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

7.4 A Tongzhi Perspective
As Martin stated in the introduction for Angelwings, one of the key features of tongzhi literature (including the stories in the anthology as a whole) is their refusal to conform to a heterosexist normalcy (2003b: 22). To re-quote Martin, literature only becomes tongzhi literature through their “appropriation, classification and indeed politicization as such by its reading public” (2003: 8). There are several instances within the translated text where the resistant agency, as defined by Martin, manifests. She does so through a variety of techniques, from changing the character’s utterances and subsequently changing the scenario within the original story as well through her use of footnotes. By placing Bodhisattva Incarnate in a tongzhi positive frame, the translated text becomes more political than was perhaps originally intended.
The first example comes from the conversation between the main characters Little Tong and Zhong Lin, in which the translated text illustrates a poignant shift in the characters relation with traditional Taiwanese society and with each other. Briefly, Little Tong and Zhong Lin, after their first sexual encounter, decide to find out more about each other in a bar. What follows is an extended section of dialogue between the two, in which the two characters reveal their different attitudes towards homosexuality. Little Tong, who had already experienced every aspect of the gay ‘scene’, warns Zhong Lin of the eventual boredom that comes from over indulging in sexual desires. Zhong Lin, in reply, answers that if that time came he would marry. The extract below is taken from the first section of their conversation:

ST: 那時我就ｍａｒｒｙ，鐘霖說 [Then I’ll marry, Zhong Lin said.]
TT: When that happens I’ll marry, Zhong Lin said.

ST: 畢竟用了英文來取代結婚兩字，仍叫他心抖抖一顫，冷笑著，你很幸福。[Despite using English to replace the two words marriage, still make his heart trembled once, laughed coldly, you’re very blessed]
TT: Even though he’d used English in place of the Chinese words for “marry”, his heart trembled. He laughed coldly. You’re very lucky.

ST: 小柊，鐘霖熱烈的呼喊他，把他喊回來，小柊，把他喊熱來。

[Xiao Tong, Zong Lin warmly called him, called him back, Xiao Tong, calling him until he is warm]

TT: Little Tong, Zhong Lin called him passionately, calling him back, Little Tong, calling him back to himself.
ST: 鐘，你很酷，他慘然笑了，酷。　

[Zhong, you’re cool, he smiled sadly, cool.]

TT: Zhong, you’re cruel, he laughed grimly, cruel!

(Chu 1989: 91; Martin 2003b: 35, my emphasis)

In the original text, Zhong Lin uses the English word marry to substitute the Chinese word for marriage, an effect Martin repeats in her English translations, using italics to distinguish its ‘foreignness’¹⁴. Both versions draw attention to the word “marry”, a fraught issue. As discussed in the chapter 4.2, Chinese Confucian society expects men to continue the family name through marriage. Little’s Tong’s reaction to Zhong Lin’s blasé answer is one of devastation, though there is a notable shift in meaning in Martin’s translation of his response. Her translation of the word “幸福” [well being/blessed/happiness] as “lucky”, does not precisely convey the semantic meaning of the phrase, which is primarily relating to the bliss and happiness that arises from a contented and stable family life. Best wishes for new marriages often include the phrase. In this respect, Martin’s translation “lucky” does not carry the domestic, conjugal heterosexual implications of the Chinese term.

The second notable shift occurs in the last sentence, where Martin chooses to translate the word “酷” (translated as ‘cool’ in the backtranslation) as “cruel”: “Zhong, you’re cruel, he laughed grimly, cruel!”. The word “酷” [cold/harsh] can be used in conjunction with the word ‘殘’ [to hurt] to form the phrase ‘殘酷’: a description for cruelty and ruthlessness. However, in the context of the original, the word ‘酷’ [cold/harsh] without in conjunction is related to the American contemporary expression ‘cool’¹⁵. The difference in lexical meaning creates two different impressions. In Chu’s original, Little Tong praises Zhong Lin’s “coolness” in an ironic manner; admiring the latter’s ‘hipness’ in indulging in a libertarian gay lifestyle as well as having the protection of marriage. Whereas in Martin’s version, the switch from “cool” to “cruel” gives the conversation a tone of condemnation. Compared to the complimentary nature of the word ‘cool’, ‘cruel’ is more accusatory. While there is a sense of irony attributed to ‘cool, ‘cruel’ is an open criticism. Zhong is described by Little Tong as “cruel” because he ultimately chooses to conform to the obligations of marriage. Seen from this perspective, the character Little Tong is actively criticising Zhong Lin instead of sarcastically praising his lifestyle choices, as suggested in the potentially ironic usage of the word ‘cool’. The tension between obedience to traditional familial duties and life as a homosexual male is highlighted in the translated text, sharpening the contrast between the two characters.
The second part of the conversation between Little Tong and Zhong Lin in the translated text also reveals a subtle modification in the characters’ utterances, leading once again to a different interpretation of the scenario. Below is a close comparison of the passage where Zhong Lin questions Little Tong’s sexuality:
ST：鐘凌說， 你跟我碰過的不一樣，被拐的？ [Zhong Lin said, you’re different from others I’ve met, abducted?]
TT: You’re different from the others I’ve met, have I led you astray?

