Every Year, the Same Bed of Books - Scientific and Cultural Reading in the Red Dust

Author: Jiang Xiaoyuan
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2003-01-01
Features: Reading is one of the greatest pleasures in my life. In the noisy mortal world, I read when I am happy, read when I am frustrated, and read 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 staying away from the mortal world, is the greatest enjoyment in my life, the most contented happiness. Therefore, it is okay not to eat for a day, but not to read for a day is not okay. When I go on a business trip, my suitcase must contain a thick book—even if it means leaving behind some clothes.
Author's Introduction: "A Bed of Books Year After Year" Preface by 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 to escape reality. At that time, while reading Lu Zhaoren's "Ancient Melodies of Chang'an," the last stanza goes:
"Silently and lonely, Yang Xiong lives in his chamber,
Year after year, a bed of books by his side.
Only the osmanthus of the southern mountain blooms,
Flitting and fluttering, it brushes the hem of his robe."
I loved its imagery and recited it endlessly. Although later generations criticized Yang Xiong, these four lines by Lu Zhaoren truly represent an ideal realm for readers. However, although I was spiritually lost back then, I was not as restless and ambitious as I am today—time was almost meaningless then, so I couldn’t appreciate the preciousness of Lu Zhaoren’s poem as I do now. Today, everyone knows the world is restless and competitive, yet almost everyone is caught in it, including me. I can only set this as my goal and encourage myself.
Another ancient couplet goes, "With books, one is truly wealthy; with nothing to do, one is a small immortal." This is also something I long for, but it is now out of reach—books are plenty, but there are too many tasks. The more tasks, the less time for reading, and the further away from the "immortal" state.
In the Southern Dynasties, people defined a "scholar" as someone who "has nothing to do, often drinks, and thoroughly reads Li Sao." Today, there are indeed many who call themselves scholars, but they probably still drink often, yet rarely read Li Sao.
Reading—excluding reading manuals or vocational training materials—requires leisure. Some say, "Technology is born of busyness, and culture is born of leisure." This idea and expression are excellent, but "technology" should be changed to "skills," as science and technology are fundamentally different. True science, like culture, can only be "born of leisure."
To pursue science and culture requires sacrifice—often spending time and money. Without spending time and money, science and culture will not fall from the sky.
Nowadays, there are countless good books, but leisure is hard to come by. We cannot wait for an "age of leisure" to arrive—we must fight for it now and strive for it, at least "stealing moments of leisure in the midst of busyness."
The ancient saying, "Stealing half a day of leisure from life," shows that this struggle and effort were already needed 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 lost in material desires, reading can rekindle our spiritual home; when tormented by worldly affairs, reading can restore our true hearts to peace.
The books reviewed and introduced in this collection are those I have read in the past three years. They are all books I believe are valuable, worth recommending or introducing, or at least worth attention (including those I have criticized). Otherwise, I would not have written the reviews. Most of the articles were originally published in newspapers and magazines such as China Reading News, China Book Business Review, Southern Weekly, Guangming Daily, Science Times, Wenhuibao, Wenhuibao Reading Weekly, Reading, Shuke, and Wenjing. A few were academic articles published in academic journals.
The versions here are the original drafts. Some articles have repeated content in a few places, but they were not edited to preserve their authenticity. The reader is asked to forgive this.
Most of the articles were written on request from editors. Friends from publishing houses, of course, try to promote books from their own presses, but editors have their own judgment and standards when selecting books to review. What pleases me is that the editors of the aforementioned newspapers and magazines never forced me to write reviews of books I disliked.
Have friends from publishing houses directly asked me to write book reviews? I admit it has happened, but they never forced me to review books I disliked. In fact, whether it’s publishing houses, newspapers, or magazines, their outstanding employees naturally know who likes which books. Based on this, they can easily secure contributions and inspire writers.
Since I am writing on request, I must also read on request. If time permits, I am not unwilling to take on such assignments, as they encourage me to read. Whenever books arrive from newspapers, magazines, or publishing houses—delivered by express mail—they remind me of Lu Zhaoren’s poem and that couplet. Then, 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 a bit annoyed, in the end, I sincerely appreciate these editors.
Think about it: someone constantly encourages you to read and write—why wouldn’t you be grateful?
Excerpt: From Songs of the Same Voice to the Trunk
When people think of Zhang Heng from the Han Dynasty, the first thing that comes to mind is that he was 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—his Festival of the Two Capitals, Returning to the Fields, and Four Melodies are all celebrated in the history of Chinese literature. But few people realize that he also held an important place in the history of sexology—he left the earliest records of spring palace pictures in China. This is his Songs of the Same Voice:
"Fortuitously I met with you,
And filled your concubine’s quarters.
Our love, newly begun,
Made me tremble as if dipping my hand in boiling water.
Incompetent though I am, I strive to fulfill my duty,
A humble offering to my master.
I weave the bed, attend to the household,
Assist in the offerings to the gods.
I wish to be a rush mat beneath,
To shield the bed from cold.
I wish to be a silk quilt above,
To guard against wind and frost.
I sweep and clean the pillows,
Sprinkling osmanthus to scent the air.
Heavy doors are shut, golden locks are fastened,
Lights of all kinds shine above and below.
Clothes are shed, powder is applied,
And diagrams are laid out beside the pillow.
The White Lady teaches me, her grace fills the world,
What few men see, the Old Heaven taught the Yellow Emperor.
No night is more joyful than this,
A pleasure I shall never forget in my lifetime."
The poem is written in the first person from the perspective of a woman, describing her experience and feelings during her wedding night with a concubine. Their story began with a chance encounter, and she was taken in to serve as a concubine. Her first sexual encounter made her extremely afraid ("Made me tremble as if dipping my hand in boiling water"), but she still resolved to fulfill her role as a concubine. She wanted to become part of the master’s family and gain a formal position ("I weave the bed, attend to the household, Assist in the offerings to the gods"). The latter half of the poem describes her observations and experiences in the bridal chamber.
After the heavy doors were shut one by one, they entered their private world. During the act of undressing, she saw a series of diagrams beside the pillow, depicting:
"The White Lady teaches me, her grace fills the world,
What few men see, the Old Heaven taught the Yellow Emperor."
The poet skips over the act itself but describes its result:
"No night is more joyful than this,
A pleasure I shall never forget in my lifetime."
This unprecedented joy, of course, refers to sexual pleasure. Folk wisdom says, "A night with a wife brings a hundred days of gratitude," and this is exactly what it refers to. Such joyful sexual life must have been related to the diagrams she saw, so at least since the Ming Dynasty, Wang Shizhen and others concluded that the diagrams were "a series of secret scenes," or spring palace pictures.
Their conclusion (based mainly on intuition) was correct, but their reasoning was insufficient. They only inferred this from another work by Zhang Heng, Seven Discourses, which says, "With bright lanterns, pointing at diagrams, one admires the beauty of women—this is the beauty of female color."
This is not surprising, as although historical documents clearly proving that "The White Lady teaches me, her grace fills the world, What few men see, the Old Heaven taught the Yellow Emperor" depicts secret scenes of sexual intimacy already existed, Wang Shizhen and his contemporaries had not yet seen them.