SOURCE: Ma, Y. W. “The Chinese Historical Novel: An Outline of Themes and Contexts.” Journal of Asian Studies, Vol. 34, No. 2 (February, 1975): 277-93.

[In this essay, Ma examines examples of historical novels in order to determine the themes that appear most often within the genre, including dynasty building and national security. Ma also notes an emphasis on self-abnegation and on instruction in the genre.]

In China, as in the West, fiction is a late development in the literary scene and serious fiction criticism is correspondingly a recent endeavor.¹ The similarity goes further in the case of the historical novel, which critics of Chinese and Western fiction alike have either consciously avoided or customarily regarded with critical disfavor. In the Chinese case, the San-kuo chih yen-a^a (The Three Kingdoms) is the only historical novel which has received constant serious attention, but many of its features are exceptions rather than rules.² One will look in vain for anything as essential as a general survey of elements basic to works of this genre.³ For a genre so numerically significant, the unavoidable sketchiness of such a preliminary outline as the present one may be compensated for by a selective coverage. Here the main concerns are the most important themes and certain related contextual characteristics.

A historical novel is taken here as a fictional work which embodies, in an artistic blending of actuality and imagination, a core of historically factual material, with allowance for inventiveness in both figures and events combined with respect for established facts.⁴ This guideline is useful to our present purpose because it permits us to exclude novels like the Shui-hu chuanⁱ (The Water Margin), in which the element of historical authenticity is too slim to form an identifiable core, and works like the P'ing-yao chuan^j (Quelling the Demons), in which the overwhelming fantasy and conscious disregard for facts leave hardly any room for a pronounced historical character,⁵ but allows us to include novels with major fictitious figures and events if these imaginary components are made plausible enough to be taken as real in the general reader's mind.

In the 1957 revised edition of the Chung-kuo t'ung-su hsiao-shuo shu-mu (A Bibliography of Chinese Popular Fiction), Sun K'ai-ti classifies 154 novels as historical narratives (chiang-shih^k). This figure may not be all-inclusive or may be based on a debatable classification, but the representativeness of the titles included in that section is beyond doubt.⁶ Most of the novels listed therein narrate, with a fairly regular if somewhat intricate pattern, issues of grave national import. This makes a thematiccontextual analysis possible. The theme of a novel is here interpreted as the predominant but abstract conception in a full-length work of fiction, and the context as the narrative essence through which the theme of the novel is expressed and made concrete. The following observations, which stress uniformities, are not to be taken as hard-and-fast definitions of systematic completeness, or as encompassing all possibilities.

The turbulent interregna separating major dynasties, with all the contenders (and pretenders), ambitious and determined, competing among themselves under various banners for the unification of the country and the ultimate realization of a new ruling order, are periods of great color and dramatic moment that naturally command much attention. Almost all of the major interims have thus been the prime choice of the historical novelist, who finds magnificent human confrontations in the real struggles engaged in by historical characters. The San-kuo chih yen-i, based on the spectacular events within and among the three combatant camps in the third century, is of course a well-known example of this “dynasty-building theme.” The fictional representations of two other intensely wrangling periods, those of the Warring States and the Five Dynasties, in the Lieh-kuo chih-chuan^l (On the Warring States) (and its enlarged modification Hsin lieh-kuo chih^m [Again on the Warring States]) and the Hsin-pien Wu-tai shih p'ing-huaⁿ (A Newly Compiled P'ing-hua of the Five Dynasties) respectively are additional illustrations of this theme.⁷

This dynasty-building theme is not always restricted to portraying an entire era, whether with one contending state as the pivotal point or with the various powers given comparable attention. The delineation of one or a few key figures, whose activities are bound up with the crises and conflicts of the age, technically provides an opportunity to sketch the effort and strife involved in the endeavor to establish a lasting ruling order. Sun P'ang tou-chih yen-i^o (Matching of Wits between Sun Pin^p and P'and Chüan^q), about the lives of two opposing advisors of the Warring States period, is one example of this type of novel. This biographical scheme, focusing on the lives of epoch-making personalities, regrettably has not given rise to many successful novels.⁸

Compared with the inter-state conflicts, in which many of the states are struggling for mere survival, the revolution and the ensuing new order that replace a dying dynasty, though they involve bitter conflicts and eliminating battles among the competing aspirants, are by their nature a more intentional and calculated pursuit toward the building of a new dynasty. The narration of this process, which is fine material of strong appeal, is another major form of the dynasty-building theme. There is no better example of this than the famous Ying-lieh chuan^r (Heroes of the Early Ming), a saga of the founding of the Ming Dynasty.⁹ Another good example is the Fei-lung ch'üan-chuan^s (The Flying Dragon), with the founder of the Sung Dynasty as the major hero.¹⁰ The building of a historical dynasty sometimes went beyond the ascension of the founder; the early years of consolidation might be as thorny as ever. Threats, domestic and foreign, that might endanger the very existence of the new ruling order had to be eliminated. For instance, the adventurous expeditions of the early T'ang years under the leadership of a number of able generals, particularly those from the Hsüeh and Lo families (the Lo generals are largely fictitious), are inseparable components of the dynasty-building process. To accommodate all these diverse actions, factual or otherwise, not only of the generals but also of the next few generations, requires a whole sequence of novels, forming a chronological continuity (with overlappings and omissions), that runs the full span from the decline of the Sui Dynasty to the suppression of the usurping Empress Wu^t (reigned 690-705).¹¹

The building of a dynasty as seen in the historical novel takes at least two more forms. National exploits as celebrated as the several overseas grand tours, between 1405 and 1432, of the eunuch ambassador-at-large Cheng Ho^u (1371-1435), though they occurred after the initial tumultuous years of the empire, are in fact a form of dynasty-building.¹² A fictional account of these events, the kind in which a nation seeks to perpetuate its pride and glory, makes the novel San-pao t'ai-chien hsi-yang chi^v (The Western Voyages of the Eunuch San-pao), in which nationalistic fervor combines with a flair for pageantry and spectacle. As a novel, the Hsi-yang chi gains its peculiar grandeur by combining, almost on separable planes, both a detailed particularity of facts and a drive toward free inventive fancy.¹³ Implicitly, the Cheng Ho mission forms part of the effort to consolidate the new political authority, with the years of revolutionary activities still fresh in memory and a successful coup d'état that even affected the site of the capital (a gesture of starting things afresh) just over.¹⁴ The pretext for these extravagant expeditions, as given in the novel, is to search for the National Seal allegedly passed on from one dynasty to another as a symbol of legitimacy. The plot fulfills a double function. By ordering the mission, the Yung-lo Emperor (reigned 1402-1424) makes himself the first Ming ruler conscious of this time-honored symbol of divine rulership, thus rendering the dethroned prince, the de facto successor to the Ming founder, an illegitimate claimant. The silence in the novel about this prince and the coup itself indicates not just the author's desire for historical simplicity but also his desire to portray Yung-lo as the lawful head of the state, whose duty it is to strengthen and bring to perfection, particularly on an international dimension, the image and status of the newly founded political order. The dynasty-building theme of this novel, then, takes a relatively abstract form.

