Year after year, a bed of books

Author: Jiang Xiaoyuan
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2003-01-01
Features: Reading is one of the most delightful things in my life. In the hustle and bustle of the mortal world, I read when I am happy, when I am annoyed, and when I am wronged. I always feel that sitting at home, holding a good book in my hands, with a cup of hot tea beside me, immersing myself in the book, forgetting worries, and being far away from the secular world, is the greatest enjoyment of my life and the most satisfactory happiness. Therefore, it is okay not to eat for a day, but not to read for a day is not acceptable. Whether I go on a business trip or not, there must be a thick book in my suitcase—even if it means leaving out some clothes.
Author's Preface: Preface to A Bed of Books Year After Year / Jiang Xiaoyuan
Thirty years ago, during the late Cultural Revolution, I was a spiritually lost "classical literature enthusiast." During the day, I worked as an electrician in a textile factory, and after work, I immersed myself in Chinese classical literature as an escape from reality. At that time, while reading Lu Zhalin's Ancient Melodies of Chang'an, I came across these lines in the final stanza:
"In silence, Yang Xiong's dwelling,
Year after year, a bed of books.
Only the osmanthus of the southern mountain
Flowers, fluttering and brushing the hem."
I fell in love with the imagery and recited it endlessly. While later generations criticized Yang Xiong, these four lines by Lu Zhalin truly represented an ideal realm for readers. However, although I was spiritually lost back then, I did not experience the (frivolous competition) of today—I was not even aware of the passage of time, so I could not appreciate the preciousness of Lu Zhalin's poem as I do now. Today, everyone knows about this, yet almost everyone is caught in it, including me. I can only hold it as a goal and use it as self-motivation.
An old saying goes, "With books, one is truly wealthy; with nothing to do, one is a small deity." This is also something I yearn for, but it is now out of reach—books may be abundant, but matters are too many. The more matters there are, the less time I have for reading, and the further away I get from the realm of a "deity."
In the Southern Dynasties, people defined a "scholarly figure" as someone who had nothing to do, often drank, and thoroughly studied Li Sao. Today, there are indeed many scholars, but they likely drink frequently but are too busy to read Li Sao.
Reading—excluding reading technical manuals or vocational training materials—requires leisure. Someone once said, "Technology is born from busyness, and culture from leisure." This idea is both profound and well-expressed, but "technology" should be replaced with "skill," as science and technology are fundamentally different. True science, like culture, can only be "born from leisure."
To pursue science and culture requires sacrifice—often spending time and money. Without investing time and money, science and culture will not fall from the sky.
Today, countless good books are published, but leisure is hard to come by. We cannot wait for an "age of leisure" to arrive—we must fight and strive for it now, at least "stealing moments of leisure from the hustle."
The ancient saying "Stealing half a day of leisure from this fleeting life" shows that such struggles and efforts were already necessary and existed in ancient times. For those who no longer worry about food and clothing, we can advise: "Even if poor, buy books; even if busy, read." Because when we are lost in material desires, reading can help us find our spiritual home; when we are tormented by trivialities, reading can bring us back to peace.
The books reviewed and introduced in this collection are all those I have read in the past three years. They are books I believe are valuable, worth recommending or introducing—even those I have criticized. Otherwise, I would not have written reviews of them. Most of the articles in this collection were originally published in newspapers and magazines such as The People’s Daily of Literature, China Book News, The Southern Weekly, The Guangming Daily, Science Times, Literature Weekly, Book Review, Book City, and Wen Jing. A few are academic articles published in academic journals. The versions here are the final drafts. Some articles have repeated content, which I have not edited to preserve their authenticity. Please forgive any redundancies.
Most of the articles were written at the request of editors. While friends from publishing houses may influence editors to promote books from their publishers, editors choose books to review based on their own judgment and standards. What pleases me is that none of these editors ever forced me to review books I did not like. Of course, there have been instances where friends from publishing houses directly asked me to write reviews, but they never forced me to review books I disliked. In fact, whether it’s publishing houses, newspapers, or magazines, their outstanding professionals certainly know which books people like. Based on this, it is easier to request contributions and inspire authors to write.
Since I am writing at the request of others, I must also read at the request of others. If time permits, I am not unwilling to engage in such commissioned writing, as it can motivate me to read. Whenever books arrive from newspapers, magazines, or publishing houses—delivered by ordinary mail, handed over in person, or even via express delivery—they remind me of Lu Zhalin’s poem and that old saying. Thus, I have no choice but to make time for reading.
After reading, I must think and discuss. Those lovely editors often discuss these books with me over the phone—often from Beijing—and send "gentle reminders" via email. While I occasionally feel slightly annoyed by all this, in the end, I sincerely thank these editors. Think about it: someone constantly pushes you to read and write—why wouldn’t you be grateful?
Excerpt: From Songs of Harmony to the Trunk
When people think of Zhang Heng from the Han Dynasty, they first think of him as an astronomer—the minor planet discovered by the Purple Mountain Observatory (international number 1802) is named after him. More people think of him as a writer, with works like Rhapsodies on the Two Capitals, Returning to the Countryside, and Four Melodies considered masterpieces in Chinese literary history. But few people realize that he also holds an important place in the history of sexology—he left behind the earliest record of a spring scene in China. This is his Songs of Harmony:
"Fortuitously I met you,
And filled your post as concubine.
Our affection newly kindled,
Terrified as if plunging into boiling water.
With my limited ability,
I must do what is fitting.
Tying myself to your household,
Assisting in rites and offerings.
I wish to be a rush mat,
Beneath your bed to keep it warm.
I wish to be a silk quilt,
Above you to shield from wind and frost.
Sweeping clean your pillow,
With fragrant herbs to scent the air.
Heavy doors locked, golden locks secured,
Light glows in every corner.
Undressing, I bathe in powder,
Unfolding images beside my head.
The Virgin of Virtue teaches me,
Her grace fills the space.
A sight unseen by most men,
Taught by Heaven’s Elder to the Emperor."
The poem is written in the third person, describing a man’s experience and feelings during his wedding night with a concubine. Their story began with a chance encounter, and she was taken in to serve as a concubine (one among many). Her first sexual encounter left her terrified ("Terrified as if plunging into boiling water"), but she resolved to fulfill her role. She was willing to become part of his family and gain a formal position ("Tying myself to your household, Assisting in rites and offerings").
The latter part of the poem depicts what the woman sees and experiences in the wedding chamber. After the heavy doors are closed one by one, she enters into a world of the two of them. As they undress, she sees a series of images beside her pillow, which include: "The Virgin of Virtue teaches me, Her grace fills the space. A sight unseen by most men, Taught by Heaven’s Elder to the Emperor." The poet skips over the act of intimacy itself but describes its result: "Joy like this night is unforgettably sweet—may I forget it not until my teeth are rotten." This unprecedented joy, of course, refers to sexual pleasure.
The folk saying "One night with a wife brings a hundred days of grace" speaks of this very thing. And such joyful sexual life must have been related to the images she saw, so since the Ming Dynasty, figures like Wang Shizhen have concluded that those images were "Illustrations of Secret Arts," or spring scenes. Their conclusion (based mainly on intuition) is correct, but their reasoning is insufficient—they only used the line "Using bright lanterns, pointing at images, admire the beauty of women" from Zhang Heng’s Seven Discourses to deduce this. No wonder—clear historical documents proving that "The Virgin of Virtue teaches me, Her grace fills the space. A sight unseen by most men, Taught by Heaven’s Elder to the Emperor" depicts bedroom scenes already existed, but Wang Shizhen and his contemporaries never had the chance to see them.