Sun Li: Dreaming of Yun Du after returning home

Author: Sun Li
Publisher:
Publishing Date: 2007-01-01
Features: The prose we refer to here is not only distinguished from rhymed literature but also from formally structured novels. It encompasses all short articles that record events or convey arguments, which is what Mr. Lu Xun called "zawen" (literary miscellany). However, the term "zawen" now seems to be specifically used for satire. Randomly flipping through the collected works of ancient scholars, one always finds categories like records, prefaces, biographies, letters, epitaphs, etc. In reality, all of these are prose. Mr. Lu Xun's collected works are no exception. Although labeled as "zawen," not every piece carries a satirical intent. I adored Mr. Lu Xun's prose. In my youth, I became fervently devoted to it, saving and spending sparingly to buy a book by Lu Xun; I treasured it and carried it everywhere I went. At that time, I was in middle school, and every afternoon after class, I impatiently rushed to the library reading room, crouching among the newspaper racks, reading the articles Lu Xun published in Shanghai Daily·Free Talk. At the time, to evade the scrutiny of the reactionary authorities, Lu Xun frequently changed his pen names, but I could still recognize his writing. I would read until I could roughly memorize the articles before leaving the newspapers. After graduating from middle school, I couldn’t find a job and wandered in Beijing, still saving money to buy books by Lu Xun. When I bought a book, it felt as if I had secured everything—my meals for the day and a place to stay at night. Soon after, I found a teaching position at Tongkou Primary School near Baiyangdian. At this small school, I served as the head teacher for the sixth grade, taught Chinese to fifth graders, and natural science to first graders. During the day, I had no free time, but when the students left and colleagues went home, I stayed alone in the courtyard with a large open space, illuminated by a single lonely lamp. My belongings were meager, and the book on the table was still Lu Xun’s. The Lu Xun books I mentioned here also include the magazines he edited. At that time, I subscribed to Translation. At the Tongkou river wharf, there was a postal agency where I often sent money to Shanghai to buy books. The Shanghai Life Bookstore at the time was very responsible in handling reader mail orders. I would copy the incisive passages from the articles and paste them on the walls of my room. After class, I would stand beneath these paper strips, recite them until I memorized them, and then replace them with new ones. The ancients said that the calamities of books were water, fire, war, and insects. Among these, war and fire could be considered the greatest disasters, as they left no possibility of remedy. When the Anti-Japanese War broke out, I joined the anti-war efforts. Before leaving my hometown, I hid the books I had painstakingly collected and treasured for years in the hollow walls of my thatched house. During the enemy’s "sweep," they were discovered and scattered all over the courtyard. The collaborators thought the bound books with gilt lettering could be sold and took them. The remaining books, which my family considered a source of misfortune, were used for fire and exchanged for wheat noodles. By the time I returned, only a few books remained, including one of Lu Xun’s Outlines of the History of Chinese Fiction. After that, my books went through many hardships, but this one remained in my hands. I wrapped it in a new cover and titled it "The Master of All Books." During the Anti-Japanese War years, we marched daily, traveling light. Apart from the dry food bags on our necks, the books in our haversacks were the most important. Thus, I spread Lu Xun’s books on the fields, riverbanks, grass stacks, and rocks, and when the order to continue advancing came, I quickly folded them up. This experience inspired me to write some short essays, learning from Lu Xun. Thus, under the inspiration of Lu Xun’s spirit, I wrote some short essays: ideas formed on the mountain peak, conceived in the ravine; drafted during rest breaks while marching, completed on a large stone by the roadside; their thoughts flowed like spring water, and their themes stood tall like high cliffs. My fellow soldiers were mostly young students, many of whom had joined the revolution out of a love for literature, especially for Lu Xun’s works. On this journey, they often struggled against hunger, cold, heat, and disease, and some sacrificed their lives on the banks of the Jimahai, Sanggan, or Hutuo rivers. The books in their backpacks were riddled with bullet holes. We exchanged and shared books, treasuring them deeply. I now think that those who do not cherish books may find it difficult to engage in literary creation. I have never met a craftsman who did not cherish his tools or a soldier who did not value his weapons. It is only natural that no one would cherish poor-quality books. The vitality of art is a complex issue, difficult to explain. Lu Xun’s books, however, can be confidently said to be eternal. Their influence is so vast, and their duration so long. Before and after the May Fourth Movement, they are unparalleled. Liang Qichao cannot be compared to them, nor can Zhang Taiyan. Among