Violence and oppression, we are told in the introduction to this collection of tales, are foundational to modern Taiwan, providing “a legacy that continues to influence its contemporary society.”
It is interesting, then, that an anthology subtitled “Stories about the White Terror,” offers few instances of physical violence, a notable exception being a neighborhood dust-up involving a gossip nicknamed Big Mouth Yang.
This incident, from Sung Tse-lai’s (宋澤萊) “Rice Diary,” is the first snapshot in a montage of quotidian happenings in the village of Daniunan (打牛湳), Yunlin County. The story forms part of a series focusing on life in this village in the 50s and 60s.
At first glance, the squabble is an insignificant personal grievance. Yet, this land rights wrangle points to something deeper. Acknowledging that he could simply divide the disputed property, Big Mouth’s assailant Ban-hok nonetheless concludes that “in this downturn, with so much craziness and thievery all around — well maybe he was thief, too.”
The implication is clear: In an era where legal and extrajudicial state expropriation underpins social transitions, anything is fair game.
Lurking in the wings, the state is a nebulous presence, poorly understood by villagers who are increasingly anxious over a potentially disastrous harvest. At one point, a flashy county bigwig shows up spewing vacuous Qin Dynasty parables at the uncomprehending peasants, but there is no explicit statement of government culpability in Daniunan’s impending ruin.
Instead, there are hints at institutional forces against which struggle is futile. These are juxtaposed against appeals for intervention from the spirit world, with the villagers concluding that an outwardly successful former resident is the incarnation of a divinity, returned to answer their prayers.
But this apotheosis is exposed as sham, the prodigal son Lim Baiyi proving a false idol, transplanted from the shrine of industrial capital to preach a faith far more pernicious than the charlatanry of Brother Rat, the hapless village medium.
PSYCHOLOGICAL VIOLENCE
Elsewhere the violence is mental. Four of the six tales involve imprisonment or persecution, and here the transitions extend beyond social change to pose existential questions.
Prison, in Vaclav Havel’s words, is “no longer based on physical suffering … but on something worse: systematic, everyday, round-the-clock assault on man’s psyche,” the effects of which serve as “a futurological laboratory of totalitarianism.”
This is particularly evident in the opening story, “Long, Long Ago There Was a Urashima Taro,” by Chu Tien-hsin (朱天心). In this reworking of a Japanese folktale — a detail surprisingly omitted from the introduction — the protagonist Li Jiazheng (李家正) suffers from a persecution complex following 30 years as a prisoner on Green Island.
Seeing stool pigeons on every corner, Li changes his routine to throw them off the trail; ignoring derision from family who insist there are “a million Taiwanese ahead of you” on any supposed government shit-list, Li uses Japanese to evade imagined wiretaps; penning protests and denunciations to everyone from academics to Chiang Ching-kuo (蔣經國), he scents conspiracy in unanswered correspondence.
On discovering a box full of letters he had written to his family during his decades locked down, Li is dismayed to find them unopened. Reinforcing his sense of dislocation, the realization that life has moved on without him is more painful than any blow from a warden’s cudgel.
Elsewhere, “Dixson’s Idioms” takes an ontological tack in examining the relationship of language to being. Each episode in a series of transnational tales begins with an entry from a phrasebook of the sort that first became popular in Taiwan through translations of the work of the American Robert Dixson, known for developing English-learning materials aimed at Latin American migrants.
The central characters are Dixson’s young wife Lolita, a former student and later coauthor; Taiwanese pedagogue Ko Chi-hua (柯旗化) — wrongfully imprisoned on Green Island; and a first-person narrator representing author Huang Chong-kai (黃崇凱), who came to Dixson’s work through the further remove of Ivy English founder Peter Lai (賴世雄).
An explicit theme is the emancipatory potential of language, most obviously through reflections on Martin Luther King, Jr.’s oratory. However, it is through its affirmation of human existence that language exerts its most profound influence. Considering the case of an illiterate inmate, Ko reflects that, “with no words to jump out … [y]ou could even reduce yourself to nothing more than a lamp, a wall, a tiny cell.” In such demoralizing circumstances, such a retreat from self, Ko observes, might be preferable.
Ostensibly examining identity in Taiwan through the versions of a supposedly quintessential dish, “Beef Noodles” again emphasizes the toll exacted on political prisoners. Inmates speculate about where they are being held, “to convince themselves that they still existed.”
The most structurally challenging story is Wu He’s “My Second Brother the Deserter,” the anthology’s final selection. Here, again, existential angst pervades the text to the point that it becomes unclear not only which of the brothers — the narrator or the absconding soldier — is freer but whether they might even be one and the same.
This collection is not without issues: typos, changes in the rendering of names (sometimes within a couple of sentences) and jarring language choices. These quibbles aside, this is a thought-provoking addition to the expanding canon of White Terror-era literature in translation.
It is jarring how differently Taiwan’s politics is portrayed in the international press compared to the local Chinese-language press. Viewed from abroad, Taiwan is seen as a geopolitical hotspot, or “The Most Dangerous Place on Earth,” as the Economist once blazoned across their cover. Meanwhile, tasked with facing down those existential threats, Taiwan’s leaders are dying their hair pink. These include former president Tsai Ing-wen (蔡英文), Vice President Hsiao Bi-khim (蕭美琴) and Kaohsiung Mayor Chen Chi-mai (陳其邁), among others. They are demonstrating what big fans they are of South Korean K-pop sensations Blackpink ahead of their concerts this weekend in Kaohsiung.
Taiwan is one of the world’s greatest per-capita consumers of seafood. Whereas the average human is thought to eat around 20kg of seafood per year, each Taiwanese gets through 27kg to 35kg of ocean delicacies annually, depending on which source you find most credible. Given the ubiquity of dishes like oyster omelet (蚵仔煎) and milkfish soup (虱目魚湯), the higher estimate may well be correct. By global standards, let alone local consumption patterns, I’m not much of a seafood fan. It’s not just a matter of taste, although that’s part of it. What I’ve read about the environmental impact of the
The Taipei Times last week reported that the rising share of seniors in the population is reshaping the nation’s housing markets. According to data from the Ministry of the Interior, about 850,000 residences were occupied by elderly people in the first quarter, including 655,000 that housed only one resident. H&B Realty chief researcher Jessica Hsu (徐佳馨), quoted in the article, said that there is rising demand for elderly-friendly housing, including units with elevators, barrier-free layouts and proximity to healthcare services. Hsu and others cited in the article highlighted the changing family residential dynamics, as children no longer live with parents,
Oct 20 to Oct 26 After a day of fighting, the Japanese Army’s Second Division was resting when a curious delegation of two Scotsmen and 19 Taiwanese approached their camp. It was Oct. 20, 1895, and the troops had reached Taiye Village (太爺庄) in today’s Hunei District (湖內), Kaohsiung, just 10km away from their final target of Tainan. Led by Presbyterian missionaries Thomas Barclay and Duncan Ferguson, the group informed the Japanese that resistance leader Liu Yung-fu (劉永福) had fled to China the previous night, leaving his Black Flag Army fighters behind and the city in chaos. On behalf of the