by Linda Jaivin
There is a rickety antique bed downstairs in the largest room. It is possibly where the powdered women, benumbed by opium, sat and gossiped, awaiting or perhaps competing for the next pair of rough-skinned, needy hands. It’s an old-style canopy bed. The wooden overhang is intricately carved into a riot of pornographic scenes – men in open Ming dynasty robes driving enormous phalluses into the finely bearded slits of women who lie flung open with tiny feet akimbo and expressions of rapture in the flight of their moth-antennae eyebrows; men whose mouths overflow with vaginal fluids, or whose tongues are wrapped around a bound foot the size of a lotus; two women whose cherry lips play the same ‘jade flute’. It is quite extraordinary: a museum piece.
He barely notices it anymore. It is just a bed. A bed, at his advanced age, is for sleeping, but even that comfort has become elusive. He sits down on the edge of its hard mattress and eases his feet out of his slippers again, sighing. He looks around him. Though he has his books, and the odd Chinese bric-a-brac, his clothes and his other possessions, the place feels suddenly, cavernously empty now that the manuscript he so carefully guarded for half a lifetime is no longer there. He has always known that one day the story would belong to someone else, that this was always the way it was going to work out. Yet an obscure sense of injustice congests his heart. He cannot breathe. He thumps his chest with his fist, clutches at whatever it is that is pressing down upon it. The pain is insupportable, and radiates to his neck, jaw and arms, but it doesn’t last long. His vision tunnels. He grows aware of a certain lustre in the distance. He thinks of how he has never grown accustomed to the quality of light emitted by energy-efficient light globes. With the realisation that this mundane thought will be his very last one, he dies, an ironic smile embedded in his worn and venerable features.
His body will remain on that bed until tomorrow, when his ayi is due to arrive. Seeing it, she’ll moan, aiya, aiya, and hobble as fast as she’s able on her swollen ankles to the Neighbourhood Committee office. When she bursts in, breathless and distraught, the drama will clatter the lids on the committee members’ teacups. They’ll be privately delighted that such an interesting event has occurred for them to manage and discuss. The old man’s foreign presence in their area had always seemed somewhat suspicious to them, but orders from higher up had protected him and such orders were not to be questioned. They will alert the paichushuo and will then follow the police who arrive with masks, rubber gloves, a stretcher and paperwork, observing and commenting on the action from the human enceinte they form outside his door. There’s no pressing need to do an autopsy on one so old, unless it’s to discover the secret to near-eternal life. This does occur to the coroner, but he has orders to close the file, and he does.
As there’s no known next of kin and even urn sites are at a premium, his body will be cremated and his ashes tipped. The ayi will weep, his sole mourner. Returning to tidy up, she will discover that he has left a considerable sum of money together with the gold fingernail protector under the mattress in an envelope with her name on it. A week later, a developer will bulldoze the site and a concrete beehive will begin to rise in its place.
And of this we shall speak no more.
NOTBOOK
Of all the books I consulted in my research, three were central. I drew much of my knowledge of Sir Edmund Backhouse from Hugh Trevor-Roper’s landmark biography Hermit of Peking: The Hidden Life of Sir Edmund Backhouse, though I also consulted other sources including George Morrison’s diaries. These are kept in the Mitchell Library of the State Library of New South Wales but I was helpfully afforded access to typescripts that are the work of scholars at the Australian National University, where I am a visiting fellow. A.J.A. Symons’ 1932 biography of Baron Corvo (real name Frederick William Rolfe), The Quest for Corvo, gave me an insight into the mind and life of another fascinating trickster. Although I imply that Corvo’s notorious letters from Venice were addressed to Backhouse, they were in fact addressed to Backhouse’s cousin Charles Masson Fox.
The third volume is, of course, Décadence Mandchoue. Derek Sandhaus edited, and in 2011 Graham Earnshaw published Sir Edmund’s infamous erotic ‘memoir’ of his affair with the Empress Dowager. Derek Sandhaus annotated every French and Latin and Greek and Chinese phrase in this dense and hilariously pedantic manuscript – a major feat. I owe deep gratitude to both Derek and Graham for permission to quote and paraphrase and otherwise draw liberally upon this remarkable and unique work, as well as for providing me with a pdf of the text before it was even published. Derek also kindly read and commented on The Empress Lover in manuscript and allowed me to make him a character in the book.
Professor John Minford and the poet Yang Lian have generously allowed me to quote Minford’s beautiful translation of Yang’s magnificent poem ‘Apologia – to a Ruin’ (first published in Renditions, Special Issue: Chinese Literature Today, Spring & Autumn 1983). Geremie Barmé and I translated Li Ao’s quotation about China being a ‘massive thing’ in our co-edited anthology of Chinese writing in translation, New Ghosts, Old Dreams: Chinese Rebel Voices. I wish to thank the wonderful Paris Combo as well for permission to quote a line from their song ‘On n’a pas besoin’. Love their work.
