Wang Anyi - The Song of Everlasting Sorrow

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Set in post-World War II Shanghai, "The Song of Everlasting Sorrow" follows the adventures of Wang Qiyao, a girl born of the "longtong," the crowded, labyrinthine alleys of Shanghai's working-class neighborhoods.
Infatuated with the glitz and glamour of 1940s Hollywood, Wang Qiyao seeks fame in the Miss Shanghai beauty pageant, and this fleeting moment of stardom becomes the pinnacle of her life. During the next four decades, Wang Qiyao indulges in the decadent pleasures of pre-liberation Shanghai, secretly playing mahjong during the antirightist Movement and exchanging lovers on the eve of the Cultural Revolution. Surviving the vicissitudes of modern Chinese history, Wang Qiyao emerges in the 1980s as a purveyor of "old Shanghai"-a living incarnation of a new, commodified nostalgia that prizes splendor and sophistication-only to become embroiled in a tragedy that echoes the pulpy Hollywood noirs of her youth.
From the violent persecution of communism to the liberalism and openness of the age of reform, this sorrowful tale of old China versus new, of perseverance in the face of adversity, is a timeless rendering of our never-ending quest for transformation and beauty.

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Mr. Cheng was not terribly excited at first. He thought that Wang Qiyao was just like all the other girls you see on the street and it was hard for him to get inspired. But after each photo he seemed to discover something new about her. With each shot there was something more to explore, and so he took shot after shot, completely enchanted by what he saw. Even when he was finally finished, he still felt as if there was so much more to capture on film. Actually, that something was the lingering impression she left. Mr. Cheng suddenly began to feel disappointed by his camera. All it could capture was the “here and now”; it was helpless when it came to capturing that “lingering impression.” He began to realize his inadequacy in the face of beauty. So there is a kind of beauty that can travel through the air , he thought . How limited the art of photography is! After Wang Qiyao left, he couldn’t help but open the door to take a last glance at her as she stepped into the elevator. Seeing her figure behind the elevator’s closed steel gate was like beholding the luminous moon obscured by a layer of cloud.

That afternoon Mr. Cheng completely lost track of time while developing the photos in his darkroom — not even the sound of the Customs House’s bell could break his trance. He anxiously awaited the appearance of Wang Qiyao’s face in the water as if he had just learned to develop photos; but this time he wasn’t anxious about getting the technique right — he was anxious to see her. An image gradually began to form on the photographic paper and slowly grow darker; it was as if Wang Qiyao was walking toward him. He could feel his heart twitching.

Wang Qiyao had come to divide Mr. Cheng’s heart against itself. She was not merely another woman captured by his lens, for she had an added significance that eluded the grasp of his camera. Actually, Mr. Cheng didn’t want to grasp anything. He felt he had lost something — something deep inside — and he needed to get it back. And so he tried different tactics, but the whole process took place in the dark because he didn’t know what the cause was — just as he could never know the outcome. He submitted Wang Qiyao’s photo to Shanghai Life magazine, never imagining that they would actually publish it. Knowing that people were handling her picture, however, didn’t make him feel good. Not only had he failed to find that missing something on the inside but he seemed to lose something else as well.

The picture had been Mr. Cheng’s favorite, but now that it was published, he came to disdain it. Only once did he visit the photo shop that had Wang Qiyao’s picture on display in the window, and this was late at night. There were barely any people or cars still out on the streets, the city lights were all dark, and the late-show crowds that had been lingering around outside the movie theater were already gone. As Mr. Cheng stood outside the shop window, an awkward feeling welled up inside him; the image in the window was so close and yet so far. In the window he could see his own reflection, the face under his fedora hat revealing traces of sorrow. Standing there under the streetlights of the deserted road, he felt lonely. Beyond those pockets of excitement animating this city that never sleeps lurks the loneliest breed of loneliness.

After this he did two more photo shoots with Wang Qiyao, but not only did he fail to find what he was looking for, but each time he seemed to come away with an indescribable feeling of loss. At the same time, Wang Qiyao did not even seem to be looking into Mr. Cheng’s camera; she was looking into the eyes of the people. Each pout, every smile was arranged for the front or back cover of another magazine; her image seemed to be waving to her readers. Mr. Cheng felt as if his eyes were not his own; they represented the people. That was the last time that he suggested Wang Qiyao sit for his camera.

