The Italian adage that a translator must perforce be a traitor is difficult, if not impossible, to negate. Professor Owen's An Anthology of Chinese Literature: Beginnings to 1911 of which he is both editor and translator cannot escape the maxim, at best he can be judged to have been a traitor for a just cause. The use of the word "anthology" in the title is misleading. As Owen points out in his introduction, his is not an attempt to gather the best or the neglected masterpieces but to present a body of work, which spans almost 3000 years, in such a way that the literary tradition of China emerges with all its myriad textures from the wispy mists of the mysterium orientalis.

In the west we often tend to forget how much we are actually bound by and to culture. The literary tradition of a culture is formed over centuries, and, as T.S. Eliot pointed out repeatedly and masterfully in his essays and lectures, each and every generation of poets or writers arises from the ashes of previous generations. Be they staid supporters, refiners or the renegade challengers, the word-makers which come to represent an age do so within the tapestry of a living literary tradition. Both evolutions and revolutions take place within a context, with James Joyce we witnessed a leap within our tradition which many have still trouble grasping, yet his work is firmly anchored to the western tradition with such reverberations as Irish oral folklore and the Homeric traditions.

Owen undertakes to give us an overview of the Chinese literary tradition by a series of texts which as one proceeds become echoed, evolved or challenged. The erudition with which the collection is juxtaposed show Professor Owen to be a truly masterful editor. That he chose to translate all of the 600 odd entries save a few is both praiseworthy and damnable. His use at times of American-English to represent the vernacular and British-English for classical Chinese will undoubtedly irritate many readers (especially non-Americans), which, as he points out, might well represent the reaction of Chinese contemporary readers. That in itself is not an obstacle, nor is the fact that he has avoided many habitual words that have crept into the translation of classical Chinese. Such habits as using the word "wine" for a variety of beverages, even when it is a form of beer, have formed a set pattern to the translation of Chinese. Some, will undoubtedly be surprised at how "non-Chinese" some of the translations sound, but as one enters into the tradition we can be thankful that Owen has left the "Chineseness" of the language to take care of itself. It is, however, unavoidable that a single translator will impart a certain homogeneous stamp to the texts translated. When it is a question of a handful of authors, or texts of a certain era, it is relatively unproblematical; we can accept the fact that a good translator will bring across the original voice co-mingled with his or her own, but here we have a vast selection of texts written by a large number of authors which span from the tenth century B.C to 1911 and a single translator, no matter how expert, is unable to give us such a variety of tones as exist in the original texts.

It is also unfortunate that Owen did not include a brief note on the romanisation of Chinese. Most readers will be familiar with the older Wade-Giles romanisation and will be perplexed at the Pinyin, which was established by the Chinese as the new standard for romanising Chinese sounds in the 1930's, thus anyone searching for Tu Fu or Chuang Tzu will need to know that they should look for Du Fu and Zhuang-zi.

Owen's spectrum of texts, beginning with early China, opens with a selection from the "Classic of Poetry", a collection of 305 poems reputed to have been culled from some 3000 poems of the early Zhou (Chou) dynasty (begun 1122 B.C.) by Confucius. Owen translates about 60 of the poems. Although his translations are always accurate one cannot help feeling that some of verve and freshness is missing from those poems reputed to have come from the common people. Poem 76 "Zhong-zi, Please" was translated by Liu Wu-Chi in "An Introduction to Chinese Literature" (Bloomington, Ind., 1968) as "I beg you, Chung-tzu". The two versions of the opening stanza read as follows:

Stephen Owen's

Zhong-zi, please
don't cross my village wall,
don't break the willows planted there.
It's not that I care so much for them,
but I dread my father and mother;
Zhong-zi may be in my thoughts,
but what my father and mother said-
that too may be held in dread.

Liu Wu-Chi's

I beg you, Chung-tzu
Do not leap into my homestead
Do not break my willow trees!
Not that I care about them,
But I am afraid of my parents.
Chung I dearly love,
But of my parents' words
Indeed I am afraid.

