Humans, Beasts, and Ghosts

Stories and Essays

Zhongshu Qian, Dennis Hu, Nathan Mao, Yiran Mao, Christopher G. Rea, Philip Williams, Christopher G. Rea

• Publisher: Columbia University Press
• Year: 2010
• ISBN:
  9780231526548
• Topic: Social Sciences
• Subtopic: Folklore & Mythology
• Index: Social Sciences

Qian Zhongshu was one of twentieth-century China's most ingenious literary stylists, one whose insights into the ironies and travesties of modern China remain stunningly fresh. Between the early years of the Second Sino-Japanese War (1937-1945) and the Communist takeover in 1949, Qian wrote a brilliant series of short stories, essays, and a comedic novel that continue to inspire generations of Chinese readers.

With this long-awaited translation, English-language readers can immerse themselves in the invention and satirical wit of one of the world's great literary cosmopolitans. This collection brings together Qian's best short works, combining his iconoclastic essays on the "book of life" from Written in the Margins of Life (1941) with the four masterful short stories of Human, Beast, Ghost (1946). His essays elucidate substantive issues through deceptively simple subjects-the significance of windows versus doors, for example, or the blind spots of literary critics—and assert the primacy of critical and creative independence. His stories blur the boundaries between humans, beasts, and ghosts as they struggle through life, death, and resurrection. Christopher G. Rea situates these works within China's wartime politics and Qian's literary vision, highlighting significant changes that Qian Zhongshu made to different editions of his writings and providing unprecedented insight into the author's creative process.

HUMAN, BEAST,
GHOST

FIRST PREFACE TO THE 1946 KAIMING EDITION

Should this manuscript not end up lost or burned and one day happen to be published, a preface is unavoidable.

Labor-saving devices are becoming more advanced every day, and there are always people more than happy to identify themselves as the original model for a particular character in a novel or play as an effortless way to promote themselves. To preempt those who would assume a false identity in this manner, let me declare categorically that the characters and events in this book are completely fictitious. Not only are the humans within its pages good, law-abiding citizens, but its beasts are domesticated pets, and even its ghosts are not those homeless spirits that roam about unchecked. All live strictly within the confines of this volume and will never step outside its covers. Should someone claim to be one of the humans, beasts, or ghosts who appear in this collection, it would be tantamount to saying that a character, who is purely a product of my imagination, has walked off the page, taken on blood and flesh, soul and vitality, assumed that person’s likeness, and now moves about freely in the real world. I’m afraid that since man was first molded out of clay we have yet to see another such miracle of creation, and I dare not dream that my artistry has reached such heights. I must thus refute any such claims in advance and respectfully thank those who would so flatter me.

April 1, 1944

SECOND PREFACE TO THE 1946 KAIMING EDITION

This manuscript was originally put together on my behalf by Ms. Yang Jiang during the chaos and strife of wartime. “Inspiration” was previously published in the first and second issues of New Talk [Xin yu], edited by Messrs. Fu Lei and Zhou Xuliang. “Cat” was previously published in the first issue of Literary Renaissance [Wenyi fuxing], edited by Messrs. Zheng Zhenduo and Li Jianwu. The publication of this book was made possible by the efforts of Mr. Xu Tiaofu. To all I would like to offer my thanks.

January 3, 1946

GOD’S DREAM

At that time, our world had been trained into utter obedience by scientists, philosophers, and politicians. Every day, it revitalized and improved itself according to the laws of creationism, evolutionism, accretionism, eugenics, and the “New Life Movement.”¹ Today’s way of life supplanted yesterday’s through natural selection, and culture became more refined from morning to afternoon. Life and civilization underwent a thousand transformations in the blink of an eye. The changes came so fast that History had no time to record them all, and even Prophecy couldn’t keep up. At that time, the course of human life was measured in “steps.” Instead of saying “another year has passed,” we said “another step forward has been taken.” Instead of saying “die of old age,” we said “pedestrians halt.” Instead of saying “lament so-and-so’s passing,” we said “run a hundred steps and laugh at someone who has run only fifty”—laugh because he didn’t succeed in running forward a few more steps.² When a man and woman joined in marriage, well-wishers at the gathering spoke of the lovebirds “flying together,” but not “nesting together.”³ Only a few sticks-in-the-mud still insisted on expressing the wish that the bridal couple might “keep each other warm for five minutes”—roughly akin to our blessing, “May you spend a century growing old together”—knowing full well the impossibility of that empty phrase. Yet this beautiful world of progress had one shortcoming: it rendered every history of a near century, every half-century “cultural self-criticism,” every diary, biochronology, autobiography, “A Certain Percentage of My Life,”⁴ and other such epitaphs utterly useless. As luck would have it, people at that time were just too plain busy to read. And the authors of such reading material? Fortunately for them, they had long ago hastened to reincarnate themselves in the early twentieth century, where they were born, wrote, had their works read (or go unread), and were forgotten.