ST: 有什麼差別，他棄世的說，不都一樣。 [What’s the difference, he said with abandonment to life, it’s all the same.] 　
TT: What’s the difference, he said with an air of detachment. Isn’t it all the same.

ST: 喔ＮＯ，鐘霖鼓舞著他，這很不一樣。[Oh No, Zhong Lin encourages him, this is very different.]　
TT: Oh no, Zhong Lin tried to cheer him up, this is very different.

ST: 其實要當個純的還好，他忽然很怨毒，起碼他們是人力不可抗拒，我們，自甘墮落。[Actually it’s okay to be a pure one, he is suddenly extremely bitter, at least they are outside of human control, us, willingly corrupted.]

　

TT: Actually it wouldn’t be so bad to be straight – he was suddenly filled with rancor – at least they can’t help it, but we fall of our own free will.

(Chu 1989: 92; Martin 2003b: 35-6)

The conversation between the two characters demonstrates the ambiguity in their perceptions of their sexuality. In the first utterance, Zhong Lin jokingly questions whether Little Tong was "被拐的？” [abducted?], suggesting he was ‘abducted’ into homosexuality against his will. In contrast Martin’s translation: “have I led you astray?” is more suggestive of seduction, with Zhong referring to himself as the culprit. However, what the original and the translated sentence are implying in this instance is unclear. Is Zhong Lin hinting at both his and Little Tong’s bisexuality, in which they are sometimes seduced or abducted into the ‘other’ side? Or is he viewing homosexuality as a deviant form of sexuality? Both ‘abducted’ and ‘seduction’ have predatory connotations (it can be argued that seduction is in itself a form of sexually predatory behaviour) that may be negative, or in the religious context of the short story, sinful.
The last utterance by Little Tong offers two different answers to the above questions. In the original version, Little Tong expressed his dissatisfaction with his life by wanting to be ‘pure’: “其實要當個純的還好 […] 我們 ，自甘墮落 ” [Actually it’s okay to be a pure one […] us, willingly corrupted]. Whereas in the translated version, Little Tong expressed the desire to be ‘straight’: “Actually it wouldn’t be bad to be straight […] but we fall of our own free will” (2003: 36). While both statement are potentially ironic (considering the frequently playful tone of the conversation, it is debatable that whether or not Little Tong would truly want to be ‘pure’ or ‘straight’), the difference in meaning between the sentences is apparent. Specifically, the Chinese word ‘純’ [pure], translated by Martin as ‘straight’, does not necessarily denote (hetero)sexuality in the original usage. The word ‘純’ itself is associated with singularity and purity, often used as an adjective to describes virtue and innocence. Within the context of the original, it is unclear what exactly ‘純的’ [pure one] refers to. It is possible that Little Tong is associating purity with heterosexuality; however, he could equally be describing someone who is ‘pure’ spiritually, or someone who is ‘pure’ gay (as in ‘born’ gay). The following sentence in the exchange: “起碼他們是人力不可抗拒” [at least it is outside of human control] suggests that both interpretations may be applicable, as Little Tong implies that whether spiritually or sexually, both he and Zhong Lin ‘chose’ the way that leads away from the path of respectability .
The conflict between ‘pure’ and ‘impure’ in the original includes a religious dimension. This is absent from the translation which reducing the conflict to one of sexuality, between ‘gay’ and ‘straight’. If Little Tong’s bitterness is associated with being a male homosexual, then this sentiment is presented as a consequence of the heterosexist pressure that he (and indeed the character Zhong Lin) has to endure. The shift from ‘純’ [pure] to ‘straight’ relocates the area of conflict from the abstract to the recognisable, incorporating an element of challenge to the narrative voice that is absent in the original.
