Negotiating Culture Space and Identity: The Translation and Analysis of Tongzhi and Ku-er Fiction

Wandering Into A Den of Fairies
Last Saturday night your reporter entered forbidden territory by accident. Li Ruan of ancient times ascended to heaven, you reporter stumbled upon a den of fairies. […] In the heart of our fair city, on Lane 125 of Nanking East Road […] there, tucked in among the barbecues, coffee houses and Japanese restaurants, shrouded in secrecy, is a tavern called the Cozy Nest. If the reader enters through the narrow door beside Golden Angel and descends to the basement he will find himself in an amazingly different world, a den of fairies […] No, here you’ll only find a group of pretty faced, scarlet-lipped, giggling “fairies” […]
But fairies travel different roads, and a den of fairies cannot long exist in human society. After finishing his glass of beer, your reporter made a hasty retreat to the land of mortals. This report on the “den of fairies” is offered to the reader s a sampling of this strange encounter. [Goldblatt’s translation 1995: 282]
The article is about the fictional club The Cozy Nest (located in the real life location of Nanking East Road), opened by the alternative community in New Park. This can be seen as an extension of the New Park diaspora, in which the club provides a (imagined) refuge for its inhabitants. There are decided differences, however, between the earlier proclamation ‘this is our kingdom”, and the “den of fairies” being portrayed here. In the translated version, the club is exoticised as an other worldly location reminiscent to the myth of Li Chen and Ruan Ping [Li Ruan]⁸. The translated text adopts the ethereal tone and describes the patrons of the club as “fairies”. The Chinese original is even more derogatory, in which they are called 人妖 – human shaped spirits. The character 妖 in particular, denotes evil spirits as well as femininity, conforming to the stereotype of gay men as both unnatural and effeminate. If the ‘citizens’ of New Park are formed out of exclusion, here they are actively being excluded. By turning the diaspora into an exotic symbol, the community becomes a spectacle to be ridicule by voyeurs. The sense of exile is also evident here, in the divide between human-heterosexuals and non-human-homosexuals.
To summarise this section, diaspora signifies a collective history, which in itself includes literary history. Clifford describes diaspora communities as “hybrid historical junctures” (1997: 261), and this can be seen in the changing textual representations of Taipei New Park. Although the portrayal of these diasproas may not always be positive, they can nevertheless still be a potentially enabling point of reference for readers. Furthermore, textual diasporas illustrate that minority cultures are not isolated or static, and interact with numerous factors. As noted, the examples cited in this section are from translated text, which extends the location of the diaspora even further. This leads us to the concluding section, culture as a ‘contact zone’.
4.4 Conclusion
When looking at macro phenomenon, whether in globalization, cosmopolitanism or migration, one aspect that is frequently mentioned is the change in the nature of communication. The speed and ease with which people are able to communicate with one another, such as through online mediums, make ‘foreign’ culture far more accessible. This is an overarching theme running through this paper, and in which translation is one agency. Simon (1999), in her study on the translation of Quebecan literature, put forward the concept of culture and translation as a ‘contact zone’. While used to describe culture with a Postcolonial experience, Simon also notes that this is increasingly applicable to Western cultures: “We find Western society as a whole has turned into an immense contact zone, where intercultural relations contribute to the internal life of all national cultures” (1999: 58). By extension, these intercultural relations affect the way in which identities are formed. As Della Porta and Diani also notes: “Identification are increasingly defined within a process of accelerated cultural globalization.” (2006: 51). The next chapter on tongzhi and ku-er culture in Taiwan is an elaboration of this accelerated cultural globalization.

Chapter 5: Approaches: Frames, Framing and Translation
In the previous chapter, minority identities and communities were shown to be part of transcultural networks, facilitated by the process of translation. This process can be evaluated through the perspective of ‘frames’ and ‘framing’. This offers a systematic approach when looking at the interweaving strands of literal and cultural translation in tongzhi and ku-er fiction. The concept of ‘frame’ itself encompasses a wide variety of interpretations. Ensink and Sauer (2003), in their overview of frame and perspectives, note the difficulty in finding a unifying definition of frame. As the two state, the term ‘frame’ has different meanings within different fields of research, or even different meanings in the same field of research (2003: 3). Rather than attempting a broad overview of framing, the purpose of this paper is to focus on the sociological, literary and translational applications of ‘frame’.