The Law of Evolution holds that what comes later is superior to what precedes it. Out of Time and Space evolved inorganic objects, which then evolved into animals and plants. Out of the inanimate plants evolved woman, who is placid but able to root one in place with her nagging. Out of the rambunctious animal kingdom evolved man, who is rough and risk taking. Man and woman created children, and children brought forth dolls. Thus, though God, who is supreme and peerless, should by rights be the final product of evolution, producing a God is easier said than done. Has any great man throughout history deigned to be born before spending ten months in his mother’s womb? Take, for instance, the Yellow Emperor, whose four hundred million descendants are now cruelly slaughtering one another. He burdened his mother with a full twenty months of pregnancy. Lao-tzu, the Right Supreme Moral Paragon, likewise lived in his mother’s belly for eighty years before dropping to the ground with a wail—an “old son” [lao tzu] indeed!⁵ Thus, by the time the powers of evolution finally created a God, the human race had vanished from this world eons ago. Perhaps that was because they “flew together” but didn’t “nest together”—even evolutionists couldn’t wait that long. As a result, this world of material abundance was also empty, like the head of a simpleton expanded to the nth degree.

The night was deepening. The ancient darkness gently enveloped the aging world like heavy eyelids over weary eyes. The powers of evolution pushed God out from the nothingness. Entering time and space, he began to sense his own existence. At this moment, the testimonies of theologians and mystics and the prayers of lovers, soldiers, peasants, and the poor since time immemorial finally had a Lord. But, these various signs of devotion were like a letter from home to a vagabond or parents’ aspirations for a child who has passed away—God was completely oblivious to them. He opened his eyes and saw nothing. The silence surrounding him was limitless, unfathomable. Instincts bequeathed by the extinct human race half awoke in God. He felt frightened like a child and wanted to cry, but the stillness, long unbroken by the human voice, had coalesced into glue that prevented sound from floating about within it. God realized that the stillness around him and the fear in his heart had incubated in this darkness, and this realization made him loathe darkness and long for light, which he had yet to see or know by name. Moment by moment, this desire grew stronger. After an indeterminate interval of time, the darkness suddenly thinned slightly and the pressure of the night lessened, revealing faint contours of high mountains and deep valleys. His eyes began to serve their purpose and were rewarded with things to see. God was astounded at the stupendous power of his own will. He had wanted it to not be dark, he reflected, and, tactfully, the darkness withdrew. But this was not enough! In the past, his gaze had met with nothing. Now, wherever his eyes rested, they were obliged with something emerging from the darkness. Yet again, God’s subconscious seemed to rumble with the strains and echoes of mankind’s earlier elegies to the Omnipotent Creator.

God’s temperament was also human. Aware of his own powers, he liked to wield them arbitrarily. He wanted to banish darkness once and for all to see whether or not it would obey his order. Hey! Sure enough, the east quickly turned from gray to white and from white to a fiery red as the sun came out. God was delighted with the thought that this was his doing—that this had come about on his command. Reflexively, he closed his eyes against the blinding glare of the sun. At the same time, he thought, “This fellow’s not to be trifled with! We can do without him for the time being.” And, curiously, in a trice everything vanished before his eyes. All he could see was darkness, which gave off round flashes of red. By this point, God had no more doubts about his own capacities and powers. Anyone could do away with the light by closing one’s eyes, but it was his eyes that had generated light in the first place. Not convinced? Just open your eyes. Look, isn’t that the sun? Aren’t those mountains and, over there, water? Each thing obediently and respectfully presented itself to his gaze. Long ago, a rooster swaggered before his hen and crowed loudly and smugly at the sun because it dared not show its face before his morning report. God, who was immeasurably greater than a rooster, at this moment was actually thinking along quite similar lines. He regretted only that the workings of evolution had failed to produce something equivalent to a hen to keep him company and listen to his bragging. There was a scientific explanation for this evolutionary flaw. Like every animal bred through eugenics (like the mule) and every revered dictator (like the uni-testicled Hitler),⁶ God could not reproduce and thus had no need for a partner. Nevertheless, smug, roosterlike crowing was inevitable. Without meaning to, God laughed out loud. His laughter echoed through the wild, empty valleys, impressing him with how his voice could multiply so many times, resound so loudly, and carry so far.

