Wang Anyi - The Song of Everlasting Sorrow

Fathers of girls like Wang Qiyao always end up beaten into submission after years of being henpecked by their wives. This sets an example for Wang Qiyao of what it means to respect a woman. On these Shanghai mornings, that’s Wang Qiyao’s father sitting in the trolley car on his way to work; in the afternoons, that’s Wang Qiyao’s mother sitting in the rickshaw on her way to buy material for her new cheongsam . Every night, beneath the floor of Wang Qiyao’s apartment, mice scurry to and fro; in order to eliminate the mice, they bring home a cat, and so the apartment takes on a faint stench of cat piss. Wang Qiyao, usually the oldest child, has become her mother’s closest friend while still quite young. Mother and daughter have their clothes made by the same tailor and always go off together to call on friends and relatives. Girls like her always listen to their mothers’ complaints about the incorrigible nature of man — using their own fathers as object lessons.

Wang Qiyao is the typical girl in waiting. The girls that the interns working at Western-style shops ogle surreptitiously — they are all Wang Qiyaos. On the hot summer days when clothing is brought out to be aired, Wang Qiyao stares at her mother’s trousseau chest and fantasizes about her own dowry. In the display window of the photo studio, the lady in the floor-length wedding gown is Wang Qiyao just before her marriage. Wang Qiyaos are always stunningly beautiful. They wear indigo blue cheongsams that set off their figure and a bang of black hair shyly concealing their eyes, which seem nevertheless to speak. Wang Qiyaos always follow the mainstream, neither falling behind nor rushing ahead — they are modernity in numbers. They follow what is trendy the same way they would follow a recipe: with blind faith, never expressing opinions or asking questions. The fashion trends in Shanghai rely completely upon Wang Qiyaos. But they are incapable of setting things into motion — that is not their responsibility. They lack creativity, because they are in want of an independent personality; but they are diligent, honest, loyal, and devoted, always blindly following suit. Uncomplaining, they carry the spirit of the times on their backs — you could even say that they are this city’s proclamation. And whenever a star is born in this city, whether on the stage or on the screen, they all become ardent fans and admirers. They are the captive readers of romance novels serialized in the newspaper supplements. The intrepid among them write letters to authors and film stars, but all they are really hoping for is an autograph. In the world of fashion, they are the foundation.

There does not exist a single Wang Qiyao who isn’t sentimental, fashionably sentimental — the kind of sentimentalism that is acquired. Dried leaves are kept in the pages of their books, dead butterflies in their rouge boxes. They may cry, but even their tears follow the mainstream. Their sentimentality is acted out before it comes into existence, the display preceding the feelings. You cannot say that it is completely artificial, only that the order is backward — it is something real that has been artificially produced. Everything in this city has a copy, and everything has someone who leads the way. Wang Qiyao’s eyes are a bit dull, as if enshrouded in shadow — it is the shadow of sentimentalism. These Wang Qiyaos often appear sad, but this sadness makes them even more enchanting. When they eat, their appetite is no bigger than a cat’s, and when they walk they take feline steps. Their skin is so fair that it seems transparent; you can even see their pale blue veins. In summer every one of them gets sick from the heat; in winter they can never stay warm enough under their quilted blankets. They need to take traditional Chinese medicine to strengthen the vital fluids and nourish the blood — the smell of medicinal brew fills the air around them. Between the media and the stage, there are men working behind the scenes to create a fashion perfectly suited to Wang Qiyao, a fashion that moreover seems to anticipate Wang Qiyao’s every need and desire.

Between the Wang Qiyaos is a sisterly love, sometimes strong enough to last a lifetime. Whenever they get together, they regress back to the days before they were married. They are symbols to each other of that innocent period in their lives, living monuments or witnesses on whom to rely when recalling lost times. Many things in their lives are replaceable, but this sisterly love remains until death. Sisterly love is a strange thing indeed: it is not the kind of love that endures through thick and thin and inspires one to help a friend when she is down — it recognizes no attachments, no responsibilities. Rootless and unfettered, it offers no security. You cannot really say that these girls keep each other as confidantes — after all, just how many secrets do women store up in their hearts? Most often they are there to keep one another company, but not in any intimate way — they simply keep each other company on the way to and from school, sporting the same hairstyle, wearing identical shoes and socks, and walking hand-in-hand like lovers. If you should ever see a pair of young girls like this on the street, don’t ever mistake them for twins. It’s simply sisterly love — Wang Qiyao style.

They depend so much on each other, they treat each other with such exaggerated affection, and their expressions are so earnest that you can’t help but take their relationship seriously. But when they keep one another company, all they are doing is making loneliness lonelier and helplessness even more helpless, because neither is in a position to do anything for the other. Divested of utilitarian motives, their sisterly love is all the more pure. Every Wang Qiyao is accompanied by another; some are classmates, some neighbors, and others cousins. This relationship is one of the few social activities in their chaste, simple lives. They have too few opportunities for social interaction and so when an opportunity arises they cannot help putting everything they have into it — and the result is sisterly love. The Wang Qiyaos of the world all place great importance on friendship; beneath a facade that chases after the latest fashions there is devotion and sincerity — albeit a somewhat detached sincerity. When one Wang Qiyao walks down the aisle, another Wang Qiyao is her maid of honor; it is a way of paying tribute to her, a way of seeing her off into her new life. The expression on the face of the maid of honor shows that she is yielding the spotlight to the bride. Her dress is a shade less bright, the style is from last year, she intentionally applies less rouge to her face than usual — everything speaks of her willingness to lower her banner. This attitude of heroic self-sacrifice is sisterly love.

Behind every doorway in the Shanghai longtang a Wang Qiyao is studying, embroidering, whispering secrets to her sisters, or throwing a teary-eyed tantrum at her parents. The longtang neighborhoods of Shanghai are filled with a girlish spirit — the name of this spirit is Wang Qiyao. There is something elegant about this spirit, not haughty, in fact quite approachable, even adorable. It is modest and gentle, and, though a little affected, the affectation arises from an eagerness to please, which makes it welcome to most. Neither large-hearted nor high-minded — but then again it does not aspire to an epic (charm and sweetness are closer to what people want, anyhow) — it is a spirit that belongs to everyday life. It has the frame of mind, “I’ll return a favor with a favor, but I won’t take disrespect lightly.” This may be lacking in its vision, but it is always reasonable; it is a bit petty, perhaps, but pettiness is always more fun than moral rectitude. Such a spirit knows all about manipulation, which can also be fun — human nature needs a little embellishment. It cannot help but be vulgar, but in a way that has been rinsed clean by civilization. Its vanity rests upon a pragmatic foundation.