To paraphrase the work of Goffman (1974), human activities do not occur in a vacuum, and everything we do, see and perceive is related to a previous memory, experience, social and biological structure; in other words, a framework. Therefore, the notion of frame can include anything from our cognitive schema to the wide socio-political frames of the world
While definitions of ‘frame’ and ‘framing’ across different disciplines are broad, the most relevant aspects in relation to the evaluation of tongzhi and ku-er fiction are predominantly the literary and sociological approaches. The formation of social movements through the production and alignment of different linguistic frames, as well as the physical ‘frame’ that surrounds the actual text, corresponds with the essence of tongzhi and ku-er fiction.
Most significantly, the translated text itself constitutes as a form of ‘frame’, and the process of translation can be viewed as ‘reframing’. As studies by Baker (2006) and Jones and Arsenjevic (2005) will demonstrate however, the notion of ‘reframing’ in translation is fraught with ideological complications. The aim of this chapter is thus to provide an overview on the different literary and sociological interpretations of frames and framing, and show how they lead to a better understanding of tongzhi and ku-er translated text. Preceding the pilot study in chapter 6 and 7, the literary and sociological approaches to framing identity to the translated text as both a ‘literary frame’ and a product of ‘reframing’.
5.1 Frames as an ‘Organisation of Experience’
Sociological discussions on frames and framing can be traced back to the works of Erving Goffman. John Heritage, in his overview of Goffman and Garfinkel’s study, describes Goffman’s fundamental achievement as the establishment of social interaction as a form of social organisation (2002: 48). It should be noted here that Goffman does not clearly define frame in his studies, but refers to it as the “organisation of experience” (1974: 10). As the statement suggests, Goffman’s interpretation of ‘frame’ is broad and arguably abstract. This makes his studies of frame and framing more conceptual than systematic. Nevertheless, Goffman’s frame can be seen to define the ‘context’ of the situation, a foundation for the discussion on the literary and the translation frame.
In his influential Frame Anaylsis (1974), Goffman proposes that our reading of events in the world is built within a series of ‘frames’:
I assume that definitions of a situation are built up in accordance with principles of organisation which govern events – at least social ones – and our subjective involvement in them; frame is the word I use to refer to such of these basic elements I was able to identify. (Goffman 1974, 10-11)

These “principles of organisation” are divided by Goffman into ‘natural’ and ‘social’ frameworks. They form the ‘primary frameworks’ upon which our understanding of the world is based; once the primary framework of a situation is understood, the specifics can be interpreted. Goffman uses daily social observations and anecdotes to support his assertions. To briefly outline the two frameworks, the natural frame is described by Goffman as “purely physical”, structured by neutral, ‘natural’ agents with neither positive nor negative intention (1974: 21). Goffman cites the weather report as an example, because the state of the weather is a ‘frame’ uncontrolled by human agency.

Social frameworks, in contrast, are “guided” by human agents, subject to intervention and manipulation (1974: 21). Goffman’s examples are primarily concerned with the nuances that occur within social frameworks. The multifaceted patterns of human interaction, from lying to theatrical performance, show that the social frame can have multiple layers of interpretation. In addition, social frames abide by certain rules or structures. As Goffman states: “all social frameworks involve rules, but differently” (1974: 24). An example he uses is the game of draughts, in which a move is informed by the rules of the game, yet the direction of the move is dictated by the strategy of the player. Seen from this perspective, social interactions are fundamentally multifaceted.