In Bodhisattava Incarnate, Martin also makes use of extensive footnotes; 肉身菩薩 [Buddha of the Body] is dense with intertextuality, including popular culture and literature from Taiwan, Europe, America and Japan. Chu draws on a wide variety of references from Roger Moore’s television show The Saint (an echo of the religious motif in the story title) to more obscure references that may even be lost on a Taiwanese reader. Tellingly, in one instance, Martin even makes a direct reference to Taiwanese tongzhi culture in her footnotes, to a reference that originally does not have any tongzhi connotations. In the original, the characters refer to the theme tune for the 60s Taiwanese television drama晶晶 [Jing Jing], to which Martin provides additional commentary in her footnote: “Jing Jing, star of the eponymous 1970s TV animation series, is coincidentally also the name of Taiwan’s first dedicated gay and lesbian bookstore, conventionally transliterated “Gin Gin’s” (2003b: 49). Considering that the Gin Gin bookshop opened in Taiwan in 1999, Chu would not have been aware of the double reference at the time Roshen Pusa was written. Martin’s footnote repositions the translated text in a contemporary setting, connecting past events with the modern tongzhi movement. In addition, the mention of Gin Gin also has a promotional value, introducing readers to the existence of a gay and lesbian bookstore in Taiwan.
7.5 Conclusion
Martin’s translation Bodhisattva Incarnate embodies aspects of tongzhi discourse: As a translation ‘frame’, she clearly includes Chu’s 肉身菩薩 as ‘enabling’ queer fiction anthology. In the chapter on tongzhi and ku-er literature, Martin (2003b) had mentioned the discourse of ‘abjection’ that characterises some Taiwanese tongzhi and ku-er literature. The part fatalistic, part ironic tone of the characters in Chu’s writing can be seen to exemplify this: the main character Little Tong philosophises, and ultimately accepts the environment that he is in (a reflection in the spiritualism of the Bohdi, who chooses to remain in the secular earth). However, this attitude is viewed more critically in Martin’s translation, with a tongzhi perspective emerging alongside the religious elements. For example, the issues specific to Taiwanese homosexuals, most notably the pressures of marriage, are expressed more overtly in the exchanges between Zhong Lin and Little Tong. The criticisms in the character’s voice can also be interpreted as a criticism from Martin, she is passively commenting on the stigma associated with being a homosexual male in Taiwan. Significantly, the notion of tongzhi and tongzhi literature had not been established at the time when the original texts were published, but by the time Martin was translating, tongzhi fiction and academic discourses were widely available. Through Martin’s role as tongzhi activist and researcher, as well as the paratextual information that she provided, it can be presumed that existing tongzhi ideologies did influence Martin’s translation. In this respect, the translation Bodhisattva Incarnate corresponds with Baker’s proposal that translated text translators are not passive receivers of information, but potentially contributors to the ‘elaboration’ of particular narratives (2003: 105). The translation Bodhisattva Incarnate can be considered to be an elaboration, a tongzhi/queer elaboration, placing the original story in a subtly resistant frame.
7.6 Platonic Hair and Searching for The Lost Wings of An Angel: Female Tongzhi Perspectives in Fran Martin’s Translated Fiction

In the introduction for Situating Sexualities, the Australian scholar/translator Fran Martin recalls an anecdote from her stay in Taiwan: on attending a female tongzhi meeting, she was struck by the sense of camaraderie she shared with the attendees. As Martin states: “I shared an obvious comradeship with them, despite our clearly variant national and cultural histories, because of my identification as nutongzhi [female tongzhi] and theirs as “lesbian”” (2003a: 6). The quotation highlights the interactive nature of identification, in which Martin and her friends simultaneously align themselves with both a lesbian and female tongzhi identity. The anecdote provides a useful starting point for looking at Fran Martin’s translated tongzhi and ku-er fiction, where the emphasis is not on the local and global as a dichotomy, but as a relationship that is interdependent and syncretic.