One more form of the dynasty-building theme needs to be noted. The endeavors sometimes undertaken attempting to restore the dynasty after periods of disturbances, with the legitimate sovereign dethroned and the continuity of the ruling authority interrupted, such as the transient sway of Wang Mang^y (reigned 9-23) or of Empress Wu, are in effect dynasty-building efforts. This is why in the Liang-Han k'ai-kuo chung-hsing chuan-chih^z (The Founding and the Restoration of the Two Han Dynasties), events concerning the building of two otherwise distinctly separated dynasties, are narrated under the same cover. In this type of novel, the determination and actions of an individual to strike for a kingship for which he has no hereditary right are interpreted as an infringement of the divine order and a political sin of the greatest magnitude, with devastating chaos as the inevitable result.

National crises caused by external aggression always generate times of conscious patriotism and devoted loyalty. Novels of the “national security theme” depict these periods of intense passion and fervent emotion. One illustration too well-known to be omitted is the Shuo Yüeh ch'üan-chuan^aa (The Life of Yüeh Fei^ab), a saga concerning the legendary Sung general whose activities symbolized the strains and sufferings in those bitter days when the Chinese were pushed southward by the sweeping military actions of the Jurchen (a proto-Manchu people).¹⁵ The militarily feeble Sung China, constantly subjected to external menace, provides an ideal background for novels of this theme. Besides the Yüeh Fei saga, the tradition of how, for generations on end, generals and their able windows (mostly fictitious) from the Yang family helped defend the frontiers grows into a seemingly endless sequence comparable to the series of the early T'ang generals.¹⁶ The national sensibility associated with preserving territorial integrity guarantees these novels a wide circulation and helps those traditions to proliferate into great complexities, in which a bold patriotism is omnipresent, as has often been the case in heroic folk legends. This makes the national heroes not simply popular idols of physical prowess or military tactics but also symbols of virtue projected in epic proportions, with their proud spirits, noble simplicity, largeness of gesture, and awareness of the heroic and exemplary functions they are called upon to perform. Against this backdrop, they play out in no uncertain terms the decisive roles fate has chosen for them.

Menace may well come from within the country. The organized roving marauders or the small-scale revolts (both would grow if unchecked) may hurt the country as badly as outside invaders, particularly when the ruling order is exhausted and foundering. The adventures of the philosopher-official Wang Shou-jen^af (1472-1528), playing the role of a troubleshooter and an upholder of the status quo in suppressing domestic unrest, are pictured with vigor in the second half of the Ming novel Wang Yang-ming ch'u-shen ching-luan lu^ag (The Career of Wang Yang-ming). Having an all-powerful eunuch, Liu Chin^ah (?-1510),¹⁷ and a usurping noble, Prince Ning (Chu ch'en-hao^ai,?-1521) as the arch-villains, gives the novel a time-honored appeal.¹⁸ A modified type of this formulation functions in two other national security novels on the same historical period (i.e., the reign of Emperor Wu-tsung, 1506-1522), Cheng-te huang yu Chiang-nan chuan^aj (The Travels of the Cheng-te Emperor in South China), and Cheng-te Pai Mu-tan^ak (The Cheng-te Emperor and Pai Mu-tan). Both of these novels have closely similar plots, but the treatments are quite different, and both have certain overlappings with the Wang Yang-ming novel. To apprehend the role of the eunuchs in historical fiction, one needs only to note that another notorious Ming eunuch Wei Chung-hsien^al received even greater attention from the novelists.¹⁹ He appears as a chief figure in no fewer than four novels written in the Ming period: Ch'ih-chien shu^am (Denouncing the Evil Men), Huang-Ming chung-hsing sheng-lieh chuan^an (The Restoration Heroes of the Ming), Ching-shih yin-yang meng^ao (Dreams in Two Existences as a Lesson to Awaken the World), and T'ao-wu hsien-p'ing^ap (Comments on Evil Men).

Equally notorious were those individuals who could easily be accused of weakening the country in one way or another, such as the late Ming rebel Li Tzu-ch'eng^aq (1606-1645),²⁰ whose life is the subject of the Ming novel Chiao Ch'uang hsiao-shih^ar (A Brief Account of the Anti-Ch'uang Campaign).²¹ Here the reader may detect a subtle difference in standpoint. Both the rebels who are portrayed as bringing adversity and sufferings to the country and the dynasty-builders who are glorified for bringing peace and establishing a new order (of course through periods of adversity and sufferings for which they might be responsible) usually share many similarities in their respective courses, such as rising all the way up from a humble background or anonymity, and eliminating their rivals through combat or political manoeuvres or through a combination of these tactics. The major factor which makes them different is scarcely more than the distinction between success and failure. Historical novelists are usually conservative in their viewpoints and their interpretations are conditioned by official historiography, which more often than not sides with the successful.

The general message in these national security novels is that the villains were apparently responsible either for doing devastating damage to the country, or for corrupting the emperor, or both. However, that the emperor is scarcely blamed for his deliberate and indefensible wrongdoing ironically gives the “villains” (particularly the eunuchs) a scapegoat role which they hardly deserve. One example is the portrayal of the Cheng-te Emperor in the two Ch'ing novels about his reign and his personal adventures mentioned above. The reader seldom has any doubt, in the way the events run their courses, as to the emperor's share of responsibility in bringing the disasters and troubles to himself and to his subjects. But the emperor is generously spared any direct and harsh censure; instead the novelists try, no matter how absurdly, to explain the cases for his defense. In doing so, the novelists find it necessary to expose the evils done by the eunuchs and other villains, who are invariably described as selfish, greedy, and short-sighted. This biased and pretentious treatment leaves the reader with the impression that the villains are not given their fair due. This is a compromise which even the most sympathetic of historians would not be willing to make. It is granted by the novelists because their central concern is not the mere denigration of a handful of spiteful individuals in their disrupting of the nation for selfish ends, but the ritual slaughtering of the straw men to illustrate the wisdom learned from history.

Sometimes the action of the villain is explained as dictated by providential governance (a heavenly hierarchy modeled after the governing system on earth with elements drawn freely from Taoism, Buddhism, and popular beliefs) to punish the land, or as permitted by this governance to avenge an injustice done to him in a former existence, but more frequently the role of the villain is meant to symbolize the natural trend of the whole descent of the nation toward chaos and destruction. The latter type is easy to understand, but the former needs some illustration. The beginning of the San-kuo chih p'ing-hua, a prototype of the later San-kuo chih yen-i, provides us with a good example. The termination of the Han rule is here explained as a retribution to rectify the wrongs wilfully done by the Han founder, Kao-tsu (reigned 206 B.C.-195 B.C.), to his three helpful generals: Han Hsin^as, P'eng Yüeh^at, and Ying Pu^au. In the p'ing-hua, the generals are reborn to split up the country into three independent kingdoms, with Han Hsin reborn as Ts'ao Ts'ao^av (155-220), P'eng Yüeh as Liu Pei^aw (161-223), and Ying Pu as Sun Ch'üan^ax (182-252). To complete the moral lesson, Kao-tsu and his cruel Empress Lü are reincarnated as the last Han emperor, Hsien-ti (reigned 189-220), and his pitiful empress to endure all sorts of suffering and humiliation.²² The San-kuo chih yen-i does not have this episode. But the T'ao-wu hsien-p'ing mentioned above uses a similar plot to explain the conduct of the eunuch Wei Chung-hsien and his associates.²³

If a sweeping generalization may be permitted, there does seem to be a major contextual characteristic distinguishing novels of the dynasty-building theme from those of the national security theme. Although there are differences in emphasis and sympathy, the competitors in the dynasty-building novels (such as San-kuo chih yen-i, Ying-lieh chuan, Fei-lung ch'üan-chan, and other similar works) are often accorded comparable standing. Tricky, inexorable, or Machiavellian though they may be, they are seldom described as outright demons in human shape. One example that easily comes to mind is the Ts'ao Ts'ao figure in fiction and other types of popular literature. His traditional image as an arch-villain since the Sung period notwithstanding, his depiction on an overwhelmingly grand scale, with his imposing style, unswerving determination, and instinctive sensitivity, makes him very human indeed.²⁴ As seen in historical fiction, the competition for establishing a lasting dynasty is open to all the contenders, at least in the transitional period before a durable order is in sight. There is no need to depreciate the losers in order to exalt the final winner, who may be the founder of the new dynasty. To give his rivals their fair due only projects the winner even closer to being truly an undisputed champion and bestows on him kingly qualities.

