Sara K.

It Came from the Sinosphere: The Eleventh Son

January 8, 2013 by Sara K. Leave a Comment

It is high time that I actually write a post about Gu Long, so here it is.

But First, the Story

Xiao has a reputation as a notorious bandit (even though nobody’s proven he committed any crime), and ends up rescuing Shen, who is The Most Beautiful Woman in the World (there are so many Most Beautiful Women in the World in wuxia fiction that it’s ridiculous – this gets lampshaded in Passionate Wastrel, Infatuated Hero where they keep a bloody list of the most beautiful women in the world, which Zhao Guan takes exception to). Xiao and Shen end up spending a few months together, and fall in love with other. Alas, Shen is already married, to a handsome, strong, skilled, rich, well-mannered young man no less. Oh, and she’s pregnant (with her husband’s child).

Anyway, Xiao has his own matters to deal with, being an outlaw and all. Eventually, Shen’s family is murdered and Xiao is accused. Things get pretty gnarly…

Now, I Talk about Gu Long

Gu Long, along with Jin Yong (discussed previously many times in this column) and Liang Yusheng (discussed here), is considered one of the three great writers of “new wuxia”. I actually prefer to call it “Cold War wuxia” since, you know, a new generation of wuxia writers has already emerged. Gu Long is also one of the four great (Cold War) wuxia writers of Taiwan, of which he is certainly the most popular.

What I respect about Gu Long is that he created his own personal style of wuxia, and was never content with his success – he always strove to push the wuxia genre and his own craft to the limit of his ability. As such, his works feel unique, both distinct from other wuxia writers, and distinct from each other.

Gu Long studied foreign literature in college, so it should come as no surprise that his works are heavily influenced by non-Asian literature. That isn’t to say that other wuxia writers weren’t influenced by foreign writers – Jin Yong was certainly influenced by classical Greek literature and Alexandre Dumas – but studying foreign literature is one of the things which helped Gu Long break away from the conventions of the genre and make his own kind of wuxia. Some of the foreign writers who influenced him include Ernest Hemingway, Ian Fleming, John Steinbeck, and Friedrich Nietzsche.

I’m tempted to say that Gu Long’s works are ‘wuxia noir’, except his work is so diverse that I think that is too limiting.

Writing Style

Some people say that a picture is worth a thousand words. Right now, I think thousands of words are worth taking pictures of.

Here is a random page from The Bride with White Hair.

Those paragraphs are … well-sized. Actually, these paragraphs seem a bit shorter than average for Liang Yusheng – it’s not unusually for a paragraph to take up an entire page (yes, even in this big-page format). Furthermore, Liang Yusheng uses quite a range of vocabulary.

Here is a random page from a Jin Yong novel.

That is a wall of words alright. And not just any words – the vocabulary required to read this is significantly more advanced than needed to read Liang Yusheng. I reckon it took me about 90 hours to read Shè Diāo Yīngxióng Zhuàn. It’s not just non-native readers who think Jin Yong is hard – I’ve met Taiwanese people who claim they can’t read Jin Yong novels because it’s too hard (on the other hand, I’ve also seen 10-year-olds reading Jin Yong novels).

Now what about Gu Long? Here’s a random page:

It’s heavy on dialogue, and even the non-dialogue paragraphs are awfully short, heck, most of the sentences are short too. It’s not just the paragraph/sentence length – the vocabulary is also much more basic. Granted, Gu Long occasionally uses pretty advanced vocabulary, but even so, when it comes to difficulty, he’s definitely not in the same league as Jin Yong or Liang Yusheng.

I think you now understand why some learners of Chinese interested in wuxia choose to start with Gu Long.

The fact that Gu Long chooses to write mostly dialogue and sentences which are much shorter than what is standard for Chinese literature (or even conversational Chinese) definitely affects the mood. Whereas Jin Yong will go into a loving digression about tea or something, Gu Long can be so brief it’s stark.

Gu Long and Gender

Ha, I could dedicate an entire post to this topic.

Some people say that Gu Long is the most misogynist of wuxia writers. Other people say that Gu Long wrote better and showed more respect female characters than other wuxia writers.

I partially agree with both sides.

I think Gu Long has earned reputation as a misogynist. No other wuxia writer I’m familiar with comes anywhere close to saying anything as vile as what Gu Long says about women in some of his works. To be fair, the most misogynist remarks are concentrated in the villains’ mouths, however the narrator and protagonists are also guilty, and even if it’s in the villain’s mouth, it’s not much fun to read.

Now, I don’t think there is any respect in which one could claim that Gu Long writes better female characters or is more gender-egalitarian than Zheng Feng or Liang Yusheng. There are certain respects in which I think Gu Long handles female characters in a more egalitarian manner than Jin Yong or certain other wuxia writers … but in my opinion, this is more than outweighed by the misogynist bile that Gu Long sometimes pours out. It’s my impression that a much higher percentage of Jin Yong fans than Gu Long fans are female, and I think it’s because that it’s because, overall, Jin Yong is simply friendlier to a female audience.

But it’s not the sexism which most bothers me about Gu Long. It’s the gender-rigidity. Like I said, Gu Long’s works have quite a bit of variety, and some of his works are much less misogynist than others. However, everything I’ve read by him is full of statements like “All men do X because they are men” and “Women always do X. Otherwise, they would feel bad.” First of all, this erases anybody who doesn’t conform to the gender binary While I wouldn’t call Jin Yong or Liang Yusheng champions of gender diversity, they do have some characters who are not cis-gendered. But even among cis-people, there is greater differences between people of the same gender than there are between different genders. While I think there are biological between the sexes, I think gender is a social construct, and that most of the “differences” between female and male are driven by society, not biology. I strongly take exception to Gu Long’s policing of gender roles, which is far more stringent than any other writer I’ve encountered in Chinese.

I will give credit to Gu Long for offering his characters more flexibility vis-a-vis gender in Happy Heroes (which was translated into French as Les quatre brigand du Huabei), but that seems to be the exception, not the rule, for Gu Long.

Why is Gu Long more wretched than his Chinese-speaking precedents and contemporaries? I can’t definitely answer that question … but remember how I mentioned that he was strongly influenced by foreign literature? Among other things, he was influenced by the James Bond novels … and one of the lines in The Spy Who Loved Me is (trigger warning) “All women love semi-rape. They love to be taken.”

Gu Long, to his credit, has written with sensitivity at least one female character who had experienced rape, and has never managed to make a statement quite that terrible. Nonetheless, he is the only wuxia writer I know who I could ever imagine saying anything like that. Overall, his gender-policing seems to be derived much more from European and American writers than Chinese writers.

Women in The Eleventh Son

Fortunately, The Eleventh Son is quite tolerable when it comes to gender, at least by Gu Long standards. Shen, as The Most Beautiful Woman in the World, could have easily just been a fantasy object, but she’s a fully realized character with a vibrant inner life. She tries to figure why she is not in love with her fantastic husband, she is very attached to her birth family and visits them regularly, she isn’t sure how to deal with Xiao, etc. In fact, she has so much going on that she hardly has brain space left to think about her pregnancy.

Shen’s also not always a helpless victim – she has mastered a bad-ass martial art technique courtesy of her family (and thus is heavily tied up with her feelings about her family), and ends up rescuing Xiao more than once. Eventually, she is the one who decides how to resolve the love triangle between Xiao, her husband, and herself.

Additionally, another female character ends up starting a successful new romance in her mid-to-late thirties (I don’t remember her exact age).

Availability in English

This novel has been published in English.

Ha, I bet you weren’t expecting that!

I haven’t read the translation myself, but the reviews I’ve read claim that it’s excellent.

Conclusion

I actually discussed Gu Long more than this novel specifically, didn’t I? That’s probably because I think this is less interesting than the other Gu Long novels I’ve read. It’s not that it’s a bad novel – it’s fast-moving and I got involved in the story and all – it’s just that I can’t think of much to say about it.

If you can read French, I recommend Les quatre brigands du Huabei (my favorite Gu Long novel so far) over this one. In fact, if The Eleventh Son hadn’t been translated into English, I would have probably chosen to write a post about Happy Heroes/Les quatre brigands du Huabei instead. However, if you can’t read French/Chinese/etc., then I actually highly recommend reading this novel. Gu Long is one of the most influential writers of the 20th century, and this is quite different from anything I’ve read in English. Most importantly, it is a fun read.

Next Time: Night Market Hero (film)

Sara K. sometimes wonders why she spends so my effort reading, watching, and writing about stuff in Chinese. After all, the global economy is speeding head-first into another crisis, the too-big-to-fail-banks and other oligarchical/monopolistic corporations have murdered democracy in the United States (and other countries), and if we don’t make radical changes right now, climate change will kill off at least 90% of the human population within 30 years. Shouldn’t she be spending her energy dealing with these issues instead? However, she also thinks that the power of popular culture is underestimated, and needs to be examined.

It Came from the Sinosphere: Full Count

January 1, 2013 by Sara K. 1 Comment

Oh goodness. It’s Giddens again.

Story

Li Ke with a baseball bat

Li Ke (Ah Ke) is a young man who works at an electronics store (he also has a passion for baseball). He has a big crush on his boss, Yu Wenzi.

His boss, Yu Wenzi

He wants to confess his feelings on Wenzi’s birthday but, understandably, he’s extremely nervous. Ah Ke’s friend, Bao Luo, recommends that he gets over his nerves by practising – confess his feelings of love to 100 women before he confesses to Wenzi. Since Wenzi’s birthday is just the next day, Ah Ke can’t be picky – he confesses to old women, young girls, basically any female he encounters.

Ah Ke awkwardly practises confesses his feelings of love

Most of these people reject him as a creep, which suits Ah Ke just fine since he doesn’t want a relationship with them. But – if know anything about romantic comedies, you know this is going to happen – when Ah Ke makes his 100th confession to a pretty young woman called Su Xiaoxue, she accepts.

Su Xiaoxue

Oh dear.

Oh, and to top it off, another colleague, Meng Xue, does confess his feelings to Wenzi on her birthday.

Background

This idol drama is adapted from the Giddens novel of the same name. I have discussed Giddens before here and here.

This is an early Giddens novel, in fact, I think it’s only the second romance novel he wrote (one of the main characters from his first romance novel makes a cameo appearance in this one). In the introduction, he says that he wrote this novel while his friend was in the hospital, so he wanted to write a light-hearted story.

For an American, I am extremely clueless when it comes to baseball, thus all references to baseball in this story are lost on me. Baseball is actually reasonably popular in Taiwan. Since Taiwan does not have its own major leagues, many Taiwanese baseball fans keep track of the major leagues in the United States (some also choose to keep track of Japanese baseball).

Novel vs. Idol Drama

The fundamental story is mostly intact, but there are actually a lot of changes between the novel and the idol drama, and there is a significant change in the ending. I don’t want to catalogue the differences, so I’ll make general comments instead.

Some of the changes seem to have no point whatsoever. I don’t mind them, since I don’t think they made the story worse, but I also didn’t why they bothered (production reasons)?

Some changes seem to be there to make the story longer i.e. add filler. As far as filler goes, I think most of it is okay, but it also doesn’t improve the story.

I did not like the way they changed the ending. They basically tried to shoehorn the ending into a typical idol-drama ending … and one of the things I liked about the novel is that it did not pick the most conventional ending for a romantic comedy. There are enough idol dramas which follow the standard formula – and do so with more flair – that I don’t think this drama should have forced the story down that route.

Storywise, though, the change I liked the least (spoiler warning, even though I think this is so predictable that it shouldn’t count as a spoiler) was Xiaoxue’s crime spree. In the TV show, she is a graffiti artist. In the novel, she burns mailboxes. I think burning mailboxes is much more interesting. And it also makes more sense in the context of the story – I think a mailbox-arsonist is much more likely to appear in the news multiple times. Furthermore, I think it’s more in character for Xiaoxue to be a mailbox-arsonist than a graffiti artist (okay, maybe I feel that way because I read the novel first). Maybe they changed the crime to graffiti art because they wanted to make Xiaoxue to be more likeable … but I think mailbox-arson adds much more zest to the story.

Actually, I think that reflects the overall change in tone between the novel and the TV show. The novel kept the readers on their toes by inserting all kinds of bumps of while keeping the story coherent. The TV show smooths out the bumps for a more conventional, idol drama ride.

About Bao Luo’s Homosexuality

This is another change from the novel.

In both the novel and the idol drama, Bao Luo identifies as gay. However, in the novel, his romantic/sex life is completely off-screen. I know there are issues with having gay friends in fiction whose romantic/sex lives are never shown, but what the TV show does is definitely worse.

In the TV show, he gets a crush on a woman.

Now, I know that sexuality is fluid, and that sexual orientations are not as fixed as some people claim they are (this is an example). However, this plot change doesn’t seem to come from great sensitivity to the full range of human diversity. Instead, it feels like a denial of Bao Luo’s non-heterosexuality. In other words, the TV show is saying that he’s not *really* gay, and by extension, implies that homosexuality isn’t a *real* sexual orientation.

On the one hand, Taiwan is probably more tolerant towards queer people than any other large society in Asia (this is mainly because that’s a pretty low standard). The Taipei Gay Pride Parade is the largest gay pride parade in Asia, and there are many civil organizations run by and for queer people. Queer people in Taiwan are probably less likely to be targeted for violence on account of their orientation than their peers in the United States. Most Taiwanese people under 30 who I’ve met will at least say that there’s nothing wrong with being gay, even though they sometimes display a certain degree of discomfort.