The simultaneity (syncrecity) between the two cultures forms the foundation of the tongzhi/ku-er fiction anthology Angelwings: Contemporary Queer Fiction from Taiwan. It should be mentioned here briefly that Martin’s own academic background is an affirmation of these cultural intersections, as she studied tongzhi and ku-er culture in Taiwan between 1997-98. As previously noted, Martin both identifies and participates in tongzhi/ku-er activism, and her translated text anthology Angelwings is produced within a politicized context. In my own interview with Martin, she cites various writers included in the anthology, such as Chi Tai Wei, Hong Lin and Chen Xue as friends and academic colleagues. Chi Tai Wai in particular, helped Martin in her textual selection on what is representative of Taiwanese tonzhi/ku-er fiction. Seen from this perspective, the translation Angelwings is an interactive process. As Martin states about her work:
In terms of a sense of queer activism: implicit in the project was my desire to present something of the specificity of same-sex culture in Taiwan without reducing it to a globally familiar LGBTQ.

The two stories included in this paper: Platonic Hair and Searching for the Lost Wings of an Angel present a localized version of global sexuality from a female tongzhi perspective. Platonic Hair (1991) by Qui Mao Jin is one of the earliest story in the Taiwanese literary canon that explicitly portrays female homosexuality and gender transformation. Chen Xue’s Searching for the Lost Wings of an Angel (1995) is comparatively more ku-er centric, exploring themes of ku-er writing and sexuality. While the two stories will be discussed in more detail in their respective sections, what they both share is a defiance against traditional female ‘roles’; common notions of femininity and familial identity become subverted through expressions of lesbian sexuality.