One aspect of framing in Goffman’s discussion, ‘keying’, demonstrates that primary social frames can be subverted and transformed. According to Goffman, the concept of ‘key’ or ‘keying’ refers to “what appears to be something isn’t quite that” (1974: 45). Goffman provides a systematic outline of the main concepts of ‘keying’. The first rule is stated below:
A systematic transformation is involved across materials already meaningful in accordance with schema of interpretation, and without which keying would be meaningless. (Goffman 1974:45)

According to Goffman, participants would take part in the aforementioned ‘systematic transformation’. Take the action of ‘fight’ for instance: the primary frame involves two or more participants engaged in acts of violence. However, the context of fight is also frequently transformed in real life. The way young animals ‘play fight’ with each other, in which the act of violence is offset by the fact that neither party is truly fighting with the intention for harm or conflict, can be seen as an example of frame transformation. Goffman further elaborates on the concept: “In addition to what an otter can do, we can stage a fight in accordance with a script, or fantasize one, or describe one retrospectively […] and so forth” (1974: 45 original emphasis). The multiple situations that potentially arise from a single framework, in this instance, illustrate that a social frame is not a fixed structure.

By extension, the individual can also be an active participant in social frameworks. As Goffman states: “During any spate of activity, participants will ordinarily not only obtain a sense of what is going on but will also (in some degree) become spontaneously, caught up, enthralled” (1974: 345). While Goffman does not give clear examples to support this argument, the individual’s participation in a social framework can conversely be seen when an individual intentionally or unintentionally ‘breaks’ the frame. Goffman refers to an unsuccessful theatre performance as a case in point, in which an actor fails to maintain the frame of ‘make believe’, thus breaking the frame of the situation (1974: 349). This sense of disengagement can extend to the audience, who may choose to no longer participate in this ‘make believe’ framework.
Following Frame Analysis, Goffman later develops the idea of ‘keying’ as ‘footing’ in Forms of Talk (1981). Goffman himself does not provide a clear definition and Ensink and Sauer note in their paper that the concept of frame and footing may almost be identical (2003: 8). Goffman’s discussion, in this respect, is primarily focused on participants’ intervention of frame. Accordingly, shifts in the conversation, such as the change in tone or address, can alter the context of a situation (1981: 94-5). Goffman uses a newspaper article about a Republican press conference from 1973 as a case in point. To briefly recap, the article reports that President Nixon, upon seeing a female reporter in a pair of trousers, jokingly asks her to ‘turn around’ and ‘get changed’ (1981: 93). Goffman outlines the two variations of ‘frame’ that manifest in the situation. The first is the explicit sexism evident in the scenario, in which the male participants hold the position of power over the female participant. Within this patriarchal ‘frame’, the female reporter not only expects to receive, but also accept comments on her appearance. The second is the transformation of context. A presidential press conference is normally conducted with formality. However, by targeting the female reporter, Nixon (the highest figure of authority in the scenario) had changed the frame from professionalism into one of joviality.
In this case, the individual is involved in both the making and breaking of the frame. The change in footing is thus summarised by Goffman as a ‘change in our frame of events’ (1981: 93). As a side note, Goffman does not mention that the newspaper article is itself a form of framing. Factors such as the reporting language, and what is highlighted in the scenario, can all potentially influence the reader’s interpretation of the event. The opening line of the article: “President Nixon, a gentleman of the old school, teased a newspaper woman yesterday about wearing slacks” foreshadows the situation. The description of Nixon as a “gentleman of the old school”, for instance, set the reader’s expectation of the type of interaction that follows. It is worth mentioning Tannen’s study on framing in discourse here, in which she notes that expectations shape the way language is produced (1993: 21). The same principle can be seen in reverse, in which language can affect our expectations. The power of language in ‘framing’ our perception of events will be discussed further in Baker’s Translation and Power (2003) in section 5.4.