On the other hand, I have been astonished by how ignorant most Taiwanese people are about queer people. Granted, I grew up in San Francisco, so I may underestimate most of the world’s ignorance of queer people. Still, this ignorance leads many Taiwanese people – even the people who claim that they have nothing against gay people – to enforce heteronormativity. Taiwanese queer people say they still face plenty of discrimination.

I think making a Bao Luo a “gay man” instead of a gay man reflects this ignorance. Thank goodness Giddens didn’t do that in the original novel.

Location

The story is set in Taipei, and as such, much of it is familiar territory to me. What I want to point out is Core Pacific City, which is described by Lonely Planet as:

Some people call it Core Pacific City. We like to think of it as The Great Golf Ball of Taipei. Designed by Jon Jerde, the Pablo Picasso of the architecture world, Core Pacific City is quite probably the weirdest shopping mall in Asia. An inspired (by MC Escher or perhaps LSD) building to say the least, from the outside CPC looks like a gigantic golf ball being embraced by a stone sarcophagus.

Core Pacific City is used as a background for some of the scenes in this TV drama.

I personally was underwhelmed when I visited Core Pacific City, though I thought the puppet museum next door was very informative.

Nonetheless, I think it’s appropriate that Core Pacific City is used as a location for this odd story.

Did I Enjoy Watching This?

The short answer is yes.

Overall, the acting is pretty good, and even the music grew on me after I heard it enough times.

And, to its credit, it actually does not follow the standard idol drama plot formula (despite the last-ditch effort at the end). Plenty of the quirkiness of the novel still comes through, and makes for a refreshing change. But it’s not just the quirkiness. Most of Giddens’ work have a certain sincerity, and I think that’s one of the reasons he’s so popular. The sincerity also comes through in the TV series.

Availability in English

As far as I know, there is no legal way to watch this idol drama or read the novel in English.

Conclusion

I actually do like the novel (quite frankly, I like this novel more than You Are the Apple of My Eye). It’s off-beat and a nice change from what I usually read.

I even like the TV show. While I complained about the changes, I think a lot of what I like about the novel is also present in the TV series. And … I think that there should be more Giddens-inspired idol dramas. He influences the genre in a good way.

Next Time: The Eleventh Son (novel)

Sara K. wishes everybody a happy new year.

It Came from the Sinosphere: Angel Hair

December 25, 2012 by Sara K. Leave a Comment

So it me a while to figure out which Lai An (aka Ryan) manhua I wanted to talk about this week, but as soon as I re-read Angel Hair, I realized that this was the one.

The Story

A couple of travellers visit the grave of an angel somewhere in Italy. The travellers exchange the stories they have heard about the angel’s death. Then a stranger comes and tells them his version of the story.

The travellers find the tomb.

This manhua is mainly a collection of three stories about an angel called Nathaniel and how he died. The three stories all feature characters with the same names, and has some common element (for example, each story features hair turning from black to blond or from blond to black, and all three stories are set during the Italian Renaissance), and of course, each story ends with the death of the angel Nathaniel, but otherwise they are different stories.

Background

Sometimes her name is written in English as ‘Lai An’ and sometimes as ‘Ryan’.

Though there are other magazines which have published Taiwanese manhua aimed at a female audience, Star Girls is, as far as I know, the only magazine to have ever focused on Taiwanese manhua aimed at a female audience. When Star Girls debuted in the 1990s, when Taiwan was transitioning to democracy and aspiring manhua artists suddenly had a lot more freedom (technically, the Taiwanese manhua revival started in the late 1980s, but whatever) this magazine served as a venue for many brand new artists inspired by Japanese shojo manga. Based of what I’ve seen of the 90s material, much of it was dreck. However, it was in the 1990s that Yi Huan (who I’ve discussed before), Nicky Lee (who I’ve also discussed before), and Lai An got their start in Star Girls, and became Star Girls’ three most popular artists. All three of them are still producing shojo-inspired manhua.

Now, Star Girls has a much smaller group of artists than the 1990s, and it’s much harder for new talent to break in since the magazine editors apparently favor talent which has already proven successful. However, my impression (granted, this might be skewed by the samples I’ve encountered) is that the overall quality of the magazine is higher now than in the 1990s.

Anyway, as far as I know, Yi Huan, Nicky Lee, and Lai An are the only Star Girls’ artists who have ever published their own artbooks (please correct me if this information is wrong).

This manhua is a collection of three stories published in Star Girls magazine in the late 90s.

About Lai An’s Art

Since Star Girls is modelled after Japanese shojo magazines, all of its manhua are heavily influenced by Japanese shojo manga … but some are only heavily influenced, for example the work of Yi Huan, and some are so heavily influenced that I can’t stop myself from comparing it to extremely similar Japanese material, for example the work of Nicky Lee. Lai An also falls into the latter category. Her art style in the 1990s is basically just like the dominant shojo art styles of the 90s, and her current art is much like current shojo art.

The thing is, I love 90s shojo art. I dislike current shojo art, which is one reason I don’t read much current shojo (and what I do read of the current stuff, such as 7Seeds, tends to have a retro art style).

As it so happens, I love Lai An’s early art, but I don’t love her current art. I think it is partially because she is following contemporary Japanese styles. Yet I don’t think that completely explains it.

Here are some pages from an early Lai An manhua, The Royal:

First of all, I love the 90s style, in fact, it even seems to hark back to glorious 70s shojo (I can tell that many Star Girls artists love 70s shojo). There is an abundance of wavy lines, a jewel-like beauty, as well as the daring emotionally charged panel compositions which I love to see in shojo manga.

These are some pages from Lai An’s currently running manhua, Close to You:

Okay, the art’s not bad. Actually, it’s good. It’s even more anatomically accurate. It looks the work of a more mature artist. But, to me, it lacks the creative energy of her early artwork. It doesn’t make me pause so I can let the art penetrate my eyes. And I don’t think this can simply be attributed to a change in vogue.

Anyway, maybe I should start talking about…

The Art in Angel Hair

Flowers! Feathers! Swirly lines! Expressive use of panels! Super-long legs! Wheee!!!

About the only thing it would need to become even more like 70s shojo manga art is the sparkles, but that’s okay, I think the flowers and the expressive use of panels are better than sparkles.

And of course, girly art which does not constantly burst into flowers can also be wonderful too, but hey, I heartily approve of girly comic books which burst out into flowers.

It should be apparent by now that Angel Hair is a work from Lai An’s early period, in other words, from when her art was actually beautiful instead of merely being good.

However, it’s not just the 70s-shojo-esque (and authentically 90s) Asian-style girly comic book art.

In order for complex panel compositions to work, there need to be simple compositions to balance them out, and in fact, these simpler compositions will often have the greatest impact because they can be understood the most immediately. Lai An includes a sufficient number of single-panel or otherwise simple pages as well. Of course, when the panel composition is simple, there needs to be a compelling subject. Lai An takes care of this too.

And of course, her characters can be very expressive, and not just in a melodramatic way.

However, I think my favorite thing about the artwork is the use of contrast. Most of this manhua is very light, colorwise – lots of white space between the lines, not too much screentone, etc.

That means when black space is used, it really stands out. These are some of my favorite images, but partially because they contrast with the overall light-levels of the manhua as a whole – in isolation, they would not be so striking.

And it supports the stories. All of the stories include as a plot element blond hair vs. black hair. In all of the stories, blond hair represents goodness, purity, and beauty … as well hypocrisy and deceit, whereas black hair represents evil, pollution, and ugliness … as well as truth and integrity. By keeping most of the art looking light, the dark parts truly feel heavy, serious, and like a stain on the appearance.

This is an opportunity to talk about…

The Stories, Again

All three stories are fairy-tale like, of course. And we all know what a fairy-tale should feel like. And that’s why the first two stories feel wrong.

In the first story, for example, (spoiler warning) the princess kills the angel to get his hair so her hair would be blond forever and she could win the love of the prince. The innocent angel dies and the princess marries the prince and lives happily ever after.

Lai An said she got a lot of complaints about this story when it first ran in Star Girls magazine. It flies in the face of the ‘just world hypothesis’ (which, strangely, I have discussed before) and fairy tales just don’t work like that.

The second story also feels unsatisfying, though I don’t want to spoil that one.

However, the point is that these first two stories are supposed to feel false. Lai An says that she didn’t know whether to be pleased or disappointed by the magazine readers’ reactions. That is so that, when the third story is told, the reader will feel that the third story is the true story of how the angel died (and I am definitely don’t want to spoil that one).

The mere fact that the first two stories are, essentially, false, demonstrates that one shouldn’t trust everything one hears.

I think I hinted at the moral of the three stories while I was talking about the art. Basically, the message is “don’t judge people based on their appearances.” Or perhaps more broadly, “do what you feel is just, not what other people say you should do.”

All in all, I think the stories, collectively, work quite well.

Availability in English

There is no legal way to read this manhua in English. That’s too bad. It’s only one volume long, so I can’t imagine that it would be too much of a financial risk to license and publish this (digitally, or even on paper) in English.

Conclusion

To be honest, I am not a Lai An fan. But this specific manhua is an exception. It was among the first manhua I ever read, and it left an impression on me. It uses the story structure expertly to make its point. And I am most definitely a sucker for the artwork.

Next Time: Full Count (idol drama)

Last week, Sara K. attended the “Global Sinophonia” conference at Academia Sinica. Though she was just an observer, she had never been to an academic conference before, and in some ways she thought getting a peek at that world was more interesting than the presentations themselves. Of course, some of the presentations were very interesting, and will no doubt have their influence on this column. It was also the first time she ever identified herself as a blogger in the offline world (hey, what was she supposed to say when people asked her “what university are you affiliated with” or “what do you research”?) Sara K. is very grateful to Yen Yen Woo and Colin Goh of Dim Sum Warriors for inviting her. Speaking of that, you can now admire the technological marvel of a 3-year old reading a bilingual comic on an iPad.

It Came from the Sinosphere: The Flying Guillotine

December 18, 2012 by Sara K. Leave a Comment

There is a new movie, which I have yet to see, called The Guillotines. It’s directed by Andy Lau (who, among many other accomplishments, starred in one of the most popular versions of Return of the Condor Heroes and directed the Hong Kong version of ‘Initial D’), and one of the actors is Ethan Ruan, who starred in both My Queen and Fated to Love You. This gives me an excellent excuse to talk about the original Chinese-language guillotine movie, The Flying Guillotine.

The Story

The emperor gets a frightening new weapon, called the “flying guillotine” for his team of guards. Eventually, the paranoid emperor orders the assassination of the weapon’s inventor. This disillusions Ma Teng, one of the guards. However, when your emperor is paranoid, questioning him is super-dangerous, so Ma Teng has to flee and live the life of a fugitive, constantly terrified that the flying guillotine will soar back into his life … and cut off his head.

About the “Flying Guillotine”

Supposedly, this weapon really was used during the Qing dynasty, however there are no good historical descriptions of it, which allows creative people to fill in the details with their imaginations.

This movie is not the first time this weapon has appeared in fiction – I recall a 1960s wuxia novel making reference to the weapon – but it’s the first work famous for featuring this weapon, and without this movie we probably would not have seen any other ‘guillotine’ movies.

There are right ways and wrong ways to use flying guillotines in movies. Let me start with a wrong way.

The Wrong Way to Do It

In Tsui Hark’s Seven Swords, we see the flying guillotine being used to kill people within the first few minutes of the movie.

The flying guillotine at the beginning of Seven Swords

Unless the victim is a child, puppy, or otherwise obviously innocent and cute, or we can immediately understand the how the death devastates other people, or you’re a film genius, you cannot get the audience to feel a powerful emotional hit when somebody dies in the first few minutes of a movie. Note that the saddest movie in the world has a cute kid and a situation that is really easy to understand.

Flying guillotines are not easy to understand.

Unless you assume that the audience is already familiar with flying guillotines, it just looks like a fancy weapon – and heck, I was familiar with the flying guillotine, and even I felt a distinct lack of resonance.

The Right Way to Do It

The inventor develops the concept of the flying guillotine.

The Flying Guillotine spends a lot of time explaining what the flying guillotine is. It shows how the inventor got the inspiration; it shows the weapon being demonstrated on a dog before the emperor; it shows the guards training for months on wooden dummies. This is to ensure that the audience has a very clear understanding of how the weapon works. It’s almost a half-hour into the movie before the weapon is used on a human being, and by then, we know exactly why we should be freaked out.

The guards are practising using the flying guillotine

How does it work?

1. The attacker, hidden, throws the flying guillotine out, while holding onto the chain.
2. The flying guillotine lands on the victim’s head, like a hat.

Oh No! There’s a flying guillotine on his head! We know what happens next…

3. The attacker yanks the chain, which causes the blades inside the hat to slice the victim’s neck.
4. The attacker, via chain, pulls the guillotine back, which comes with the head.
5. The victim is left standing there, only without a head.

This is a scary weapon because:

1) It seems to come out of nowhere – so the characters always have to be careful, lest a flying guillotine comes in the window, into the courtyard, out from the woods, etc – YOU ARE NEVER SAFE!!!!
2) We get to see the flying guillotine land on the victims head before the head gets cut. This gives the audience a moment to feel horror as they anticipate the next step.
3) The head seems to simply … disappear. Bystanders are left clutching the now-headless victim, not understanding where the head went (the audience, of course, understands too well). The movie repeatedly shows the moving bodies of headless people … and it’s always creepy.

All of the above relies on the audience understanding what is going on. If the audience doesn’t know about the danger of flying guillotines coming from hidden locations, the audience won’t constantly be afraid that the protagonists’ heads will get cut off with little advance warning. If the audience doesn’t know how the flying guillotine works, then the audience won’t feel quite as terrified when one lands on a character’s head. If the audience doesn’t understand how it works, then the audience will be confused instead of creeped out by the headless people.