On the other hand, the heroes in the novels of the national security theme (save negative anti-heroes as chief characters) gain added flair and dash when posed in sharp contrast with their evil adversaries, who are simply outright villains. Factionalism is very much an innate element, with the hero of unflinching loyalty, often a brave and theatrical general who is highly romanticized or drawn on a scale larger than life, and his devoted subordinates as one group, versus a treacherous but towering minister, usually allied with influential eunuchs and other powerful court followers, and his associates in different levels of the government as a distinct clique. The agency of “friends” and “enemies” is stressed for antithetical effects and for dramatic expediency. To produce the contrast, the evil villains are usually reduced to mere foolish caricatures, sometimes by simplifying their motivations, sometimes by a judicious selection of events to be portrayed. However, the major characters of both camps are similarly involved in a web of self-imposed pattern, a set of total belief and commitment from which they cannot easily set themselves free.

This is all the more so in the case of the virtuous hero in the national security novel. Caught in the patriotic sentiment of his times and the warring collisions of good and evil, and torn between various clashing obligations, the hero, in his reluctance to negotiate, always fails to fulfill his heroic promise and becomes the embodiment of the nation's tragic degeneracy. Faithful, daring, skilled, or even unearthly though the hero may be, his passivity and acquiescence only inspire a saddened sense of historic fatality and heroic limitation. The upstanding hero is just too vulnerable. The rhetoric may emphasize the interaction of action and destiny, but the rhetorical odds are against the hero because of his superiority in image, his representing national interests, his permissiveness toward the villains, and his obedience to sentimental or ethical dictates. In consequence, what is intended to be serious may take on an insubstantial air, and what is planned to be touchingly heroic may seem rather absurd. The subsequent triumph of the malicious party, however temporary, completes the contrast of good and evil and confirms the ironic tragic quality. It is this clashing antithesis of patriotism and selfishness, virtues and vices, that gives shape to action and depth to meaning. But this sharp black-and-white antithesis between two sets of morally opposing characters is not at all common in novels of the dynasty-building theme. In dynasty-building novels, the balance of power provides the needed tension and momentum, while in national security novels, the shaping force at work is generated by conflicts, both in personal ambitions and in moral obligations, which are irreconcilably at odds.

Although these two approaches to characterization, as conditioned by the nature of the theme, are appreciably different, either process likewise entails a great deal of abstraction as well as stereotyping. The principals are frequently rendered into stereotypes rather than recognizable individuals. Character is thus employed primarily as a narrative device and the causative role and operative power of the individual in history are inevitably stressed, while historical forces and issues simplified. This character-oriented conception of history, however, is subordinate to the belief in the finality of the providential disposition of events, which we shall discuss in short order.

Many historical novels, nevertheless, do not belong to either the dynasty-building theme or to the national security theme, because they cover entire dynasties or other convenient collective periods. A few examples may suffice and these self-explanatory titles testify to the orientation of this “dynastic chronicle theme”: Ch'üan-Han chih-chuan^bb (On the Han Dynasties), and Nan-pei-shih yen-i^be (On the Northern and Southern Dynasties). All in all, novels of this theme alone embrace the entire history of China from the early legendary period down to the present century. There are even comprehensive novels, like the all-inclusive Erh-shih-ssu shih t'ung-su yen-i^bd (A Popular Version of the Twenty-four Dynastic Histories), which tell it all.²⁵

Quantity aside, this dynastic chronicle theme produces far fewer novels of merit than the other two major themes. The overall scheme with its panorama of events spreads the attention thinly, with too many possible climaxes to be elaborated and too many dramatic purposes to accomplish. The dependence on the official dynastic histories, with their easy and tempting availability, also means the possibility of woodenness in characterization and dryness of facts in the hands of mediocre writers. This is not to say that there should be any necessary conflict between a presentation of historical facts and the achievement of artistic excellence. But structurally speaking, the dramatic highlights of history are discolored by the mechanical desire for complete coverage and the instinctive tendency to transcribe. It is almost inevitable that many of the novels of this theme should be episodic in structure, with scenes poorly related to one another and connections between adjoining incidents often fortuitous or non-existent. This weakness in structure is, in part, due to the lack of focus over a wide scope. The action may seem fleeting and undeveloped because there are diverse interests to distract the attention. One common feature that usually brings a sense of unity, however loose, to a novel of the dynastic chronicle theme is the emphasis on the disastrous chaos and disorders brought about by the treachery and self-seeking on the part of certain high ministers, nobles, or able commoners who should instead be channeling their energy and ability for the benefit of the country as symbolized by the government in power at that moment.

There are of course characteristic traits that commonly cut through historical novels of different themes. One that deserves discussion is the enormous use of military campaigns, which usually take up much space and are painstakingly elaborated. The approach may, however, be quite antithetical, faithfully depending on documentary data on one extreme (especially in matters concerning the personal data of the main characters, and the chronological and other general aspects of the campaigns), and permitting fantasy to soar unbounded on the other. The second approach, less burdened by the demand of factuality, may, ironically, provide more room and freedom for characterization and individualization; but then the likely misrepresentation of the actual issue may leave much to be desired, and open defiance of established facts and over-emphasizing fantasy may simply take the work out of the category of historical fiction.

With the overwhelming attention given to the nation (or its political representation, the dynasty), and the customary preference for historical personages (to be discussed later), historical novels of these three major themes may well be collectively designed “novels of nationhood.” There are, needless to say, historical novels of other themes, but they are definitely exceptions.²⁶ The popularity of these novels of nationhood was due not so much to a desire to escape from the exigencies of the present by turning to conflict or adventure of the past than to a deep, unconscious awareness of national continuity and heritage. This obsession with the nation, and the fact that very few periods are not at all covered by any historical novels, make these novels a unique set parallel to the dynastic history series. Here the fictional representation of the bygone ages is far more complete and self-contained than those available in most other countries. The dynastic histories, understandably, proffer a handy depository from which the historical novelists may freely draw their source material. This accounts for the relatively slight role of the storytelling conventions in the historical novel as compared with other forms of fiction, particularly Ming compositions.²⁷ Despite our limited knowledge on the relationship between fiction and historiography, especially on their possible links in the art of narrative, fictional dialogue and other fictional elements are indeed long-standing features of Chinese official historiography.²⁸