This God was evolved, all right. He could not have been further from a Neanderthal, lacking any trace of the superstition or awe of a savage discovering the universe for the first time. His was the haughtiness and self-confidence of civilized man. Savage man, believing in the omnipresent existence of divinities, submits to and grovels before them.⁷ God, discovering only his own greatness, believed that since he could control all things he need not rely on anyone else. The world would extend to meet his gaze and the ground would come up to meet his feet. In fear, the horizon retreated before him. Everything fed his arrogance and nurtured his vanity. Then, suddenly, he felt the need for a companion. What a dreadful bore it would be to continue living in this vast world alone. A companion would enliven things.⁸ Coming to this realization, God pondered what his criteria for this companion would be. His conclusion may not have been as clear as what follows, but the gist was more or less the same.

First, this companion should understand him. This understanding, however, should be akin to that of a critic vis-à-vis a creative genius: appreciation without ability. The companion’s knowledge should not enable him to copy or compete with him. At most, it should lead him to offer due praise and tickle him with sweet talk, because—

Second, this companion’s purpose was to flatter his vanity. He should praise him tirelessly and indiscriminately, like a member of a rich man’s entourage, a bought politician, or a newspaper editor on the take. But he wouldn’t bribe this companion, whose praises would emerge willingly from the gratitude and happiness at the bottom of his heart; thus—

Third, this companion should be as loyal and honest to him as . . . as what exactly? This naive and tentative God had no clue. Even we who are familiar with the ways of the world and have seen all sorts of relationships—between fathers and sons, elder and younger brothers, men and women, masters and servants, superiors and subordinates, leaders and their idolizers—can’t suggest an apt comparison.

Some people are unable to sleep if a thought crosses their mind right before bed. Others drift off into slumber as a result of indulging in wild thoughts during their waking hours. God might well have evolved from this latter category of person, because these thoughts slipped him into a dream. The obedient world followed him into dreamland. In his dream he still saw barren mountains and wild rivers, and in the water he saw his own reflection. Inspired, he dug a ball of mud out of one of the more fertile sides of the jagged mountains. Following the image in the water, he shaped it into a figure and blew on it. The clay figure began to move and prostrated itself at his feet, crying: “Oh, true, omniscient, and omnipotent Lord! I will forever sing your praises.” The surprise and joy that God felt at this moment is indescribable. If you or I were a young girl and heard the doll in our hands suddenly call out “Mommy!” or a female college student who saw the Hollywood star in our wall poster suddenly make eyes at us and intone in a baritone voice, “Little sister, I love you!” we might be able to surmise or imagine a minuscule fraction of what he felt. Unfortunately, we’re not.

At this moment, all sacred religious texts’ records of man being molded from mud were finally validated as fact rather than mere prophecy. God didn’t realize that he was dreaming or that the dream was toying with him. He didn’t know that this ball of mud, if you analyzed it, would prove to be but the stuff of dreams.⁹ He thought that he had truly found someone to keep him entertained. From now on, he imagined, flattery would reach his heart without having to come from his own mouth. The best praise he could receive was that which he wanted to speak but instead heard, since it would be as thoughtful and apropos as self-flattery but come from someone else’s mouth. Each one of us has an ideal, and we may all have dreamed someone up to make it come true. To fabricate such a person when awake, however, is not quite so simple. All we can do is take as raw materials the people already available to us and rework and adapt them, but the finished product will never be quite what we had hoped.

Without knowing it, God got a few lucky breaks by coming into being after mankind had gone extinct. In the past, when two nations went to war, for instance, Nation A would beseech him to punish Nation B, and Nation B would directly appeal to him to annihilate Nation A, leaving the brilliant and righteous God at a loss for what to do. Now he would never be faced with such a conundrum. If writers still existed, for example, his creation of man would surely have provoked a literary debate.¹⁰ Judged solely by his molding man out of mud, God was undoubtedly a naturalist working in the mode of realism, since he saw human nature as despicable and drew his material from below. At the same time, he was clearly playing the classicist, since “all creation is based on im...

Table of contents

• Cover 
• Half title
• Weatherhead Books on Asia
• Title
• Copyright
• Contents 
• Acknowledgments
• Introduction
• Written in the Margins of Life and Human, Beast, Ghost
• Written in the Margins of Life
• Human, Beast, Ghost
• Editions
• Further Reading in English
• Translators