The proof of the pudding ...

Taiwanese writer Egoyan Zheng wants the world to see that Taiwan has some top-class literary talent and is a match for its giant neighbor in terms of quality

By Ian Bartholomew
STAFF REPORTER, Taipei Times
Sunday, Nov 04, 2007, Page 18

Egoyan Zheng is on a mission to put Taiwan on the literary map. PHOTO: Courtesy of Egoyan/Hu En-hui

On Nov. 10, the winner of the Man Asian Literary Prize, a new component of the prestigious Man Booker International Prize (won this year by Nigerian novelist Chinua Achebe), will be announced. The category for Asian authors includes works originally written in English, as well as translations. With the announcement of the shortlist on Oct. 25, Taiwan's Egoyan Zheng (伊格言) was knocked out of contention, but given the insignificant presence of Taiwanese literature internationally, he is amazed he got that far.

The longlist for the award included such heavy-hitters as Chinese authors Mo Yan (莫言) and Jiang Rong (姜戎), the latter's Wolf Totem (狼圖騰) making it through to the shortlist.

Egoyan Zheng is the pen name of Zheng Qian-ci (鄭千慈), a former medical student who has turned his back on medicine to explore the souls of men, rather than just their bodies. In entering the competition he was acutely aware that he was handicapped in terms of international recognition, not just by his age - he is just 30 - or the fact that Fleeting Light (流光) is his first novel, but also because of where he comes from.

"Most Westerners, if they want to read (East) Asian literature, will think of China or Japan; they don't know that Taiwan has works of equal caliber," he said, in an interview with Taipei Times. Zheng is convinced that in terms of quality, the new generation of writers is a match for all contenders in the arena of pure literature.

To make his point, he took the unusual step of personally seeking a translator for his work and paying her out of his own pocket, rather than hoping that one day a local publisher would come along with an offer to pay for translation, publication and international marketing.

"The publishing industry (for literature) in Taiwan is too small; it cannot afford to bear the costs of translation. So how do you make your work known abroad? One way or another, you have to get it translated. The publishers won't do it, so the only thing to do is pay for it myself. ... And obviously, I am also confident about the quality of my work."

This confidence led him to abandon his medical studies at the National Taiwan University in his fourth year and transfer to graduate studies at the graduate school of Chinese at Tamkang University. In doing this, he also cast aside a family tradition of medical practice.

"I knew I could write well," he said, "and becoming a doctor is basically about nothing more than looking after ourselves economically - its a secure job. As a medical student, I had no great ambition - that's all I wanted to achieve. As a writer, I believe I have talent."

Zheng maintains an interest in science, especially its philosophical implications, and has plans to write science fiction at some point, but the mentality that pushes him toward literature is the desire to explore the irrational in humans. This is behind the choice of his pen name, taken from the Canadian director Atom Egoyan, whose films Zheng admires. Talking about Egoyan's The Sweet Hereafter (1997), Zheng said: "A part of the story is telling you that the irrational part of a person can often be much stronger than the rational. ... Simplifying, I can say that after watching that film, I had an appreciation of the dark power of the irrational. It left a deep impression on me. I later realized that this was a response to a good piece of art."

So putting his medical studies behind him, he dedicated himself to creating experimental, enigmatic and richly ambiguous texts of high literary modernism. Conveying the multiple levels and philosophical contradictions of mundane life is an important part of what Zheng tries to do in Fleeting Light, and he believes that his achievements, and those of his contemporaries, have already taken Taiwanese literature to a new level.

Speaking about writer Luo Yi-chun (駱以軍), who wrote the preface for Man in a Jar (甕中人), the book of short stories on which Fleeting Light is based, Zheng said: "I believe that Luo is a world-class author. It is just unfortunate that he was born in Taiwan. Because of this, he has not had the opportunity (of writers from other nations). ... There simply isn't the environment. He can't get the recognition that he deserves, and I think it's time to do something about this situation. That's why I decided to translate my work."

The belief that until a work of art is recognized internationally, it won't be recognized in Taiwan has been justified time and time again.

"The fact that we have to rely on translation is unavoidable. I have heard older writers say that because the flavor of the text is lost in translation, they won't have their work translated. I don't agree with this ... . Taiwanese prefer to read imported books because they think they are better, but for myself, I can now at least show that I'm good enough to make the Booker (Man Asian Literary Prize) longlist. Readers don't always see the quality of a work, so we (writers) must prove it to them, and show them that local writers are just as good as foreign authors. If we don't get our works translated, we will never be able to do this."

The Man Asian Literary Prize could have been created to fit Zheng's purpose, though the prize itself, worth US$10,000, is overshadowed by the vastly more prestigious international award, worth US$120,000. The prize was instituted partially to feed a growing market for books by Asian authors, who are increasingly making an impact on the international literary scene, a fact supported by the release of imprints such as Penguin India and Picador Asia. Nevertheless, translation remains an issue, not simply from the standpoint of cost, but also from that of quality. In this area, Zheng, who has few illusions about his English-language skills, admits that in finding a translator, he didn't have many options.

"I went online," he said nonchalantly. "I found Laura Jane Wey (魏正儀). She was just one year older than me, and also Taiwanese. She was at Harvard studying comparative literature. ... She'd won some Council for Cultural Affairs translation awards. The process was rather casual. I had her translate some stuff for review, but my English isn't really good enough to judge her translation. I just had to go on instinct. ... Well, it got me onto the (Man Asian) longlist."

Writers from China have made more of an impact on the international market, though the situation favors only a small number of well-known names. Although last year Penguin agreed to spend a record US$100,000 for the English-language rights to Jiang's Wolf Totem, a combination of autobiography, legend and ethnological observations of the Mongolian people, such attention is still rare. The publisher procured the services of Howard Goldblatt, easily the most highly regarded translator currently working from Chinese, and who has an established reputation for handling complex texts. The book is scheduled for release in March 2008. Goldblatt has translated works by Taiwanese authors, most notably Chu Tien-wen's (朱天文) mind-numbingly dense Notes of a Desperate Man (荒人手記) published by Columbia University Press, which despite positive critical reception, failed to generate a popular buzz.

In relation to its giant neighbor, Zheng believes Taiwan has the edge in terms of quality. "To say that China has produced outstanding modern literature is to state the obvious. ... But I believe that on average, they are not as accomplished Modernists (as many Taiwanese writers). They may be very skilled, the stories may be very good, but they lack depth. I am not saying that to tell a story simply from beginning to end is a bad thing, but for me, it's a question of depth. To tell a good story is fine, but in terms of Modernism, can you convey an understanding of a deeply complex dilemma? We (Taiwan's best authors) try to achieve a level of philosophical complexity, and this is something in which they lag behind … ."

"And if you ask me which is more important, a good story or philosophical depth, I will unhesitatingly plum for the latter," Zheng added.

Having failed to gain the Man shortlist, Zheng said he was not especially disappointed. "At least I have a translated text which I can now present to publishers," he said.

Mayaw Biho: Calculated to please nobody

Mayaw Biho, an Aboriginal rights activist, says he has no political agenda, yet campaigns for the use of Aboriginal names; he documents the lives of marginalized people, yet says he doesn't care whether their traditions live or die

Mayaw Biho, filmmaker PHOTO: IAN BARTHOLOMEW, TAIPEI TIMES

Mayaw Biho (馬躍比吼) is one of Taiwan's most prolific Aboriginal documentary filmmakers with over 20 films, varying in length from around 10 minutes to over an hour, and many unfinished projects awaiting funding to his name. At 37, he has created more than enough work to annoy the powers-that-be both in the government, as well as within the Aboriginal establishment. He attributes this to his refusal to take sides. "I simply record what I see," he said.

This is, perhaps, an understatement, for Mayaw Biho admits to a broad social agenda that relates to the empowerment of Aboriginal peoples through a greater understanding of their culture and unique identity. His campaign for the use of Aboriginal names has received the most attention in recent years, and he has repeatedly denounced the government for its petty bureaucratic obstructionism on this issue. He also accepts that elders within Aboriginal communities have played their part in hindering the reversion to Aboriginal names. "If they agree [to the name rectification], this suggests that what they have been doing for all these decades has been wrong," he said, stating his position in a way calculated to please nobody.

A scene from Mayaw Biho's first film, Children in Heaven, which documents Aboriginal family life. PHOTO: COURTESY OF TIEFF

Although Mayaw Biho uses his Aboriginal name almost exclusively, and relates closely to his identity as a member of the Pangcah community, which he regards as the correct designation for the Amis, his own ancestry is mixed. His father is Han Chinese, while his mother is Pangcah. "I come from a mixed background, so I never saw things from just a single perspective," he said. "When I was young, the things my father told me would usually fit in with what my teachers taught me at school, but when I grew up, the stuff I found interesting - that was closer to me - was from my mother's side ... . So in my work, I avoided mainstream ideas, and tried out different ways of looking at things. It can be a hard road, but I am determined to follow it, because it is also where you can find happiness and enjoyment."

Before becoming a filmmaker, Mayaw Biho worked as a photographer. While serving in the navy, he recorded the doings of various high-ranking military officials. "My access to these officials, the way they acted, was all about special privilege. It was another world completely, and I felt that it was very unfair," he said.

