Wednesday, January 16, 2013

Better Hell Lost





Better Hell Lost
Lu Xun 1925
Tr. Huiwen Zhang 2012

I dreamt of myself lying on the bed, out in a desolate suburb, next to Hell.  All ghosts’ moaning is invariably low, yet ordered, resonating with flames’ roaring, oil’s boiling, and steel tridents’ trembling, creating an intoxicating supreme symphony—an announcement to the three kingdoms: peace reigns.
There is a great man standing in front of me, beautiful, merciful, all around his body radiating supreme light; yet I know he is the Devil.
“All is over, all is over!  The pitiable devils have lost the better Hell!”  He speaks with grief and anger, thereupon sitting down, telling me a story he knows.
“It was when heaven and earth were the color of honey that the Devil triumphed over God and seized the supreme authority to command all.  He conquered the kingdom of Heaven, the kingdom of Men, and the kingdom of Hell.  He then graced Hell with his presence, sitting in its center, from all over his body radiating supreme light, illuminating all devils and ghosts.
“Hell by then had been long abandoned: the radiance of the sword forest had diminished;[1] the surface of boiling oil had long before ceased surging; the supreme blaze occasionally emitted just a few puffs of blue smoke; far off still sprouted Mandala flowers, exceedingly tiny, pale and pitiable.  It is no wonder, for the earth having been supremely scorched of course lost its fertility.
“The ghosts awakened in cold oil and lukewarm fire, through the light of the Devil seeing the tiny flowers of Hell, pale and pitiable; supremely bewitched, they recalled all of a sudden the world of men, meditating for who knows how many years, thereupon all at once turning towards the kingdom of Men, emitting a desperate prison-toppling shout.
“Humankind stood up at the shout, speaking boldly in the name of justice, plunging into war with the Devil.  The sound of war spread through all three kingdoms, far louder than thunderclaps.  At the end humankind employed supreme tactics and deployed supreme traps, giving the Devil no choice but exile from Hell.  The ultimate triumph: even atop the gates of Hell swept the banners of humankind!
“Hardly had the devils broken into a chorus of hurrahs, when humankind’s appointee to rectify Hell graced it with his presence, sitting in its center, bellowing with human severity at all devils and ghosts.
“Hardly had the ghosts emitted another desperate prison-toppling shout, when they became traitors to humankind, receiving as punishment perpetual degradation and forced to the center of the sword forest.
“Humankind then completely seized the supreme authority over Hell, a power even above the Devil.  Humankind then rectified law and custom, first paid the ox-headed demons the highest salary in grass, then added fuel to the flames and sharpened the knife mountain, transforming Hell’s whole appearance, washing away all of its former decadent atmosphere.
“The Mandala flowers immediately withered.  Oil boiling as before, knives cutting as before, flames burning as before, devils and ghosts moaning as before and writhing as before, so that they have no time even to recall the better Hell lost.
“This is humankind’s conquest, the ghosts’ misfortune…
 “Friend, you mistrust me.  Yes, you are human!  For now I go in search of brutes and devils…”


[1] “Sword forest” and “knife mountain” imply common tortures in the eighteen-level Hell. Sinners are forced to climb trees with sharp thorns or mountains with sharp blades sticking out.



 

4 comments:

  1. Our brief discussion about Better Hell Lost being "easier" than the Revenges made me think about beer. The normal flavor of beer is just plain, sweet, and malty - almost like soda. What gives beer real flavor is the hops which are added during brewing. But hops do not just add flavor, they also add bitterness. So in general, the best, most flavorful, complex, and interesting beers also tend to be the most bitter and undrinkable. Better Hell Lost is like a lightly-hopped doppelbock, it is powerful and enjoyable, but a little monosyllabic. The Revenges are more like very hoppy IPAs... complex, dense, somewhat inaccessible... harder to enjoy. But ultimately more rewarding. So that's my beer metaphor.

    As to why Lu Xun would choose to brew up something a little more smooth and easy, I am not convinced that it is a deliberate attempt to dumb-down or make himself more palatable for mass-consumption. Instead, I think some of the easier pieces were simply written when he was in a different mood. Often in the complex works of Wild Grass we get a feeling of being totally sunk in despair or steeped in darkness. For Lu Xun (as for many artists) depressions are very productive. By contrast, Better Hell Lost (among others) is more uppity, sassy, or hopeful. I know Lu Xun claimed to only write at night, but I suggest that (at least as a metaphor) he wrote Better Hell during the day. There is this sort of heroic biting sarcasm that really reminds me of Nietzsche at his best.

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    2. Bryce’s ‘beer metaphor’ strikes me—not only I feel the same way, but Lu Xun himself feels the same way. On an October night of 1927, Lu Xun wrote:

      “After nine o’clock all had dispersed; in a giant western-style building there was nobody but me. I sank into quiet. The silence grew richer and thicker like wine, making me slightly drunk. […] I leaned on the stone railing and looked into the distance, listening to the sound of my heart. Around me there still seemed to be infinite sorrow, pain, decay, death. All joined in this silence, turned it into medicated wine, adding color, adding taste, adding aroma. At this moment I wanted to write, but I was not able to write, I knew not how to write. This is what I mean with 'When I am silent, I feel whole; once I open my mouth, I feel empty.'” (tr. Huiwen Zhang).

      Fortunately, however, Lu Xun's writing is not a cup of emptiness, but a cup of tonic wine. Better Hell Lost is a “sweet sip;” Revenges are two “bitter sips.”

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  2. In the beginning was the dream, and the work of disenchantment never ends.

    — Kim Stanley Robinson, the final sentence from "Icehenge"

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