As the eldest grandson of Lu Xun, the "father of modern Chinese literature," Zhou Lingfei struggled for years with the high expectations that came with being the scion of such an illustrious figure. Having reconciled his emotions, Zhou is now committing his time and energy to seeing that his grandfather's great humanism and cultural contributions are not forgotten.
With his thick moustache and steely gaze, Zhou Lingfei bears a striking resemblance to his grandfather, Lu Xun (Zhou Shuren, 1881-1936), one of China's greatest literary figures.
Ironically, Zhou spent much of his life trying to distance himself from his illustrious forbearer. But now, as the director of the Lu Xun Culture Development Center, he has become the keeper of the flame. And he has given a great deal of thought to the legacy of Lu Xun.
"In China, Lu Xun is primarily remembered in two ways: scholars pore over his work, and a variety of institutions and commodities are named after him and his characters. Our family feels that these approaches are insufficient and not always appropriate," he says.
This was the impetus for the founding of the culture center, which opened Wednesday, September 25 -- the 121st anniversary of the author's birth, explains Zhou.
"This is not an academic center," adds Zhou. "Our goal is to carry on Lu Xun's spirit to do something concrete to benefit today's society."
Zhou pauses to gaze out the window of his office in Hongkou District. "Lu Xun's former residence, the Lu Xun Memorial, Lu Xun cemetery and Lu Xun Park are all located here. Working here gives me a special affinity to my grandfather," he says.
Indeed, it is precisely this affinity with Lu Xun's spirit that Zhou consistently brings up in conversation. "Lu Xun is regarded as a representative of Chinese culture and called 'the soul of the nation.' His philanthropy, uprightness and innovation are invaluable assets of the Chinese nation," Zhou notes, adding, "yet people often don't remember his philanthropic side. It's important to remember that it was his deep love for the people that caused him to take up the pen."
The brainchild of Zhou's father, Zhou Haiying, Lu Xun's only son, the center promises to be different from any other Lu Xun memorial. Its mission is to spread Lu Xun's cultural legacy, and at the outset, the goal is to boost cultural exchanges with foreign countries. This year, a Lu Xun photo album will be published, featuring a great many never-before-published images, and the 1938 version of the "Complete Works of Lu Xun" will be reissued.
In addition to introducing Lu Xun's work to readers in foreign countries, the center plans to hold an international forum next year on the theme of the relationship between man and society.
"This is in line with Lu Xun's all-embracing spirit," Zhou explains.
"Long-term plans include the establishment of a fund in Lu Xun's name that will grant awards for achievements in areas like culture, education and social work," adds Zhou.
Listening to Zhou speak about the center and his grandfather, it's hard to imagine that for years, all he wanted was to shake off Lu Xun's towering presence.
"Like my father, I lived in the shadow of my grandfather's fame all my life," says Zhou. "Even as a child, expectations were impossibly high. I would be chided if I didn't get the highest grades, and I was called indolent if I played with my friends," he recalls. "My reaction was to estrange myself from anything to do with Lu Xun."
Rebelling against a famous relative may be a common reaction, but Zhou's marriage to a Taiwanese woman, and subsequent move to the island province, was considered downright shocking. How could the oldest grandson of China's most renowned left-wing writer, whose work was banned by the Kuomintang government of Taiwan, marry a Taiwanese woman and live there?
"My marriage was personal, not political. I went there for love," Zhou says. "The media in Taiwan wanted to politicize it, but I refused."
At that time, communication with his father in Beijing was difficult, but he was fully aware of the pressure that they must have been under. "But I am an optimist. I am a firm believer that somehow, everything will return to normal sooner or later," he says.
In Taiwan, Zhou, who had been a photojournalist, joined his father-in-law's business, which eventually went bankrupt. Penniless, he and his wife sold popcorn to peddlers.
With nothing to lose, he wrote an scholarly book on the Chinese stage art on the mainland, based on his years of photographing the stage as a photojournalist. The book was a success in Taiwan, and Zhou found work as a project director. In recent years, he has worked for a Taiwan-based cultural exchange institute, introducing quality stage performances on both sides of the straits.
"That is where my expertise lies in terms of the center. I am not an expert on Lu Xun, but I am apparently the most experienced person in the family when it comes to running a cultural institution," Zhou says, explaining that his 75-year-old father once worked in radio, while the other children work in tourism, media and the high-tech sectors. "The other reason is that they think I most resemble to my grandfather," says Zhou.
Asked if he has deliberately tried to look like his famous grandfather, Zhou shakes head emphatically. "Ten years ago, I had shoulder-length hair. Did my grandfather have long hair? I cut it because it became too common; too many people began to wear long hair." And like his grandfather, he thinks outside the box.
(eastday.com September 26, 2002)