Lastly, Martin mentions in the introduction to Angelwings that tongzhi literature comes into being: “at the moment of its reception, interpretation, and appropriation by its readers” (2003: 8). Her translated text is by extension an elaboration of the aforementioned process. The effect of Martin’s own political angle as a lesbian and female tongzhi on shaping her translation is a further point of interest. The next section will begin by looking at Qui Mao Jin’s Platonic Hair.
7.7 Platonic Hair: Gender Identity
As mentioned in the introduction, the short story Platonic Hair is one of the first female tongzhi story published to a wider audience in Taiwan. Although never officially affiliated with the tongzhi/ku-er movement, the writer Qui Mao Jin is an important figure in Taiwanese female tongzhi/lesbian subculture. Her two seminal novels, The Crocodile’s Journal (1994) and Montmarte Testament (1996) are all the more poignant for her suicide at age 26. Qui herself can be identified as a female ‘t’ – a female tongzhi who chooses to take on masculine appearances. Her writing often explores relationships between t [tomboy] and po [wife] sexuality. The characters in Qui’s writing subsequently became iconic figures in the female tongzhi/lesbian community, with individuals adopting the names, such as ‘crocodile’ and ‘la-zi’ to symbolize their female tongzhi/ lesbian identity.
In the introduction to her translation of Platonic Hair, Martin cites Judith Butler’s influential Gender Trouble (1990) to explain the t and po dynamic. To briefly recap Butler’s study, she argues that the gender traits of femininity and masculinity are socially formatted rather than biologically innate. This implies gender is ‘performative’. Individuals can choose to adopt or ‘perform’ feminine or masculine traits. For Martin, the T-po dynamic encapsulates the perfomativity of gender, as she summarises in the foreword: “Qui’s representation of the T-Po relationship at once draws upon entrenched, conservative ideologies of masculinity and femininity and destabilize those ideologies” (2003: 52). As the following examples will illustrate, Qui’s narrative to a certain extent conforms to gender tropes and expectations, yet within a ‘ku-er/queer’ context the restrictions associated with gender norms, are both addressed and subverted.
The play between femininity and masculinity is evident from the beginning of Qui’s narrative. The metaphor of ‘hair’, specifically, recurs in the narrative as a symbol of female identity, in which the shedding of hair instantly transforms the character from ‘woman’ to ‘man’. At one point, the character Han Han explicitly announces that: “From now on, we’ve both got to become conscientious actors.” Whether or not this is a conscious reference to Butler, the statement acknowledges the claim that gender roles can be an ‘act’ the characters choose to take on. The opening passage of Platonic Hair sets the scene, with the two main female characters – the eponymous ‘writer’ and the prostitute Han Han, comparing the length of their hair:
Example 1:
TT:“你的頭髮比我長得更多！”我習慣性地用左手撫弄她眉上的劉海，枕在她頭下的右手掌面在她柔嫩的長髮上來回滑動。[“Your hair is much longer than mine!” I habitually use my left hand to stroke the fringe above her eyebrow, my right palm pillowing her head move slide on her soft tender long hair。]
ST: “Your hair’s much longer than mine is!” I absently stroked her fringe with my left hand, as my right, cradling her head, moved back and forth amid the softness of her tresses.
ST:“可是你是男人啊！”她眨動眼睛，露出抗議的表情。[“But you are a man!” She blinked her eye, showing protesting expression.]
TT: “But you’re a man!” She blinked at me assuming an expression of protest.
ST:“男人就不能留長頭髮嗎？”我也跟著抗議起來。[“Men are not allowed to grow long hair?” I also begin protesting.]
TT: “Can’t men have long hair?” I protested back at her.
ST:“不行，男人就是不准。”[“No, Men are not allowed”]
TT: “No. Men aren’t allowed to.”
At first glance, this flirtatious exchange appears to be between a man and a woman. Han Han is identified as the ‘woman’ in the scenario by her long hair. The adjectives that Qui uses to describe her hair: 柔嫩的長髮 [soft tender long hair] are outwardly feminine. The first two Chinese characters: 柔 [soft, gentle] and 嫩 [tender] have positive connotations when used to describe a woman, and negative connotations when associated with a man (i.e weakness of character, effeminacy). Martin’s own translation, where she translates ‘hair’ as “tresses” (“the softness of her tresses”), reinforces the femininity of the subject. The instruction from Han Han, that ‘men’ are not allowed to have long hair is particularly specific. Ironically, gender roles become more restrictive within the context of this story, where the ‘man’ in the scenario is expected to take on an overtly masculine appearance.
The distinction between male and female is paradoxically both fluid and rigid in Platonic Hair. Qui interchanges the male and female pronoun in her narrative as a way to illustrate gender differences. The Chinese ‘you’ is in itself separated by gender, with the male/gender neutral 他 representing ‘you’ (can be used male, female or neutral), ‘he’ and ‘him’, while the word 她 is only used to describe the female ‘you’, ‘she’ and ‘her’. Example 2 illustrates Qui’s use of the feminine pronoun:
Example 2:
ST: 我跟著「她」走進女會洗室，拿出剪刀，在「她」還來不及尖叫之前，鉲嚓 鉲嚓，將長髮大塊裁斷。[I follow ‘her’ walk into the female lavatory, take out scissors, before ‘her’is able to scream, cut cut, cut off a large chunk of her long hair.]
TT: I follow “her” into the women’s washroom, take out my scissors, and before “she” has a chance to scream, snip snap, I chop off the hair in great hanks.
ST: 斷落的長髮飛過去纏繞住「她」，竟然揪落「她」的假長髮。[The long hair that fell off fly to entwine ‘her’, actually snatched off ‘her’ long wig.]
TT: The fallen hair flies over and winds itself around “her”, snatching off “her” long haired wig.
ST: 我從兩壁鏡子裡看到一個禿頭的男人，分不清楚誰是誰。[I saw in the two mirrors a bald man, unable to distinguish who’s who.]
TT: In the mirrors along both walls I see a bald man, and I can’t tell who it is.
The female subject: 「她」, “she” and “her” is highlighted in the original and the translated text by brackets and quotation marks. The male subject: “a bald man”, in contrast, can be seen to have a muted presence textually. Compared to Example 1, the metaphor of ‘hair’ takes on a more sinister appearance. The description: “斷落的長髮飛過去住「她」[The fallen hair flies over and winds itself around “her”] recalls the image of the Greek goddess Medusa, with hair of living snakes. The presence of femininity therefore, is both explicit and implicit in Qui’s narrative. Martin’s translation in turn follows Qui’s template, placing the female subject in the forefront. Although this is arguably more overt in the paratextual ‘frame’ of the translation, the textual examples above illustrate that Martin does follow the structure of Qui’s narrative.

In addition, although the notion of being ‘female’ is presented as a changeable form of physicality in Platonic Hair, it is also fixed and innate. While ‘the writer’ is able to emancipate herself from her feminine appearance through the process of cutting her hair, her inner femininity is harder to deny. At a critical moment of the short story, ‘the writer’ – the ‘man’ in the scenario realises the power of her femininity through Han Han, the ‘woman’. Qui’s language subsequently portrays this ‘femaleness’. As the below example illustrates: