For some reason, reading this piece threw up so many different, powerful feelings. Though not highly complex or even elegant, this poem in particular rang many bells across the scope of my musical and literary memory.
Xiangzi is a remarkable lead character destined for tragic poverty, and the host of side-characters are also similarly tragic and garish. My favourite character, however, is the city of Beijing itself.
I am not either a person of the Confucian age (or even of a contemporary Confucian society) in possession of a set of testicles, or currently in a position of knowing if my work will be given a grand enough title to last longer than my own living memory.
At this point am I just desperately trying to make sure y’all know I’ve read The Iliad?
I found this text both swashbucklingly compelling and conversely utterly uninteresting.
As a person raised in a predominantly White, rural area in the Southern Hemisphere, notions of trustworthiness were taught via the parable of Moses and the Ten Commandments: thou shalt not steal, adult(er), kill, covet asses, etc.. But not as succinct as the Analects puts it – be trustworthy.
It’s funny to think this book was printed in the year of the great Emu War of 1932 (no, really).