The first of the late acclaimed Chinese author Eileen Chang's novels to be written in English, The Rice-Sprout Song portrays the horror and absurdity that the land-reform movement brings to a southern village in China during the early 1950s. Chang's chilling depiction of the peasants' desperate attempts to survive both the impending famine and government abuse makes for spellbinding reading.
Eileen Chang is the English name for Chinese author 張愛玲, who was born to a prominent family in Shanghai (one of her great-grandfathers was Li Hongzhang) in 1920.
She went to a prestigious girls' school in Shanghai, where she changed her name from Chang Ying to Chang Ai-ling to match her English name, Eileen. Afterwards, she attended the University of Hong Kong, but had to go back to Shanghai when Hong Kong fell to Japan during WWII. While in Shanghai, she was briefly married to Hu Lancheng, the notorious Japanese collaborator, but later got a divorce.
After WWII ended, she returned to Hong Kong and later immigrated to the United States in 1955. She married a scriptwriter in 1956 and worked as a screenwriter herself for a Hong Kong film studio for a number of years, before her husband's death in 1967. She moved from New York to Los Angeles in 1972 and became a hermit of sorts during her last years. She passed away alone in her apartment in 1995.
A few days before I left China, a friend handed me two books by Eileen Chang, an author who for a long time had been on my list but who I never actually got around to reading. I read one of them, The Rice-Sprout Song, on my flight home from China nearly a month ago, and a day hasn't gone by that I haven't thought about it at least once. Although it came out in 1955 and there's no need for yet another review, I had to put down a few thoughts.
The Rice-Sprout Song is set in China's countryside during the early days of Mao's tyranny, when "land reform" promised the rural poor great hope that would soon lead to the horrors of collectivization, famine and death on a scale that was until then unimaginable. It's a desolate book about a terrible subject we all know about but have, in all likelihood, never truly experienced, hunger. Its metaphor for hunger is the watery gruel the poor eat for every meal as they slowly starve.
That this was Chang's first English novel is extraordinary, it is so perfectly crafted, its characters so real and the language assured and perfect. The book has two heroes, a "model worker" in the village, Gold Root, and his wife Moon Scent. After many pages of bleakness, we detect the first hints of joy in Gold Root's longing for Moon Scent, who has gone to work in Shanghai as a maid. He misses her so intensely he travels to Shanghai, his first time out of the countryside, to spend a few days with her, a sad event marked by Gold Root's sense of isolation and awkwardness, his crushing poverty contrasted by "bejeweled ladies going to parties in their shiny silk gowns and high-heeled gold shoes."
Chang tells how a cadre from the city is sent down to their village to live exactly as the peasants do and learn from them, and soon he, too, is starving. Only he has the resources to go to a nearby town and stuff himself with tea-boiled eggs, as he denies the hunger in his reports. He notes to himself that anyone who suggests there is truth to the whispers that the poor are starving will immediately be labeled a nationalist spy and put to death. Gold Root and Moon Scent are both doomed, victims of the insanity that grew out of Mao's policies. Gold Root is outraged that officials deny that the peasants are starving to death. He will soon pay for his insistence on speaking the truth, dragging Moon Scent down with him.
The oddest character in the book is the village's leading official, Comrade Wong, a jovial, likable man. Chang devotes many pages to humanizing him, telling how he met his beloved wife and how she left him, describing his loneliness and his knowledge that he will never rise from being a low-level functionary. We think Wong is a good man - and he probably is. But when the day comes that he meets with the starving peasants and tells them each must donate a pig as a gift to the army and prepare rice dumplings for the soldiers, we hate him with a passion. Gold Root cries out that they are literally starving, they have nothing. Wong beams with a wide smile and insists that surely they can accommodate this modest request for their country's brave soldiers. It is the high point of the book and it marks Gold Root's descent from "Model Worker" to an outraged, infuriated rebel clamoring for justice. Of course, he will soon be labeled a reactionary, and will be shot to death in the ensuing violence.