The Emotional Resonance

What seals the deal, of course, is the emotional resonance.

First of all, there are lots of reaction shots. They are just right. They are usually pretty quick, so they don’t drag on and overstay their welcome. However, they effectively communicate the characters’ terror. The dread is contagious.

A reaction shot

And the movie is very good at stepping up the tension right up to the climax. First, even when the guards are just training, it feels as tense as a sword hanging by a thread – we know that it’s only a matter of time before heads roll, or more accurately, get snatched away. Then heads do get snatched way. Then Ma Teng gets married, so his wife is also in danger. Then Ma Teng has a child, so there is also now a cute kid in danger.

The villain has kidnapped the cute kid!!!!!!

Another way the film ups the emotional resonance is splitting fight scenes with a scene that gives the fight meaning.

Split Scenes

It’s time for a song

The first split scenes is a fight that happens against a … Huangmei opera number. Shaw Brothers happen to be the biggest producer of both Huangmei and kung-fu movies, so it’s not surprising that they would mix the two. As Ma Teng fights for his life, this woman sings and dances. Aside from providing a beat for the fight, it’s a stark contrast to have such an upbeat song for a life-and-death battle. But I think that’s the point. It’s supposed to jolt the audience … and also give the audience a sense of why Ma Teng wants to stay alive.

Let us dance – by which I mean fight to the death – to the upbeat music!

The song featured in the movie was also covered by Teresa Teng (Deng Lijun), Taiwan’s greatest cultural export and the most popular singer in the entire history of East Asia.

The other split scene is when Ma Teng’s wife gives birth inside, while Ma Teng fights the two assassins outside. Aside from contrasting birth and death, splicing the childbirth scene and the fight really heightens what’s at stake.

The Sounds

There is a set of distinctive sounds used with the flying guillotines. First, there is the whirring sound of the guillotines themselves, and then there is the signature music which always plays after the guillotine has completed the decapitation. This trains the audience to always associate this pattern of sounds with the guillotines … so that as soon as the sounds play the audience can anticipate the terror. For example, when Ma Teng has nightmares, the sounds play, and the audience at first thinks that a guillotine is really coming before it’s apparent that it’s just Ma Teng’s imagination. It gives the audience a sense of what it’s like to be Ma Teng.

There is also the distinctive bell that rings when the guards are ordered to carry out another assassination.

I’m the kind of person who is much more easily spooked by sound than by sight.

Autobiography?

I pointed out that Ni Kuang wrote the script for The 36th Chamber of Shaolin. He also wrote the screenplay for this film … and I strongly suspect it’s autobiographical.

Am I suggesting that Ni Kuang is some time traveller who used to be one of Emperor Yongzheng’s guards? No.

He was, however, a public security official for the People’s Republic of China in the 1950s. Part of his job was writing death sentences. He became suspicious about some of the cases brought before him, and asked a local party chief about it. The chief replied that if he kept asking such questions, Ni Kuang himself would be sentenced to death. Out of fear for his life, Ni Kuang eventually fled the People’s Republic of China and settled in Hong Kong, where he became one of the most popular Chinese-language writers of the 20th century.

I don’t think it is can be a coincidence that Ma Teng and Ni Kuang’s lives have such parallels.

Availability in English

It is easy to get this movie with English subtitles.

Conclusion

This is one of my favorite Chinese-language movies. Is it the kind of movie which you can use to demonstrate your high-culture credentials? No. But I have seen my share of art house films, and at least to me, most do not have as much feeling as this kung-fu flick.

Recommended.

Next time: TBD (though there is a high probability that it will be a manhua by Lai An aka Ryan)

The more Sara K. learns about Chinese-language media, the more she realizes how much she doesn’t know. Sometimes she feels like her knowledge is inadequate for writing this column. However, she makes no pretence about academic qualifications (or other kinds of qualifications), and perhaps her novice status makes her posts more accessible to people new to Chinese-language media.

It Came from the Sinosphere: The Bride with White Hair

December 11, 2012 by Sara K. 2 Comments

A drawing of Zhuo Yihang and Lian Nichang

To start, allow me to translate an excerpt:

Lian Nichang crumpled a wildflower, and threw it down the mountain valley. Zhuo Yihang, stunned, watched the flower pieces float down in the wind, and suddenly said “Sister Lian, your looks should be like an everlasting flower.”

Lian Nichang laughed. “What a silly daydream! Where under the sun is there a place with everlasting spring? I say, if the old man of heaven were just like a human, having done so much thinking, even he would be old! We see each other here, bicker with each other there, the next time you see me, I fear I’ll already be an old woman with a head full of white hair!”

What she said made Zhuo Yihang’s feelings surge, and he thought “Lian Nichang really is very insightful. She hasn’t read many books, can’t compose poetry, nor fit lyrics to a song, but when she says what she thinks, aside from not having a proper meter, is simply wonderfully poetic. [Zhuo Yihang quotes poetry in Classical Chinese, which I can’t translate.] Doesn’t what she just said have the same meaning as all that classical poetry? However what she says is much easier to understand, and thus is more moving.”

Lian Ninchang laughed, and said “I just fear that when my head if full of white hair you won’t want to see me.”

Zhuo Yihang knew that she was just trying to get him to pour out his true feelings, but he found it very hard to answer her, so he tried to make light of it, and answered “when your hair turns white, I find an elixir to restore your youth.”

Lian Nichang sighed, and said “when someone else is trying to have a serious conversation,you make a joke of it.” Her mind soured, and said no more.

The foreshadowing is tickling me.

“The Bride with White Hair” is the most iconic female character in all of wuxia. She is one of the most iconic characters of all of wuxia period.

This novel has been adapted for TV five times, the most recent one being the 2012 TV drama. Additionally, there are four film adaptations, of which the best-known is the 1993 movie adaptation starring Brigette Lin as Lian Nichang. In other words, it’s one of the most-adapted wuxia stories ever.

The Story

The Ming dynasty is in decline, and the Manchus are ready to take some power. Meanwhile, there is a fierce sword fighter, known as “Jade Rakshasi” who is kicking everybody’s ass.

Zhuo Yihang meets Lian Nichang in a cave

Zhuo Yihang, of the Wudang sect, gets involved in some of the intrigues happening around the throne. During his adventures, he encounters a beautiful maiden called Lian Nichang who was raised by wolves. Later, he enters a duel with the “Jade Rakshasi” … only to discover that she is none other than Lian Nichang!

Zhuo Yihang and the Wudang elders

Anyway, Zhuo Yihang and Lian Nichang work together for a while to deal with intrigues, during which they meet Yue Mingke. While Lian Nichang and Yue Mingke are comparing notes, Lian Nichang’s sword-fighting manual gets stolen, which leads to set of adventures in which Lian Nichang becomes Tie Feilong’s adopted daughter, and Yue Mingke gets acquainted with Tie Feilong’s biological daughter Tie Shanhu. Heck, Lian Nichang and Zhuo Yihang get pretty sweet on each other. Then Zhuo Yihang becomes the leader of the Wudang sect and, well, Lian Nichang is officially their enemy…

Zhuo Yihang gets into a sword-fight

About Liang Yusheng

If you want to know about Liang Yusheng, the writer, read the Wikipedia entry and this webpage.

Mountains, trees, and sword-fighting!

It’s worth noting that one of his innovations was infusing real history into his stories, and this story is no exception – many of the characters are based on actual historical figures. I have previously mentioned another Liang Yusheng novel, Pingzong Xiaying Lu

Tie Shanhu flees for her life!

One thing which really makes Liang Yusheng stand out from other wuxia writers is how he handles female characters. He treats them pretty much the same way he treats the male characters. In many wuxia stories, it seems that the female characters’ primary purpose is to offer romantic options to the male protagonist. This is definitely not the case in Liang Yusheng stories.

The female characters are also sometimes, you know, the main character. It’s not just this novel, it’s a trend in Liang Yusheng novels.

Female Appearances

Let me state the obvious. Women are judged based on their looks far more and far more narrowly than men. They are expected to look pretty, sexy, and youthful. Actually, both mainstream Chinese and mainstream American culture have trouble imagining a woman who is pretty and sexy without looking youthful. I once heard a guy once asked a professional makeup artist why old men look dignified, but old women don’t. The professional makeup artist said this was 100% cultural, and has nothing to do with physical appearances.

The main purpose of this type of ‘female beauty’ is to please men.

Yue Mingke meets Ke Shi

One of the villains, Ke Shi, is a middle-aged woman who has managed to maintain her youthful appearance. She considers her looks as a tool to manipulate males and, thus, take their power. Likewise, she considers her young and pretty daughter to be an asset that she can trade with a man to acquire more power. Ironically, in her quest for power, she is submitting to the idea that a woman’s place is to be youthful and pretty to satisfy men’s desires.

By contrast, Lian Nichang likes youth and beauty for its own sake, not as a bait for males. Having been raised by wolves, she didn’t grow up with patriarchy. She doesn’t hate men; she loves her adopted father Tie Feilong, and becomes good friends with Yue Mingke, not to mention that she falls in love with Zhuo Yihang. She simply treats men as she would anyone else.

Lian Nichang and Zhuo Yihang meet again

People’s hair turning white while they are still young is a common trope in wuxia – in the Condor Trilogy alone there is not just one, but two characters under the age of 25 whose hair turns white. However, The Bride with White Hair explores this much more deeply.

I think white hair looks beautiful, and is a great way for a woman to look pretty while countering the male gaze. So at first I thought it was strange that Lian Nichang was so upset about the white hair. But it is an involuntary change, and she does value her youth, not to mention that the circumstances which cause her hair to turn white are extremely distressing.

Nonetheless, she at one point puts on a mask which makes her look like an old woman (aside from the hair, she still looks young). This was clearly a move to reject the male gaze.

Zhuo Yihang chases Lian Nichang through the mountains

Meanwhile, Zhuo Yihang is much more preoccupied with Lian Nichang’s looks than, well, her feelings. When he meets Lian Nichang disguised as an old woman, his response is “in my heart you look just the same as when I met you” (as in, he wouldn’t value her if she looked like an old woman in his heart) and “I will find an elixir which will restore your youth” (this time, he’s serious).

Lian Nichang fights the Red Flower Devil Woman

Since this is a society-wide problem, the female characters either have to take it, or sacrifice their social life (particularly the prospect of romance). Tie Feilong had made Mu Jiuniang his concubine because he wanted a pretty young female to satisfy his desires, and he doesn’t think about her feelings until it is too late (he deeply regrets that). Mu Jiuniang happily leaves him … but the man she marries ends up being even worse. Meanwhile, the Red Flower Devil Woman (a badass swordswoman) had left her husband because he didn’t respect her … but her own son Gongsun Lei is like his father, and considers women to be mere sex objects. Eventually, he is murdered out of revenge for a rape he had committed. “Find a lover who respects gender equality” is not helpful advice when a) you’re looking for a male lover and b) males who respect gender equality are in very short supply.

Even Lian Nichang doesn’t escape from this unscathed.

A Surprise that Made Me Think

While reading the novel, I expected this story to have a very predictable ending. Then actual ending turns out to be quite different from the “predictable” ending I imagined.

This made me think hard about the story, and helped me appreciate the novel in a much deeper way. Lian Nichang grew up among wolves, who didn’t teach her how a woman should act. She doesn’t do what a woman “should” do, she does what she wants to do. And that’s less predictable.

Availability in English

Naturally, this novel has not been published in English.

As far as I know, the only version of this story which is available legally in English is the 1993 movie. Speaking of the movie, I find Albert A. Dalia’s comparison of Lian Nichang and Mulan intriguing.

Conclusion

Now that I’ve read this novel, I now get why it’s difficult to have a serious conversation about gender and feminism in the wuxia genre without discussing this story. Even compared to wuxia novels written by women, or the other Liang Yusheng novels I’ve read, it is shockingly feminist. Heck, compared to most novels by women I’ve read in English, it is shockingly feminist. And it’s hard to shock me with feminism.

That said, this novel has plenty of flaws … much of it is totally non-memorable. But the memorable parts are enough to make this a must-read for anybody who can read Chinese and has an interest in wuxia and/or gender roles.

Next time: The Flying Guillotine (movie)

Sara K. is also shocked that she stayed up past her bed time to working on this post.

It Came from the Sinosphere: A Deadly Secret (Part 2)

December 7, 2012 by Sara K. 1 Comment

You may read Part 1 here.

The Fighting

It would probably be unfair to say that the fights in this series are just indiscriminate sword-clanging. But I think most of the fights are no more than one notch above that level.

The thing is, to get good on-screen fighting, you need the following:

1. A good fight choreographer
2. Skilled performers (actors and/or stunt people)
3. Tons and tons of rehearsal time

Now, a great fight choreographer can compensate for less skilled performers, and very talented performers can compensate for a mediocre fight choreographer … but nothing can compensate for a lack of rehearsal time.

All of the above costs quite a bit of money. Particularly the rehearsal time.

I suspect this was outside this TV series’ budget.

Given that they couldn’t afford good fighting, I think they handled the fights pretty well. Though the choreography itself was not exciting, at least the fights moved the story forward. And Jin Yong writes his fight scenes so well that they would be engaging even if the performers were wet noodles.

There were a few fight scenes which did stand out … surprisingly, they were mostly fight scenes which weren’t in the original novel (or maybe that shouldn’t be surprising … when you make up your own fight scene, you can choose to do something which will look good without breaking your budget).

The standout for me is definitely the big fight at the end of episode 25 / beginning of episode 26. I never expected I would say this, but this fight works so well because of the set.

Look at that fantastic ribbon leading up to the stand.

It’s a very scenic way for the fighters to run up…

… and get kicked down.

