This book was a revelation. I'd venture to say that it is one of the masterpieces of world literature that most Westerners have never heard of. As a novice in the realm of Chinese literature, I picked up The Peony Pavilion expecting a dramatic work that would offer a window into the world of late Ming China. I was rewarded in this regard (though the action itself is set in the Southern Song period of some 400 years earlier), but I was also surprised to find myself making comparisons with Shakespeare on every other page. The contemporaneity of the two playwrights is frequently remarked, as are several thematic similarities with both Romeo and Juliet (young love run afoul of the social conventions of the time) and A Winter's Tale (a riff on the earlier work of another author, involving a dream and the resurrection of a loved one). But above all, the modernity of the sensibility that suffuses the work makes me want to explore the vast and mostly untranslated world of late Ming literature, to know this sensibility that seems so remarkably similar, and yet distinctly different, from what is most familiar in Western literature.
Readers of The Peony Pavilion owe an enormous debt to translator Cyril Birch for bringing this text into English. Like all good translators, Birch is a poet in his own right, managing what must have been the enormously difficult challenge of bringing across puns, rhymes, humor and real lyricism well enough so that the text seems to live in its new language. The many layers of scholarly cultural reference are annotated so that the notes themselves provide a thumbnail tour of several thousand years of Chinese legend, history, and philosophy. In this way, Tang's play resembles less Shakespeare than other writers of the European Renaissance anxious to refer everything around them to a classical text, author, or model, even when doubting it. This is the ingrained habit of the Confucian literati to which Tang belonged, and there is no way around it. It is a relief to learn that, even in the original Chinese, the play has traditionally been considered difficult and accessible only to a highly-trained literary elite. One of the virtues of reading in translation, then, is that some of this imposing apparatus falls away, and you can enjoy the story free of the guilty feeling that you're missing half the meaning.
The play is a love-story, but one that is notable for developing between two people who have met only in a dream, one of whom then dies and must continue the romance from beyond the grave. A painted image of the departed young girl acts as a link between the world of the living and the dead. The most moving, and most celebrated scenes of the play center around the formation and evolution of this unusual romance, one described with such straightforward conviction and lyricism that its fantastical element quickly recedes to secondary importance.
It may seem surprising that something so closely resembling a "ghost story" could at the same time be so modern, but from the first pages it is clear that the central character, the eligible young girl of aristocratic lineage, is intent on pursuing her heart's desire to an extent that puts her at odds with nearly every social convention of the period. A woman up against stifling mores, is this not the stuff of great 19th century European novels? What makes this all the more powerful is the almost unimaginable weight of the restrictions imposed upon women of elevated standing: the confinement to 'inner quarters' from which even a short garden stroll is looked on with disapproval; the limited access to learning; the frank indulgence in female sensual desire on the part of Bridal Du, the parental preference for sons over daughters -- all of it is inflammatory. Bridal Du selects her lover without the consent of her father; her lover brings her to life by literally digging her from the grave (a capital punishment); and neither Bridal nor her new husband Liu Mengmei can rest assured in their marriage until it is deemed legitimate in audience with the Emperor himself.
Along the way there is much else of interest and beauty, chiefly involving the complications arising from the lovers' 'unconventional' relationship. The historical span of reference, the geographic scope, and the range of characters drawn from all ranks of Chinese society, combining in a distinctly Chinese version of 'humanism', suggest that here as much as in Shakespeare or Montaigne or anywhere else, modern literature has its roots.