John LeCarre, An Appreciation

John LeCarre gave us an alternative to the glitzy hi-jinks of James Bond in 1963 with The Spy Who Came in From the Cold and followed up in 1974 with Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy.  Otherwise, the spy novel would surely have continued in the rut of dare-devil hero versus the Bad Guy(s) with the formulaic certainty, quite comforting after all, that good would triumph over evil after a tour of some of the more hedonistic watering holes of the jet set.

LeCarre’s places were almost always dingy by comparison, except perhaps for the embassy parties in The Constant Gardener; and instead of superheroes in five star restaurants and hotels, he took us into the world of spy craft, deception, interrogation, and into the minds of the spies. In one Eastern European country, “surveillance was not usually a problem, for the security forces knew next to nothing about watching streets.”  Back in London, Smiley drove past the “unlovable fascades of the Edgeware … the sky was black with waiting rain, and all that remained of the sun was a lingering redness on the tarmac."

With all the power in his writing and his interest in the motivation of his characters, LeCarre reinvented the spy thriller as psychological novel.  “It is a habit in all of us,” he noted, “to make our cover stories our assumed personae, at least parallel with the reality.”  Therefore a good spymaster should take more seriously the opposition’s cover stories.  Similarly, the interrogator must beware the almost automatic urge to project himself into the life of a man who does not speak.

When Smiley finally uncovers the mole in the Circus, “he saw with painful clarity an ambitious man born to the big canvas… for whom the reality was a poor island with scarcely a voice that would carry.”  The mole’s initial betrayals were at first limited to “directly advance the Russian cause over the American.”  It was the realization, after Britain’s failure to assert itself at the Suez Canal, that its situation was inane that led him to become a mole working unreservedly for the Russians.

The literary and geopolitical landscapes have changed since he wrote.  There is still the temptation to write about covert operations as opposed to the gathering and analysis of intelligence.  But writers today do not pause and savor words as fussily as LeCarre did.  There are new enemies and battles to be fought but alas the same jingoism (to be avoided we hope by the better writers).

Above all, in the twilight of the bipolar world (divided between East and West, the Iron Curtain, or as it was once asserted between the inheritors of Latin Christianity and the epigones of Greek Orthodoxy) there is the challenge to write of geopolitics and intelligence in this new world without the artistic device of a Manichaean battle between good and evil.  Would that he were still here to show us how.

Women in "The Romance of the Three Kingdoms"

The proper place for women is first described in Romance in the first chapter in which many signs appear suggesting the decay of the Han Dynasty.  Cai Yong, a senior minister called upon to explain these unusual conditions wrote a memorial to the Emperor “asserting that the rainbow in the harem and the metamorphosis of the hens signified the improper influence of the imperial consorts and the eunuchs in public policy.”  The Emperor being indeed under the influence of the eunuchs did not do anything; civil unrest in the form of the Huang Jin rebellion ensued.

When the Emperor Ling lay a-dying (chapter 2 of the Romance), the succession was disputed between his wife and his mother, that is, the Empress He who naturally supported her own son Bian, and the Empress Dowager Dong who protected Xie, the son born to one of Ling’s concubines.  Both had the conflicted support of the eunuchs, who were inclined in the final analysis to support the Empress Dowager (secretly) since they had less to fear from her.  As she watched the Empress Dowager’s political moves, the Empress He decided to confront her at a banquet.  She declared:  “As women, it is not proper for us to participate in court matters.  In ancient times, the Empress Dowager Lu, wife of the first Han emperor, attempted to obtain power and as a result her paternal clan was totally exterminated.  Now I believe, we should seclude ourselves, ‘under nine layers’ as the saying goes, and leave matters of state to the councilors and our elders.  Thus, our nation will continue to enjoy good fortune.”

Dong overplayed her hand when she accused He of having Xie’s mother poisoned and declared that she, Dong, could eliminate both He and her brother He Jin, the military commander-in-chief.  He protested and said:  “I have tried to urge a positive approach, why such anger on your part?”  To which Dong replied:  “You are from a family of small-time butchers, what would you know?”

Even though it portrays them as less than inspiring figures, this episode does not demean the position of the women; it simply shows them with motives and actions more or less comparable to that of the male actors in the story.  Indeed, He’s reference to the consequences of the Dowager Empress Lu’s attempt to gain more authority than was her due, makes it clear that she at least recognized what the ground rules were – she recognized the limits of female intrigue.