And that stand is a great place for the fighter to stand above the crowd.

But wait!

The stand gets destroyed in the midst of the fighting!

And we have the two fighters standing on drums, while the stand collapses. Now the space has completely changed. Notice that the fighters are still elevated above the crowd. And notice all of those nice tall yellow-and-red streamers, adding nice vertical lines to the scene. With a set like that, it’s okay if the fighting itself is mostly indiscriminate sword-clanging.

I also need to give points to the costume designer who gave Di Yun such a swishy white outfit. It makes his ~~dancing~~ sword-fighting look more graceful.

Even if you don’t understand Mandarin, I highly recommend watching this fight scene yourself, because I don’t think I can adequately describe it with words and screenshots alone. You can see it in this youtube video (it starts around the 17 minute mark).

Life in an Unjust World

In a way, this is the harshest, bleakest, and most relenting of Jin Yong’s stories. The world is full of greedy people who really aren’t concerned with ethics … and they ruin the lives of the people who actually do follow some ethical principles. Again. And again. And again.

The characters could have easily been portrayed as being just black and white, and I think the TV series does go in that direction for some of the characters. However, rather than showing people as being innately good or evil, it shows that some people choose to prioritize money and power over other people, and let their greed corrupt them …. and other people choose to prioritize other people over money and power. Alas, the people who prioritize money and power tend to actually get more money and power.

Yet when money and power are not involved, the ‘bad’ guys can actually do good things and be very nice people. They don’t want to do evil. They merely don’t mind doing evil.

There is something called the ‘just world fallacy’ (TRIGGER WARNING for the link) – in other words, people want to believe that life is fair. It’s called a ‘fallacy’ because there is lots of evidence that the world is not, in fact, fair.

To pick one example (I could pick many other examples) a bunch of financial firms in the United States bribed politicians to loosen regulations, then violated even the watered-down regulations, committed fraud on a wide scale, blew up a giant housing bubble which made shelter less affordable for tens of millions of people, and which destroyed over 40% of the net wealth of middle-class Americans when it burst. Were the CEOs fired, the financial firms broken down, and serious criminal investigations launched? No! The financial firms got large government bailouts, the CEOs saw their pay increase, tens of millions of people lost their jobs and homes, fraudulent foreclosures are poisoning the centuries-old chain-of-title system which are essential to property rights, etc etc. Oh, and the statue of limitations on their crimes is coming up, which will make them immune to prosecution. This is not what a fair and just world looks like.

A variant of Sartre’s hell: being stuck in the mountains with somebody you don’t like (fortunately, for them, they stop disliking each other, which improves their quality of live).

Justice does sometimes happen in the world, but only by random luck, or when people insist on justice happening. And when people already think that the world is just, they aren’t motivated to do the hard work required to insist on justice.

Most fiction (okay, most fiction that I’m familiar with) supports the just-world fallacy – the good guys win and the bad guys lose. Like most people, I also want to believe the just-world fallacy, so in a way it’s very comforting. Such fiction serves as an escape, which probably is necessary for one’s mental well-being. But I don’t want all of my fiction to be like that.

The TV series does make the story a little more just than the original novel. For example, in the TV series (but, IIRC, not the novel), the bad guys are often plagued with nightmares filled with the ghosts of the people they have wronged. It’s a nice idea that everybody who commits evil is tortured by their consciences, but I don’t think reality always works out that way.

There’s also a new subplot in the TV series where the good guys defeat one of the bad guys very neatly. On one level, I loved watching that, because it’s nice to see the characters I like delivering a character I hate what he deserves. On another level, it makes the world of the story a little more fair, which I think goes a little against the point of the story.

This detestable character finally gets impaled on the spear of justice (the character in the background means ‘justice’). This does not happen in the original novel.

The power of this story, for me, is that it shows that, in spite of the fact that the world is unfair, it is still a wonderful to be alive.

First, integrity is its own reward. Even if you lose, lose, and lose, integrity is still worth something.

Second, there are wonderful people in the world. It is only by staying alive that one will ever have the opportunity to connect with them. And a good relationship is worth the hardship of living in an unjust world.

Of course [SPOILTER] the bad guys blow themselves up with their own greed at the end, and the good guys who are not dead get an ending that is, if not joyful, at least has some contentment. There is a limit to how much unjustness even I can stand in a story, and I’m not sure I could have taken it if the bad guys were all allowed to live happily into old age in luxury. But this story certainly takes the unjustness of the world a bit farther than a lot of other fiction I’m familiar with.[END SPOILER]

I actually find a story which acknowledges that the world is unjust and how to live on in spite of that more comforting than an escapist tale about a just world.

Availability in English

This TV series is, sadly, not available in English. It would be really nice if somebody fixed that. The novel isn’t available in English either. The only version of this story available in English is the movie, which is available on Region 3 DVD with English subtitles.

Conclusion

This … is actually a good TV series. I had my reservations at the beginning, and it took a number of episodes to win me over … but I totally got sucked into the story all over again. If you understand Chinese, I highly recommend trying this.

The movie is also worth watching.

However, my love ultimately belongs to the original novel. Whenever I go back to a story which I had loved before, I’m always afraid that it won’t be as good as I had remembered it. Sometimes my fears prove correct … but not this time. I noticed some flaws in the story which weren’t apparent to me before, but overall it served as a reminder of why I have come to love this story.

Sara K. actually did take a class on set design (as well as a class on costume design and a class on lighting design). She is not a good designer, but she got a lot of practice describing how various designs help or do not help tell a story. The posts she writes about comics would be really, really different if she hadn’t taken those classes … in fact, when she’s writing about comic book artwork, she often feels like she’s talking to one of her design teachers. Of course, it also bleeds into some of her other posts, like this one.

It Came From the Sinosphere: A Deadly Secret (Part 1)

December 4, 2012 by Sara K. 2 Comments

It’s high time that I discuss something from China again. It’s high time that I actually review a TV series that is not an idol drama. And it’s high time for me to discuss Jin Yong again. Now, I’m going to do all three at once.

A Scene

Why, it’s a wedding!

It’s a wedding in front of a tomb.

See, both the bride and the groom are dead, so the wedding has to take place at the bride’s tomb.

In wuxia stories, if you promise to marry somebody, you marry them. Death is no excuse.

He’s drinking because he is so happy that his best friend is finally marrying the love of his life (who apparently is also the love of his afterlife).

And he’s swinging his sword around with joy.

Anyway, since the groom and bride are dead, he needs to help them get together. This is the problem with getting married when you’re dead – there’s no privacy when the newly married couple finally gets intimate physical contact.

Wait a minute … why are the bride’s arms stretched up like that?

And there’s writing on the inside of her coffin. That’s only possible if she was put in the coffin while she was still alive.

The writing says that, as a reward to whoever reunites her with the love of her life (afterlife), she is revealing The Deadly Secret (which is not exactly a favor, since people who learn The Deadly Secret have a tendency to die young).

The groom’s cremated ashes are poured onto the bride’s body. What a romantic wedding!

Background

I don’t think it’s possible for a Jin Yong novel to be underrated, but if any of his novels are underrated, it’s this one. It’s my personal favorite of his novels under 1000 pages.

If you don’t know or forgot who Jin Yong is, you can refer to my post about the Condor Trilogy or The Book and The Sword.

There are only three adaptations of this novel: the 1980 movie, the 1989 TV series, and the 2004 TV series. This is (mostly) about the 2004 TV series.

The Story

Di Yun is a country bumpkin who is studying martial arts and is in love with his master’s daughter, Qi Fang. It’s a real bummer when his master disappears, he gets framed for heinous crimes, Qi Fang marries the man who framed him, the prison guards break his body, and he’s put with a cell mate who beats him up for apparently no reason whatsoever.

This is what Di Yun looks like after hearing that Qi Fang is going to marry the guy who framed him and put him in prison.

Why does his life suck so much? Well, you see, there is this ultra-powerful martial arts technique and fabulous fortune that everybody is trying to get … and Di Yun is unwittingly close to this deadly secret.

The Songs and the Production Values

At first I didn’t like either the opening or the ending songs. But the opening song eventually grew on me and, by the end of the series, I even liked the ending song.

If you watch the opening and ending songs, you might notice that the production values are a bit lower than the norm for, say, Hollywood TV shows.

Welcome to China.

Personally, I’d rather watch something with consistently low production values than something with mostly high production values which spectacularly drops the ball, and really, the production values of this TV series really aren’t that bad at all. And ultimately, the quality of the story and acting is much more important to me than the quality of the special effects.

Adaptation

This TV series is 33 40-minute episodes long. The original novel is less than 500 pages long. Before watching this series, I wondered how they could make it so long without lots and lots of padding.

Well, it turns out that there is not that much padding per se. There is quite a bit of added material, but a lot of it is just spelling out things which are merely implied in the novel. Most of the added material is relevant to the story. At worst the new stuff is offensive (because of sexism or ableism) but thankfully most of it is not. Quite a bit is powerfully mediocre. Some of the new stuff, however, is quite good.

The biggest change is not that new stuff is added (since much of it was implied by the novel), but the pacing itself. This novel is quite concise by Jin Yong standards, so things move fairly quickly. In the TV series, things progress in a much slower and more thorough way. In some ways, this increases the emotional impact – for example, we see a lot more of Di Yun and Qi Fang’s relationship, which makes their separation even more heart-breaking. However, in some ways it makes the story harder to watch – it’s much easier to read about Di Yun getting framed in the novel, where events move pretty quickly, than to watch the TV series, where it takes several episodes to watch Di Yun getting framed and tortured in prison.

I also think there is some power in leaving some things left unsaid. That’s one of the things I like about the novel. Sometimes, when the TV series fleshed out the unsaid stuff, it did pretty cool things with it … but I still think leaving things to the reader’s imagination is more powerful.

It’s hilarious to compare the 33-episode TV series to the 90-minute movie. Things which take two episodes in the TV series happen in two minutes in the movie. Of course, the movie cuts out about 60% of the original story (the TV series covers about 130% of the original story).

Ding Dian

Even though Ding Dian only appears in two chapters of the original novel (specifically chapters 2 and 3 of the novel), he is definitely the most memorable character in the story. Apparently, other people agree, because both the movie and this TV series give him plenty of screentime.

On the one hand, he is a bad-ass martial artist, one of the toughest fighters in this story, and he spends a great deal of time cultivating his kung-fu skills. In fact, he can even (under certain specific circumstances) bring dead people back to life. But it turns out martial arts is not his greatest passion in life.

His great passion, it turns out, is flowers.

Ding Dian at the flower fair

He is a flower encyclopedia (this is most apparent in the novel, but also indicated in the TV series). He goes to a flower fair. His greatest joy in life is watching flowers. It turns out that one of the villains is also a flower-arranging geek, so he gets to communicate with Ding Dian via flowers.

Of course, there are other reasons to love Ding Dian. He is a person of great integrity, and intensely loves his friend and his sweetheart. But being a badass martial artist who loves flowers above all else (except maybe his friend and his sweetheart) clinches the deal.

The Female Characters

In some stories, I would be annoyed if the female characters were constantly relying on the male characters to rescue them. Not in this story. It is clear that they are just as innately competent as the male characters. However, patriarchy has so badly stacked the deck against the female characters that they can’t rescue themselves. They do still manage to rescue the male characters when it is in their power to do so.

A picture of Qi Fang

All of the main female characters – Qi Fang, Ling Shuanghua, and Shui Sheng – have the same problem; they were born into a society that is so patriarchal that even their own families, who ‘cherish’ them, ultimately consider them to be merely disposable possessions. Sure, their families claim to love their daughters and other female relatives dearly, but when push comes to shove, in this TV adaptation [SPOILER WARNING] one female character is murdered by her father, another female character, after having almost been murdered by her fiancee, is driven to suicide by her uncle, and the last one is murdered by her husband [END SPOILER WARNING].

And the fact that Baroque China was an extremely patriarchal society makes it that much easier for their families to oppress them, in fact, without the patriarchy helping their families bully them, these female characters would have definitely had much happier outcomes.

A Picture of Ling Shuanghua

An interesting thing I noticed is that the female characters don’t want to believe that their families regard them as (potential disposable) possessions. They want to believe that they are being loved as full human beings. I can understand this, since the truth is very cruel. In a way, it’s easier to keep on believing one is being valued and loved properly. But reality catches up with all of them.

I appreciate that this TV series gave a lot more attention to the female characters than the novel. On the one hand, some of the new material is powerfully mediocre (at worst, offensive). On the other hand, some of it is good, and definitely fleshes out the females characters more than the novel does. In particular, the TV series is a bit more sympathetic to Qi Fang, and treats us to the Extended Adventures of Shui Sheng (granted, it’s a mixed bag).

A Picture of Shui Sheng

Yes, the adult female characters even talk to each other in the TV series, which is not true of the novel (they mostly talk to each other about men though). That said, I actually think it’s okay that this story fails the Bechdel test, because the female characters’ isolation is one of the worst ways the patriarchy has stacked the deck against them. Two of the female characters’ families hardly ever let them leave home, and only with supervision, and the third one gets kidnapped, which drastically limits her opportunities to bond with other women.

What is really interesting is that, even though all of the main female characters have the same problem, they react to the problem in different ways.

You Think I’m done Talking? Bwa ha ha ha ha…

I definitely have more to say about this TV series, but this post is getting long, so I guess I’ll have to wait until Friday to say more.

Next Time (not Friday): The Bride with White Hair (novel)

Sara K. plans to discuss every single Jin Yong novel at Manga Bookshelf. She is now halfway there, having discussed six novels and having six novels left to cover. Her plan is to discuss Tales of the Young Fox, Sword Stained with Royal Blood, and The Laughing Proud Wanderer next, in that order, but that’s only a tentative plan.