How well or badly a text translates depends ultimately on the translator's willingness and ability to grasp the intent of the original mind which composed the text. Liu and Owen could be said to represent the dichotomy of Confucian and Taoist bent of mind respectively, thus Owen's translation of Taoist oriented texts have body and soul (or bone and wind as the Chinese would say) but when it comes to texts which are attributed to the Confucian tradition a certain aloofness creeps in. It is rare for a Westerner not to take sides in the Confucian/Taoist ploy, and thereby exaggerate the differences between the two, whereas it is not uncommon for a Chinese to see the two as complimentary, and have one foot in each camp as it were, but translation is an art that most often works better when one translates into one's own language rather than out of it.

The remaining two thirds of the section on early China are devoted to excerpts from the Zhuang-zi (Chuang Tzu) with its delightful parodies of the staunch Confucians, sections from Mencius, Confucian Analects giving their pedagogical interpretations on the "Classic of Poetry", historical records, "Classic of Changes" (I Ching), early narrative and literary prose as well as political oratory. The section dedicated to Si-ma Qian (Ssu-ma Ch'ien), China's first great historian, comes to life in Owen's translation as the able narrator and inspired biographer which he was, the restrained pathos of his "Letter in Reply to Ren An" benefits greatly from the lack of "Chineseness" and, more importantly, allows us to discern the man who wrote it over 2000 years ago.

The last section on early China is devoted to the "Chu-ci" (Ch'u Tz'u) "Songs or Lyrics of Chu". If the "Classic of Poetry" was the product of an oral tradition, with the "Chu-ci" we have the emergence of individual lyric poets. The "Chu-ci" anthology is largely ascribed to Qu Yuan (Ch'u Yuan) and his supposed follower Song Yu (Sung-Yu) (both 3rd century B.C.). The emergence of rhymed metrical poetry represents a major step in a literary tradition and the tragic figure of Qu Yuan, who committed suicide by drowning himself in the Mi-lou river, is popularly referred to as the father of Chinese poetry. In later ages it became customary for poets who passed by the Mi-lou river to write a poem to his memory and cast them adrift on the river.

Throughout the anthology Owen leaps forward in time to give a glimpse of how the earlier texts are echoed within the tradition. It is these transverse cross-sections, in an otherwise chronological sequence, which draw one to explore beyond the surface. The picture that emerges is one of a rich full bodied tradition which is constantly re-evaluating itself and evolving. Although as an anthology the work can be used as a source book for picking out texts, in which case the background notes will be found wanting, it is as a compendium, in its truest and best sense, that Owen's work is invaluable if not unique. Anyone who takes the time to progress through the texts, even if only in a flitting manner, will be richly rewarded with a full picture of the Chinese literary tradition.

With the Chinese "Middle Ages", as the period ranging from approximately 220 B.C to 617 A.D. is deceptively termed, we witness the development of several new forms of literary activities.

Alongside the Yue-fu (Yueh-fu) or Music Office lyrics, that were originally to be sung to the accompaniment of music (the titles of the yeh-fu indicating the melody to which it was written), Classical Poetry or shi (shih) developed and formed an important contrast with the earlier tradition by adopting the 5 character line of the yue-fu (as opposed to the 4 character line of earlier shi) and becoming more personal in tone. As Owen points out, the great social upheavals which took place in this period shifted the perspective of the official-vs-private life, this shift is reflected in the poetry of the age. Although many of the early poems of this period are still anonymous, the tone is a personal one. Owen's selection of classical shi poetry, grouped by themes such as "parting", "longing on the road" and "impermanence and disillusion" give a coherent picture of the developing tradition. In the "Middle Ages" section of the anthology Owen also explores the theme of the "feast" in Chinese culture and "anecdotes, parables and profound jokes" before proceeding to the poetry of the Southern Dynasties.

