By Jonathan D. Spence
"Like every thing else written through Jonathan Spence, The Chan's nice Continent is an absolute must-read for somebody drawn to China. Spence is among the maximum Sinologists of our time, and his paintings is either authoritative and hugely readable." ―Los Angeles instances ebook Review
China has transfixed the West because the earliest contacts among those civilizations. along with his attribute beauty and perception, Jonathan Spence explores how the West has understood China over seven centuries. starting from Marco Polo's personal depiction of China and the potent Khan, Kublai, within the 1270s to the China sightings of 3 twentieth-century writers of stated genius-Kafka, Borges, and Calvino-Spence conveys Western concept on China via a notable array of expression. Peopling Spence's account are Iberian adventurers, Enlightenment thinkers, spinners of the dreamy cult of Chinoiserie, and American observers resembling Bret Harte, Mark Twain, Ezra Pound, and Eugene O'Neill. Taken jointly, those China sightings let us know as a lot concerning the self-image of the West as approximately China. "Wonderful. . . . Spence brilliantly demonstrates [how] new release after new release of Westerners [have] requested themselves, 'What is it . . . that held this astounding, various, and immensely populous land together?' "--New York occasions e-book Review
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Additional resources for The Chan's Great Continent: China in Western Minds
Lets stand right here as idle, and permit Asia pour Her barbaric hordes in this civilized shore? Has the White guy no nation? Are we left within the lurch? and in addition what’s long gone of the verified Church? One guy to 400 is superb odds, I personal, yet this ’yer’s a White Man—I performs it on my own! ”27 It was once in 1875, after the luck of those poems with a chinese language topic, that Harte wrote his such a lot eloquent and powerful attack on white American bigotry opposed to chinese language immigrants, “Wan Lee, the Pagan. ” during this piece, Harte first introduces his good friend, the rich storekeeper Hop Sing, with language redolent of Goldsmith, as “that so much sombre of all humorists, a chinese language thinker. ”28 He then proceeds to an affectionate and dignified comic strip of Hop Sing whom, he observes, he has recognized because 1856: He was once, most often, a slightly grave, decorous, good-looking gentleman. His complexion, which prolonged far and wide his head other than the place his lengthy pig-tail grew, used to be like a truly great piece of glazed brown paper-muslin. His eyes have been black and vivid, and his eyelids set at an perspective of 15°; his nostril directly and delicately shaped, his mouth small, and his the teeth white and fresh. He wore a gloomy blue silk shirt, and within the streets on chilly days a quick jacket of Astrakhan fur. . . . His demeanour used to be urbane, even supposing rather severe. He spoke French and English fluently. in short, I doubt in the event you can have chanced on the equivalent of this Pagan shopkeeper one of the Christian investors of San Francisco. 29 via Hop Sing, Harte employs his friend’s ten-year-old followed son Wan Lee in his newspaper place of work. Wan has had a combined Chinese-American education—“he had passed through the Tri-literal classics,” says his father, “knows yet little of Confucius, and completely not anything of Mencius”—and speaks in pidgin. he's a mischievous, glowing boy, “with happiness beaming from each the teeth and pride shining in his huckleberry eyes,” who likes to set minidiatribes opposed to himself in sort, to insert insulting chinese language sentences into the midst of a few passage of fulsome compliment for a few unworthy neighborhood baby-kisser. a bit later, enrolled within the San Francisco college of a retired China missionary, Wan Lee experiences joyfully and befriends the daughter of his Western landlady, who turns into his inseparable better half. on the top of his power and pleasure, with a yellow ribbon given to him by way of the woman tied around his queue and the little porcelain god he constantly carried with him tucked below his blouse, Wan Lee is without notice, pointlessly, slain. Harte closes his tale sharply: useless, my reverend acquaintances, useless! Stoned to dying within the streets of San Francisco, within the yr of grace, eighteen hundred and sixty-nine, via a mob of half-grown boys and Christian school-children! As I placed my hand reverently upon his breast, I felt anything crumbling underneath his shirt. . . . It was once Wan Lee’s porcelain god, overwhelmed through a stone from the fingers of these Christian iconoclasts! 30 through the mid-1870s, Harte—at the apogee of his repute as a writer—developed goals as a dramatist.