Chess Master 106–107; fiction 180; The Fool 180; The Teacher 107; The Tree Master 107 After the Literary Revolution: Criticism on Literature in the New Century (Meng Fanhua) 260 The Age of Bumping Message 203 Ai Wei 263 Ai Wu 72 anchor drop 107–108 avant-garde fiction 108 avant-garde literature 17, 97, 129, 150 Bai Ye 98, 126, 231, 262 Ba Jin 9 Beicun 223 Beidao 115 Beijing Critics Circle 8, 13, 97; double critics in 132–135; innovations in fiction writing as major concern for 98; significance of 98–105; Wang Meng, Zhang Jie, and Zhang Xianliang in 98–105 Beijing Federation of Literary and Art Circles (BFLAC) 97 Bi Feiyu 263; Blind Massage 265; Chang Qie critic on 265–266; Yu Mi 265; Yu Xiu 265 Big Breast and Wide Hips: critical uproar over 207–210; Peng Jingfeng critics 209; Wen Bo critics 209–210 Cai Kui 6, 98, 99 Cai Xiang 10, 12, 142, 151, 175–176; about friendship 163; Gao Jialin vs. 175–176; Life 175 Cai Yi 135 Calling in the Drizzle (Yu Hua) 17

Can Xue 10, 12, 115, 160, 168 Cao Ming 72 Cao Shunqing 215 Chang Guangyuan 126, 252 Cheng Depei 10, 12, 142, 143, 147, 150– 153; criticism 164–167; self-doubt 165; self-negation 165 Cheng Guangwei 15, 215 Cheng Wenchao 215 Cheng Yongxin 10, 141–142 Chen Huangmei 6, 19n4, 26, 27, 37, 39, 49, 97 Chen Jiankong 106 Chen Ran 105, 221, 223 Chen Sihe 10, 142, 145, 156, 172–173; Goodbye to the Orange Dream: Reading Wang Anyi’s Three Novels 173; Hu Feng’s Contribution to the Construction of Realistic Theory 174; Modern Consciousness of Resistance in Contemporary Literary Writing 174; The Psychology of War Culture in Contemporary Literary Views 174; rewriting literary history 175; views on critical reflection on contemporary literature 174 Chen Xiaoming 15–16, 17, 20n11, 187–188, 215, 231; articles 17–18; avant-garde novel and 17; critics about Someone to Talk To 255; support for Wang Meng and Zhang Yiwu 198–199 Chen Yingfan 261 Chen, Yong 2–3, 27, 49 Chen Yuanyuan 222 Chen Zhongshi 86; Chen Yong views 253; Hao Ling views 254; Lei Da and 251– 252; Liu Qing and 250; Sun Shaozhen views 253; The White Deer Plain 218, 250–254

Index  277 The Chess Master 11, 133–134 Chi Li 182 China Reading Weekly 15 China’s Rural Cooperative Movement 41–42 China Youth Daily 29, 53, 68 Chinese fiction criticism, intention of 25–33 Chinese revolution 52 Chinese Writers Association 12, 14–15, 97–98 Chi Zijian 223, 263 The Clash between Civilization and Ignorance 98 combating spiritual pollution (1983) 9, 149 contemporary consciousness 145, 181 Cooperative Movement 43 criticism, function of 10; see also specific criticism criticism on full-length novels 231–257; Chen Zhongshi’s The White Deer Plain 250–254; Jia Pingwa’s novels 231–236; Mo Yan’s novels 236–241; Wang Anyi’s novels 241–246; Yu Hua’s novels 246–250 Critics Circle in Liberated Areas 25–28 Cui Weiping 220, 221–222 Cultural Anthropology 10, 13 cultural criticism 146–147 cultural forums 9 Dai Jinhua 15, 215, 220 Dalian Conference: before and after 76–77; Mao Dun’s theory of middle character 78–80; Shao Quanlin during 80–82; Shao’s speech at 82; significance of 78–79 de Beauvoir, Simone 219 Deng Xiaoping’s Southern Speech 14 Dialectics Cannot Be Replaced by Metaphysics 84 Di An 261 Diao Dou 223 Ding Fan 90, 183, 223–224, 231; focus on Rural Fiction 184–185; supports Wang Gan’s proposition 185 Ding Ling 27 Ding Tian 261 Dong Hengxun 112 Dong Jian 90 Dong Xi 263 Dong Yina 261 Du Pengcheng 28, 72