One factor that makes the dynastic histories all the more attractive as source material is the fact that close to the heart of the historical novelist is the concern with instruction. This concern basically appears in two contextually different forms. It may be either a popularized version of conventional history education, precise and restricted, or a didactic lesson in the name of history, imaginative and unconstrained. The second approach, emphasizing the employment of history as a storehouse of moral exempla and an aid in passing moral verdicts on past action seems to have been the dominant one. This approach is based on the concept that history repeats itself and that the past offers exemplary lessons for the present. The vitality of cause and effect is therefore diminished, as is the individuality of events and characters. The tangible causes of historical events are given as political intrigues, particularly those that center around the central court, and the ambitions, amours, jealousies, rivalries, and other private matters of prominent personages. Under the principal premise of simple morality, very few readers worry about whether the time has been telescoped, or chronology turned topsy-turvy, or positive characters cast as unbearable paragons of virtue, nor do they pay much attention to the basic driving forces of history and the related historical processes. Conformity with history is expected in the broad treatment of factual outlines; once beyond the area with which the general readers are presumed to be familiar, the novelist may invent or modify both incidents and characters as he deems necessary. In its very nature, a historical novel is a fictional work of imagination, not a strict record of fact. In dealing with history in fiction, the historical novelist is under certain obligations to historical truth, but his first line of allegiance is still to re-create artistically. This explains why, even with the totality of fictional representation of the past, the readers may not really be concerned about historicity and validity, because factual infidelity and soaring imagination, permitted to a certain extent by this approach, are as easily recognized as they are numerous, and the readers are generally indulgent with these liberties as long as they are not executed in an excessive manner. Given this state of receptivity, the novelist can easily escape censure, or even earn credit, by a skillful blending of fact and fancy. He can afford to be fictitious in his constant artful inventiveness and yet remain at the same time historically faithful in his observance of recognized facts. Ironically, it is the novel which attempts to be a trustworthy account of events that attracts criticism for making factual blunders and is thus impelled toward perfect accuracy.

The indulgence of the general reader toward novelistic liberties has much to do with the practice of adopting history, for the authority it may lend, to support popular beliefs. Among these is the pervasive concept of the irrevocability of providential governance as the ultimate presiding power providing continual guidance and supervision over matters, primarily political ones, in the human world. History is treated in fiction as above all the illustration of this ruling force of unfailing and unquestionable rationality which guarantees the reward of virtue and the punishment of sins in conformity with a heavenly plan of justice, and so relatively little is ascribed to the will and independence of humanity. One will find that the lofty supremacy of this governance, consistently articulated, is almost taken as a matter of course in Chinese historical fiction. Hence political morality comes first and the facts of history, important as they may be to some readers, assume a secondary role as mere information. This correspondingly makes the character-oriented concept of history less prominent than it might otherwise have been. A classical example is the dilemma and uneasiness experienced by Chu-ko Liang^bh (181-234), the otherwise superhuman advisor in the San-kuo chih yen-i, who chooses to struggle against overwhelming odds as an expression of personal gratitude and, to a lesser extent, as a way for self-satisfaction, only to learn that fate is his ultimate master.²⁹ To show the individual fate mirroring and being mirrored by the work of providential governance is consequently a major scheme of Chinese historical novels. Such an approach goes beyond superficial didactic moralizing to explore the assumptions of didacticism itself.

Whether or not a faithful transcript of the past is intended has no direct bearing on the didactic function of the novel, and most historical novels simply fall short of being faithful transcripts. But in those few cases where trustworthy historicity is aimed at and the novel purports to be an accurate chronicle of events, the novelist often goes to great lengths to assure that fictional qualities are not incorporated at the expense of historical reliability. Throughout the various stages in the making of the San-kuo chih yen-i and the Tung-Chou lieh-kuo chih^bk (On the Warring States of the Eastern Chou), the tendency to purge unhistorical elements in earlier versions undeniably played a crucial role. The Tung-Chou lieh-kuo chih is a unique example in that it is the final product of a series of repeated and unvarying efforts to render an authentic history in the form of fiction. In its present shape, it is no less than a popularized but reliable version of a composite history based on conventional historical works like Tso-chuan^bl (The Tso Commentary), Kuo-yü^bm (Discourses of the Warring States), Chan-kuo ts'e^bn (Intrigues of the Warring States), Lü-shih ch'un-ch'iu^bo (Lü's Spring and Autumn Annals), Wu Yüeh ch'un-ch'iu^bp (Spring and Autumn Annals of Wu and Yüeh), and Shih-chi^bq (Historical Records).³⁰ However, even in this type of novel, careful reconstructions of manners, customs, and atmosphere, attempting to bring the reader back to the period concerned, are rare or non-existent. The focus is usually on events and characters, whose significance is nevertheless reduced, sometimes drastically, in being subordinated to preconceived beliefs. The novels of Scott, Thackeray, Dickens, and Tolstoi, among others, frequently project the reader back to a bygone age through studied reconstructions; to the reader of Chinese historical fiction, this is a rare luxury indeed.

It is tempting to join the critic in deploring the concern with edification as digressive and unsophisticated,³¹ and to join the historian in slighting this concern as inappropriate to fiction.³² But one has to consider how many readers might have depended on these novels for their understanding of China's past, and more crucially, how many of them might have thus developed an avid interest in the events of bygone ages, for the reading of historical novels tends to awaken curiosity and to foster desire for more knowledge of an interesting period or issue.³³ This is of course not to say that a historical novel ought to be a pill of history, sugar-coated for mass consumption. Even though most historical novels furnish scarcely more than the basic outlines of facts and few novelists ever profess to be authorities in historical exposition, there seems to have been a genuine demand for this information. The awareness of this function on the part of the novelists explains the frequent indoctrination and, to some extent, the zeal to prepare novels of this kind. The compelling quality of this educational leitmotiv, which may be a pleasant noblesse oblige in skillful hands, is capable of producing a plentitude of entertainment and instruction, but it is also responsible for making certain novels bad novels as well as bad history.

Another problem of importance is the employment of the supernatural in historical novels, as there can scarcely be a Chinese historical novel which is utterly without reference to it. One may disapprove initially of the generous use of the unearthly and cite the relative purity of Western historical novels in this respect to indict almost every Chinese novel of a historical interest. To do so is to misapprehend the issue and to charge against these novels their very raison d'être. We are not going to deny that unbridled recourse to the supernatural technically falws many a Chinese historical novel. But the central question should not be focused on the mere presence of the supernatural, but rather on the manner in which it appears and the functions it fulfills. The acceptability of the supernatural in a certain novel is closely related to the acceptability of that novel as historical fiction. A number of key questions deserve close examination. Are the mythical or legendary matters in the novel presented as fact in order to serve an interest in history, or are they meant to cater to the taste for the sensational with no pretense of serving serious purposes, or incorporated by custom rather than by the requirement of the subject matter, or depended upon for giving scope to the usual enormous degree of variety, or simply designed as an extraneous display, for additional dramatic fanfare, separable from the main lines of events in the novel? An exclusive interest in sensationalism would deprive the work of serious claim to being historical fiction. The central problem may be reduced to two crucial questions. Does the supernatural account for the artistic unity of the work? Has the supernatural more than an apologetical part to perform? If the supernatural in a novel is central to the plot, fulfilling a functional rather than decorative role, then there is no longer much question about whether the novelist may legitimately make use of the unearthly; the question is rather what thematic and contextual purposes could be served by the incorporation of such material. One may even find that the function of the supernatural sometimes goes beyond the formalistic level when the novel presents it with the seriousness, force, and conviction usually associated with a religion.

