Li Hui appears to have been a darling of bosses of literary publishing houses lately.
With a reputation as a successful journalist, down-to-earth biographer, and prize-winning essay writer, Li Hui is exactly the person they need to work as publishing supremo for them.
The many sets of high-class literary publications chief-edited by him in recent years have justified their choice.
The latest of which is the "Monologue" collection of Henan-based Daxiang (Elephant) Publishing House.
Individual memories
An advocator of the preservation of individuals' memories, Li Hui feels an urgency to save these recollections which are as important as preserving precious historical relics.
About 20 years ago, Li became one of the earliest researchers to probe details surrounding some prominent cultural figures persecuted during the "cultural revolution" (1966-76). Li finds the toughest part of his job is to get access to the first-hand materials left by the subjects of his research.
Without such access, he cannot proceed as he will not trust history as presented by other people, he said.
That was why he initiated the "Monologue" series. As the title suggests, famous figures - literary writers and scholars - speak out for themselves in the collection, rather than let other people record their life.
It is a better way for us to approach fragile historical truth, Li said.
"I always believe that only when authentic, individualized memories emerge in abundance, can we know history more truly," he said in the introduction to the collection.
The name "Monologue" also implies a difference from the conscious, systematic effort of autobiography. Each of the 10 previously published books of the series collates dozens of essays written by the writer or scholar in different times. Among these essays, the focuses sometimes shift in a random way while the tone is often casual, and the moods vary.
Li also insists the appearance of the book series reflects a sense of elegant simplicity with their covers in the colour of natural wood.
Many photos, pictures, manuscripts, and other related materials are juxtaposed with the texts, making the books more attractive in format and informative in content.
The series sets out to include a galaxy of celebrities. "It will start from the cultural circle, then gradually extend to other fields," Li Hui said in the introduction. "Over the course of several years, we hope it can exhibit the life experiences and spiritual worlds of representative persons from different circles."
The collection has so far recruited many big names in China's literary and arts circles. Among them are monumental figures such as Ba Jin (1905-), Tian Han (1898-1968), a leading modern Chinese playwright, and Zhao Dan (1915-80), one of the best known Chinese movie artists of the 20th century. They are considered China's 20th-century titans in the fields of literature, theatre, and motion pictures.
Two acclaimed and widely loved writers Xiao Qian (1910-99) and Wang Zengqi (1920-97) join cultural leaders such as 70-year-old cultural critic Shao Yanxian, writer Huang Shang, 84, and 90-year-old painter Huang Miaozi in contributing.
Younger generation
In addition to the cultural "titans," Li Hui has also included leading lights of the younger generation in the book series.
Liu Xinwu, 63, and Jiang Zilong, 62, are junior in age and perhaps also in fame. But that does not necessarily mean their narratives on their life experiences will be less instructive.
The names of the two writers strongly remind readers of the special period in Chinese history when it staggered out of the heavily charged atmosphere of the "cultural revolution," recovering from the shock and trauma of political persecution as new challenges surfaced.
Liu Xinwu is the first of the writers from the 1960s to make his name in the era following the "cultural revolution." His ice-breaking work, Banzhuren (The Supervisor of Class), in 1977 heralded the literary thaw of the 1980s. He is among several writers who made the pioneering move to shift the focus from the "scars" of the "cultural revolution" to the hardships faced by ordinary people in the early years of reforms and opening-up, and to change styles to a less sensational and more profound way.
The best remembered of Liu's works is the Mao Dun Literature Prize winner Zhonggulou (The Bell and Drum Tower).
Jiang's stature rests on describing the twists and turns that Chinese society, especially State-owned enterprises, met with in the course of the reforms of the early 1980s. Novels of the prolific writer, such as Qiao Changzhang Shangren Ji (Director Qiao Assumes Office) and Chi Cheng Huang Lu Qing Lan Zi (All the Colours of the Rainbow), vividly capture the spirit of the age.
Born in 1941, Jiang is only one year senior to Liu. Yet although their personal stories both strongly reflect the era they have lived through, they have walked along very different roads because of each writer's distinct idiosyncrasies and backgrounds.