Early Spring in February 84 Educated Youth Fiction 105–110; criticism of 106–107; the eve of Beijing’s modernization 111–112 Fang Fang 263, 264; Ants on the Blade 264; The Personal Grief of Tu Ziqiang 264; Water under Time 264; Yu Kexun critic 264–265 Fei Ming (Tales in the Forest of Bamboo) 121 Fei Zhenzhong 183, 187 Feng Jiannan 49, 60, 62 Feng Jicai 7, 8, 112 Feng Mu 6, 19n4, 26, 27, 49, 97, 149–150 Feng Wenbin 90 Feng Xuefeng 2–3, 27, 31 Fiction (Ma Yuan) 10, 158–159 fiction criticism: from 1949 to 1976, 91; critical uproar over Big Breast and Wide Hips 207–210; “double critics” in Beijing 132–135; during new Period 97–135; history of 3, 14–15; “turning inwards” in 148–149; see also fiction criticism during 1990s; fiction criticism of 21st century fiction criticism during 1990s 195–210; controversy over Wang Shuo phenomenon 196–199; critical uproar over Ruined City 204–207; A Dictionary of Maqiao critique 199–203 fiction criticism of 21st century: Chang Qie critic on Bi Feiyu 265; Chen Fumin critics 263; critics of 262; post-80s critics 268–272; post-1970s and post1980s writers 260–263; Wang Shiyue critics 263; writers of 263–268 fiction review, historians’ criticism 18–19 Frankfurt School 13 Fudan University 9, 153–154 Fu Lei 40–41 Gao Jianping 15, 215 Gao Xiaosheng 10, 119–120; Chen Huansheng Goes to Town 169; “Lu Xun style” of 169 Gao Yuanbao 15, 19, 215, 231 Ge Fei 10, 154, 158, 183, 223, 255–256; The Cloak of Invisibility 256; The End of Spring in Jiangnan Region 256; The Lost Boat 155 Guangzhou Conference 76 Guo Moruo 40 Guo Xianhong 86

278 Index Hai Rui Dismissed from Office 84 Half of Man Is Woman (Zhang Xianliang) 12 Hangzhou: conference in 143–149, 163; Symposium in 144–145 Han Shaogong 10, 16, 86, 106, 108, 115, 160, 265; The Book of Day and Night 199; Dad, Dad 146, 184, 199; A Dictionary of Maqiao, 218; A Dictionary of Maqiao criticisms 199–203; dispute between Zhang Yiwu, Wang Gan, and 201; Hint 199; Home Returning 146; Intimation 255; Li Tuo critics 254–255; Meng Fanhua critics 254; novels, criticism on 185–186; Yang Yang critics 255; Zhu Hougang and 201 He Guimei 15, 18, 215 He Jingzhi 2, 26, 29 He Qifang 2, 26, 27, 29, 62, 68 heroic characters 27 historians’ criticism 18–19 Hong Zhigang 15, 19, 215, 223–224 Hong Zicheng 18, 27, 44, 74, 77, 78, 81, 108–109 Hou Jinjing 26, 27, 32–33, 49, 76, 77 Huang Ping, Dr. 269; The Entanglement between ‘Man’ and ‘Ghost’: The Abandoned Capital and ‘Man’s Literature’ in the 1980s 270; From Laborer to Labor Force: ‘Inspirational’ Literary Reading, Reform and Ordinary World 270; Nihility in the Revolutionary Period: Wang Xiaobo 270 Huang Ziping 7–9, 98, 101, 105, 110–111, 113–114, 115; The Three Living Stones 114 Hu Heqing 178–179, 231; articles 178; Broken Wings 180; Gaolao Village 180; Heishi 180; infers Jia Pingwa as split personality 179; On Jia Pingwa 179; The Lantern Bearer 180; TheMountain Whisperer 180; Old Furnace 180; Ruined City 180; Shanxi Opera 180 The Hungry Daughter 222 Industrial Fiction 3, 5, 27, 31, 72–73 intellectual archeology 13 Introspection Literature 97, 129, 132, 135 iterary scene criticism 195 Jiang Shouqian 6, 98, 99 Jiang Zilong 86, 89–91; All the Colors of the Rainbow 73; Factory Manager Qiao Gets to Work 73