Popular religious concepts, particularly those bordering on a folk nature, and characters from both the Taoist and Buddhist pantheons that are very readily adaptable have been a helpful and oft-exploited asset to the historical novelists. Since these concepts have long acquired a canonical strength and these characters (such as the Jade Emperor and the Eight Immortals) are as versatile as they are unlimited by the element of time, their use gives the novel a means to speculate on the nature of the universe as well as the nature of man. If a novel capitalizes upon this speculation in its treatment of the past, the problem of whether the unearthly can be believed in according to present-day standards becomes irrelevant. This exploitation of the supernatural may offer the novelist vital persuasive resources capable of reaching a cosmic scope, and this persuasion can be increased if the novelist and his audience believe in what the novelist relates.³⁴

In this way the supernatural lends weight and authority to the moral teachings as well as to the concept of providential supremacy which most historical novelists are so keen to elaborate. Therefore not only in a well-ordered novel may there be room for the supernatural, but even in a less successful work the otherwise depreciatory uses of the unearthly may not be entirely depreciatory in effect. It would be a mistake to regard a representation of the past in supernatural terms as nothing but pure fantasy, as such a judgment should be made in terms of its verisimilitude and the relevancy of the supernatural itself, but not exclusively on the pure historicity and surface rationality of its context. On a technical level, the supernatural may provide that which the hero in a novel can count on for assistance and for reversing a seemingly hopeless situation at the proper time and thus confirms the dictates of history. One celebrated example is the long episode of the Battle of Red Cliff in the San-kuo chih yen-i, in which Chu-ko Liang controls the climatic elements to defeat the much more powerful enemy. In this sense, the effects of the supernatural may not wholly be to lessen historical veracity, but they may help to give the work a way to attain thematic totality in asserting the finality of the act of Providence in national affairs, and ideological justification in tracing the fate of human beings beyond human forces. This argument may sound like advocating the supernatural as an end in itself. But we have to consider the particularity of Chinese historical writings in their incorporation of fantasy along with facts (a feature fairly easy to locate in the early biographies of figures like Chu-ko Liang, Liu Chi^br, and many of the empire founders),³⁵ the dependence of historical fiction on this type of historical documents, and the very fact that a number of the mass uprisings and revolutions narrated in historical novels actually had very heavy religious or supernatural color.³⁶ Thus these uncanny elements are legitimately called for in a number of historical novels. In this way the effects of the supernatural may also bring forth rhetorical balance in making the use of both facts and fantasy all the more harmonious.

The whole tenor of this argument is not meant to defend the exaggerated and unjustified use of the supernatural—the boring excessiveness and conventionality of many historical novels in this respect are too widely experienced to be defended—but rather to find an appropriate rationale in handling this problem. As a result of these various questions involved, ultimately each novel has to be judged individually with all our critical acumen brought to bear upon it. One crucial fact is that the supernatural can be a useful literary apparatus, just as it can be absurdly naive and boring.

Finally, we must consider the historicity of the key characters. Many of the main characters, positive or negative, in Chinese historical novels are close to being Hegelian “world-historical individuals.” As representations of decisive factors in the historical process, they express, through their own personal motives and self-seeking endeavors in attempting to motivate themselves and to influence the masses, the larger forces of national character by which they are powered and of which they may remain quite unconscious. Furthermore, they are destined by life to be heroes, to be dominant figures of history. They are thus both makers and products of historical forces. The keen interest of the populace in the fortunes of these figures of national significance, the prevailing fashion of interpreting historical problems as closely related to the personal experiences of key individuals, and the readiness to accept these individuals as the embodiment of decisive forces, dictate the full attention of the novelist toward these personages, whether they are historical figures or fictitious characters designed for the roles. But one of the few points on which critics of the Western historical novel unanimously agree is the infeasibility of having “world-historical individuals” play major roles. This is emphatically elaborated in Georg Lukács' monumental study of the Western historical novel.³⁷ Accordingly, critics of the Chinese historical novel who are well-versed in Western literature and Western literary theories find themselves reluctant to confer on Chinese fictional works with an appreciable historical character the name “novel.” If it is permissible to judge Chinese fiction in its own terms, one may say that the fictional portrayal of historical personages is one of the identifying features of the Chinese historical novel.³⁸ The nearest Western approximations of Chinese historical novels are not to be sought in the novels of Scott and his followers but rather in the history plays of Shakespeare, as there are ample similarities between them in terms of characterization, point of view, the treatment of history, and the catering to popular tastes.³⁹

The tradition of populating the historical novels with real-life characters does not necessarily eliminate room for non-historical figures. Very few novels depend so exclusively on actual personages as the San-kuo chih yen-i or the Tung-Chou lieh-kuo chih, because most of the novels show a preference for a mixed assemblage of actual and fictitious characters. This is particularly the case when a proliferated tradition extends its story cycle beyond the first generation of the original heroes, historical or otherwise, to their children and grandchildren, or even further beyond. Female characters appear to have been the most flexible for such proliferation, for the principal reason that few females were chronicled in history for their career achievements and silence in the records is an encouraging license for inventiveness. One needs only to count the number of historical persons among the seemingly endless parade of female generals in the Yang family saga to understand the role and nature of fictitious characters. The saga of the Sung founder, too, features a whole pageantry of illustrious heroines. Religious or mythical figures, especially those who have been associated with folklore and considered as immortals, are also frequently sought after to fulfill fictitious functions. This of course has much to do with the cosmic and religious strengths, as we have seen, which these figures have to offer to the novel.

Despite some occasional disparaging remarks, this preliminary survey of the Chinese historical novel in terms of its major themes and contextual features is not primarily intended to be a value judgment, which might better be pondered elsewhere. The approach chosen here necessarily emphasizes similarities among novels of otherwise different prospects and intents. The resultant grouping is a matter of convenience and clarification to cover resemblances and to capture distinguishing tones. Though not all works of this genre approach greatness, many are indeed memorable books and some simply give endless hours of joy and excitement to their readers, children and adults alike. A systematic and disciplined study has long been wanting for this heritage, which is a curious combination of obvious merits and defects. On the one hand, the Chinese historical novel demonstrates persuasion, intelligence, complexity, and it provokes fascination; on the other, it manifests naivete, inadequacies, conventionality, falseness, and it generates ennui. This preliminary outline merely attempts to open up new vistas for criticism. The Chinese historical novel still awaits its critic.

Notes

1. In the case of China, the late arrival of fiction (particularly full-length novels) can be explained from both cultural and generic points of view. Way back, Confucius (552 B.C.-479 B.C.) stated that he had little taste for hearsay and for “feats of curiosity, strength, disorders, and the supernatural” (see Analects 7 and 17). These remarks were taken seriously by later Confucians on a more or less literal basis. With the pervasive, sometimes even unchallenged, influence of Confucianism on Chinese culture and society, the negative effects of this attitude of the intelligentsia on the development of fiction writing in China were understandably complex and serious. When full-length novels (most of the earliest ones are historical novels) eventually appeared in the early sixteenth century, China had already seen the golden ages of nearly all other major literary genres. There is no overall study on this intellectual censorship against fiction (versus the censorship imposed by Ming and Ch'ing governments against certain novels and plays), general background information is available in Y. W. Ma, “Confucius as a Literary Critic: A Comparison with the Early Greeks,” in Essays in Chinese Studies Dedicated to Professor Jao Tsung-i (Hong Kong, 1970), pp. 29-31, and the other references given in Note 56 of that article. In terms of generic development, the form of the full-fledged novel and the techniques for writing one were simply not available in China until the sixteenth century, a slow development certainly delayed for the reason given above.

2. The profuse literature on the San-kuo chih yen-i is attested to by the enormous entries in the bibliography appended to B. L. Riftin, Historical Romance and Folklore Tradition in China: Oral and Literary Versions of the Romance of the Three Kingdoms (Moscow, 1970) [in Russian], and in the section on this novel in Tien-yi Li, Chinese Fiction: A Bibliography of Books and Articles in Chinese and English (New Haven, 1968), pp. 133-138. Riftin's list is so far the most extensive.

3. Professor C. T. Hsia discusses with admirable penetration in his “The Military Romance: A Genre of Chinese Fiction,” to appear in Studies in Chinese Literary Genres, ed. Cyril Birch (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1974), a number of these neglected works, emphasizing those on the T'ang and Sung periods and the military activities described therein. Of the few other articles available (mostly done in an unprofessional manner), the two short pieces by Feng Ming-chih, “Li-shih hsiao-shuo te feng-wei” (The Flavor of Historical Fiction) and “Li-shih hsiao-shuo te ch'uang-tso fang-fa” (Techniques in Writing Historical Fiction), in his Wen-i tsou-pi (Notes on Literature) (Hong Kong, 1961), pp. 74-76 and pp. 77-84 respectively, deserve special attention. Though short and written in a casual style, they are fairly enlightening. I urge readers to read them because many of Feng's concerns, such as the possible approaches to writing historical fiction, are outside the scope of the present paper and thus have not been taken up here.

4. One may find the term “yen-i” a convenient guide for identification because many historical novels carry this tab as part of the title. This term means “elaboration,” but is not invariably confined to historical fiction. There are novels carrying this tab which do not have a historical character. Conversely, many historical novels do not include this unit in their titles. Non-fictional works, too, may include it as a component in their titles, for instances Shih yen-i^b by Liang Yin^c (1303-1389), Su-shih yen-i^d by Su E^e (fl. 887), and Hsiu-chen yen-i^f attributed to a certain Teng Hsi-hsien^g; the first is an elaboration of Chu Hsi's^h (1130-1200) commentary on the Shih-ching (Book of Songs), the second a philological miscellany, the third a Ming sexual manual. It is therefore ambiguous to refer to Chinese historical novels as written in the yen-i style. By the same token, to render “yen-i” as “romance,” common as the practice is, is misleading and inappropriate, creating unnecessary associations with the medieval European genre known by the same term.

5. Back in the twenties, Chou Shu-jen considered both Shui-hu and P'ing-yao chuan as historical fiction; see Chung-kuo hsiao-shuo shih lüeh (A Brief History of Chinese Fiction) in Lu Hsün ch'üan-chi (Complete Works of Lu Hsün) (Peking, 1957), VIII, 108-120. Regrettably, this uncritical viewpoint has not been challenged since then. Just as nobody would without hesitation label, say, a novel on Robin Hood and his cohorts as historical fiction, to regard Shui-hu as a historical novel (or for that matter a historical romance) is also grossly unfitting. The P'ing-yao is perhaps even less appropriate for this classification than Mark Twain's A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court. The apt remark of Brander Mathews has been on record for the better part of the century: “A tale of the past is not necessarily a true historical novel: it is a true historical novel only when the historical events are woven into the texture of the story.” See his Historical Novel and Other Essays (New York, 1901), p. 21. As to the perfect historical novel (which may never exist), Alfred T. Sheppard, The Art and Practice of Historical Fiction (London, 1930), p. 82, has this to say: “It must preserve dignity and avoid grandiloquence, preserve atmosphere and avoid the archiac carried to extremes, preserve accuracy of background and avoid the crowding out of the human interest, preserve strength and avoid the needlessly coarse and ruthless and morbid, preserve the dramatic without being melodramatic, preserve proportion without sacrificing detail.”

6. Short stories are not included in this section. Although this bibliography, only slightly revised on the basis of the 1932 edition, needs to be updated, it is still the most comprehensive guide in the field. The entire work lists over 800 titles, many of which are short stories or collections of short stories; this gives the novels listed in the “historical narratives” section a fairly high percentage. If we add to this group other works with a historical character listed in other sections, the figure would be even more impressive.

7. Titles are given in this survey purely as illustrations with no intention of being exhaustive. Many works involve complicated textual problems or long evolutionary cycles; in such cases, generally the later titles are given because of better availability and because they possibly represent more advanced stages. Wherever possible, established short titles are given in preference to the full long titles, which are usually very clumsy and may be different from one edition to another.

8. For obvious rifts in goals of analysis and historico-philosophical standpoints, and because of the very nature of the Chinese historical novel, the strong objection aired by Georg Lukács to the biographical form of the historical novel need not bother us here; see Lukács, The Historical Novel, tr. Hannah and Stanley Mitchell (London, 1962), pp. 300-322. John Tebbel has an almost exactly opposite opinion; see his Fact and Fiction: Problems of the Historical Novelist (Lansing, Michigan, 1962), pp. 4-6.

9. Despite its popularity, very little scholarly attention has been given to this novel. One commendable study is Chan Hok-lam, “Liu Chi (1311-75) in the Ying-lieh chuan: The Fictionalization of a Scholar-Hero,” Journal of the Oriental Society of Australia, 5:1.2 (Dec. 1967), 25-42.

10. One helpful reference is W. L. Idema, “Novels about the Founding of the Sung Dynasty,” Sung Studies Newsletter, 9 (June 1974), 2-9.

11. The numerous works in this series pose a very complicated problem indeed. They have been treated in Cheng Chen-to, “Chung-kuo hsiao-shuo t'i-yao” (Critical Notes on Chinese Fiction), in his Chung-kuo wen-hsüeh yen-chiu (Studies in Chinese Literature) (Peking, 1957), I, 351-359, and in C. T. Hsia's paper referred to in Note 3. A dissertation recently completed by Robert E. Hegel (Columbia University) also deals with this series.

12. Cheng Ho has been a very popular research topic. A great variety of reasons have been suggested for these trips; some are mere far-fetched guesswork. For activities of this magnitude, a combination of reasons, changing over the thirty odd years concerned, make better sense. Propaganda for the glorification of the Chinese empire was unquestionably always one of the basic motives. Joseph Needham offers a comment of fine insight that Chinese expeditions like these “set up no factories, demanded no forts, made no slave-raids, accomplished no conquests” in his Science and Civilisation of China, Vol. IV, Part 3: Civil Engineering and Nautics (Cambridge, 1971), p. 533. The basic ideologies behind activities of this kind, which have much to do with the storyteller's treatment of foreign areas, have been studied in Vadime Elisseeff, “The Middle Empire, A Distant Empire, An Empire without Neighbors,” Diogenes, 42 (Summer 1963), 60-64, and in the articles in John King Fairbank, ed., The Chinese World Order: Traditional China's Foreign Relations (Cambridge, Mass., 1968).

