Yun Zhai Meng Yu

Author: Sun Li
Publisher:
Publishing Date: 2007-01-01
Features: The prose we refer to here is not only distinguished from rhymed verse but also from formally structured novels. It refers to all short articles that record events or discuss ideas, which is what Mr. Lu Xun called "zawen" (miscellaneous prose). 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 biographies, prefaces, chronicles, 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, to the point of obsession. I saved and spent frugally to buy a book by him; I treasured it, carrying it everywhere I went. At that time, I was in middle school, and every afternoon after class, I would eagerly rush to the library reading room, crouching over the newspaper racks, reading the articles by Mr. Lu Xun published in Shanghai Daily·Free Talk. At the time, to evade the scrutiny of the reactionary authorities, Mr. Lu Xun frequently changed his pen names, but I could always 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 around Beijing, still managing to save money to buy books by Mr. 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 and also taught Chinese to fifth graders and natural science to first graders. During the day, I had no time to spare, but when the students left and colleagues went home, I would stay 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 Mr. Lu Xun’s. The books I referred to here also included 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 sharp and 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, then replace them with new ones. The ancients said that the misfortunes of books were water, fire, war, and insects. Among these, war and fire could be considered the greatest disasters for books, as they lost the possibility of remedy. When the War of Resistance Against Japan 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 "sweeping operation," they were discovered and thrown all over the courtyard. The collaborators thought the bound books with gilt lettering could be sold for money and took them away. The remaining books, which my family considered to have brought misfortune, were used for fire and exchanged for wheat noodles. When I returned home, only a few books remained, including one of Mr. Lu Xun’s Outlines of the History of Chinese Fiction. After that, my books underwent many hardships, but this one remained in my possession. I wrapped it in a new cover and titled it "The Master of All Books." During the War of Resistance Against Japan, we marched light but carried these books in our packs. Aside from the dry food bags around our necks, these books were the most important things we had. Thus, I would spread Mr. Lu Xun’s books on the fields, riverbanks, grass stacks, and rocks. At the sound of the order to continue marching, I would quickly fold them up. This experience inspired me to write some short essays, learning from Mr. Lu Xun. Thus, under the inspiration of his 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 echoed with the sound of springs, 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 Mr. Lu Xun’s works. On this journey, they often struggled against hunger, cold, heat, and disease. Some sacrificed their lives on the banks of the Jimao River, the Sanggan River, or the Hutuo River. The books in their backpacks were riddled with bullet holes. We exchanged and shared books, cherishing 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 cherish 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. Mr. Lu Xun’s books, however, can be said to be eternal. Their influence is so vast, and their duration so long. Before and after the May Fourth Movement, no one can compare to them. Liang Qichao cannot compare to them, and Zang Taixian cannot either. 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 are the strengths of Mr. Lu Xun’s prose? What aspects can we 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 kind heart toward the people, expressing genuine emotions, and reflecting the true conditions of workers, peasants, and soldiers. In linguistic art, they must be serious and achieve a beautiful realm. The writer’s thoughts must represent the emerging progressive forces and trends, aligning with concrete revolutionary practice. If we take these requirements seriously, even if our works are not destined to last through the ages, they can still provide useful reference for readers at the time and place. During the War of Resistance Against Japan, we mimeographed one of Mr. Lu Xun’s essays, In Memory of Those We Have Forgotten, for reference by aspiring writers. This prose is a late work of Mr. Lu Xun, filled with blood and tears. In the extremely brutal war years, reading it even once would bring tears to my eyes. Specifically, such articles embody the above three elements. As long as the contradictions and struggles between truth and falsehood, goodness and evil, beauty and ugliness persist in human society, Mr. Lu Xun’s prose will forever remain a sharp 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 era. After the exams were over, these essays were bundled by paper merchants and sent to be recycled. Even the "bricks" that broke open doors could not escape being treated as waste. This is because these articles spoke only lies, claiming to speak for the sages but filled with empty words. They were filled in grids, with not a trace of the author’s genuine emotions. If a short essay contains no truth at all: what exists in life is not written; what does not exist in life is forced into existence; or even to gain personal profit, rumors are spread to deceive the public—its lifespan is inevitably limited to the newspapers of the day. Generally speaking, those engaged in literary work hope their works will live longer and have more readers. With serious effort, good results can be achieved. However, not everyone can succeed. This involves complex subjective and objective conditions. Writing is first and foremost for the present reality, for serving the people. Only what is useful for the present is useful for the future. It is unthinkable that something considered illusory in the present would be seen as a reliable history in the future. Only works that deeply reflect reality will attract attention from later generations. Yao Nai, who compiled Collected Prose of Ancient and Modern Masters, once said that in the Tang Dynasty, who didn’t want to write like Han Yu, but in the end, there was only one Han Yu. It would be good enough to achieve the level of Li Ao and Du Guoji, but Yao Nai’s goals were perhaps too high. However, for us, our goals must be even more ambitious, and our efforts more diverse. In our era, as many of the objective conditions that hindered and restricted the development of literature are gradually removed, the possibility and number of people climbing the peak of art must surpass those of ancient times. Learning from Mr. Lu Xun’s prose naturally cannot mean reading only his works. Mr. Lu Xun introduced ancient Chinese prose to us in his lifetime and translated foreign prose, all to encourage us to draw from the best and be widely inspired. Some young people now believe that Mr. Lu Xun only asks us to read foreign works and not ancient Chinese classics, which is a one-sided understanding of his words. If we look through Mr. Lu Xun’s diaries, we will see that even in his later years, he continued to buy ancient Chinese books and study ancient Chinese literature. Some young people say that ancient Chinese prose has become antiques and is on the list for elimination, which is also incorrect. Ancient Chinese literature has not become antiques but has been increasingly mastered by the masses and is playing a more practical role in applying the past to the present. All classes are using it, and naturally, we, the proletariat, cannot abandon it. Only by understanding history can we better understand the present. Of course, first and foremost, we must correctly and comprehensively understand the present to correctly and comprehensively understand history. Mr. Lu Xun’s prose can prove this point. Ancient Chinese prose cannot be studied lightly, of course, and this is not to oppose reading classical foreign prose. In short, we must read widely, covering ancient and modern works, classics, history, philosophy, and poetry, to enrich our knowledge and strengthen our resilience. Learning to write prose cannot mean studying only prose. We must also study rhymed verse. Since prose is also called "zawen," the more varied the reference materials, the better. Mr. Lu Xun’s prose can prove this point.