It Came from the Sinosphere: North City, Book of a Hundred Drawings

November 27, 2012 by Sara K. 4 Comments

Would you like to sit down for coffee? Actually, I prefer tea myself. Let’s compromise and order a manhua instead.

The Stories

This manhua is a collection of three short stories, all of which are set in the year 1935. Each story include a young Japanese man who owns a cafe, “Hall of a Hundred Drawings,” in the heart of Taipei. He can detect the supernatural, and has a crow as a companion, called Ian.

The first story, “Soaring Boy,” is about the little brother of a waitress who comes to Taipei to visit her. At first he doesn’t understand why his sister wanted to leave their hometown to work in the city … but in the city, he sees an airplane for the first time.

In the second story, “Pantomime and Song,” the cafe owner encounters the ghost of an Atayal girl (the Atayal are one of the indigenous peoples of northern Taiwan). I’ve mentioned the Atayal before, and Vic Chou, one of the stars of Black & White, has Atayal heritage.

The third story, “Room of Memories,” describes how the young Japanese man acquired the building where he set up his cafe (hint: the building was haunted).

Background

This is a color illustration for the story ‘Soaring Boy’.

All of the stories in this collection were originally published in Creative Comics Collection, which I have previously discussed.

Akru is a regular contributor to Creative Comics Collection, and is one of my favorites. This is her second published manhua (and the first one collecting her work in Creative Comics Collection).

History

Taiwan was ruled by the Japanese for 50 years. Taiwanese people have mixed feelings about this period.

On the one hand, the Japanese did a great deal to improve Taiwan’s infrastructure, which was the foundation for Taiwan’s later prosperity. The train system was practically built by the Japanese, and more of Taiwan first became electrified under the Japanese. The Japanese spread modern medicine through Taiwan and greatly improved public health (a big deal in a densely populated tropical island). Many advances in gender equality also happened under the Japanese—they banned the practice of footbinding (even though their purpose was to suppress Chinese culture, it was still a plus for women), and the Japanese era was the first time it was feasible for a girl who was not from a rich family to get an education. Overall, governance under Japanese rule was considered quite good.

The problem was the inequality.

There were two education systems in Taiwan—one for Japanese people, and one for everyone else (guess which one got more and better resources). Japanese people were preferred for government jobs, particularly well-paying government jobs, etc. Though there were Taiwanese people who wanted independence, based on the histories I’ve read, most of the population would have been okay with Japanese rule if they had been treated as equal citizens.

Though the manhua doesn’t directly address the equality, it makes references to it. For example, it mentions the segregation of Taipei into Japanese and Taiwanese districts, and it’s worth noting that the owner of the cafe is Japanese, not Taiwanese.

Another legacy of Japanese rule was increased contact with the outside world, particularly the world beyond East Asia. While various European powers had colonized parts of Taiwan, none ever got deep control over the island, and it was actually Japan which spread many European and American ideas in Taiwan (baseball, for example).

1935 was probably the peak of the Japanese era in Taiwan. It was the year that the exhibition to celebrate 40 years of Japanese rule was held (which is featured in “Soaring Boy”). Taiwan had already become much more developed and wealthier, and was relatively peaceful. Yet that was before World War II make things turn for the worse.

Anyway, here is some footage of Taipei in the Japanese era.

Fashion

When it comes to 20th century fashion, the 1930s is definitely my favourite decade. What I like about 30s fashion is that it is so mature. It can be simple, severe, and practical, and still look great (little black dress FOR THE WIN). 1930s fashion can also look stunningly gorgeous … without losing its sense of proportion.

Taiwanese fashion in the 1930s has the distinction of blending Chinese, Japanese, and European influences.

Akru researched specifically how waitresses dressed in 1930s Taipei. Notice that it looks both a little Japanese and a little European.

Akru clearly loves 1930s Taiwanese fashion, as she features clothing very heavily in most of her stories for Creative Comics Collection. She says that one reason she is so interested in fashion from the Japanese era is that there are so many historical TV shows set in the Ming and Qing dynasties that everybody is familiar with the clothing from those eras … but most people are not familiar with the clothing of the Japanese era.

And it’s not just Akru. Dihua street, which was a key commercial street in the Japanese era (specifically, it was the main commercial of Dadaocheng, which some of the characters visit in “Soaring Boy”) is now turning in a hub for young Taiwanese fashion designers. I’ve seen some of their exhibitions, and they certainly seem to be drawing from the neighborhood’s historic roots.

Artwork

Akru’s artwork is like good Chinese calligraphy – elegant, yet vigorous, yet balanced lines.

Let’s look at this picture. First of all, it’s got a nice hint of sepia while still being in color (this looks better when my cheap camera is not involved). And is has nice composition. We have the girl on the left as the focus. The round circle featuring the city makes a nice background—it adds “weight” to the right side of the picture, making it feel balanced, but without any object standing out it doesn’t take focus from the girl (it’s a good background, heh heh). There are some nice electric poles on the right adding more vertical lines to balance out the girl’s “weight,” but since they are nice and black, they don’t take away focus.

I like this composition too. The lack of objects in the center really conveys the openness of the sky.

Notice how on the right the swimmers seem to dive down on to the page. Notice on the center left how there is that panel (or un-panel?) which shows just the sister, brother, and white space. If that’s not a visual pause, I don’t know what is.

But I think one of the things I like most about Akru’s artwork is that she can make the ordinary seem wonderous. For example, the act of reading:

Availability in English

Well, it’s not available in English. I think that’s too bad. I think that if any digital comics publisher showed an interest in licensing manhua, this would be a good choice—since it’s just one volume, it can’t be that great of an economic risk. Alternatively, since Creative Comics Collection is partially non-profit, it might be nice if they put forth a free English version online to promote Taiwanese culture.

Conclusion

The theme which binds all of these stories is that one has to step outside one’s comfort zone to really get to know the world. It might mean a boy from a rural town who visits the big city for the time, it might mean an Atayal girl who leaves her village to learn reading, writing, and Japanese, is might mean a young man from Japan who comes to Taiwan to open a cafe … and it just might mean a Manga Bookshelf reader moving from the city where she grew up to the other side of the Pacific Ocean.

This building is still around, in fact, I have spent a *lot* of time around this building.

No, seriously. The first and the last stories are set in they very same neighborhood that I lived in when I first moved to Taiwan. Okay, so I was there more than 70 years later, but still. I lived in a Japanese era building. I wandered the same streets the characters wandered, and the Japanese era left a very strong mark on the area. In fact, the same neighborhood is shown in Cheerful Wind.

I love this manhua because it taught me some news things about Taipei history. I love this manhua because it brings back memories. But most of all, I love it because, even across the gulf of time, I can identify with the characters.

Next Time: A Deadly Secret (TV series)

Sara K. is participating in this month’s Carnival of Aces. You can find her first post here … and yes, it just happens to be about a certain Chinese-language novel which she has previously discussed at Manga Bookshelf.

It Came from the Sinosphere: You Are the Apple of My Eye (film)

November 20, 2012 by Sara K. 3 Comments

A bunch of high school boys are looking at the same thing

The Shen Chia-yi fan club

You Are the Apple of My Eye is one of the most popular novels and, more recently, one of the most popular Taiwanese movies of the last ten years. The Mandarin title ‘Nà Xiē Nián, Wǒmen Yīqǐ Zhuī de Nǚhái’ (那些年，我們一起追的女孩) roughly means “Those Years, The Girl We Pursued Together,” and I think that’s a more accurate description of this story.

The Story

The story starts with a senior high school student, Ko Ching-teng, in Changhua. Changhua is to Taiwan as Indiana is to the United States, in other words, a place generally not known to people outside of Taiwan that is noted for … not being very interesting (the tourist town of Lukang nonwithstanding).

Ko Ching-teng and all his buddies have a crush on the same girl, Shen Chia-yi. The story is basically about the progression of Ko Ching-teng’s relationship with Shen Chia-yi in senior high school, college, and afterwards.

About Giddens Ko

So, I’ve talked about Giddens before, but considering that this is one the most popular novels he ever wrote *and* he is the director of this movie, I think it’s time to talk more about him.

A bunch of ... monks? ... collapsing in front of a Buddha at night

This is what a Giddens high school romance looks like

Last time, I talked about one of Giddens’ quasi-wuxia stories. Well, in addition to writing quasi-wuxia, he also writes high school romance. That in itself is rather admirable.

Notice the “Ko” in “Giddens Ko.” It’s the same as the “Ko” in “Ko Ching-teng.” “Giddens” of course is a pen name; his name in real life is … Ko Ching-teng. That’s right. Though this is labelled as fiction, the novel is basically a memoir (though I don’t know to what extent it is accurate and to what extent Giddens has changed things for entertainment purposes).

This is not going to be the last time I talk about Giddens, so I think that’s enough for now.

Novel vs. Movie

It’s striking just how different the novel is from the movie. I think this is actually a good thing. I can’t really imagine the novel working well as a movie, and most of the changes do make the story more cinematic.

First of all, the time frame of the movie is shorter than the novel. The novel starts when Ko Ching-teng is 12 years old, the movie … I’m not clear, but at the earliest the movie starts when Ko Ching-teng is 15 years old.

The movie focuses a lot on juvenile humor, and depicts Ko Ching-teng as your everyday class clown. The novel is much more centered on nostalgia, and the force of Ko Ching-teng’s thoroughly geeky personality is much more apparent. For example, the novel drops references to Windows 3.1 and TV shows which were popular in Taiwan in the early 1990s, all absent from the movie.

Somebody is reading the Taiwanese Edition of Dragonball

In the movie, Shen Chia-yi tutors Ko Ching-teng in English (well, not just English, but the movie focuses on the English). In the novel, IIRC, it says that that Chinese and English were the only subjects in school that Ko Ching-teng actually got good grades in because he was destined to become a novelist. Shen Chia-yi had to prod him into studying other subjects.

In fact, there are lots of changes between the novel and the movie. What doesn’t change is the main idea. And that’s the point. Anybody (who can read Chinese) who wants the novel can read the bloody novel. If communicating the main idea—that first love is valuable even if it doesn’t last—is what’s important, then the movie is actually rather faithful.

Look! It’s a Pingxi Sky Lantern!

The three main towns in the Pingxi District—Shifen, Pingxi, and Jingtong—are some of the most touristy towns in Taiwan. They are supposed to represent an idyllic rustic Taiwanese town (if you want to visit the area but without the hordes of tourists, I suggest visiting the little village of Lingjiao, between Shifen and Pingxi, which has some nice stuff, and is much quieter). Of course, my favorite town in the Keelung valley is Houtong, which is finally getting discovered (I don’t know whether to be happy or sad about that).

These are the train tracks right outside Jingtong’s quaint Japanese-era train station. If you’re seen the idol drama Devil Beside You (adapted from the manga The Devil Does Exist), then you might have noticed that the main characters also spend some time in Jingtong.

One of the most famous things about the Pingxi District is their custom of launching sky lanterns, in particular during the Lantern Festival (an island-wide celebration). Many tourists choose to launch their own sky lantern when they visit.

Now, I have been to the sky lantern festival in Shifen, and to be honest, I think it’s overrated. But my main objection to the sky lanterns is the environmental toll. The Pingxi district is a great place to go hiking—both for people who like easy strolls and people who like strenuous treks on knife-edge ridges—and the woods are filled with fallen lanterns. Made out of plastic. I think they should, at the very least, use some compostable material to make the lanterns, and if that makes it a lot more expensive, so be it. If the tourists don’t want to pay for it, then they can pass.

Of course, when I see this, I think about how kitchy this tradition has become, as well as the woods filled with discarded plastic. But in the context of the movie, it’s actually a nice symbol of the characters’ hopes.

About that Juvenile Humor

Two high school boys masturbate in class.

The boys are having fun in class (notice where their left hands are).

I have a confession to make.

I actually like the humor in this movie. Yes, even though much of it revolves around masturbation and erections and other sexual subjects.

But it works.

It works because it’s authentic. Giddens isn’t using the humor just to score lafs. This is a movie about the transition from adolescence to adulthood, and 1) many adolescents and young adults spend a lot of time masturbating and thinking about sex and b) it’s really awkward, and sometimes humor is the best way to talk about something awkward.

Why I Have Trouble Relating to the Movie

I didn’t have a “Shen Chia-yi” in my teenage years. There was nobody who I waxed romantically about even 10% as much Ko Ching-teng does about Shen Chia-yi. If I made a list of the things that I was most preoccupied with during my teenage years, “romance” would not make it to the top ten (likewise, the things that would appear in my top five don’t seem to be so important to Ko Ching-teng, at least not in this story). There is such a disconnect between my experience as a teenager and Ko Ching-teng’s experience as shown in both the novel and the movie, that I get the feeling that this story is not for me.

But that’s okay. Not all stories have to be about me. And the popularity of both the novel and the movie prove that it does resonate with a lot of people.

Availability in English

This movie is available on DVD with English subtitles.

Conclusion

Everybody I have asked says that the novel is better than the movie. I cannot argue with them. The novel gives a much deeper and more thorough description of Ko Ching-teng’s feelings, makes it easier to understand why Ko Ching-teng and Shen Chia-yi are attracted to each other, makes Ko Ching-teng seem more like a unique person, and makes it clearer why Ko Ching-teng and Shen Chia-yi are not actually a good match. I think MJ would like the novel more that the movie too.

Yet I happen to like the movie more than the novel.

I respect the novel. But as I said earlier, it is not easy for me to relate to this … and there is page after page after page about Ko Ching-teng’s feelings.