13. Its wholesale transcription of passages from historical documents, some even of a first-hand nature, has been observed by Chao Ching-shen in “San-pao t'ai-chien hsi-yang chi,” Ch'ing-nien chieh, 9:1 (Jan. 1936), later reprinted in his Hsiao-shuo hsien-hua (Remarks on Fiction) (Shanghai, 1937), pp. 153-207. Chao's discussion also appears verbatim in Kuo Chen-i, Chung-kuo hsiao-shuo shih (A History of Chinese Fiction) (Shanghai, 1939), pp. 385-426. For the inventive fancy in this novel, see J. J. L. Duyvendak, “A Chinese ‘Divine Commedia,’” T'oung Pao, 41 (1952), 255-316, and “Desultory Notes on the Hsi-yang chi,” T'oung Pao, 42 (1953), 1-35.

14. The coup itself is the subject of another dynasty-building novel, Hsü Ying-lieh chuan^w (More Heroes of the Early Ming) (Also known as Yung-lo ting-ting ch'üan-chih^x [The Ascension of the Yung-lo Emperor]). The alternative title is actually suggestive of its dynasty-building theme.

15. Although Yüeh Fei has always been a highly popular topic, there seems to be a keen revival of interest in this heroic figure in the recent years, as evidenced by the production of quite a few pieces of carefully done research work, such as Li An, Yüeh Fei shih-chi k'ao (The Historical Facts of Yüeh Fei) (Taipei, 1970); Edward H. Kaplan, “Yüeh Fei and the Founding of the Southern Sung” (Unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, University of Iowa, 1970); James T. C. Liu, “Yüeh Fei (1103-41) and China's Heritage of Loyalty,” Journal of Asian Studies, 31:2 (Feb. 1972), 291-297. An overall study of the fortunes of the Yüeh Fei figure in popular literature is still wanting.

16. Yang-chia chiang^ac (Generals of the Yang Family) is the key novel in this series. Some of the works in this series, such as P'ing Min shih-pa tung^ad (The Pacification of Fukien), also involve the tradition of Ti Ch'ing^ae (1009-1057), another legendary Northern Sung general.

17. His career has been described by Sawada Mizuho in “Taikan Ryū Kin” (The Eunuch Liu Chin), Tenri daigaku gakuhō, 54 (March 1967), 1-31.

18. Summaries of these activities are available in Meng Sen, Ming-tai shih (A History of the Ming Dynasty) (Taipei, 1957), pp. 194-218, Tseng Chi-hung, “Ming-shih Yang-ming p'ing Ning-fan k'ao” (The Anti-Ning Campaign led by Wang Yang-ming as Recorded in the Ming-shih), Kuo-li Chung-yang t'u-shu-kuan kuan-k'an, NS 4:4 (Dec. 1971), 1-21.

19. This eunuch is the subject of Ulrich Hans-Richard Mammitzsch, “Wei Chung-hsien (1568-1628): A Reappraisal of the Eunuch and the Factional Strife at the Late Ming Court” (Unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, University of Hawaii, 1968).

20. Not to mention the intentional interpretations of those who are concerned with giving Li Tzu-ch'eng a fresh, clean new look primarily for present-day political reasons, the theory advanced by the moderately-minded historian Li Wen-chih deserves our serious attention indeed. He argues, on the basis of a detailed and objective analysis, that Li Tzu-ch'eng, far from being the reckless blood-thirsty raider he has customarily been considered to be, was in many ways a remarkable revolutionist who might well have changed the entire course of China's history from that point onward. See his Wan-Ming min-pien (Peasant Revolts of the Late Ming) (Shanghai, 1948), pp. 97-159.

21. Curiously enough, this minor novel has attracted much serious attention, see Ch'i Ju-shan, “Pai-she chai so-ts'ang t'ung-su hsiao-shuo shu-lu” (Popular Fiction in the Pai-she chai Collection), T'u-shu chi-k'an, NS 8:3.4 (Dec. 1947), 16, reprinted in Ch'i Ju-shan ch'üan-chi (Taipei, 1964), IV, 34-36; Chou Yüeh-jan, Shu shu shu (On Books) (Shanghai, 1944), pp. 98-102; T'an Cheng-pi, Jih-pen so-ts'ang Chung-kuo i-pen hsiao-shuo shu-k'ao (Lost Works of Chinese Fiction Preserved in Japan) (Shanghai, 1945), pp. 122-123; Jao Tsung-i, Hsiang-kang ta-hsüeh Feng P'ing-shan t'u-shu-kuan shan-pen shu-lu (An Annotated Bibliography of the Rare Books in the Fung Pingshan Library of the University of Hong Kong) (Hong Kong, 1970), p. 171; and the colophon written by Kuo Mo-jo in Wei Chü-hsien, ed., Hsiao-shuo k'ao-cheng chi (Studies in Fiction) (Chungking, 1944), pp. 211-212.

22. A comprehensive historical account of the Han founder's wilful elimination of his generals in 196-195 B.C. is conveniently available in Yüan Shu^ay (1131-1205), T'ung-chine chi-shih pen-mo^az (The Comprehensive Mirror for Aid in Government Topically Arranged) (Ssu-pu ts'ung-k'an ed.) 2.34b-47a. A similar didactic treatment of the far-reaching effects of this historical event also gives us the hua-pen story “Nao yin-ssu Ssu-ma Mao tuan-yü” (Ssu-ma Mao Sits in Judgment and Rouses Hell) (Ku-chin hsiao-shuo^ba [Stories Old and New] 31).

23. Wei Chung-hsien and his mistress in their former lives are two snakes in the river Huai. Instead of rewarding them for their help in flood control, the authorities set their holes on fire. These two snakes and their followers are reborn in human forms as Wei, his mistress, and their associates to make chaos in the country. See particularly Chapters 1 and 50.

24. Those who are interested in the strenuous efforts taken in the first half of 1959 to re-examine the role and image of the historical Ts'ao Ts'ao may find the articles collected in the Ts'ao Ts'ao lun-chi (Studies in Ts'ao Ts'ao) (Peking, 1960) helpful and interesting.

25. This novel with forty-four chapters is much thinner than might be expected. But there is a mammoth work by Ts'ai Tung-fan^be (preface dated 1925), running all the way with ample details from the end of the Warring States period down to the 1920's. In a 1956 Hong Kong reprint, done in small-type modern printing, it takes up forty-four fairly thick volumes.

26. Had there been more novels on the last desperate moments when native Chinese dynasties were taken over by outside rulers, such as the Mongols and the Manchus, it would be justified to identify a group of novels as of the “national survival theme.” In a novel such as the T'ung-shih^bf (A History of Bitterness) (unfinished) by Wu Yu-yao^bg (1867-1910) on the final days of the Southern Sung, nationalism and patriotism run high, but the air of hopelessness unmistakably hangs there, as does the sense of running on borrowed time and attempting a totally impossible reversal of the clear course of events. The delineation of the outsiders as outright invaders, bent on upsetting traditional Chinese culture, and of the Chinese as defenders, fighting for the ever-retreating court centered around the few last princes further pictures the struggle as one for mere survival without a larger goal. Ming novelists, for reasons as yet unknown, were not interested in working on the very end of the Southern Sung. For their Ch'ing colleagues, the late Ming (including the very last days) was naturally a taboo, unless they took an obvious stand with the Manchu newcomers. Had the enforcement of censorship not been relaxed toward the end of the Ch'ing rule, it would have been all but impossible for the production of the highly suggestive T'ung-shih and the few other similar novels on the end of the Sung period. Even so, the circulation of these novels was almost totally negligible, as seen in their extremely rare availability. Unobtainable even to Sun K'ai-ti when he worked on the two versions of his bibliography, T'ung-shih is now available in a 1959 reprint.