The case of Lady Cai, second wife of Liu Biao, is very similar; she wanted to increase the influence of the Cai family in Jingzhou and relied on her brother Cai Mao.  Together they made Biao’s younger son Liu Cong over Liu Qi, the oldest son.  (Whether Cong was her own son or not is beyond the scope of this essay; my own opinion is that he was not.) 

When, after the Battle of Chibi, the leaders of Jiangdong schemed to regain Jingzhou, the role of women is shown to be more complex.  Much has been made of Sun Quan’s filial piety to his mother; in addition one should consider the mother’s actions.  When she found out about the scheme to use the offer of Quan’s sister in marriage as a ploy to lure Liu Bei to Jiangdong, she was furious.  When Quan tried to pass the blame to Zhou Yu, Lady Wu grew even more furious:  “So the great Zhou Yu, protector of six prefectures and eighty-one cities, cannot think of a better way of getting Jingzhou than to use my daughter as bait!  If you kill Bei, her life will be ruined; who in the world will consider a proposal for her marriage?  You all are such geniuses!”

After the marriage of the princess (Lady Sun) to Liu Bei, their relationship appears to be that almost of equals.  Bei wanted to get back to Jingzhou but, he told Lady Sun, he did not want to do so without her and she of her own free will decided to leave Jiangdong with him.  When troops sent after them to prevent Bei’s escape finally caught up with their party, she faced the men down: “Do you only obey Zhou Yu?  Do you dare act against me?  If Yu has the power of life and death over you, do you think that I do not have the same power over him?”

Of course, women do not play a major role in the Romance; it is after all about the future of “all under Heaven.”  Only in the twentieth century have women gained the right to vote.  But the  Romance  is supposed to be reflective of the popular culture seen through the prism of 15^th century literati neo-Confucianism.  The position of women in China would get worse; it was under the Qing that various chastity laws were promulgated.  (The Qing, however, also tried to put an end to foot-binding but in this they failed although they succeeded in making men wear the "pigtail".)

All this is to say that sweeping generalizations about Confucius/Chinese tradition being anti-feminist are misguided.

Fate and Loyalty in "The Romance of the Three Kingdoms"

One of the aspects of the Romance that makes it a classic is that it is not only a collection of fascinating stories, poems, battle scenes, political or military tricks/strategies; it is also suffused with a moral philosophy, perhaps with more than one.  Values matter more or less to the participants in the story; they always matter to the narrator or compiler of the Romance.  Of these values/beliefs are two that collide as the action unfolds: loyalty and fate.

Loyalty begins with filial piety on the not unreasonable assumption that a son filial to his father and ancestors would be loyal to his lord and to the Emperor.  The first step on the ladder of civil service would be to be recommended for one’s “abilities and filial devotion” (舉孝廉) as was Cao Cao when he was twenty (Romance, ch. 1), even though he becomes the leader of the Usurpers of Han imperial authority.  Of Zhou Yu, it was said that he “unfailingly respected his elders” (以交伯符, Romance, ch. 57). 

At the same time, the idea that Fate determined one’s life events was fairly universal.  Sun Jian, the founder of the Wu kingdom in Jiangdong was known more for his martial prowess than the depth of his understanding of astrology; nonetheless, in chapter 6 of the Romance, he remarks that the emperor’s star had grown dim, foreshadowing the fall of the dynasty. 

While planning the final battles of Chibi in chapter 50 of the Romance, Liu Bei and Zhuge Liang of the Loyalist party discuss whether or not Guan Yu could be counted on to guard the final pass that Cao Cao would have to pass through in order to reach safety; they were both aware of his strong sense of honor and felt that since Cao had shown Guan some kindness in the past, Guan would find it difficult to capture Cao.  Liang remarked that he had consulted the astrological charts and found “no indication that Fate has determined Cao’s capture”; therefore giving the assignment to Guan Yu would allow him to earn merit with mercy and “that is also a good thing.”

Chapter 54 of the Romance provides another striking example of the importance of divining what Fate has in store.  In this chapter, Sun Quan and Zhou Yu of the Wu kingdom that had briefly joined the Loyalists to defeat the Usurpers scheme to use a marriage proposal to the Loyalist Liu Bei (offering Quan’s sister as a bride) in order to lure him into Jiangdong where he can be held for ransom (for the province of Jingzhou).  Zhuge Liang agrees with Liu Bei that this is very likely what the Wu leaders intended, but declares that consultation with the stars indicate that nothing untoward would happen to Bei; he therefore urges Bei to accept. 