The words of my Chinese teacher in Beijing kept coming back to me as I read this book: her telling me how her family grew up hungry, and how no matter what the Chinese government did today, she and all other Chinese would feel unending gratitude that the days of hunger were over. Nothing matters when you are hungry; only food. Today, the Chinese people are no longer starving, and that shift, from starvation to having enough food on the table, was a seismic one. For anyone seeking to understand how the Chinese people can accept a government that censors, steals, enriches itself from the poverty of its people and thinks nothing of their human rights, I suggest they read this book. It doesn't touch on any of these topics per se, but it shows you all too vividly what life was like not so long ago (and Chang's account deals with China prior to the great famine; the horror was only just beginning). And then you look at China today, my teacher's China. No matter what we think of the government, hundreds of millions who were starving saw their situations turn around. For some 200 million or so, their poverty stayed the same or became even worse, but for the vast majority, it was a new world: they had food. As you read The Rice-Sprout Song, it becomes clearer just why the government today is given so much latitude, whether it was the CCP that put food on the people's tables or their own hard work once Mao's insanities were thrown on the rubbish heap where they belonged. When you have gone from generations of hunger to having food, you've undergone a sea change, a miracle. There has been no other turnaround like it in the history of civilization. So I understand what my Chinese teacher was telling me, whether I agree or not.
Corrupt officials still terrorize the countryside, and perhaps they always will; the exploitation of the marginalized by the powerful is history's oldest story. What this book does is make palpable the helplessness of China's rural poor, placing the reader in their freezing huts as the government's absurd decrees destroy their lives, chipping away at their dignity, ultimately killing them wholesale. In one of its most heartbreaking scenes, soldiers ransack their homes, stealing the very last bits of food they have hidden away. The peasants' calamity is complete; they have no recourse, no hope, nothing but their hunger.
If you've never read this book, which Chang wrote in English (another source of amazement), I urge you to get a copy. It can easily be read in a day or two, and it will leave you furious, anguished, dumbstruck and horrified. You'll hear the voices of its characters in your head for a long time to come, and no matter how well you already understand the famine and Maoism and land reform, you will feel like you are right there, living the insanity. That is not a comfortable feeling, but one that will make your compassion for the Chinese people richer and deeper than ever before.
Eileen Chang's "The Rice Sprout Song" was written in English and published in 1955 with support from the United States Information Service. The sponsors no doubt expected a strongly anti-Communist piece of propaganda. What resulted, to be sure, portrays the chaos and hunger of land reform in the first years of Communist power, but Chang was too subtle a writer and too interested in the complexities of human relationships, particularly those between men and women, to produce the black-and-white world propagandists might expect. Unlike Chang's earlier Chinese-language short stories and novellas, this work is set in the countryside, where the drama of land reform took place. The tragedy of this period, at least as Chang depicts it, is between two narratives--that of the Party, which must find victory and success in even the darkest realities, and that of poor peasants, who care less about ideology and policy than about simply finding something to eat. It is a compelling conflict, albeit less suited, I think, to Chang's subtlety than her largely a-political tales of love among the emergent urban middle class of Shanghai and Hong Kong.
This novel is the first novel that Eileen Chang wrote originally in English with a later version in Chinese (秧歌). I chose to read the Chinese edition as I wanted to feel closer to the characters in the novel as well as to the author. Before this novel, I had never read any of her works, because as an adolescent I had preferred to read novels by the Taiwanese novelist Chiung Yao (瓊瑤).
The title of the novel refers to a festive folk song that used to be sung by villagers in the countryside to celebrate abundant harvests. It is oxymoronic when placed alongside the theme of the novel, which is about starvation and hunger. The novel is set against a backdrop where the land reform introduced by the Communist Party promised the rural populace great hope but soon led to the absurd collectivization scheme, starvation and death on a horrifying scale.
The author notes in the Epilogue that her story is based on an essay in the publication called People’s Literature, written by a young Communist cadre to record his eyewitness account of what had happened in the spring famine of 1950 in a North China rural village. He had been sent there to live exactly like the peasants and learn from them. While experiencing hunger himself, he noted that everyone was forbidden to utter the truth, i.e., the unbearable sufferings during a famine. Anyone who dared whisper the truth would be deemed a nationalist spy and arrested.
In the novel, hunger is described as “having for every meal a bowl of watery rice gruel with a few inch-long strips of grass floating on top”. Gold Root with his wife Moon Scent and daughter are just a typical family in the Tam Village silently bearing with crushing poverty and slow starvation until one day his deep-seated rage explodes. He fulminates against the village leader Comrade Wong for stubbornly denying that the peasants are starving to death. The climax comes when a hungry and furious crowd starts storming the government granary….