27. For storytelling conventions and their effects on Chinese fiction, see John L. Bishop, “Some Limitations of Chinese Fiction,” Far Eastern Quarterly, 15:2 (Feb. 1956), 239-247, reprinted in Studies in Chinese Literature, ed. by Bishop (Cambridge, Mass., 1965), pp. 237-245.

28. The various fictional qualities of Chinese historiography have been the subject of a number of studies, including James Crump, Jr., “The Chan-kuo Ts'e and Its Fiction,” T'oung Pao, 48 (1960), 305-375; Idem, Intrigues: Studies of the Chan-kuo Ts'e (Ann Arbor, 1964), pp. 58-75; Wu Han, “Li-shih chung te hsiao-shuo” (Fiction in History), Wen-hsüeh, 2:6 (June 1934), 1201-1217; Maeno Naoaki, “Shiki no shōsetsu teki na sokumen ni tsuite” (Fictional Elements in the Shih-chi), Kambun gakkai kaihō, 17 (June 1957), 17-22; Henri Maspero, “Le roman historique dans la littérature chinoise de l'antiquité,” in Mélanges posthumes sur les religions et l'histoire de la Chine, Vol. III: Études historiques (Paris, 1950), pp. 55-62; Hok-lam Chan, “The Rise of Ming T'ai-tsu (1328-68): Facts and Fiction in Early Ming Official Historiography,” to appear in Journal of the American Oriental Society, 94:4 (1974).

29. Both in fact and in fiction, the basic motives of Chu-ko Liang in joining the Liu Pei camp and his lifelong devotion to its cause may be explained from these two aspects. When Liu Pei “discovered” him, Chu-ko was but a young fellow, in his late twenties, with as yet no marked achievement. Chu-ko was overwhelmingly impressed by the sincerity and respect Liu Pei, twenty years his senior, humbly demonstrated in his repeated visitations. Once he had chosen his affiliation, Chu-ko immediately presented to Liu what was to be the major policy of the Kingdom of Shu for the rest of Chu-ko's lifetime—the famous Lung-chung Proposal. For most Chinese intellectuals, one of the most unbearable tortures in life is not to be recognized (huai-ts'ai pu-yü^bi) and they are happy to avoid it. Chu-ko Liang was no exception. For a fictional account of these episodes, see Chapters 37 and 38 of the San-kuo chih yen-i. In his celebrated “Ch'u-shih piao^bj” (First Memorial on the Occasion of Starting a Campaign), written four years after Liu's death, Chu-ko Liang still gratefully recalled this first encounter with Liu (San-kuo chih 35 [Peking, 1959], III, 920; also copied into Chapter 91 of the San-kuo chih yen-i). Among the profuse literature on Chu-ko Liang, Chu Hsiu-hsia, “Chu-ko K'ung-ming hsin-lun” (A New Study of Chu-ko Liang), in his San-kuo jen-wu hsin-lun (New Studies in the Characters of the Three Kingdoms Period) (Hong Kong, 1952), pp. 1-13, is fairly stimulating in discussing him as an individual. See also Li Hsi-fan, “I-ko shen-k'o te chih-hui te tien-hsing: San-kuo yen-i li te Chu-ko Liang” (A Model of Superb Intelligence: Chu-ko Liang in the San-kuo yen-i), in his Lun Chung-kuo ku-tien hsiao-shuo te i-shu hsing-hsiang (Artistic Aspects of Classic Chinese Novels) (Shanghai, 1961), pp. 111-113; Miyakawa Hisayuki, “Kōmei no shutsuro ni tsuite no isetsu” (A Reappraisal of the Emergence of Chu-ko Liang from his Hermitage), Gakugei, 35 (Jan. 1948), 38-42, reprinted in his Rikuchō shi kenkyū: Seiji shakai hen (Studies in the Six Dynasties: Political and Social History) (Tokyo, 1956), pp. 226-233.

30. See the paper by Cheng Chen-to referred to in Note 11 (pp. 347-350).

31. For example, Lion Feuchtwanger, The House of Desdemona: The Laurels and Limitations of Historical Fiction, tr. Harold A. Basilius (Detroit, 1963), p. 142; Peter Green, “Aspects of the Historical Novel,” Essays by Diverse Hands, 31 (1962), 37-38; Randolph Faries, 2d, Ancient Rome in the English Novel: A Study in English Historical Fiction (Philadelphia, 1923), p. 13.

32. For the traditional hostility between orthodox historians and historical novelists, see John Tebbel, Fact and Fiction, pp. 9-11; Alfred T. Sheppard, The Art and Practice of Historical Fiction, p. 152. For a compromising viewpoint, see James G. Kennedy, “More General than Fiction: The Uses of History in the Criticism of Modern Novels,” College English, 28:2 (Nov. 1966), 150-163.

33. This utilitarian function of the historical novel is emphasized in Helen Cam, Historical Novels (London, 1961), pp. 5, 7, 19; Alastair M. Taylor, “The Historical Novel as a Source in History,” Sewanee Review, 46 (Oct. 1938), 475; Hillaire Belloc, “The Character of an Historical Novelist,” London Mercury, 9 (Nov. 1924), 37-38.

34. In Popular Fiction before Richardson: Narrative Patterns, 1700-1739 (Oxford, 1969), pp. 11-12, John J. Richetti argues convincingly that fiction, in general, depends upon a body of generally accepted popular assumptions and attitudes which commands immediate, emotional, and inarticulate assent among the audience.

35. See the two articles by Chan Hok-lam referred to in Notes 9 and 28, and the article by Wu Han mentioned in Note 28.

36. For example, the early political and military activities of Chu Yüan-chang^bs (1328-1398), the Ming founder, had a very close relationship with Buddho-Manichaeism; see Wu Han, “Yüan ti-kuo chih peng-k'uei yü Ming chih chien-kuo” (The Collapse of the Yüan Empire and the Founding of the Ming), Ch'ing-hua hsüeh-pao, 11:2 (April 1936), 359-423; Idem, “Ming-chiao yü Ta-Ming ti-kuo” (Manichaeism and the Ming Empire), Ch'ing-hua hsüeh-pao, 13:1 (Jan. 1941), 49-85, reprinted in his Tu-shih cha-chi (Observations in the Study of History) (Peking, 1956), pp. 235-270; John W. Dardess, “The Transformations of Messianic Revolt and the Founding of the Ming Dynasty,” Journal of Asian Studies, 29:3 (May 1970), 539-558. The association between the T'ai-p'ing t'ien-kuo^bt movement (1850-1864) and Christian doctrines is another example. One convenient background reference for this phenomenon is James P. Harrison, The Communists and Chinese Peasant Rebellions: A Study in the Rewriting of Chinese History (New York, 1969), particularly Chapters 6 and 7.

37. See Lukács, The Historical Novel, pp. 39, 46-47, 103-105, 117-119, 123, 125-128, 150-151, 159, 310-313.

38. One may similarly question the Western historical novel on the basis that it does not match the Chinese “standard” of having historical figures as protagonists.

39. This has been aptly observed by C. T. Hsia in “Comparative Approaches to Water Margin,” Year-book of Comparative and General Literature, 11: Supplement (1962), 122-124; this portion had been omitted in the revised and enlarged version of this paper in his The Classic Chinese Novel: A Critical Introduction (New York, 1968), Chapter 3.