Chinese prose writers, I admire Han Fei, Sima Qian, Liu Zongyuan, and Ouyang Xiu. Ouyang Xiu was very serious about his writing. He always considered the reader and posterity, constantly revising his drafts even in his later years. He was skilled at varying the syntax of his articles, striving to make them fresh and powerful. What makes Lu Xun’s prose so outstanding? What aspects can we trace and learn from? What conditions contribute to the enduring life of art? The truth, goodness, and beauty in artistic creation can be explained as follows: These three demands require the writer to stand on the side of the proletariat and the masses, with a benevolent attitude toward the people, expressing genuine emotions, and reflecting the realities of workers, peasants, and soldiers. In linguistic art, they must be serious and rigorous, achieving a beautiful standard. The writer’s thoughts should represent the emerging progressive forces and trends, aligning with concrete revolutionary practice. If we adhere to these requirements and work diligently, even if our works do not endure for generations, they can still provide valuable references for readers at the time and place. During the Anti-Japanese War, we mimeographed one of Lu Xun’s essays, Remembrance of Those Who Have Passed Away in Silence, as a reference for aspiring writers. This prose was a late work filled with blood and tears. In the most brutal war years, reading it even once moved me to tears. Specifically, such articles embody the above three elements. As long as the contradictions and struggles between truth and falsehood, goodness and evil, and beauty and ugliness persist in human society, Lu Xun’s prose will remain an indomitable weapon in the hands of the people to defeat the enemy. This is what makes a work immortal. In contrast, the most lifeless articles are undoubtedly the eight-legged essays of the feudal imperial examination system. After the exams were over, these essays were bundled by paper merchants and used as raw material for new paper. Even the "bricks" that broke open doors could not escape being treated as waste. This is because these articles spoke only lies—words spoken in the name of sages, filled with empty rhetoric; articles filled within grids, devoid of any genuine emotion from the author. If a short prose piece contains no truth at all: omitting what exists in life, fabricating what does not, or even spreading rumors for personal gain, its lifespan is inevitably limited to the pages of that day’s newspaper. Generally speaking, those engaged in literary work hope their works will endure for longer, reaching more readers. With serious effort, good results can be achieved. However, not everyone can succeed. This involves complex subjective and objective conditions. Writing is primarily for the present reality, to serve the people. Only what is useful in the present can be useful in the future. It is unthinkable that something considered illusory today would be regarded as a reliable historical record in the future. Only works that deeply reflect reality will attract attention from later generations. Yao Nai, who compiled Collected Prose of the Ancient Style, once said that in the Tang Dynasty, who did not wish to write like Han Yu, but in the end, there was only one Han Yu. To achieve the level of Li Ao or Du Guoji, was already considered excellent. Yao Nai’s goals were perhaps too high. But for us, our goals must be lofty, and our efforts multifaceted. In our era, as the many objective obstacles hindering the development of literature are gradually removed, the possibility and number of people climbing the heights of art will certainly surpass those of ancient times. Learning from Lu Xun’s prose naturally cannot mean reading only his works. During his lifetime, Lu Xun introduced ancient Chinese prose to us and translated foreign prose, all to encourage us to draw from the finest and broadest sources. Some young people now believe that Lu Xun only asks us to read foreign works and not ancient Chinese classics, but this is a one-sided understanding of his words. If we look through Lu Xun’s diaries, we see that even in his later years, he continued to buy and study ancient Chinese books and documents. Some young people say that ancient Chinese prose has become collectible and is on the list for elimination, which is also incorrect. Ancient Chinese documents have not become collectibles but are increasingly by the masses and play a growing role in applying the past to the present. All classes are using them, and naturally, we, the proletariat, cannot abandon them. Only by understanding history can we better understand the present. Of course, one must first correctly and comprehensively understand the present to correctly and comprehensively understand history. Lu Xun’s prose can prove this point. Ancient Chinese prose cannot be studied lightly, but this does not mean opposing the study of classical foreign prose. In short, we must read widely, encompassing history, classics, philosophy, and poetry, so that our knowledge can be rich and our resistance strong. Learning to write prose cannot mean focusing solely on prose. We must also study rhymed literature. Since prose is also called "zawen," the more diverse the reference materials, the better. Lu Xun’s prose can also prove this point.