A Survey of Twentieth-century Literary Theory and Criticism in Chinese
In their article "A Survey of Twentieth-century Literary Theory and Criticism in Chinese"
Xiaoming Chen and Anfeng Sheng survey Chinese-language scholarship that for the reason of the East-
West divide is less known in the West. Although heavily influenced by both Western and Soviet Marxist
thought, twentieth-century Chinese literary theorization and criticism produced much incisive
scholarship based on the vast knowledge existing in Chinese culture and literary scholarship. Chen and
Sheng survey pioneering works by numerous Chinese literary theorists and critics who have been
influential in their own time and exerted persistent modeling influences until today and the article is
meant to adjust the anonymous position of Chinese literary theorization in the West and thus to
contribute to the diversity of literary studies.
Mo Yan in Context : Nobel Laureate and Global Storyteller
In "A Mutually Rewarding yet Uneasy and Sometimes Fragile Relationship between Author and Translator" Howard Goldblatt discusses the literary merits of Mo Yan's works to situate his selection as the 2012 Nobel Prize in Literature laureate. The account is text based, a task done with significant knowledge since Goldblatt is Mo Yan's translator to English. Text based means understanding the process of translation, respecting reader reception and authorial intent, and referring to the work primarily, but not limited to Mo Yan's latest novels published in English, establishing his bona fides as a master storyteller. This method contrasts with some media responses directly following Mo Yan's selection and reviews, some of which are, in turn, reviewed. I have heard talk in recent months that the author of those internationally acclaimed novels we have been hearing about was in reality a US-American, Howard Goldblatt, and that he is, in fact, the real Mo Yan. I categorically deny that. Mo Yan is a Chinese novelist who received three gold medals, US $1.2 million, and a handshake from King Carl XVI Gustaf of Sweden. But wait a minute. Which Mo Yan are people referring to? That Chinese author of a dozen or so novels, many of which were labeled hallucinatory realism by the academy? Or maybe the Swedish Mo Yan, who lives most of her life as Anna Gustafsson Chen? Or how about the Japanese Mo Yan, an engaging fellow otherwise known as Tomio Yoshida? Then there are the two French Mo Yans, Noël Dutrait and Chantal Chen-Andro; a Norwegian Mo Yan who wrote to me as Brith Sæthre; and even an Italian Mo Yan, Patrizia Liberati. I'd be remiss if I did not at least give a shout-out to the American Mo Yan ... well, we are back to the original rumor. In December 2012 the newly elevated Chinese Nobel laureate invited those several avatars to join him at his expense in Stockholm for the annual conclave. Beyond the excitement of actually dressing up for this most celebratory of ceremonies 24 Author and Translator and participating in the week-long festivities surrounding it, we less famous Mo Yans were given an opportunity to compare notes, discuss issues of fidelity, literariness, and even marketing in relation to our versions of such novels as Red Sorghum, Big Breasts and Wide Hips, and more. It did not quite pan out, in part because all those unfamiliar tongues kept getting in the way, and because we saw the experience more as play than work. Much has been written in China and elsewhere lately about how Mo Yan's translators actually earned the prize for the Chinese novelist. I am sure that cannot please him, and he has reason to be unhappy. The novels for which he was nominated and selected for the prize are his creations. Or are they? He once responded to a question of mine in regard to one of his translations with something like: "Do what you want. I can't read what you've written. It's your book." See what I mean? We know that only one Swedish Academy member reads Chinese, so they had to rely on other Mo Yans to determine the Chinese Mo Yan's worthiness for selection. But this cannot be the first time. How many Italian readers were there among them when they selected playwright Dario Fo? Russian for Joseph Brodsky? Hungarian for Imre Kertész? Chinese (again) for Gao Xingjian? I do not mean to diminish the accomplishments or qualifications of any winners of this coveted prize; rather, I want to acknowledge the critical role a writer's translators play, especially when the talk rolls around to "language." Some writers have a cordial, rewarding relationship with their translators and some do not. Mo Yan has never been especially vocal in his support or disapproval of those of us who not only love but also translate his novels into many languages, yet he has referred to some of us publicly and seems to be friendly with most. He has insisted that a writer must not write for the translator—unfortunately that happens—and, to his credit, he does not. I imagine that, like many writers, he would be happier if a decent Google translation program could put us "stylists" out of business, but if that were the case, then only Scandinavian writers would win Nobel Prizes from here on out. We do not want that, despite the pleasure we get from reading Henning Mankell, Jo Nesbø, Håkan Nesser, and, of course, Tomas Transtromer, the Swedish poet who actually did win the prize the year before we—I mean, Mo Yan—won. I imagine that most people who are not translators do not think much about the role of translators in literary production generally, or about the individual translators of works they read. And why should they? We are supposed to be invisible. There really is no compelling reason to be concerned about whether or not the translator gets his or her due, since the beauty of a translated work, it seems, accrues to the original author and the warts to the translator. Sometimes, of course, that's not true. The renowned translator of Spanish and Portuguese literature Gregory Rabassa was complimented by Gabriel García Márquez, who is reported to have said that the English translation of his One Hundred Years of Solitude was superior to the original, a revelation that may or may not have pleased the translator (see Rabassa 96). Here I am reminded of a
The Tsadik and His Soul’s Sparks: From Kabbalah to Hasidism
The present study shows the continuity between the Safedian Kabbalistic view of the relations between the sparks of a certain soul, and the Hasidic theory, that was conceived of as innovated by and characteristic of 18th century Hasidism, as to the responsibility of the Tsadik for the sparks that belongs to his soul. In the two literatures, the rescue of a spark of one's soul is related to the beautiful captive woman that is conceived of as an externalization of an inner dimension of the righteous person, immersed in a shell.