Jia Pingwa 15, 17, 19, 86, 88, 135, 146, 179, 184; Charcoal in Ice 184; Chen Xiaoming critics 234; Chen Zhongyi critics 235; Family in Jiwouwa 184; The First Record of Shangzhou 232; full-length novels 231–236; Gaolao Village 231, 233; Gao Yuanbao critics 232–233; Hu Heqing critics 233; Li Jingze critics 234–235; Li Tuo on 231–232; Li Zhensheng on 232; Love in the Wilderness 184; The Mountain Whisperer 235–236; Nan Fan critics 235–236; Old Furnace 234; Ruined City 202, 204–207, 231; Shangzhou 184; Sun Yu critics 235; Three Stories of Shangzhou 232; Tiangou 184; Turbulence 231; Twelfth & First Lunar Months 184; Wang Dewei critics 234; Xie Youshun critics 233–234 Jia Zhifang 97, 174–175 Ji Hongzhen 6, 7, 98, 99, 124, 129, 133 Jin Li, Dr. 269; Deep in the Conflicts and Dilemmas of the Times: Reflecting on Sun Shaoping 269, 271–272; The Fable of Ego’s Development: Rereading The Journey at Eighteen 270; The Twist and Deconstruction of the Facts and Events in Literary History 269; The Wind from the South: Ge Liang 269 Jin Zhiguo 10, 141; Dreams Lost on the Prairie 158 Kang Zhuo 2, 28, 29, 49, 76, 77 Kong Jiesheng 106, 146 Kuang Xinnian 15, 19, 107, 215, 231 Land Reform Movement 48–49 Landscape 182 Lao She 2, 29, 197 Le Daiyun 220 Legends of Heroes in Lvliang Mountains (Ma Feng & Xi Rong) 51 Lei Da 6, 98, 103, 105, 126–129, 182, 231 Li Guowen 2, 73 Li Hangyu 143, 145–146; Gechuan River Series 184 Li Huanzhi 27 Li Jianzhou 10, 117, 155 Li Jie 10–12, 101, 142, 158–159 Li Jiefei 6, 98, 107, 132–133 Li Jingze 19, 215, 231 Lin Bai 105, 263; A War of One’s Own and From South to the North 267–268

Index  279 literary criticism 2, 158; in 1990s ( see literary criticism in 1990s) literary criticism in 1990s 212–226; “hatting” approach 218; overview of 212–213; post-1960s writers’ criticism 223–226; scholarly criticism, rise of 213–219; women’s fiction criticism 219–223 Li Tuo 6–8, 86, 98, 105, 110–117, 231 Liu Baiyu 2, 26, 29 Liu Na 187–188, 213 Liu Qin: Builders of a New Life 52–56; The Story of Grain Growing 53; Wall of Bronze 53 Liu Suola 12, 115, 115, 120; You Have No Choice 174 Liu Yiqing: The Book of the Mysterious 219 Liu Zaifu 6, 98, 101, 105, 135 Liu b 183, 255 Li Zhun 48, 49, 76, 78; criticism on rural Fiction by 50–52; Legend of Veteran 50; A Story of Li Shuangshuang 50; A Tale of Farming 50 Li Ziyun 9, 97, 141, 143, 149, 167–168, 175–176; disagreement 149–150 Lu Ling: “The ‘Battle’ on the Low-lying Land” 32–33; critics’ accusation against Hu Feng 32; First Snow 32; Long Live the People 32; The Motherland Is Marching Forward 32 Luo Gang 15, 18–19, 215 Lu Xun 12, 48, 84; My Old Home 121; Village Opera 121 Lu Xun Institute of Literature and Arts 25 Lu Yao 11, 86, 88; Chen Juntao and Bai Ye critics 130–132; critics 126; fiction 126– 132; Life 126–127, 184; The Ordinary World 126–132; self-consciousness 271 Ma Feng 2, 29, 49, 76; criticism on rural Fiction by 50–52; I Knew All Along 51; Legends of Heroes in Lvliang Mountains 51; Marriage 51; My First Superior 51; Song Shuang and 51; Yan Gang and 51 Mao Dun 26, 40, 49, 62–63, 68, 76, 265; theory of middle character 78–80 Mao Zedong 74, 106 Ma Yuan 8, 10, 11, 115, 117, 141; blurs the boundary between reality and fiction 10; methodology 12–13 Meng Fanhua 15, 18, 215, 231; about Xu Zechen 262–263; After the Literary Revolution: Criticism on Literature in the New Century 260; Feather

262; Hungry Embrace 262; Spiritual Tradition and Cultural Anxiety 217; The Thin Red Line 262 The Minutes of Military Literature and Art Symposium 84 modernist literature, Huang Ziping and Li Tuo’s perception of 8–9 Modern Western Academic Library 214 Mo Yan 17, 19, 116; Big Breast and Wide Hips, critical uproar over 207–210; Chen Sihe views 236–237; Chen Xiaoming’s view 240; Dried-up River 236; as executioner philosophy 238; The Garlic Ballads 236; Life and Death Are Wearing Me Out 239; Luan Meijian views 237–238; Nan Fan views 239; novels 236–241; The Republic of Wine 237; Sandalwood Penalty 236, 238–239; Sun Yu views 240–241; A Transparent Carrot 164, 173, 178, 236; Wang Dewei views 237; White Dog and Swing 236; Wind on the Island 164; Xie Youshun views 238; Zhang Qinghua views 238– 239; Zhang Xinying views 240 Nan Fan 10, 12–13, 142, 148–149; New Realism: The Illusion of Narrative 182–183 narrative in fiction 10–11 narrative trap theory 10–11 narratology 10, 13 New Criticism 10, 13 New Media Criticism 14–17; vs. Scholarly Criticism 16–17 New Period: Educated Youth Movement and Educated Youth Fiction during 105–110; fiction criticism during 97–135; Lu Yao’s fiction 126–132; pseudo-modernism 110–117; Wang Zengqi’s fiction under critical perspective 117–126 New Realistic Fiction criticism: Zhongshan and 181–188 An Old Stubborn Peasant (Liu Shude) 77 Ouyang Wenbin 60 Owen, S. 267 Pan Kaixiong 6, 98, 132, 134–135 People’s Literature 2, 27, 29, 32, 74, 83, 90 philosophy of language 13 “plagiarism controversy” over Han Shaogong’s novel 16 political criticism 2–3 political culture 9

280 Index post-1960s writer’s criticism 223–226; Chen Xiaoming 224–225; Gao Yuanbao concept 223–224; uniqueness of 224 pseudo-modernism 110–117; definition of 114–115 Qian Gurong 97, 154, 178 Qin Zhaoyang 26, 27, 28, 49, 126 Questions regarding the Characterization of Newcomers and Heroes (Jin Weimin) 84 radical faction 25 readers’ criticism vs. critics’ criticism 31 Recruits Company 182 Rectification Movement 41 Red Crag (Luo Guangbin), criticisms on 63–64 Red Flag 4 Red Flame and Sorrow: Xiao Yemu and His Colleagues (Wan Shi) 1 Reform Literature 97, 129 relative independence 9 Remembrance: The Experience of Past in Classical Chinese Literature 267 revolutionary literature 25 revolutionary realism 27 revolutionary romanticism 27 Root-Tracing Fiction 143–149 Root-tracing Literature 17, 108–109, 129, 132 Ruined City (Jia Pingwa) 14, 15, 18; accusation of 205; Chen Xiaoming’s judgment 205; critical uproar over 204–207; Li Jiefei critics 205–206; Tian Bing’e critics 205; Wei Huaying critics 206–207; Yin Changlong and 205 rural cooperative fiction 108 Rural Cooperative Movement 52, 77 rural fiction 3, 27, 31, 47–56; concerning northern villages 49; criticism by Li Zhun, Ma Feng, and Wang Wenshi on 50–52; criticism on Liu Qing’s Builders of a New Life 52–56; definition of 48; geographical distribution 48–49; “new people” in 48; as the term 47–48 Sai Shili 209 Scar Literature 97, 129, 132, 135 Scar novel 10–11 scholarly criticism 9, 19, 195; vs. New Media Criticism 16–17; rise of 213–219 Se Bo 10, 141, 158, 160

Shanghai Critics Circle 12–13, 141; avantgarde critics in 142; and Avant-Garde Fiction 158–168; critics of 168–181 Shanghai Literature 9, 97, 143, 149–152, 163, 168 Shanghai Writers’ Association 149–158; 11th Central Committee in 1978 151; Li Jianzhou’s belief 152–153; Li Jianzhou’s research and 152; Nan Fan’s literary criticism 157; Shanghai critics articles 160–162; Wang Xiaoming’s blunt criticism 157 Shao Quanlin 26, 27, 40, 42, 49, 76; during Dalian Conference 80–82 Shen Congwen 12, 170, 197; Border Town 121 Shi Tiesheng 106; Notes on Retreat 218 Shi Zhanjun 15, 215, 219 Song of Youth (Yang Mo) 26; controversies over 67–69; Guo Kai critics on 67–68 A Study on the Technique of Modern Fiction (Gao Xingjian), 112 Sun Ganlu 10, 115, 158, 223 Sun Li 2, 29, 49, 266; The Blacksmith and the Carpenter 64; Chu Baichun critics 67; Feng Jiannan critics 65; Guo Zhigang critics 65–66; Huang Qiuyun critics 64–65; Mao Dun critics 64; Reflection of Life in the Rural Area 65; Revolutionary War Fiction 64–67; Xiao Yemu’s vs. 66 Sun Qian 49 Sun Yu 15, 98, 215 supernatural fiction 219 “A Survey of the Writers’ Writing (1950) 2 Su Tong 115, 158, 223, 255–256; Rice 180–181 Tashi Dawa 10–11, 141, 160; White Poplar & Garland & Dream 158 Thawing Fiction 5, 73–75; Wang Meng’s 75 Three Years of Knowing (Ma Feng) 77 Tie Ning 105, 106, 263; Ah, Xiangxue 184; The Bathing Woman 267; Chen Xiaoming critic 266–267; The Gate of Rose 267; How Far Is Forever 266 Tong Qingbing 47 underground fiction 83, 84–86. An Open Love Letter 88; Red Crag 89; Song of Youth 89; Waves 88–89; When the Sunset Disappears 88; Zhaoxia Magazine Craze and 88–89; see also specific underground fictions