Although Goffman’s interpretation of social framework is a significant point of reference for later studies on frames and framing (Tannen 1993, Benford and Snow 2000), overall his examples are arguably narrow in scope. Heritage, while praising Goffman’s influence, notes that one weakness of Goffman’s studies is that he did not so much “demonstrate his theoretical observations as exemplify them” (2002: 49). In Frame Anaylsis, Goffman justifies his examples as being primarily concerned with the organisation of experience for the participant only:
This book is about the organisation of experience – something that an individual actor can take into his mind – and not the organisation of society […] I am not addressing the structure of social life but the structure of experience individuals has at any moment of their social lives. (Goffman 1974: 13)
However, this statement is paradoxical as in order to make sense of personal experiences, the individual will inevitably engage with the structure of social life, because it is this very structure that forms the primary framework for the individual. Analysis that focuses mostly on effects and ignores causes risks appearing insubstantial. As Heritage summarises: “Goffman’s approach - brilliant though it was, failed to stabilize as a systematic approach to the analysis of interaction” (2002: 49). Seen from this perspective, it can be said Goffman’s frame is not wholly methodical, making the practical application of his theories problematic.
Furthermore, evidence that frames are frequently constructed to meet a specific agenda is often overlooked in Goffman’s approach. Returning to Ensink and Sauer (2003), the two scholars point out that frame is also based on

‘perspectives’ – where the content of discourse and situation is always ‘displayed’ from a point of view (2003: 2). This idea is reinforced by Baker, who notes that Goffman and his followers tend to focus on interpretation rather than active and conscious intervention to frame an event for others […] (Baker 2006: 106). While Goffman does engage in some degree of frame intervention in his discussion, such as lying or acting, his examples are anecdotal, and only portray the superficial aspects of interaction. Later research by Benford and Snow (2000) and Baker (2006) demonstrates that ‘conscious intervention’ in framing plays an important role in collective movements and political discourse respectively; social movements and popular media actively ‘frame’ events and literature to inspire desired reactions. The significance of frame and framing extends beyond the individual’s participation in daily activities, to include movements and discourses with the potential to change our perception of the world.

Ultimately, Goffman’s studies provide the sociological grounding for discussions on frames and framing. Defined as the ‘organisation of experience’, ‘frame’ allows the possibility for complex versions to develop.
5.2 Literary Approaches to Frames and Framing
While Goffman’s discussion focuses on aspects of social framing, the physical ‘frame ‘ itself provides points of interest. Tannen and Wallat (1993), in their overview of framing in discourse, note that definitions of frame can be divided into two categories: “frames of interpretation” (as embodied by the works of Goffman) and ‘knowledge structures’, also known as ‘schema’. The term ‘schema’, like frame, holds different meanings in different fields of research. In Tannen and Wallat’s study, the two scholars employ the term ‘knowledge schema’ to refer to our expectations about people, events, and settings of the world (1993: 60). Accordingly, our understanding of a situation is based on a system/pattern of previous knowledge. Although this is only a brief explanation of schema, the concept, as proposed by Tannen and Wallat is nevertheless useful when looking at literary approach to framing. Whether represented as genres or paratexts, the literary frames discussed in this section act as the ‘knowledge schema’ of the text. As the following studies will illustrate, they form the basis of the reader’s expectations.
John Frow (1982; 2006) coins the term ‘literary frame’ in relation to the understanding of literary genres and aesthetic space. In an earlier study (1982), Frow explores the potential of the literary frame as a concept. Taking an open ended quote from Goffman as his starting point: “A cup can be filled from any realm, but only the handle belongs to the realm that qualifies as reality” (1974: 249). Frow views the ‘literary frame’ as the ‘handle’, or the reality that provides the structure for a text in the fictional literary realm (1982: 25). According to him, the literary frame represents both the ‘material’ and ‘immaterial’ border of the aesthetic object, connecting the fictional aspects of the object with the reality of the world (1982: 25). The concept of frame is thus described by Frow as: “ […] sign of the boundary between the marked and unmarked space” (1982: 25). One example Frow cites is Duchamp’s sculpture of a urinal The Fountain (1917); while the urinal is not conventionally perceived to have aesthetic value, the space, or ‘frame’ of the museum transforms the urinal into an aesthetic object. Seen from this perspective, frame not only represents, but also creates the context in which the aesthetic object is positioned. On a textual level, Frow identifies the physical frame as including the cover, introduction, title and even the textual margins. For Frow, these aspects represent spaces in the text that are “neither inside nor outside” (1982: 27), but situated in between, connecting the inside with the outside, or in the literary context, fiction with reality.