My heart remained tightly knotted for a long while after reading the novel. How I wish that the novel were purely fiction, but the mere thought would be sacrilegious to those who have had the misfortune to have a taste of what constant hunger is like.
Chang opposed the Communist Party vehemently and attempted to portray the shortcomings of communism in this book through the lens of a rural village. Although what was written was very much true, one can't deny that Chang presented an exaggerated and biased view of the subject due to her political views.
I found it hard to get into Eileen Chang’s 1955 novel, written in English, _The Rice Sprout Song_. Though she had been an urban writer, the portrayal of villagers attempting to follow the party line is credible. I did not find any direct links between land reform and the pervasive hunger. Rather, it appeared to me that the Maoist regime was siphoning off what was produced by both taxes and forced contributions (to support the families of Red Army soldiers) that reduced the peasants to constant hunger (even before the “Great Leap Forward” produced full-scale famine). The US had supervised land reform in occupied Japan and urged it on Taiwan, so even if Chang was producing propaganda for the USIA, deriding land reform would not have been a way to do so. (Moreover, she did not demonize the local communist official, Comrade Wong.)
Comrade Ku, sent down to observe rural life, sneaking off to supplement the local diet by buying things to eat in a nearby town is satirized rather gently, at least until the screenplay he is writing is summarized near the end. The backbiting among the peasants did not originate with the triumph of communism, but certainly did not stop with it. Moon Scent, who has returned to “produce” after three years of being a maid in Shanghai, is distressed to learn that the advertised prosperity of the post-revolutionary countryside is a lie. She attempts to navigate the practical and ideological difficulties of life in the new (Potemikinish) paradise with her model worker (“new man”) husband Gold Root. She fails honorably, even as Comrade Ku succeeds dishonorably.
Eileen Chang suffered the Chinese curse of living in interesting times. She grew up in the wild Shanghai of the thirties, made her name as a novelist in the war-torn forties (Ang Lee's "Lust, Caution" is based on her writing), and was married to a collaborator with the Japanese, eventually immigrating to the United States. "The Rice Sprout Song" is from the fifties, an examination of early Maoism in the countryside from this very urban writer, and evidently the first book she wrote in English. Chang's vision of Mao's land reform of the fifties is clear-eyed and sobering. Her Maoist leader loses whatever revolutionary romanticism and nobility he once had (I cannot help but think of those seventies radicals who so chicly wore Mao jackets and purchased the Little Red Book or the poetry); her peasants starve and despair ragefully; a writer is sent to the village to make his work more propagandistic and less artistic, which he succeeds in accomplishing. Chang's vision is all the more chilling for the ways in which the language of revolution is harnessed to the same old centralism, with an old Revolutionary instead of the mandarin, Mao instead of an emperor, red sloganeering instead of the books of Confucian maxims, but all more modern and lethal, with guns instead of swords.
a short book only 185 pages or so. it took about one third of reading to actually want to continue even though Eileen writes in a lyrical style. I imagine writers like musicians, and she always has phrasing that pleases, however it is story that ultimately allows a reader to abandon or continue the adventure.
So I plowed along the path of words. Right about the time I started to lose interest was about the time the story got interesting oddly enough. You can tell the author never suffered like lots of people who lived through any famines because her incidents are imagined and contrived, nonetheless I ultimately enjoyed this book. A minor achievement for an accomplished author, her phrasing is pleasing.
This is the first Eileen Chang novel I've read and I really enjoyed her writing style. The story was criticized in China as anti-Commmunist propaganda, but I don't see how famine can be politicized. Even though Chang wrote this book in 1955, three years before the Great Leap Forward, one of China's worst famines, it's like a warning of what was to come. I can't wait to read more of her books, especially those set in Hong Kong and Shanghai before 1949.
A classic novel of the cultural revolution and the great famine in the 1950's and the effect all of this upheaval has on one Chinese peasant family. Well written with excellent characterization but a hurried ending.
Chang is an incredible author, but I don't think this was her best work. The story of how it came to be is interesting and adds a deeper layer to the story for sure. While this is clearly an anti-Communist novel that paints the worst of the Great Leap Forth, Chang's literary skills do shine through and make a sad story beautiful.
Read it in one sitting - good prose and a saddingly accurate reflection of what life was like in rural China during the civil war. Preface was helpful as well.