Index  281 universities and literary criticism relationships 13–14 urban fiction 18 Wang Anyi 17, 105, 106, 108; Bao Village 184; Big Liu Village 165–166; Cheng Depei critics 245; Documentary and Fiction 246; Junior High School Students in 1969 246; Li Jiefei critics 245; Love in a Small City 156; Love in a Small Town 134; Love in Brocade Valley 134; Love on a Barren Mountain 134; Mini 246; Nan Fan critics 244; novels 241–246; People in the Yellow River Delta 246; as a professional writer 166; The Sad Pacific 246; The Sing-Song Girls of Shanghai 242–243; The Song of Everlasting Sorrow 243–244; Time Passes Like Flowiling Water 246; Wang Dewei critics 242–243; Wang Xiaoming critics 241–242; Wang Zheng and Xiaohua critics 245–246 Wang Binbin 15, 19, 90, 215 Wang Dewei 231, 255–256 Wang Fei 220, 221 Wang Gan 16, 183, 186; critics on Su Tong 186–187; Watching Han Shaogong’s Hyping 200 Wang Meng 5, 8, 10, 19, 73–75, 98, 115, 120, 198; Buli 100; Butterfly 100; The Dream of the Sea 100; exploration of stream of consciousness 100–101; The Eyes of Night 100; in fiction writing from 1979 to 1982 99; The Kite Ribbons 100; Li Tuo and 100–101; The Sound of Spring 100; stream-of-consciousness fiction 98; Yan Gang critics on 100; Zeng Zhennan suggestions on 99–100 Wang Shuo 115, 183; I Am Your Father 111–112; Bai Ye and 197; Chen Xiaoming critic 216–217; criticism of 198; Die Satisfied 111–112, 198; I’m Your Father 196; Masters of Mischief 111, 196, 215; phenomenon, controversy over 196–199; Playing for Thrills 198; Stories from the Editorial Board 198; A Tale of Two Lives 196; Wang Xiaoming and 196; Wang Yichuan’s critic 215– 216; Wild Beast 196; works 198; Xu Lin and 197; Yan Lianke critic 216 Wang Wenshi 49, 76; On the Beach 52; Critical Hour 52; criticism on rural Fiction by 50–52; Hu Cai on 52; The Night of the Snowstorm 52; Zheng Boqi on 52

Wang Xiaobo 18, 218; The Golden Age 224; Love in the Time of Revolution 271 Wang Xiaoming 10, 12, 142, 147, 168; fiction criticism 12; Junior High School Students Graduated in 1969 173; Love in a Small City 1734; Before Overlooking Chen Village: Gao Xiaosheng’s Recent Fiction 169; The Weary Mind: The Novels of Zhang Xinxin, Liu Suola, and Can Xue 171–172 Wang Yao 15, 18–19, 215 Wang Yichuan 15, 215–216 Wang Yuechuan 15, 215 Wang Yuewen 105 Wang Zengqi 7, 19, 266; fiction under critical perspective 117–126; Huang Ziping and 121–122; issues in writings of 122–123; Ji Hongzhen and 124–126; Li Tuo and 122–123; Li Tuo’s criticism of 122; The Love Story of a Young Monk 117–121; Qian Zhenwen and 117–120; as Root-tracing Literature 122; Special Gift 118–120; A Tale of Big Nur 119; Three Friends in Winter 124 women’s fiction 105, 219–223; Can Xue’s critics 221; Chen Xiaoming views in 222–223; male critics in 222; Qiao Yigang and Liu Siqian views 222; Wei Wei’s point of view 222; Yao Wenfang’s view 220 Wu Jun 15, 18–19, 90, 215 Wu Liang 10, 12–13, 101, 142, 143, 144–145, 147–148, 151–153, 158–159; narrative trap 167; The Narrative Trap of Ma Yuan 159; narratological criticism 10–11; trap theory 160 Wu Yiqin 15, 19, 215, 223 Xie Youshun 15, 19, 215, 231 Xu Gang, Dr. 269; How Novels Penetrate Reality: Reading Notes on Recent Novels 270; Peasants Migrating to Cities’ in the ‘Seventeen-Year Literature’270; Women’s Liberation in the Family Melodramas of the ‘Seventeen-Year Period’ 270 Xu Guangyao 2, 29 Xu Zhaohuai 183–184, 187 Xu Zhongyu 97, 154 Xu Zidong 147, 150–151; academic training 177; New Ideas on Yu Dafu’s Works 176–177; personal career 177