Although Frow is ahead of his time in his discussion of extra-textual elements, arguably his definition of frame as aesthetic boundary is bstract. He later elaborates on the idea of frame as comparable to ‘genre’ in his study of the same name. In a similar description to schema, Frow defines genre as ‘a set of conventions’, as stated below:
Genre […] is a set of conventional and highly organised constraints on the production and interpretation of meaning. In using the word ‘constraint’ I don’t mean to say that genre is simply a restriction. Rather, its structuring effects are productive of meaning; they shape and guide, in the way that a builder gives shape to a pour of concrete […] Generic structures both enables and restricts meaning, and is a basic condition for meaning to take place. (Frow 2006: 10)
Based on Frow’s assertions, one basic example of this ‘creative constraint’ can be seen in poetry. Types of poetry, such as limericks or elegies, need to follow a specific poetic structure to be defined as such. Nevertheless, Frow also notes that his concept of genre is reflexive - “in which texts are thought to use or perform the genres by which they are shaped” (2006: 25). Satire is another case in point, a genre that parodies the structure of other genres. On the whole, this concept of ‘genre’ does not necessarily represent a fixed textual structure. It is open to social and strategic manipulations, as Frow states: “The work of genre […] is to mediate between a social situation and the text which realises certain features of this situation, or which responds strategically to its demands” (2006: 14).
Frow considers the literary frame and genre as ‘near synonyms’ in his study (2006: 106). Although he does not specify the similarities (or differences) between the two concepts, the literary frame is presented as an ‘anticipatory structure’. In a similar description to genre, Frow agues that anticipatory structure is composed of a set of ‘cues’ encountered in a literary work, which affect our interpretation of the text. As he states: “we could think of reading or viewing as a process of progressive refinement and adaptation of the sense we made of those cues” (2006: 102). One example he uses is the cinematic genre of the musical. Frow notes that not only do the audience of a musical expect the characters to express themselves through song, it also presents a world in which such expressions are plausible (2006: 103). The anticipatory structure, seen from this perspective, is formed from internal and external elements, or ‘cues’ surrounding the artwork.
In terms of textual applications of framing, Frow elaborates on the ideas discussed in his earlier essay The Literary Frame (1982). Fundamentally, frame provides the spatial definition for the text. As he states:
Frames work to define the text against those things which it is not, cutting it off from the adjacent world; and to convey information from the adjacent world to the framed text (Frow 2006: 106)
The boundary between the ‘world’ and the text is represented by external cues, such as the front cover or the back blurb. Frow mentions ‘paratext’ as a way to interpret the literary frame. As he notes: “many of these external cues, or paratexts, have to do with the material form of the book” (2006: 105, original emphasis). The term ‘parpatext’ is originally coined by Gerard Genette (1991; 1997), whose influence Frow acknowledges in his definition of the literary frame. In Paratext: Thresholds of Interpretations (1997), Genette provides a detailed and extensive analysis of the paratextual framework.
In a statement that holds resonance with the literary frame, Genette describes paratext as the “thresholds” or “fringes” of the text (1991: 261). Serving to both present the text and makes the text present: “to ensure the text’s presence in the world, its reception and consumption in the form […] of a book” (Genette 1997: 1). This concept of paratext corresponds with Frow’s earlier (1986) proposal that the literary frame acts as the border of the text, marking the fictional text’s actuality. Genette points out that the ‘threshold’ represents: “a zone not just of transition, but of transaction, the privileged site of a pragmatics and of a strategy” (1991: 261, original emphasis). The concept of paratext as a ‘strategy’ suggests that paratext is designed to an agenda.
The function of paratext as an ‘illocutionary force” (Genette, 1991: 268) is a case in point. In a description similar to ‘genre’, Frow argues that paratextual frames can potentially influence the way the reader reads the text. As Genette notes, the statement of: “a novel does not signify “This book is a novel” […] but rather “Please look on this book as a novel”” (1997: 11) Even supposedly innocuous information on the text, such as ‘Volume 1’, is considered by Genette to hold the “force of a promise” to the reader (1991: 268), because it indicates the arrival of more volumes to come. For Genette, the primary purpose of paratext is “functionality”, ensuring the text is presented in a way that indicates the authorial purpose (1997: 407). Not only can the paratextual frame physically frame the text, it can also implicitly and explicitly communicate designed information, whether intentionally or not.