He thought of asking her out, but couldn’t bring himself to. On one occasion he called her up, having already bought two movie tickets, but as soon as Wang Qiyao picked up the phone, he lost his nerve and said he was calling about something else. Although at twenty-six Mr. Cheng had seen his share of beautiful women, he had always viewed them with detachment. In many respects he couldn’t even measure up to a sixteen-year-old boy. At the very least, sixteen-year-olds have courage, but Mr. Cheng had neither courage nor experience — he had nothing. Mr. Cheng’s dream of having a date with Wang Qiyao was only realized after she became friends with Jiang Lili. He ended up inviting both of them out. That was the only way he could get up the nerve to ask. And although Wang Qiyao didn’t say so, she was secretly quite pleased. Not that she was interested in Mr. Cheng, but she was eager to be on a more equal footing with Jiang Lili. Since she had become close with Jiang Lili, the two had spent all their time around the Jiang social circle, and now Wang Qiyao finally had a chance to take her out with one of her friends. That night Mr. Cheng invited them to an American film at the Cathay Theater. He arrived first and waited for them at the entrance; the two schoolgirls were in high spirits as they came down the street, chatted animatedly in the sunlight under the parasol trees. The clear sky was festooned with a few silk-like clouds, their shadows dancing on the side of the buildings. A man taking two girls out is a wondrous sight. It is an event of bashful solemnity, a grand affair that leaves one full of thoughts and questions. Some afternoons are designed especially for these types of dates, afternoons redolent with languor, ambiguity, feigned naiveté, and genuine feeling.

Jiang Lili had heard about Mr. Cheng, but this was the first time they met. Wang Qiyao introduced them before they entered the theater. Jiang Lili sat between Wang Qiyao and Mr. Cheng. Of course there is always something going on between the two who sit on the outside and although the one in the middle acts as a partition, she is also a bridge. When Wang Qiyao offered Mr. Cheng some olives, Jiang Lili had to hand them over. When the film’s dialogue got complicated, Mr. Cheng would translate for Jiang Lili, who would in turn pass on the translation to Wang Qiyao. Throughout the movie Wang Qiyao was holding Jiang Lili’s hand as if they were trying to isolate Mr. Cheng. And though Mr. Cheng was equally attentive to both girls, Jiang Lili was actually getting in the way. The theater was pitch black, save for the column of rotating light emanating from the hole in the projection room to create an illusionary world. The cinema was far from full at this afternoon show; people sat scattered in twos and threes throughout the theater, and everyone seemed occupied with their own thoughts. The dialogue on the screen reverberated above their heads and buzzed in their ears. Feeling somewhat intimidated, the three of them pressed close against one another. Jiang Lili could hear the sound of breathing and hearts beating only inches away; she didn’t catch much of the film, but instead served as a mouthpiece for the two sitting on either side of her. Although Mr. Cheng leaned close, whispering to her, every word was meant for Wang Qiyao, even if his utterings did happen to reach Jiang Lili’s ears first.

As they emerged from the theater onto the sunny street, Mr. Cheng appeared a different person. Afterward they went for coffee, the two girls sitting together on one bench with Mr. Cheng on the opposite side. Although Mr. Cheng’s words were directed at Wang Qiyao, he kept looking at Jiang Lili. Wang Qiyao didn’t answer his questions; Jiang Lili spoke for her. Their conversation was not about anything in particular, just small talk, and either of them could have answered. But gradually Jiang Lili began to say more and hog the conversation. Mr. Cheng would ask a question clearly directed at both of them, but she would answer only for herself, while Wang Qiyao remained silent. Mr. Cheng had no choice but to follow Jiang Lili’s lead. In the end the two of them were having a heart-to-heart talk. They acted as if they were close friends who had known one another for years, as Wang Qiyao watched from the sidelines. What a shame that, although Mr. Cheng was completely consumed by Wang Qiyao, he couldn’t share a word with her, nor did he dare look directly at her. Jiang Lili’s words were like a river overflowing with literary phrases, but it was awkward for Mr. Cheng to let his eyes linger on her, so he stared into his cup of coffee. Reflected there in the cup was Wang Qiyao’s image, but still she did not speak. Only when he looked down did Jiang Lili stop talking. She too lowered her head to gaze into her coffee cup — and there was reflected Mr. Cheng’s image, looking down in silence.

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