With northern China in the hands of non-Chinese overlords, the émigré elite in the south brought forth some of the greatest poets of "solitude and isolation" but the south also exerted its influence. Often referred to as the region of fire and vegetation the south, with its luscious and wild nature, formed a sharp contrast to the often stark north.

The closing section of the "Middle Ages" is devoted to traditional literary theory. Owen is thoroughly familiar with the subject, his "Readings in Chinese Literary Thought" (Harvard-Yenching Institute Monograph Series, 30, 1992) with its line by line commentaries on the major works of Chinese literary theory is a masterpiece in itself. Here Owen gives two of the classics of the genre. The texts have nothing of the dry academic feel that pervades much of western literary theory. As Owen points out in his introduction Lu Ji (Lu Chi) (261-303) is unique, his "Poetic Exposition on Literature" (translated here in its entirety) is pure "poetry on poetry". On the poet/writer preparing to compose Lu Ji writes:

He roams in the groves and treasuries of literary works,
And admires the perfect balance in their well-wrought craft.
With strong feeling he puts book aside and takes his writing brush
To make it appear in literature.
This is how it begins:
         retraction of vision, inversion of listening,
         absorbed in thought and seeking all around,
         essence galloping to the world's eight ends,
         the mind roaming thousand of yards, high and low.

The work could be epitomized by two lines from the coming to birth of the creative work;

This trail of void and nothing to demand of it being,
A knock upon silence, seeking its sound

Lu Ji's neo-Taoist bent is evident and well translated by Owen (though the slight changes from his previous translation of 1992 are not always an improvement).

The other work of which Owen gives a carefully selected range is from "The Literary Mind Carves Dragons" by Liu Xie (Liu Hsieh) (ca. 465-522). (The full text has been translated and annotated in English as; "The Literary Mind and the Carving of Dragons" by Vincent Yu-chung Shih, new bilingual edition, Chinese University Press, Hong Kong 1983). Leaving the Buddhist monastery school Liu Xie entered the literary world with this work which has always been reputed as challenging and difficult to grasp in the original Chinese and presents even greater difficulties in translation. Owen introduces the most important aspects of the work and those which required the least annotations. In the "Spirit Thought" chapter, Liu Xie writes:

In the shaping of literary thought, the most important thing is emptiness and stillness within. Cleanse you inner organs and wash the spirit pure. Accumulate learning in order to build a treasury; consider the principles of things in order to enrich your talent; explore and experience things to know all that appears; then guide it along and spin the words out.

It is a pity that Owen did not include a voice from the later period of the anthology, "The origins of Poetry" by Yeh Hsieh (1627-1703) which he translated in his "Readings in Chinese Literary Thought" would have made a fine compliment to the two texts which he offers in the closing passages to the Chinese "Middle Ages".

 With the Tang Dynasty (618-922) poetry burst forth with unprecedented parallel. The surviving body of work as represented by the Quan Tang Shi (Ch'uan T'ang Shih) (Complete Tang Poems) anthology compiled in 1706 contain almost 50,000 poems by some 2200 writers. Poetry became the method by which officials communicated among themselves and the court.

Owen introduces the pervasiveness of poetry during the Tang by giving a series of "theme" poems such as "sorry to have missed you" and "parting" poems. His translations of Tang poetry are both well selected and masterful. However, his brief description of the Tang verse form and the development of the "recent style" poems could have been more explicit. The example he gives with the word-for-word gloss of the Chinese characters would have benefited from the inclusion of the sound (revealing the rhyme and tonal pattern), rather than the Chinese characters. It is interesting to note that the added rules and restraints of the "new-style" poems, which characterized the Tang, were accompanied by such a flourishing of poetry.

Wang Wei, Li Bo (Li Po), Du Fu (Tu Fu), and other major poets of Tang poetry are well represented. The alternating of theme sections with selections of works by the main voices of the tradition, an arrangement which Owen uses throughout the anthology, enables the picture of the overall tradition to emerge.

The section on the Tang period ends with four love tales. "Yin-ying's Story" of broken faith contains, as Owen notes, "a remarkable piece of prose" which recalls to mind the "Lettre Portugaises" of Marianna Alcoforada. Owen's use of "harp" for the Chinese qin (ch'in) is indeed, as he admits, an imperfect translation, and although his rendering of Chinese into true English is to be lauded, the image "harp" in these tales is not authentic. The qin, a zither of silk strings stretched over an arched board which acts as a resonator, is one of China's most ancient and poetic of instruments. Its associations of restraining evil passions and rectifying the heart deserve to be briefly introduced and kept as a "qin" or a "zither"; especially when, as in one of the tales, it is used by a jealous husband to beat his wife.

 With the Song (Sung) period (960-1279) a new flourishing of lyrics for songs developed. The emergence of the professional story-teller and writer-musician reaffirmed the oral tradition and was reflected in a wealth of writing which aimed to represent the spoken language.

Although rubbings of stone or metal inscription had enabled reliable copies of some texts to be available, the freer use of printing, that had begun in the Tang, had an important impact on the Song period. As Owen traces the diversity of genres, from both the popular and literati spheres the echos and interaction with the preceding and contemporary traditions become more apparent. The literary output of the Song period, characterized by its stress on private life and everyday details, provides us with a rare insight into the lives and thoughts of the individuals of the times.

Li Qing-zho's (Li Ch'ing-chao) "Epilogue to Records on Metal and Stone" written in 1132, gives a poignant account of her and her husband's collecting of books and rubbings which soon turned into an obsession, having witnessed the amassing of a huge collection and its subsequent destruction through war she recalls the joys and sorrow:

I happen to have an excellent memory, and every evening after we finished eating, we would sit in the hall called "Return Home" and make tea. Pointing to the heaps of books and histories, we would guess on which line of which page in which chapter of which book a certain passage could be found. Success in guessing determined who got to drink his or her tea first. Whenever I got it right, I would raise the teacup, laughing so hard that the tea would spill in my lap, and I would get up, not having to (sic) been able to drink any of it at all.

Li Qing-zho ends her account with a warning:

... how much calamity, how much gain and loss have I witnessed! Where there is possession, there must be loss of possession; when there is a gathering together, there must be a scattering - this is the constant principle in things. Someone loses a bow; another person finds a bow; what's so special in that? The reason why I have recorded this story from beginning to end in such detail is to let it serve as a warning for scholars and collectors in later generations.

The last lines echo the underlying principle of the "Classic of Changes" (I Ching) in whose tradition the collection "was most perfect and complete".

 With the section on the Yuan and Ming Dynasties (1260 to 1661) Owen uses the selection of popular songs, bawdy variety plays, story cycles of the fantastic and romance to reflect the antithesis between the literary and popular modes of expression which, at a given time, emerges in the development of a tradition and forms a ramification of traditions within the overall literary practice. With the accumulation of an ever larger source of past literary achievements there also arises the concern to discern the living ethos of the time. In a carefully selected section of "Late Ming Informal Prose" we witness the struggle of new voices affirming that literary expression which traps itself into copying the form and language of old masterpieces deadens the soul. Just as at its origin the "Classic of Poetry" emerged from the people's speech, the Yuan and Ming period sought a return to a spontaneous and natural form of expression.

The anthology concludes with extracts from the most famous dramatic romances which characterized the Qing (Ch'ing) Dynasty (1616-1911), and a selection of Qing poetry. Although Owen discusses the development of the great novels of this age, the difficulty of representing them by extract falls beyond the scope of the anthology.

The richness of allusions and echos with the anterior tradition makes Qing poetry difficult to translate without an excessive amount of footnotes. Owen's skilful selection gives a good glimpse of this often neglected domain of late Chinese poetry.

It is unfortunate that a postscript on modern Chinese literature was not commissioned for the anthology. Professor Owen's stance that with the pervasive influence of the western literary tradition the Chinese tradition came to a close is untenable. The manner in which a given tradition responds to new influences is the very stuff of which living literary traditions are made.

Un traduttore e sempre un traditore.

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