This notion of Fate extends well beyond the Three Kingdoms:  Graff, in his Medieval Chinese Warfare (Routledge, 2002), noted that there are several chapters on divination in Tang dynasty military manuals even though the historical records, written by more orthodox Confucian scholars, tend to obscure the role of such practices.  Ichisada Miyazaki, 1981, China’s Examination Hell, documents the widespread belief that Fate and spirits influenced if not determined the results of China’s vaunted examination system.

In the context of the events of the Three Kingdoms, when it seemed clear that the Han dynasty was in trouble, there was bound to be a collision between the value of loyalty and the belief that Fate determines the course of events; what should be the proper role of a man who wished to remain loyal when it seems clear that the dynasty is failing, i. e., losing its mandate to rule?  How can loyalty be demonstrated when it would appear that the Mandate of Heaven decreed a change? 

By the time of the Ming dynasty, the scholars had given sufficient thought to this question and, no doubt with the encouragement of the imperial court, codified the proper response:  a man who had sworn to uphold a dynasty could not change his allegiance even if the Mandate of Heaven decrees otherwise.  Those who had not sworn allegiance were free to choose which side they each would uphold.  This was not so clear at the time of the Three Kingdoms and the uncertainty is reflected in the Romance (compiled during the early Ming dynasty).  Such uncertainty gave rise to debate and argumentation that provides an additional dimension of interest to the stories in the Romance.

In chapter 37 of the Romance, Liu Bei meets Cui Zhouping, a close friend of Zhuge Liang’s (the target of Bei’s search for an advisor in his quest to restore the imperial order).  Zhouping declares that order and disorder both proceeded from Heaven, that “peace is getting old and there is cause for dried up spears to be wielded again all over,” and that once Heaven had determined the course of events man should not stubbornly attempt to reverse it (命之所在，人不得而強之乎).  Bei asks to hear more but declares “I am a servant of the Han and have sworn to support it; I would not dare to leave it to Fate.”  At this point, Zhouping pleads ignorance of contemporary affairs and declines to engage in further discussion.  While, Bei’s oath-brothers Guan Yu and Zhang Fei are dismissive of the encounter, Bei seemed anxious to hear more on the subject.

The clash of these values/beliefs is most clearly stated in chapter 43 of the Romance in which Zhuge Liang debates the councilors of the Wu kingdom as well as Sun Quan himself.  During the debate, Liang is asked what he thought of Cao Cao; he replies curtly that Cao is a traitor to the Han at which point one of the Wu councilors, interjects to say that the Han era had passed and that Heaven would dispose of its end.  Liang replies harshly that in embracing Fate, such a person has dishonored his father and his ruler (天下之所共憤﹔公乃以天數歸之，真無父無君之人也).  

Another of the Wu councilor asserts that Cao’s legitimacy did not only spring from the fact that he was holding the Son of Heaven hostage but also because he, Cao, was related to a former prime minister serving the Han.  Liang replies that, in that case, Cao is not only a traitor to the imperial dynasty but is also despicably lacking in filial piety for he is rebelling against the ruler and the dynasty his ancestors had served (不惟漢室之亂臣，亦曹氏之賊子也).

Liang provides something of a resolution of this collision of values in what might have been the end of his mission to forge an alliance between Bei’s Loyalist forces and those of Wu/Jiangdong; he meets with Sun Quan who asks the question why Bei remained defiant of Cao while a reasonable assessment of the military situation might lead others to conclude that it would be best to submit.  Lord Bei, Liang said, remains defiant because he does not accept that Fate should determine his actions, let others do what they would; Bei would not yield.

 It would seem clear that Zhuge Liang has been made the mouth-piece of the Ming neo-Confucian view regarding the balance of loyalty and fate.  But it should not be assumed that Luo Guanzhong was simply toeing the “party line.”  Of the five bosom friends that regularly met and discussed moral and political concerns, Cui Zhouping and two others opted for the “contemplative life” while Xu Shu was Bei’s first advisor on strategy until a forged letter brought him to his mother who was under house arrest in Cao’s camp.   Zhuge Liang of course chose to become Bei’s second and last advisor.  Just before he met and joined Bei, however, he and Zhouping were on one of their usual wandering trips. 

One can only wonder what they discussed during those days.  It is unlikely that the proximity of the events within the narrative of the Romance was a coincidence, and much more likely that Luo intentionally set the discussion between Zhouping and Bei in such close logical and chronological proximity to Liang’s debate in Jiangdong to highlight the uncomfortable collision of the two values/beliefs.  