It is a pleasure to browse the two books at the same time.
Liu admits he is a family man. The affectionate narratives about the family of his parents, then his own family, occupy the largest and most beautiful parts of his book.
Born in 1942 into a well-off family in Chengdu, Sichuan Province, Liu moved at the age of 8 to Beijing, where his father took up a posting. In the book, he reflects on his life in Beijing from the age of 8 to 17, which comprises "the truest and deepest memory of my childhood and teens."
His parents, who are portrayed by Liu as "apolitical good people," combined many paradoxical traits. His father worked seriously for the new proletarian working class government while delighting in searching for second-hand ancient books and eating Western food.
His mother, who was mistaken by his classmates for a housemaid when they visited his home, read A Dream of Red Mansions repeatedly, and wrote a beautiful diary each day, sometimes illustrating it with exquisite drawings.
The way they loved Liu is also paradoxical. The mother would finance the youngest son's childish devotion to literature to a degree that outraged neighbours, but when he had his first essay published at the age of 16, she never commented a word - even in her diary.
This apparent paradox isn't due to an elusive personality. The truth is they were too simple-hearted in nature, too faithful to the essence of life, to be understood and appreciated by a society which was increasingly complicated by repeated political movements.
On reaching maturity and becoming an adept reader of the human heart, Liu was struck by the simple but great humanity his parents quietly exemplified.
Another charm of Liu's narratives comes from his painting of the tableau of "old Beijing" in the 1950s. It is indeed an enviable life experience to have lived there and then, when the daily life of Beijing was still undisturbed and pacing on its traditional, peaceful track. The relaxed and animated lifestyle, the distinctive customs and city culture unfolded under his pen, easily arouse nostalgia in many readers' hearts.
Jiang's childhood was another paradise lost but of a totally different kind.
Unlike Liu, who was a disciplined urban resident often bullied by senior schoolmates, Jiang was one of the wildest country boors who would not let anyone bully him except his father.
Born in a village of Cangzhou, North China's Hebei Province, Jiang "grew up spontaneously like crops" on the fields of North China. When Liu was enjoying the luscious dishes prepared by his mother, a great Sichuan Cuisine cook, Jiang was satisfying his gourmand instinct by snacks of fried locust, roast toad, and elm fruit every now and then.
But when readers get to know the little boy better, they will be impressed and touched by his deep sense of responsibility. Jiang recalled that, as a child, he was already a devoted, hard-working field hand.
"When I spotted any tuft of good grass, I would suffer my life to get it for my black mule. The black mule was the backbone of my home, I felt he was more important than me in my family."
Despite so great a contrast in background, the two contemporaries share many attributes.
Both of them describe themselves as awkward when it comes to communicating with others.
"I earned myself fame as an incommunicative man among my fellow writers," Liu said. "That certainly isn't good fame."
Victimized by his shy and unsociable nature ever since his primary school, Liu stumbled on more unkind, cruel treatment during the politically charged era than he would otherwise have received. But these lessons taught him to understand the human heart more truly.
Jiang believes he has a face that will never learn how to smile. And that face is to be blamed for his fame as an unapproachable man.
However, Jiang never feels the need to reform. During the "cultural revolution," one of his novels was harshly criticized for not following the then political line, and his stubborn, unyielding attitude helped to exacerbate his situation.
Despite a somewhat austere face, "there doesn't lack sunshine in my heart," Jiang concludes in the book, and "though I've known pain in my life, I've also known warmth."
It is also hard to tell whether it is a coincidence that, throughout their books, the two writers both insist on characterizing themselves as common people.
The essay initiating Liu's book is titled "I'm nothing more than a common man," while Jiang's book opened with an introduction under the title, "I'm a very, very tiny, anonymous river."
"But I don't feel ashamed because of the existence somewhere in the Earth of such giant rivers as the Yangtze and Yellow River," Jiang said.
"I don't envy them, but I would not let myself be engulfed by them. Under the dunes, from cracks of mountain stones, in the chinks of dried earth, I will find my fountain, and I will struggle my way towards the sea."
(China Daily May 22, 2003)