The movie puts more emphasis on humorous hijinks. It’s more entertaining, and it’s much faster. And the movie still manages to get the main point across. Whee!

Next Time: North City, Book of a Hundred Drawings (manhua)

Sara K. thinks that the popularity of Giddens is evidence that Taiwan is a society of geeks. It’s probably more accurate to say the subset of the population that actually reads novels is extremely geeky, but even so, Giddens’ works have a much higher geek factor than the vast majority of bestsellers in the United States.

It Came from the Sinosphere: Princess Pearl (Pt. 2)

November 16, 2012 by Sara K. 5 Comments

Yet another screenshot from the TV adaptation.

So, last Tuesday I talked about the super-popular novel Princess Pearl. Now I’m going to keep talking about it.

The Friendship/Sisterhood of Ziwei and Xiaoyanzi

I don’t know whether to call them “friends” or “sisters.” As I mentioned in the previous post, Chinese-speaking cultures tend to value family relationships above romantic relationships, and this also applies to friendships. But what happens is that, especially in stories set in historical periods, whenever two people become close friends, they become sworn sisters/brothers. In a way, in Chinese, a “brother” or “sister” is anybody from the same generation with whom you have a close relationship. This can even apply to romantic couples, which weirded me out until I got my head around the fact that in Chinese-speaking cultures, calling one’s lover “sister” or “brother” does not imply anything incestuous.

Okay, I’m calling them “friends.”

One of the things which makes Xiaoyanzi and Ziwei’s friendship so entertaining is that they are opposites. Ziwei is well-educated, has an excellent understanding of the high arts, is a beautiful singer, an excellent chess player, etc. Xiaoyanzi is illiterate, and can’t follow proper etiquette even when her life depends on it. Ziwei, while healthy, is physically weak … whereas Xiaoyanzi is quite good at hand-to-hand combat, jumping over walls, and other physically-demanding feats. Ziwei can’t lie, but she’s very good at staying quiet. Xiaoyanzi can’t stay quiet, but she’s an excellent liar.

And it’s hilarious that Xiaoyanzi has to pretend that she is a princess, while Ziwei has to pretend that she’s not.

What they have in common is their passionate feelings. I think this is ultimately what brings them—and keeps them—together. Xiaoyanzi is willing to brave any danger to keep Ziwei safe … and Ziwei is willing to sacrifice anything for Xiaoyanzi’s well-being. When someone feels that way about you, it’s hard not to respond, and when it’s mutual, it’s hard to break apart. No wonder Xiaoyanzi and Ziwei care more about each other than the charming young men they fall in love with. Ultimately, they even come to the conclusion that their relationship with each other is more important than their relationship with their father, Emperor Qianlong. This is a classic example of how the more one gives, the more one has.

Princess Pearl and Goong

Out of all of the Asian comics I am familiar with, Goong feels the most like Princess Pearl. They are both about a teenaged girl from the commoner class who finds herself inadvertendtly becoming a princess, locked away inside the royal court. Neither Xiaoyanzi nor Chae-Kyung are very good at being refined, well-behaved princesses, and it’s their very roughness and lively spirit which eventually wins over the love of almost everybody in the palace.

Princess Pearl and Goong are entertaining for some of the same reasons. There’s plenty of opportunity for comedy as the commoner way of life and the royal way of life clash with each other, yet underneath all of the amusing escapades a potential tragedy is brewing (notice that I say *potential* … I am not trying to imply that either story actually is a tragedy).

Prince Shin is, in some ways, the opposite of Emperor Qianlong. Prince Shin is a big jerk at first, and only later reveals his tenderness; Emperor Qianlong is all sweetness and tenderness at first, and only bares his fangs once the novelty of having a new daughter wears off.

And of course, some of the major details are really different … Goong really is a romance, and Princess Pearl scores way better on the Bechdel test (come to think of it, it’s very rare for two male characters to talk about something other than a woman in Princess Pearl), not to mention the whole time period/location thing. But I think it would be fair to call both of them soap operas.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Princess Pearl and Goong feel so much alike. The 1998 TV adaptation of Princess Pearl was extremely popular in South Korea (where it is called “Emperor’s Daughter”). Goong started serialization just a few years later in 2002. I don’t know whether or not Princess Pearl inspired Park SoHee, but considering what I’ve read about the impact Princess Pearl had on South Korea, I think it must have at least been an influence.

Availability in English (rant)

This novel has never been published in English or in any other European language as far as I know. I can’t even find a TV adaptation with English subtitles (though I suspect that it just might be possible to get Singapore DVDs with English subtitles—I haven’t turned over every stone).

This … irritates me.

I do not buy the argument that non-Asians can’t understand the oh-so-mysterious Chinese culture. I think somebody who had never even heard of China before could love this novel. Understanding what it’s like to be a human being is all that’s required, as far as I’m concerned.

And considering that this story has proven extremely popular in places with such different cultures as Mongolia and Indonesia, I don’t see why this couldn’t have been a worldwide hit … aside from reluctance on the part of the media to even try.

*sigh*

Maybe they should make a comic book adaptation … manhua, manhwa, manga, whatever (the original novel and the 1998 TV adaptation are available in both Korean and Japanese) and then get that licensed overseas.

But this is one of the reasons I bother writing this column. I want to help the works which do get translated into English get more attention, and I want to discuss things which don’t get translated into English so that English-speakers at least have a clue about what they’re missing.

Conclusion

I figured that, since this is one of the most popular Chinese-language novels ever, that it would at least be readable. What I didn’t expect is that it would become one of my personal favorites. It’s really a very simple story, yet the simplicity makes me love it harder. Actually, it’s so simple that I’m even a bit embarrassed that I love it so much.

I think one of the fundamentals of human existence is that we crave love and affection from others. The flipside is that we are all afraid of losing that love. This is true whether we are a street urchin or the emperor of China. To some extent, it doesn’t matter where that love comes from—a parent, a sibling, a child, a lover, a friend, a stranger. That craving, and that fear, can drive us to both wonderful and terrible things.

I think this is the chord that this story has struck in a billion people.

Sara K. …. has completely forgotten what she wants to say. Oh well. When she remembers, she can stick it at the end of a future post.

It Came from the Sinosphere: Princess Pearl (Pt. 1)

November 13, 2012 by Sara K. 3 Comments

So, a while ago, I said I needed to read some Chiung Yao novels and try some of the TV adaptations. Well, I’ve been working on that, and it is with great enthusiasm that I present Princess Pearl (AKA My Fair Princess and Prince Returning-Pearl).

About Chiung Yao

Chiung Yao might be the most popular Taiwanese novelist ever (this is difficult to measure). She is without a doubt the most popular female Chinese-language novelist ever, as well as the most popular Chinese-language romance novelist ever.

Almost all of her novels were originally serialized in a magazine aimed at teenage girls, and with all of the cliffhangers, they read like serializations. The works I’ve read so far have an addictive melodramatic quality that reminds me of 70s shoujo manga.

Princess Pearl is her most popular novel, and was adapted into the most popular Mandarin-language TV drama ever (I am not exaggerating). But I want to talk about the novel, not the TV drama.

Story

This novel is set in 18th century China. Xiaoyanzi is a burglar and a swindler who grew up on the streets of Beijing. She encounters Ziwei, an educated and refined girl from Shandong. At first they rub each other the wrong way, but soon enough they bond and become sworn sisters. Ziwei left Shandong upon the death of her mother, and her mother’s dying wish was that she would go to her father in Beijing. Though Ziwei knows where her father is, getting access to him is a problem because her mother never had a chance to tell him that they have a daugther and … well, he’s the emperor of China. Of course, while Ziwei can’t break into the Forbidden City, Xiaoyanzi, as an expert burglar, can.

Upon breaking into the Forbidden City, carrying the evidence of Ziwei’s paternity with her, Xiaoyanzi is shot by an arrow, and eventually passes out. Emperor Qianlong, seeing the evidence, mistakes Xiaoyanzi for being his own daughter. By the time Xiaoyanzi is clear-headed again, it is explained to her that if he discovers that she is a fake, the emperor will cut off her head. Meanwhile, Ziwei remains outside the Forbidden City.

About Emperor Qianlong

Emperor Qianlong ruled for over 60 years, one of the longest reigns in Chinese history. I don’t know much about the historical Emperor Qianlong, but I remember one exhibit about his personal ceramics collection. In order to show his appreciation for ceramics, he would write poems praising their excellence, and then order people to carve the poems into the pieces. While I didn’t bother to read the poetry myself, apparently a common theme was that it was very important for an emperor to appraise ceramics, and therefore he was not neglecting his imperial duties by obsessing over his collection.

Emperor Qianlong wasn’t just interested in pottery. He also collected paintings, jade, ivory, and other works of art. He didn’t just appreciate Chinese art; he also collected art from Europe and Central Asia. In addition to visual art, he also loved music, poetry, and literature.

He is a very popular character in Chinese-language historical fiction … however most historical fiction focuses not on his love of art, but his romantic and sexual relationships with various women. Even though I’ve never seen (and probably never will see) The Legend of Qianlong, I do like the theme song.

This isn’t even the first time I’ve discussed him; he’s one of the main characters in The Book and the Sword.

In this particular novel, he is basically presented as a loveable spoiled brat who unfortunately (for everyone else) has absolute power over an empire. He loves art and culture, and feels entitled to having access to the best. He loves romance and sex, and feels that any woman he approaches ought to feel happy about it. And he has had so many relationships that it’s easy for even someone he likes a lot to slip from his mind (Ziwei’s mother specifically). He expects his children to continually shower him with affection and to do everything he tells them to do because a) he is their emperor and b) he is their father. And it is really, really easy to hurt his feelings.

I’m making him out to be a nasty character, aren’t I? Well, in his defense, he is also very loving. When he takes a liking to somebody, he is extremely gentle and kind, and he often gets heartbroken because a) somebody he likes got hurt or b) he feels betrayed by somebody he likes. It seems that he has, by nature, a sweet, warm, and sensitive personality, yet he has been warped by having more power than any human being ought to have.

In any case, it’s no wonder that he appears in so much Chinese-language fiction. He is a complex character who can be presented as a hero or as a villain, and he can fit well in anything ranging from a deep work of serious literature to a titillating pornographic film.

The Love Triangle

Okay, so sue me, I am using an image from the TV series

Since Chiung Yao is known as a romance writer, I was expecting this to be a romance. And there is some romance in the novel, but it generally happens in the sidelines. But while this novel is not about romance, it is definitely about love. There is even a (non-romantic) love triangle at the center of the action: Xiaoyanzi, Ziwei, and Emperor Qianlong.

Neither Ziwei nor Xiaoyanzi had any father-figure in her childhood, so they both crave the fatherly affections of the emperor. Neither is interested in political power, so when they compete for the status of princess, this is their motivation. Meanwhile, the emperor wants as much love as possible to come his way, and while he never consciously tries to break up Xiaoyanzi and Ziwei, one of the schemes he comes up with to get more of their love would have incidently separated them.

Daughters and Fathers

I would say that, in the culture of the United States (as well as in Britain, Canada, Australia, etc), romantic relationships are valued more than parent-child relationships. In the Chinese-speaking world, it’s the other way around.

It has been noted that one of the things which makes Taiwanese idol dramas different from K-dramas and J-dramas is that there tends to be a lot more emphasis on the romantic couples’ parents and other relatives. I don’t know enough about K-dramas and J-dramas to confirm this … but compared to shoujo manga, this is certainly the case. This is also reflected in my encounters with Taiwanese people; they are much more likely to ask questions about my parents and family than about my romantic life.

Off the top of my head, I can think of two Taiwanese movies—Cannot Live Without You/No Puedo Vivir Sin Ti and Seven Days in Heaven—that are primarily about the relationship between a daughter and a father (and IIRC neither movie has any romance whatsoever). I cannot think of any English-language movie that is primarily about a relationship between a daughter and a father. In the context of Chinese-speaking culture, the fact that Princess Pearl focuses on parent-child relationships does not make it an outlier.

So what does the novel have to say about children and parents?

On the one hand, even though Xiaoyanzi and Emperor Qianlong are not biological relatives, they come to care for each other very deeply. This implies that the bond between daughter and father is forged by shared experiences and people’s actions, not by biology. On the other hand, Emperor Qianlong also happens to become very attached to Ziwei, even though he does not know that she is his biological daughter. This implies that the genetic bond still counts for something. Then again, when he first meets her, he doesn’t notice her. It is her actions that finally catch his attention.

While I disagree with some of the ideas that Chinese-speaking cultures have about parent-child relationships, I think it is good that they value them so much and include them far more often in their mainstream media, and I think my own culture could stand to learn something from them.

I have plenty more to say, but I think that’s enough for now. So please come back on Friday for Part 2, when I will:

– discuss the friendship/sisterhood between Xiaoyanzi and Ziwei
– compare the novel Princess Pearl to the manhwa Goong
– ~~rant~~ talk about its (un)availability in English

Next time (not Friday): You Are the Apple of My Eye (movie)

When Sara K. was caught reading a Chiung Yao novel, somebody told her that they are for 16-year old girls. She replied that when she was 16 years old, she couldn’t read Chinese. Furthermore, Sara K. has discovered that Chiung Yao novels, particularly the second halves, are NSFW. If she read them, they might make her cry, and then she’d have to explain to everybody what was wrong.

Announcement: Dramafever’s Worldwide Preview

November 12, 2012 by Sara K. 1 Comment

First of all, Dramafever has finally made episodes of Fated to Love You available. I explain why everybody should watch this in my column (hey, if MJdidn’t want this announcement to be biased by my personal opinions, she shouldn’t have let me write it).

If you want to know why Chen Xinyi put Ji Cunxi in a trash can, or if you want to know what she plans to do next, you’ll have to watch Fated to Love You.