One factor both Genette (1997) and Frow (2006) acknowledge is that frame is not a neutral structure. The process of framing can be influenced by human agency. Frow (2006) for example, offers a collective reading of frame/genre, in which he argues that genre is the ‘shared property of a community’ between the writer and the reader. Nevertheless, Frow does note that the reader’s/author’s intervention of the frame is limited, as he summarises in the section on the literary frame: “Readers and writers negotiate the generic status of particular texts but do not have the power to make their ascriptions an inherent property of those texts (2006: 109). This process of negotiation however, is a source of interest and conflict. Foreshadowing the discussion in section 5.4, the translational frame illustrates that human participants do have an influence on frame formation. To quote Baker in her discussion on media framing: “the same set of events can be framed in different ways to promote competing narratives” (2005: 107). While not going into specific examples in this section, Baker’s statement nevertheless highlight that even if frame are formed in accordance with a certain ‘genre’, the interpretation may vary.
It is also worth mentioning here briefly the subject of translation. From a general perspective, Frow uses translation as a metaphor for interpretation, as he states:
We could use the metaphor of translation to think about relations between the levels of setting, genre, and text: texts translate (activate, perform, but also transform) the complex of meanings made available by the structure. (Frow 2006: 16)
While Frow’s description of translation resonates with earlier discussions on cues and schema, the translated text is a literary/paratextual frame. Genette (1997) identifies the translated text as part of the ‘epitext’ – the extra-textual elements that surround the text. The aforementioned concept of paratext as ‘thresholds of interpretation’ corresponds with the idea of translated text itself being a form of interpretation. As an extension of this, Jose Yuste Firas (2012) coins the term ‘paratranslation’ as a way to look at paratextual translations. One aspect Firas mentions is that the translator has to interpret visual cues as well as textual ones. As she states:
Paratranslation invites the translator – translating subjects and first paratranslating agents – to read, interpret and paratranslate any kind of semiotic code surrounding, wrapping, accompanying, extending, introducing and presenting the text at the margins and on the thresholds of translation (2012: 119).
Frias looks at the translation of paratextual cues in children’s literature as a case in point. She notes that peritext (image and textual cues that support the text, which can be seen as part of the overall paratext) in children’s literature employ various devices to convey information, from illustrations, sounds even down to smell. For Frias, the translator must possess a certain degree of visual literacy in order to successfully translate the text. Her assertion holds parallel with some of the earlier studies that engage with paratextual translations (see Harvey 2003, Li 2006), in which changes made in the translated frame can alter the identity of the text. Li Bo (2006), for example, looks at the translation of gay texts from the Chinese to the English language. Comparing Pai Hsien Yung’s male tongzhi novel 孽子 [Niezi] with its American English translation Crystal Boys, one aspect that Li notices is the homosexual element in the English translation was deliberately ‘gayed up’ in order to appeal to a Western audience. In terms of paratextual presentations, Li cites the choice of the cover image as a case in point: the original has an abstract, expressionist style, while the translation has a ‘sexy’ photographic picture of an Asian male (Li 2006: 80-1).
While this is only a brief discussion on studies that engage with paratextual translation⁹, they nevertheless serve to illustrate the potential influence of the paratextual frame. Both Genette and Frow’s studies imply that the literary/paratextual frame is consciously constructed to integrate the individual (or participant) with a certain ‘framework’. This can have a ‘real life’ effect on the reader, potentially changing the way the reader perceives the literary text. The concept of framing having an impact both within and outside literary narratives is further explored in sociological disciplines, where framing is associated with political discourse and collective action. Della Porta and Diani (2006), in their overview of social movements, describe the framing process as the ‘symbolic production’ of political activity. The next section thus engages with sociological aspects of frame and framing.