Another experience that struck him as unfair came after he completed military service and was studying at Shih Hsin University (世新大學). On a photo expedition to Taitung, he teamed up with a number of hobbyists who wanted to take photos of Aboriginal people in their full ceremonial regalia. "They brought a couple of bottles of rice wine and some cans of coffee ... . They asked a number of old women if they minded being photographed. The woman were delighted to be asked, but this whole situation made me feel uncomfortable ... . That we were able to conclude such a transaction with a couple of bottles of rice wine [seemed wrong], and the photos we took were fake. And the fact that the old women were so delighted to pose made me even more uncomfortable."

One of Mayaw Biho's first projects, Children in Heaven (天堂小孩), remains an important artistic and political statement. Only 13 minutes long, but combining material taken over three years, the film is a visual chronicle of an Aboriginal community that lived under the Sanying Bridge (三鶯大橋) in Taipei County. Their homes were demolished repeatedly by the government, but the group persisted in rebuilding. The only commentary is provided by children, and the images are set to the soulful strains of Kimbo Hu (胡德夫) singing Am I in Heaven? (不不歌). The short film drips with irony, and though very different from his later, more conventional documentary films, it shows Mayaw Biho's disinclination to obtrude himself into his films.

"It's much easier if other people do the talking," he said half jokingly.

On a more serious note, he added that he rejects the device of the voice-over to direct the perceptions of audiences. He is content to record, and focuses on many mundane aspects of the Aboriginal experience, building up a multi-layered picture of communities. One of his subjects is the Makutaay community, which feature in one of his best-known works, Dear Rice Wine, You Are Defeated (親愛的米酒妳被我打敗了). "There are only 200 to 300 people in that community, but I have already been able to make seven or eight films about different aspects of their life," he said.

"I am a regular presence," he said. "They even find it odd now when I am not carrying around my recording equipment." But his experience of how the media can manipulate the subjects that it purports to record have proved decisive in determining his cinematic technique, and his determination not to take sides. "I am only responsible for passing on the message of others," he said. "If they have disagreements, I let them have their say."

"A tribal elder rebuked me for making this film. ... But for me, the ceremonial use of wine and drinking in daily life are different issues. The use of wine in this instance has a deep cultural significance, and even though I am not a big drinker, I still support [heavy drinking during certain festivals]. This is a record, and a way of raising awareness of our culture," the filmmaker said. "I cannot be bothered to participate in their meetings about what we should and shouldn't do. I simply record. I don't even care that much whether the ceremonies are preserved."

In addition to making films, Mayaw Biho is active in promoting another trend in ethnographic filmmaking: screening films by Aboriginal filmmakers in the local communities where they were made. "It's not much point just showing them on television, for many of the mountain communities along the east coast don't have reception," he said, but in this, as with filmmaking, funding is a constant issue.

"If you don't support their [the government's] agenda for the Aborigines, it is difficult to get funding," he said. "For someone like myself, it is almost impossible to get funding from the Council of Indigenous Peoples (原民會)." The Cabinet-level agency tasked with promoting the interests of Taiwan's Aborigines is often perceived as a collaborator and toady to a broader Han Chinese agenda. "Most local documentary filmmakers will not touch politically sensitive issues. Just look at the films made about the 921 Earthquake (in 1999). It is all about the human spirit overcoming disaster, not about how government mismanagement added to the suffering. This is the really disgusting thing about documentary filmmaking in Taiwan."

A favorite target of Mayaw Biho's criticism is Taiwan Indigenous TV, established in 2004 to cater to the Aboriginal community. Lauded as Asia's first television station for Aboriginal people, it is criticized by Mayaw Biho for avoiding all the real issues. He attributes this to the lack of an independent perspective. "In order to get through school, most of the Aboriginal kids working in media have had to give the wrong answers. If they responded with an Aboriginal perspective, they would never graduate. By the time they start working, they are well trained. They know exactly how far they can go."

Mayaw Biho, despite a constant and increasingly difficult fight for funding, hopes that he can go further.

Two of Mayaw Biho's films, Carry the Paramount of Jade Mountain on My Back (揹起玉山最高峰) and Dear Rice Wine, You Are Defeated (親愛的米酒,妳被我打敗了) will be screened at the Majestic Theater (真善美戲院), located at 7F, 116 Hanzhong St, Taipei (台北市漢中街116號7樓) tomorrow at 9:20pm as part of the Taipei International Ethnographic Film Festival. Tickets are NT$160 and are available at the door.

Published in Taipei Times
Sunday, Sep 30, 2007, Page 18