But now it’s not just limited to people in North and South America. For a limited time, Dramafever is available to everybody who is not in China, Japan, or Korea. This is the post from their official blog.

The way the deal works is that, if you are in a country outside of North and South America which is not China, Japan, or Korea, you can sign up and watch the latest two episodes of any series currently airing, and watch the first five episodes of any older series.

Well, that’s how it’s supposed to work. Since this is brand new, there have been technical difficulties. The most common technical difficulty—and the Dramafever team says they are working on this—is that many people can’t get subtitles to work. I’m one of those people, by the way. However, there is enough in their catalogue that has caught my interest (that I don’t need subtitles to enjoy) that this wouldn’t be such a problem for me, specifically, if I weren’t running into other technical difficulties. I still admire Dramafever’s boldness, and I am sure they are doing their best to fix all of the technical problems.

Anyway, this is a limited time offer. But it does not have to be limited. In countries where Dramafever gets sufficient users, they will maintain a permanent presence. So if you want Dramafever in your corner of the world (and you’re not in China/Japan/Korea), now is the time to a) sign up, and b) tell your fellow residents to sign up.

Don’t know what to watch? Aside from Fated to Love You, here are posts from the Manga Bookshelf archives discussing various dramas offered on Dramafever:

It Came from the Sinosphere: Autumn’s Concerto
It Came from the Sinosphere: My Queen
Bringing the Drama: To the Beautiful You
Bringing the Drama: Rooftop Prince
Bringing the Drama: Big
Bringing the Drama: You’re Beautiful
Bringing the Drama: City Hunter
Joseon Female Detective Damo Vol. 2

So, what are your recommendations for us in Asia, Europe, Africa, Oceania and Australia who have access to Dramafever for the first time?

Sara K. started as a guest blogger, then she got a column, and now she’s making announcements. This is all a part of her nefarious plot to take over Manga Bookshelf and rule the blogosphere. She will govern with an iron fist and make everybody listen to her bad jokes.

It Came from the Sinosphere: Ài Shā 17

November 6, 2012 by Sara K. 8 Comments

So, the official English title of this drama is Bump Off Lover, but I dislike it so much that I am just going to use the Mandarin title Ài Shā 17 (Love Murder 17) instead.

Many people comment that Taiwanese idol dramas are always cheery, always romantic, always upbeat, and are overall a light-hearted, bubbly, pop (junk) culture genre. First of all, I’m very wary of make distinctions between “junk” culture and “high” culture. And it also turns out that there are quite a few rather dark idol drams out there. I’ve even discussed one previously—The Outsiders. But the darkest, most disturbing idol drama I’ve ever seen is, without question, Ài Shā 17.

TRIGGER WARNING: This TV drama presents stalking, sexual bullying (including a male victim), under-age prostitution, rape with drugs, child-kidnapping, victim-blaming, people defending the perpetrators, suicide, and other disturbing topics. Consequently, these topics are also come up in this post.

Now, in order to set the mood for this post, I suggest watching the opening song before continuing.

The Story

The story starts with two 17-year old twin sisters, Yizhen and Yijing.

Yijing (left) and Yizhen (right)

Yizhen’s high school teacher, Yang Renyou, had tried to rape her, which is why the school fired him. However, Yang Renyou is apparently now stalking Yizhen.

Yang Renyou is watching Yizhen’s family

Meanwhile Zou Kejie, another student at their school, is being bullied. Because of this pressure, Zou Kejie joins a mysterious BBS called “Heart of Darkness” for social support. He also becomes good friends with Yijing (actually, he has a crush on her).

Kejia and Yijing having a good time together

One evening after school, Yizhen spots Yang Renyou running around the school grounds. Later that evening, she hears her sister Yijing cry out for help. While running towards her sister’s voice, somebody pushes Yizhen into a swimming pool—and she can’t swim. She is rescued by her boyfriend, Jiawei, but it’s too late; by the time they find Yijing, she’s already dead.

Jiawei pulls Yizhen out of the swimming pool

In the trial by media, Zou Kejie is presented as being Yijing’s murderer. While he professes his innocence, he refuses to cooperate with the police. Even his own brother, Zou Kejiang, begins to suspect that he is the culprit. Eventually Zou Kejie cannot handle the pressure of everybody and the media accusing him of being Yijing’s murderer, and commits suicide.

After the suicide, Zou Kejiang regrets not believing his brother, and is determined to find the true murderer in order to clear his brother’s name. Meanwhile, Yizhen suspects that Yang Renyou did it. Yizhen, Kejiang, and Jiawei work together to solve the mystery … and what Yizhen learns is more disturbing than anything she imagined.

Jiawei, Yizhen, and Kejiang in a hospital

Taiwanese Online Culture

Last week, I discussed Taiwanese online culture a bit. This idol drama depicts it too. In 2007, it would not be very credible if a bunch of ordinary (as in non-geeky) people in the United States decided to casually join a BBS, but in Taiwan BBS are still a dominant way to socialize online. They’ve even survived the popularity of Facebook.

Angela Chang and Shen Shihua

Idol dramas are called “idol dramas” because they present “idols” (usually music idols) in “dramas.” The “idol” of this drama is clearly Angela Chang, the popular Taiwanese singer who plays both Yizhen and Yijing.

First of all, I must give some credit to the hair-and-makeup people, who did a really good job of distinguishing Yizhen and Yijing.

Of course the bulk of the credit goes to Angela Chang and the scriptwriters. This was an excellent way to demonstrate Angela Chang’s acting skills—there is nothing which proves that somebody can act better than casting them as two different characters in the same story. I ought to watch another Angela Chang drama.

Angela Chang, in addition to playing both of the main characters, also sings the opening and ending songs for the drama.

For an example of an Angela Chang song not directly related to Ài Shā 17, check out Bu Tong (No Pain). The pinyin lyrics with an English gloss can be found at Chinese Tools.

Shen Shihua as Liang Yajuan

Yet I think the very best acting performance in this drama was given by Shen Shihua, who played Liang Yajuan, the mother of Yizhen and Yijing. She even won the 2006 Golden Bell Best Supporting Actress award for this performance. In some ways, Liang Yajuan is a more difficult character to play than Yizhen or Yijing. Liang Yajuan actually grows more as a character than either of her daughters, and has to convey more subtlety. She just doesn’t get as much screentime.

The Whodunit Murder Mystery

The whodunit murder mystery is one of my least favorite genres of fiction. I only watched this drama because I received multiple recommendations. So how does it hold up as a murder mystery from a non-fan’s perspective?

I generally was less interested in the story when it was more purely a whodunit, and more interested when it was focusing on something else (like the relationship between Yizhen and Yijing). This probably says more about me than the drama itself. And of course, much of the story seems contrived. I find that is almost always the case with whodunits (then again, a fan of whodunits could probably point out the many ways the fiction I love seems contrived too).

A shot from one of the interrogation scenes

However, even I can recognize that this is a very well-crafted whodunit. There are several likely suspects, it’s very well set up, and plenty of surprises for the viewers. I had predicted one of the “shocking” plot twists pretty early, which made me cocky. The denouement, however, caught me completely off-guard. At first I was so shocked that I thought I had misheard something … yet looking back on the drama, it made so much sense, and even explained some things about the story which had seemed a bit odd. That is good writing.

Rape Culture

If you don’t know what “rape culture” is, this is a good introduction.

Unfortunately, this drama is a reflection of reality in Taiwan. Older men really do prey on teenage girls and child prostitution really does happen online in Taiwan. Of course, these atrocities also happen in the United States. It’s hard to tell whether this is really more prevalent in Taiwan, or whether Taiwanese people (or more specifically, the Taiwanese people I encounter, which is not a random sample of the population) are just more willing to talk about it. It is worth noting that there was a drastic reduction in child prostitution in Taiwan in the 1990s when the government started to actually enforce the anti-child-prostitution laws … and it was not a coincidence that the government cracked down on child prostitution at the same time that Taiwan transitioned to democracy.

The police arrest a client of an under-age prostitute

I, luckily, have yet to be directly threatened, and I think I am actually at much less risk of being sexually assaulted here than when I was living in San Francisco. Nonetheless, the local rape culture does affect my life in Taiwan too, just as it affects everybody else’s lives. I don’t think this is the place to discuss that, though that might be a good topic for my personal blog.

In some ways, this drama gets things very right. Most rapes are not committed by strangers, and none of the crimes in this drama are committed by strangers (the only crime which seems to have been committed by a stranger turns out to have been perpetrated by someone who is not). The drama also clearly shows how many people are ready to defend rapists, which unfortunately is very realistic. The drama also makes clear that in a society where saving face is more important than stopping abuse, abuse will flourish.

A man solicits sex from Yizhen, and Yizhen clearly does not consent

Now, I am uncomfortable with the way the drama depicts some things [SPOILER WARNING FOR THIS PARAGRAPH]. For example, I think the drama shows just a little too much sympathy for Yang Renyou. Sure, he was tricked, and he was lied to … but you know what? He also tried to have sex with one of his teenage students—multiple times—and when she was obviously not-consenting, he still continued. That is 100% Yang Renyou’s fault, and nobody else’s. The drama doesn’t exactly try to defend Yang Renyou—it presents the “facts” pretty clearly and he does die a horrible death—but I think the drama should have made it clearer that, regardless of the circumstances, Yang Renyou’s acts were utterly despicable and totally his responsibility. Also, I don’t like that Yijing, the victim of the most abuse (kidnapped as a child, drugged and raped, and finally, murdered) is also the main villain. In the context of a society without rape culture, this wouldn’t bother me … but victim blaming is so virulent in both Taiwan and the United States that it makes me very uneasy when the kidnapping/rape/murder victim just happens to be the Big Bad.

Availability in English

This drama is not legally available in English. That’s too bad. This would make a great addition to Dramafever’s line-up *hint hint*. That said, the first episode is crafted in such a way that I would have been able to follow the story even if the dialogue had been exclusively in Old Church Slavonic.

Conclusion

As I said before, this isn’t really my kind of thing. Therefore, it is not a personal favorite. But, in spite of all of the contrived stuff, I can’t deny that this is one of the best-written idol dramas I have ever seen. The mere fact that I watched the whole thing is a testament to its quality.

And while many people dismiss idol dramas as “junk culture,” I have found that the better idol dramas discuss some very important issues—in this case, rape culture. While I have my reservations about the way it’s handled in this drama, I still think it is a worthwhile addition to the conversation. The very fact that these dramas can make these important conversations accessible to a wide audience, in my opinion, makes them more valuable than works of high-falutin’ culture which are only accessible to an elite group.

Next Time: Princess Pearl (novel)

Sara K’s life is returning to “normal.” Of course, her “normal” life is not necessarily very normal at all and, much as she appreciates the opportunity to rest, she looks forward to the next time that her life will stop being “normal.”

It Came From the Sinosphere: The 8th Bronze Man of Shaolin (Manhua)

October 30, 2012 by Sara K. 6 Comments

So our protagonist, Qisuo, grew up hearing stories about heroes. Naturally, he wants to become a hero. Where do you become a hero? Shaolin Temple of course (see my previous post about The 36th Chamber of Shaolin).

Qisuo manages to get to Shaolin Temple. Being Buddhist, the monks of Shaolin temple are supposed to be celibate vegetarians. What does Qisuo find at Shaolin temple?

Why, it’s monks eating meat and hanging out with prostitutes! What gives?

Shaolin Temple started accepting any rich kid as a student in order to get generous donations, and the rich kids don’t really want to give up on meat and sex, and … well it influenced the whole institution. Shaolin Temple is now a school for anti-heroes.

Note 1: this is an example of truth-in-fiction; the present day Shaolin Temple does allow the consumption of meat, and according to one martial arts master I know, has become a tourist trap which has lost its traditional way.
Note 2: It is very common, at least in the wuxia fiction I read, for Shaolin (or other Buddhist) monks to somehow break their vows of chastity. They actually seem to be more likely to get laid than the lay unmarried male characters.

Anyway, WHAT IS QISUO SUPPOSED TO DO?! He is so naïve that even this isn’t enough to break his rose-colored glasses.

Don’t worry, he gets to study some marital arts … after getting bullied at the Shaolin Temple.

Oh, and childhood friend, Hongzhong, also leaves the village to learn martial arts. She’s not going to let Qisuo have all the fun.

About Giddens Ko

Giddens Ko is nobody important. He’s just Taiwan’s most popular active novelist.

About Online Novels

It’s a bit hard to describe the world of online novels, partially because I don’t know it as well as I should.

On the one hand, for aspiring Taiwanese novelists, online is pretty much the only way to start these days. Even novelists who prefer the traditional publishing route have to go there because the traditional publishers would rather work with writers who have already proven themselves online.

Fortunately for the aspiring novelists, Taiwan has a vibrant and unique online culture, which I actually am not too familiar with since I spend most of my online hours in the English-language net (hey, I already live in Taiwan offline, I don’t need to live in Taiwan online too, at least not yet). One of the distinctive features of the Taiwanese internet is that bulletin board systems (BBS), which are considering a relic in most of the world, still flourish (another reason I’m not too familiar with the Taiwanese internet – while I’ve learned thousands of Chinese characters, I still haven’t learned how to use a BBS!). Anyway, it is in the BBS-world that aspiring novelists show their stuff.

Now, there are traditional-style novels which first reach readers through the internet. For example, Passionate Wastrel, Infatuated Hero was originally published online. If these novels get a traditional publishing contract, they will generally be listed under a traditional genre (in this specific case, “wuxia”). However, a new style of novel writing has emerged from the labyrinths of the Taiwanese BBS world, and if these novels get printed, they will be listed as “online” novels.