Mother Xu embodies "virtu"

In the Romance of the Three Kingdoms, one of the two exemplars of xian (the neo-Confucian equivalent of Machiavelli's virtu) is a woman, Mother Xu.  She was the mother of the first consiglieri to Liu Bei, the Loyalist Lord of one of the Three Kingdoms.  Her son is tricked into visiting her as she was held hostage by Cao Cao, the Usurper Lord of another of the Three Kingdoms.  Once there, he would not be free to serve the Loyalist cause again.  His mother excoriates him thoroughly for this stupid mistake and then steps into the room next door to underline her lesson by committing suicide. 
The text continues to extol her xian, quoting a poem in her honor.  To reflect the changing times and tastes/styles, three translations are presented here:

Wise Mother Xun, fair is your fame,
The storied page glows with your name,
From duty's path you never strayed,
The family's renown you made.
To train your son no pains you spared,
For your own body nothing cared.
You stand sublime, from us apart,
Through simple purity of heart.
Brave Liu Bei's virtues you extolled,
You blamed Cao Cao, the basely bold.
Of blazing fire you felt no fear,
You blenched not when the sword came near,
But dreaded lest a willful son
Should dim the fame his fathers won.
Yes, Mother Xun was of one mold
With famous heroes of old,
Who never shrank from injury,
And even were content to die.
Fair meed of praise, while still alive,
Was yours, and ever will survive.
Hail! Mother Xun, your memory,
While time rolls on, shall never.

(C. H. Brewitt-Taylor, 1935).

Mother Xu’s integrity

Will savor for eternity.

She kept her honor free from stain,

A credit to her family’s name.

A model lesson for her son,

No grief or hardship would she shun.

An aura like a sacred hill,

Allegiance sprung from depth of will.

For Xuande, words of approbation.

For Cao Cao, utter condemnation.

Boiling oil or scalding water,

Knife or axe could not deter her.

Then, lest Shan Fu shame his forebears,

She joins the ranks of martyred mothers.

In life, her proper designation;

In death, her proper destination.

Mother’s Xu’s integrity

Will savor for eternity.

( From, The Romance of the Three Kingdoms, translated by Moss Roberts, Peking, Foreign Languages Press, 1995.) 

     Formidable Mother Xu honors a thousand ancestors!

Implacable in her principles, she thus nurtures her family.

She instructs her children to stay true despite hardship,

To keep their spirit unshakeable as the hills and mountains,

With righteousness from the bottom of their hearts.

She cherishes Liu Bei, despises Cao Cao.

She is not intimidated by religious trappings; 
She disdains the executioner’s axe.

She fears only that her offspring might disgrace their ancestors.

She would rather die than witness such degradation--

She would rather break her loom and endure the indignities of war!

Born to this honorable name, she would lay down her life for it.

Formidable Mother Xu honors a thousand ancestors!

From The Battle at Chibi, translated and retold by Hock G. Tjoa.  2009.

Old Man in Jeep--the back story

In a current community theater production (in the Sierra foothills of California) of “Tea House of the August Moon,” I play the role of the Old Man who gets on the Jeep near the beginning of the play. He does so without explanation to those already in the jeep and when confronted replies that he wants to tag along. Later (a day, or two or three) he demands to be let off near “Yatoda.” The script suggests that he has a cousin in Yatoda and the movie version suggests that this is near the Ocean. The episode contributes nary a squiggle to the “arc” of the play. Orson Welles said that a happy ending depends on when a story ends. If the play did end here, we would have a moment of the ABSURD and it would be awesome. Google does not yield any results when searched for “Yatoda.” Perhaps it is somewhere over the rainbow. Ocean or mountain top or park, it is the place to which the Old Man goes so he can lie down and wait to die. (Just like the old Indian in “Little Big Man.”) The Old Man has lived what he considers his full allotment of life and decides that this is time to shuffle off the mortal coil. He has some misgivings, some regrets, perhaps even some reservations—but NO doubt that this is THE TIME to move on, “over the horizon.” And so he gets off the jeep, takes a deep breath and walks on, leaving the play also to move forward. The play was adapted by John Patrick in 1953 from a novel by Vern J. Sneider; it won a Pulitzer and a Tony and was further adapted by Patrick into the screenplay for the 1956 movie that starred Glenn Ford and Marlon Brando.

VARIETIES OF SPY THRILLERS

Many are like crime or police/detective novels in that the plot involves some misdeed planned or committed and the prevention or retribution thereof.

Novels of this genre often appeal primarily to the sense of righteous indignation on the part the reader. Those novels that have incomplete control of this aspect often tend to become tedious and objectionable recreations of the school-yard quarrels—he/they started this, he/they hit me/us first, and therefore whatever we did or do in retaliation is somehow justified. If that is not sufficient, then the writer might resort to more or less overt appeals to patriotism/jingoism. But then the “spy” part tends to get lost and the story could just as well be some more or less cunning version of cowboys and Indians. There is too much of this sort of writing that deserves to be lumped together as pulp fiction.