282 Index Yan Gang 6, 7, 49, 51, 98, 105, 231 Yang Qingxiang, Dr. 261, 269; The Dilemma of Historical Reconstruction and Historical Narrative 269; A Historical Analysis on Lu Yao’s SelfConsciousness and Writing Attitude as well as the ‘Literary Field’ around 1985 269, 271; Historical Consciousness and Subjective Imagination of the Contemporary Petty Bourgeoisie 269; How to Interpret ‘Literature of the 1980s 269 Yang Xiaofan, Dr. 109, 269, 271–272; A Different Way, a Different Place, and a Different Kind of People: The Revised Edition of History of the Soul and the ‘Turning Point’ in the 1980s and 1990s 270; Historical Reinterpretation and Literary Imagination at the Beginning of the New Period: Rereading Goldbach Conjecture 270; Root Seeking in Educated Youth Fiction: The Classicization of ‘The Chess Master’ and the Peeling Criticism of RootSeeking Literature 270 Yan Jiayan 54–56, 76 You Have No Choice 111, 115–116, 133–134 Yu Hua 8, 10, 17, 115, 116–117, 158, 183, 223; Calling in the Drizzle 247; Chen Xiaoming critics 247, 249–250; Chronicle of a Blood Merchant 248– 249; fiction 16; Lu Xun’s novels and 247, 249; novels 246–250; Wang Dewei critics 248–249; Wang Hui critics 248 Zeng Zhennan 6, 98, 105, 126 Zhang Guangnian 26, 27–28, 49, 59 Zhang Jie 98, 120; The Ark 103–104; The Clash between Civilization and Ignorance 98; Love Must Not Be Forgotten 98; as Lu Xun’s tradition 104; There Is a Youth 98–99; Yue Daiyun 103–104 Zhang Ling 6, 98, 107, 132–133 Zhang Qinghua 15, 19, 215, 256

Zhang Ren 6, 98, 182–183; scolding criticism 182–183 Zhang Wei 29, 263; Bai Hui 218 Zhang Xianliang 12, 98, 120; to abandon traditional narrative mode 170; The Bottle of Solomon 170; Half of Man Is Woman 101, 134, 170; Liu Zaifu and 102, 104; Love in the Cachot 170; Mimosa 101, 102, 134, 170, 170; Spirit & Flesh 170; Wang Xiaoming critics 102–103 Zhang Xinxin 12, 111, 168 Zhang Xinying 15, 215, 231 Zhang Yiwu 15, 16, 188, 215; Spiritual Deprivation 199–200 Zhang Zhizhong 15, 98, 215, 231, 252–253 Zhang Zhong 72–73, 110 Zhao Shuli 3–5, 49, 76, 77, 78; Changes in Li Village 49; The Doer Pan Yongfu 77, 80; The Emancipation of Meng Xiangying 40; Exemplary Writing 25–26; Exercise 40; The Hands That Cannot Wear Gloves 77; Old Quota 77; Orientation of 37–39; as reactionary writer 42; Registration 40; Rhymes of Li Youcai 79; The Rhymes of Li Youcai 37, 40; rise and fall of criticism of 40–43; Sanliwan Village 40; Shao’s unfairness towards 42; tension with Socialist Realism 43–45; Wei Tianxiang and 42; The Writings of Zhao Shuli 37–38; Xiao Er Hei’s Marriage 40, 43; Zhou Yang and 38, 39 Zheng Wanlong 86, 146; Strange Tales from Strange Lands 184 Zheng Yi 106, 108–109, 184; Old Well 184, 184 Zhongshan and New Realistic Fiction criticism 181–188 Zhou Jieren 9, 97, 141, 143, 151, 167, 175 Zhou Yang 25, 26, 37, 48, 49, 59, 60, 62, 76; ideas of criticism, implementing 27; School of Criticism 25–26; Zhao Shuli and 38, 39 Zhu Zhai 26, 32, 63, 85, 98 Zong Pu 73, 114–115