Giddens first became famous in the BBS world, and I know about half of his novels originated there. I have not confirmed whether The 8th Bronze Man of Shaolin is one of them. Nonetheless, pretty much all of Giddens novels get shelved under “online novels,” regardless of the story’s genre. And while this story is in some sense a wuxia story, the novel is written in an online style.

Oh wait a minute. I’m not discussing the novel. I’m discussing the manhua. So I also need to talk about…

James Khoo

So, if Tony Wong (whom I’ve discussed here and here) and Ma Wing-shing (whom I discussed here) are the two top Hong Kong kung-fu/wuxia manhua artists, then James Khoo is around number four. He actually started as an assistant for Tony Wong, and later left to make his own name.

Artwork

Unsurprisingly, James Khoo’s style is a lot like Tony Wong’s style. On the one hand, his artwork doesn’t pop the way that Tony Wong’s does, nor does it compel me to flip back through the pages after I’ve finished a volume. On the other hand, it’s more grounded—and I don’t think it’s any less lovely. I haven’t seen James Khoo display Tony Wong’s skill in telling a story visually, though this might not have been the right story in which to do that (NOTE: the artwork looks way better in print than in these terrible photos).

Seriously, was it necessary to expose Ling Xue’s belly like that? She’s a flipping martial artist! None of the male martial artists wear such impractical clothing…

Original Tragedies and Monkey Wrenches

Most wuxia novels (or at least the ones I’ve read) follow the original tragedy/monkey wrench pattern. To me, it’s more essential than the martial arts. The “original tragedy” is something horrible that happens to the protagonist early on and propels the protagonist into embarking on a journey, literal and/or metaphorical. The story is basically about the protagonist coming to terms with the “original tragedy.” But the path is not straightforward, because at some point, a monkey wrench is going to hit the protagonist on the head (and sometimes there are multiple monkey wrenches).

To make this clearer, let me use the wuxia novel Pingzong Xiaying Lu as an example. The protagonist is Yun Lei. In the prologue, we learn that her grandfather had been exiled in Mongolia for 20 years, her father had been killed, and she had been separated from her mother, all because of somebody called Zhang Zongzhou. Shortly before his death, her grandfather commanded his offspring to grow up and get revenge by killing any member of the Zhang family, young or old, that they may encounter. At the time, Yun Lei was seven years old. This is her original tragedy.

Ten years later, Yun Lei is a teenager who knows how to wield a sword. It is time for her to actually go about getting revenge for the wrongs done to her family. She intends to reunite with her brother, whom she hasn’t seen in more than ten years, so they can get revenge together. Of course, traveling alone isn’t fun, so she travels with a young man called Danfeng. He’s also pretty good with a sword. They have adventures together and fall in love. Then it is revealed that Danfeng is Zhang Danfeng and … well, I think you can guess who his father is. He is Yun Lei’s monkey wrench.

This is the most common setup—somebody killed the protagonist’s parent(s), so the protagonist must work hard to be powerful enough to get revenge—but then ZOMYGOSH THE PROTAGONIST FALLS IN LOVE WITH THE CHILD OF WHOEVER KILLED THE PROTAGONIST’S PARENT!!!!!! There are, however, plenty of other ways to set up original tragedies and monkey wrenches. And of course, original tragedy/monkey wrench setups can be found outside wuxia too (in manga, for example).

Why did I go into this long digression? Because this is why the story of The 8th Bronze Man of Shaolin doesn’t quite click with me. Qisuo does not have an original tragedy—he left his village because he wants to be a hero. Okay, he does get bullied a bit at the Shaolin temple but a) Qisuo doesn’t seem to be hurt enough for that to work as an original tragedy b) it doesn’t change Qisuo or inspire him to take a particular course of action.

Now, Jubao does have an original tragedy, but a) he’s not the primary protagonist and b) it … I just don’t feel enough pain coming from Jubao for that to quite work either.

Wuxia stories don’t absolutely need original tragedies but this story doesn’t really work without one. The lack of monkey wrenches also does not help. This story feels to me like it’s just about youths learning martial arts, improving, and defeating increasingly powerful enemies … all without growing or maturing as people.

And the thing is, I don’t even think the fights are that good. I have no issue with James Khoo’s artwork—to the extent that the fights are interesting, it’s thanks to him—it’s just that the fights aren’t written to be very interesting. On a technical level, most of the fights lack any elements of puzzle-solving or surprise which can provide intellectual stimulation. On an emotional level there is … little impact.

In other words, this story fails for me.

Availability in English

The artwork is available to anybody who has eyesight. The story (in both manhua and pure prose form) is only available to readers of Chinese, but I don’t think that’s a big loss.

Conclusion

I don’t think Giddens was trying to write a classic wuxia story at all. I think he was trying to indulge in wuxia geeks’ fantasies. Qisuo—who grew up listening to stories of heroism—is basically a cipher for the reader. He gets to be best friends with Zhang Sanfeng, the legendary creator of Tai Chi and a character in many wuxia stories, help him develop Tai Chi, and eventually marry his sweetheart.

Well, it did not work for me. But the idea is good. In fact, Giddens tries the same thing in another novel, and in that novel it works so well that it is my favorite Giddens novel so far (I will discuss it here eventually, I am sure).

I do like James Khoo’s art … and I find it a bit disappointing that he choose to adapt this novel when there are so many better novels out there he could have adapted (Pingzong Xiaying Lu for example).

Next Time: Bump Off Lover / Ai Sha 17 (idol drama)

What was Sara K. doing while this column was on hiatus last week? Last Tuesday she was visiting Little Liuqiu Island, where they burn boats (they weren’t burning any boats while she was there though). Anyway, Sara K. is going to do a lot less running around Taiwan now, which means this column will regain its regularity. Hopefully.

It Came from the Sinosphere: The Love Eterne

October 18, 2012 by Sara K. 7 Comments

Example Scene

Liang Shanbo is on his merry way to see his sweetheart, with cheerful music playing in the background.

And this all gets interrupted by a parade, with an abrupt switch to solemn, almost mournful music. I can’t say exactly say that it rained on his parade … maybe the parade rained on him?

Liang Shanbo wonders what is going on.

And we have a shot hear of a bird singing in a cage. On the right we see a character which is often used ceremonially to represent auspiciousness, but the way it seems battered up doesn’t look so auspicious!

This brief segment succinctly sums up the film, at least emotionally.

I also suggest watching the 1-minute trailer before continuing reading this post.

About the Shaw Brothers and Huangmei Opera

I had previously discussed one of the Shaw Brothers’ kung-fu classics, The 36th Chamber of Shaolin.

Even though the Shaw Brothers’ Studio is best known outside of Asia for its kung-fu flicks, they also made their share of musicals (which doesn’t surprise me, since I think their kung-fu flicks are a lot like musicals). Some of these films were based on traditional Chinese opera, some of these films had musical numbers which would not have been completely out of place in a 1950s Hollywood film, and then there is Disco Bumpkins.

Talking about “Chinese opera” is like talking about “European opera.” Both Giuseppe Verdi and Richard Wagner wrote 19th century “European operas,” but they did not exactly belong to the same tradition. Well, just as there are differences between Italian and German opera, there are also differences between Cantonese opera and Beijing opera.

There is dispute about how the Huangmei opera arose, but a) most sources claim that it originated in the rural regions of China’s Anhui province and b) somehow, it became heavily influenced by Taiwanese folk songs. Since it emerged from rural folk culture, it’s not considered a “true” Chinese opera genre, and Huangmei opera singers were considered less professional than “true” Chinese opera singers. Unlike “true” Chinese opera, Huangmei opera is less stylized, the lyrics are easier to understand, and it’s generally much more accessible.

When common people got access to film and radio, did the Huangmei opera shrivel up as a popular form of entertainment? No! Instead, it joined the party—for about 10 years Huangmei opera films were extremely popular in Taiwna and Hong Kong.

This particular film, The Love Eterne, is the most popular Huangmei opera film ever. It was especially popular in Taiwan. When I say popular, I mean that over 90% of the population of Taipei saw it during it’s first run in theaters, and that there were many reports of fans (mostly female) watching the film over 50 times.

The Story

This film is based on a Chinese folktale, “The Butterfly Lovers,” which is sometimes referred to as the Chinese equivalent of “Romeo and Juliet.” It has inspired many works of art. If you don’t know the story, the internet can fill you in (quick version: two young people fall in love with each other, but they can’t marry each other, so they die).

Prettiness

This is such a pretty film. It makes me feel like a little kid, wanting to point out “hey, look at that” throughout.

First of all, the hats and the hairstyles. They make me squee.

Also, I totally dig the classic Chinese-style furniture and sets throughout the film. Actually, looking at these screenshots, it dawns on me how many of them look like paintings. I guess the director’s training at the Beijing Art Institute shows.

And finally, I adore the use of scenery in this film.

Whee!

That Gender Thing

In 1960s Hong Kong, homosexuality was a major taboo, and no mainstream film could delve into it (actually, I think even non-mainstream films wouldn’t have been to go there).

So of course this film is totally het, right? Well … nominally.

First of all, Zhu Yingtai is a “Sweet Polly Oliver,” since she wants to be a scholar but only boys are allowed to get scholarly training. But this is so common in creative works that this by itself not remarkable.

Then, this film is an example of “Sweet on Polly Oliver,” what with Liang Shanbo falling for Zhu Yingtai before he knows her true gender. This can of course be interpreted as boys’ love in a way. But even this is not particularly special.

However, the film takes this gender business to another level by casting an actress, Ivy Ling Po, to play Liang Shanbo, the charming male lead.

So, there is a character, played by an actress, who is a woman disguised as a man, and she falls in love with a man, who is also being played by an actress.

Though I don’t think it was intentional, there is definitely a case to be made for lesbian subtext when you have two characters performed by women professing their romantic love for each other.

While I think looking at this as boys’ love or as containing lesbian subtext are both valid interpretations, I prefer to see this film as depicting gender as irrelevant. These two characters are so in love with each other that their gender does not actually matter. Likewise, it isn’t a problem that Ivy Ling Po doesn’t have the same gender as her character since she does such a splendid job.

I think this is part of the reason why this film (and similar things, such as the Takarazuka review) have so many devoted fans—this invites people to shed the tyranny of gender roles and express themselves freely.

Speaking of the actresses…

The Stars

This is the film which propelled Ling Po, one of the most celebrated Chinese movie actresses ever, into stardom. It was also, as far as I know, her first male role. Due to the popularity of this performance, she was repeatedly cast in male roles in later films, and also starred in the Shaw Brothers version of Mulan.

Having seen this film, I have a clue why she is so beloved. It was very touching to see Liang Shanbo’s reaction to the revelation that Zhu Yingtai is female and wants to marry him. And the most moving scene of all in this film for me was this scene between Liang Shanbo and his mother, and I would give Ivy Ling Po 50% of the credit for this (I would divide the other 50% of the credit between the director and the music composer). More than anything else, Ivy Ling Po convinced me that she was deeply, deeply in love with Zhu Yingtai.

No wonder so many women became fans of this “Brother Liang.”

Now I am going to have to see more Ivy Ling Po films.

By focusing so much on Ivy Ling Po, I don’t mean to slight Betty Loh Ti. She does a fine job performing Zhu Yingtai. Betty Loh Ti was already a star when this film was made, and in shows in the way that the film focuses more on Zhu Yingtai than Liang Shanbo. She was best known as a beauty, but she could also act. While I don’t think her performance had the heart-grabbing sincerity of Ivy Ling Po’s Liang Shanbo, I do appreciate the way she showed how Zhu Yingtai had to subtly balance dropping hints at Liang Shanbo and maintaining her disguise.

The Directing Style

I think the genius of the way Li Hanxiang directed this film is that HE WAS NOT SUBTLE. He put tons of obvious metaphors throughout the film (see the beginning of the post, with Liang Shanbo’s merriness cut off by a solemn parade). While Zhu Yingtai and Liang Shanbo are travelling together, having a merry time, there’s lots of calm, beautiful scenery in nice, relaxing sunlight. After Zhu Yingtai and Liang Shanbo have been driven apart, there’s lot of wind, sunset colors, and other not-so-subtle signs that the world has been broken.

Yet it never feels heavy-handed. The point is that it is supposed to feel grander than life, and putting in metaphor after metaphor just drives things deeper into the audiences psyches.

Availability in English

This film is available on DVD with English subtitles, but apparently only in region 3 (if you know of a legal, non-region 3 DVD with English subtitles, please comment). It is also available on Blu-ray (Region A)v with English subtitles.

Conclusion

To be honest, I’m not entirely sure what to make of this film. I had never seen any other film quite like it before. Now, I do plan to see more Huangmei opera films, which will probably help.

When I first saw this film, I was rather irritated that they didn’t even try to elope. Yeah, it would have been difficult, but surely it would have sucked less than dying, not to mention that we are dealing with a female protagonist who had the guts to trick her parents into letting her live as a man to study away from home for three years. I would have felt better if they had tried to elope, failed, and then died (at the same time, I know there are cultural reasons why this was less feasible in classical China than in, say, medieval Europe).

But when I saw the film a second time, I got over that irritating business, and was able to more fully enjoy the many wonderful things about this film. It truly is a classic.

Next time: The 8th Bronze Man of Shaolin (manhua)

Note: there will be a 1-week hiatus … the next post will appear on October 29th

***

Sara K. apologizes for the reduced reliability this month. She should have more free time in November. If you’re wondering why this post is late, it’s because she missed the last train and had to spend an extra night in Hualian (not that spending an extra night in Hualian is a bad thing). At least she did get to go on Taiwan’s ‘Vertigo Trail’.