John LeCarre is deservedly celebrated for rescuing this genre from the spirited but otherwise not very edifying adventures of James Bond. His prose was brooding and sometimes precious—“Smiley had bored him; he looked sulky and cheated; distressing downward folds had formed on the lower contours of his cheeks….” Or, as Smiley drove past “the unlovable fascades of the Edgeware Road, the wind had dropped, the sky was black with waiting rain, and all that remained of the sun was a lingering redness on the tarmac.”

But he wrote also of the gritty aspects of spy-craft, of following and watching a suspect; how in certain countries “the security forces knew next to nothing about” its subtle requirements, “probably because no administration in living memory had to feel shy about it.” He wrote of the motivation for betrayal, a hope “to advance the Russian cause ahead of the American” but not to injure any British interest until the Suez incident “finally persuaded him of the inanity of the British position” and “he became a committed, full-time Soviet mole with no holds barred.”

More recently, David Ignatius (see for example, Bloodmoney: a novel of espionage) has written with insight into the enemies (or victims?) of the American war in Af-Pak, how some were created by the actions of the Americans as the Taliban and al-Qaeda are said to believe, how ingeniously the enemy had copied what the CIA had done to such great effect in “following the money” to track down perpetrators of evil against them, how they are bound by their own values of hospitality, vengeance and perhaps of sanctuary.

The "spying" usually lifts the genre beyond the boundaries of a particular country and gives the opportunity for the writer to explore cultural differences. Does this mean that some work like “The Tale of Two Cities” might be reclassified as a spy thriller? Probably not and in any case, the plot of that novel could very well have been framed for a purely English situation. Mayhem in foreign countries does not necessarily result in a spy thriller. Problems and solutions that cross national boundaries, the threat of violence and the need for secrecy in action—I believe these are essential. It will surely not hurt if the characters are interesting though spy thrillers do not need to be psychological (Smiley versus Karla) and should certainly not be paranormal.

At least these are my preferences; I have no desire to see them enshrined by any Academy or Official Body!

China's Greatest Calligrapher

Wang Xizhi is regarded by all those with a classical East Asian (Chinese, Japanese or Korean) eduction to have been China's greatest calligrapher. This is an astounding statement; for calligraphy is not a dead art. It has been practised continuously for the last sixteen hundred years or so. Perhaps something comparable in Western Civilization would be to assert that Praxiteles (4th century B.C.) is its greatest sculptor - not Donatello, not Michelagelo, not Rodin, etc. Or to say that the "Winged Nike of Samathrace" 2nd century A. D. Hellenistic sculpture, rediscovered in the 19th century and now in the Louvre is the greatest work of sculpture. But there you are; ask any traditionally educated Chinese, Japanese or Korean--it is Wang Xizhi, who lived in the 4th century A. D., whose works are all lost and remain only in copies.

Undoubtedly it is due to the fact that Chinese civilization has survived continuously for nearly three thousand years (five thousand years over-states the case and includes the period that Chinese tradition has written about) as well as the fact that the bearers of this civilization has remained a self-perpetuating scholar-gentry class supported most of the time by the state. The second Tang emperor was said to have commissioned a search for Wang's most famous work--his preface to a collection of poems that celebrated a picnic at an Orchid Pavilion near modern-day Hangzhou (famous today partly because Henry Kissinger cattily recorded Nixon's philistine remark upon visiting it was that it was as pretty as a picture post-card). That emperor decreed that the original manuscript be buried with him and so it was but it appears that three copies were made that include even Wang's crossing out of his mistakes or imperfections. These survived as stone copies and have since then been faithfully copied and recopied. The text and pictures may be viewed on-line at http://www.chinapage.com/calligraphy/wangxizhi/wangxizhi.html.

It is not long, only a few over 400 characters or "graphs" long, introducing what became "nature poetry" in Chinese literature. The whole is reproduced in three panels that should be read from right to left, below. It is said that Wang was a calligrapher of such infinite variety that he wrote the word zhi (之) a common particle, that appears 21 times, such that no two instances are exactly the same. Each instance, the graph is ever so slightly different due to the the rhythms of its surrounding graphs. It is as if Jefferson had written the letter "e" differently each time it appeared in the Declaration of Independence, but of course, calligraphy in Chinese civilization is not to be equated with penmanship in the English language. The following pictures are from the website noted above.