Essays of China: A Collection of Masterpieces: Volume of Liang Heng

Author: Liang Heng
Editor-in-Chief: Cong Peixiang
Publisher:
Publish Date: 1998-12-01
Features: Preface to the Publication
Contemporary Chinese prose creation, on the basis of inheriting and promoting the excellent aesthetic traditions of ancient and modern times, has continued to develop and flourish. Especially since the new era, the innovative consciousness of prose writing has become more open and intense, the aesthetic pursuit more simple and natural, and the expressive forms more rich and diverse. To showcase the achievements of contemporary prose creation and promote the development of socialist literature, our press will successively compile and publish the "Series of Precious Chinese Prose." It mainly collects the finest works of outstanding prose masters since the founding of the People's Republic of China. The editorial format is organized by volume, with each author having their own volume, and each volume contains approximately 150,000 words. Readers can appreciate the creative styles of different writers and gain a comprehensive view of the true development of contemporary prose. Editorial Department of People's Literature Publishing House
Excerpt:
If Qu Qiubai were a character like Li Kui, shouting, "Go ahead and chop me! I'll be a fine man again in twenty years," perhaps people would have long forgotten him. He was a scholar, a typical Chinese intellectual. Look at his photo—how delicate yet somewhat pale his face is. He was never a man of swords and guns from the start. At the Whampoa Military Academy and Shanghai University, he delivered lectures with shining talent, filling the auditoriums to the brim, with listeners climbing onto windowsills, even teachers squeezing in to hear him. Ding Ling, who later became a great writer, was also in the audience, her big, innocent eyes wide open. Qu Qiubai's literary talent had once captivated an entire generation. Zheng Zhenduo, who later became a cultural historian and vice minister of the Ministry of Culture in the new China, was then preparing to marry and wanted Qu Qiubai to carve a pair of seals for him. Qu Qiubai's fee was fifty yuan. Zheng couldn't afford it and turned to Mao Dun instead. On the wedding day, Qu Qiubai carried a small bundle in his hand, saying he was sending fifty yuan in gold. Zheng was overwhelmed with gratitude, only to find inside two exquisite stone seals. How skilled he must have been in seal carving at the time.
After being sidelined from the Party's leadership, Qu Qiubai turned to writing, and in just a few years, his translations and writings amounted to five million words. The respect and friendship between Lu Xun and Qu Qiubai were as perfect as that between Marx and Engels. When the Qu Qiubai couple moved to Shanghai and stayed at Lu Xun's home, Lu Xun and Xu Guangping slept on the floor, leaving the beds for them. After Qu Qiubai was arrested, Lu Xun immediately organized a campaign to free him. After Qu Qiubai's execution, Lu Xun personally edited his collected works, with bindings and materials that were the best of their time. Qu Qiubai, alongside Lu Xun, Mao Dun, and Zheng Zhenduo—giants in modern cultural history—was equally towering. He should have known the cultural value contained within him and should have pursued this value in his studies. But he didn't. He witnessed the people drowning in fire and flood, saw the Party on the brink of collapse, and raised his arms, leaping into the darkness. As long as he could illuminate even a step forward for society, he willingly burned himself whole to light the way.
His proficiency in Russian was second to none in China at the time. He had once vowed to introduce Russian literary masterpieces to China. After his sacrifice, Lu Xun lamented that it was most suitable for Qu Qiubai to translate "The Dead Souls." This reminds me of another story. There was another man from the same generation as Qu Qiubai named Liang Shiqiu, who, even during the height of the Anti-Japanese War, wrote extensively about leisure, earning criticism from left-wing writers for his "war-irrelevant theory." He defended himself by saying that while a person in desperation might pick up a kitchen knife to kill, killing was not the knife's purpose. He continued to focus on pure literature, and later, he indeed achieved great success, independently translating the entire "Complete Works of Shakespeare."
Now, as we generously acknowledge Liang Shiqiu's contributions, we must not forget those like Qu Qiubai—those who, in desperation, used a kitchen knife to save the nation and its people, even sacrificing their own precious lives. If he had not done so, keeping the knife as a last resort, preserving himself to continue his literary career, he might have become a, or even ten, Liang Shiqiu in the literary world. But he didn't.