I once spent two enchanted afternoons in a Daoist temple in China’s southwest, drinking tea and conversing with a merry, delightful, insightful Daoist master. Some of Master Happy Fish’s sayings, but not all, come from him: ‘Unhappiness is the distance between what you desire and what you can or do have’ and ‘Don’t meditate if you think it will make you smarter; meditate if you think it will make you less smart’ are two. Years later, a Chinese friend went looking for him but he had gone, no one knew where.
I owe a huge debt of gratitude to the Australia Council for the Arts for a New Work grant that allowed me the necessary time and focus to shepherd this novel from conception to completion. Thank you so much, Australia Council – you make the magic happen. I was also greatly assisted by a two-week residency at Varuna, the Writers’ House in Katoomba, and a very productive month-long residency at RMIT in 2012 in Melbourne that was funded by the Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) as part of their StoriesNOW initiative and where I was made to feel very welcome by Associate Professor Francesca Rendle-Short and her colleagues in Creative Writing.
This novel took nearly five years to complete and went through countless drafts. Emily O’Connor, Jade Muratore, Emma Johnston and Miss Sam Sperring spent hours helping me key in changes and were careful and enthusiastic readers as well. Geremie Barmé read the book in manuscript and offered many helpful comments; he has been a great support in all ways and as always.
Having a supportive, energetic and tough-minded agent is every writer’s dream – Gaby Naher is that dream.
Linda Funnell commissioned the book for Fourth Estate. She and Jo Butler nurtured it through its long and difficult gestation. Publisher Catherine Milne and editors Amanda O’Connell and Ali Lavau helped bring it into the world with enthusiasm and expert midwifery.
(End)nots
‘I saw lots of fucking tulips, as promised.’ Letter, J.D. Salinger to E. Michael Mitchell, 1994, Collection of the Morgan Library, New York.
‘the Greek way of life’, Hugh Trevor-Roper, Hermit of Peking: The Hidden Life of Sir Edmund Backhouse, Eland, London, 1993, pp. 30–32.
‘The detail was convincing: he didn’t just offer to procure guns for the War Office …’ Hermit of Peking, p. 173.
‘wonderfully clever but morally unsound’, Sterling Seagrave, Dragon Lady, Alfred A Knopf, New York, 1992, p. 448.
‘Backhouse replied with Olympian urbanity’, Hermit of Peking, p. 247.
‘What’s more, he had done this with the help of his servant, friend and comprador Chang Ho-chai …’ Hermit of Peking, pp. 247–49.
‘the very picture of an old satyr’, Hermit of Peking, pp. 280–81.
‘veracious … from alpha to omega’, Edmund Trelawny Backhouse, Décadence Mandchoue: The China Memoirs of Sir Edmund Trelawny Backhous
e, edited and introduced by Derek Sandhaus, Earnshaw Books, Hong Kong, p. 306.
‘Then Cassia, whose orgasm surpassed my wildest imaginings …’ Décadence Mandchoue, p. 10.
‘What he now told Hoeppli, however, added a sensational twist to an old tale …’ Décadence Mandchoue, p. 20.
‘I assured her that people, and I believe these were my exact words, “could not realise that your only motive was kindness of heart and conveyed no political connotation”.’ Décadence Mandchoue,pp. 27–8.
‘You must perfume your whole person for the occasion …’ Décadence Mandchoue, p. 61.
‘“Now exhibit to me your genitals,” she commanded, “for I know I shall love them.”’ Décadence Mandchoue, p. 71.
‘Then she played with my voluminous scrotum … and fondled my abundant pubic hair.’ Décadence Mandchoue, p. 71.
‘“Innumerable as the hairs of the head,” replied I unblushingly.’ Décadence Mandchoue, pp. 71–2.
‘prostatic hyperplasia with urinary troubles’, Décadence Mandchoue,p. 284.
‘not purely imaginary but are fundamentally based on facts’, Décadence Mandchoue, p. 291.
‘he mentioned spontaneously that there was a rumour that this old man in bygone days had been a lover of the Empress Dowager’, Décadence Mandchoue, p. 278.
‘a mirage and a sensual delusion like the morning dew or the evening glow’, Décadence Mandchoue, p. 36.
‘Learn happiness by abolishing desire.’ Décadence Mandchoue, p. 74.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Linda Jaivin is an author of both fiction and non-fiction, a literary translator from Chinese specialising in film subtitles, and the author of several works for the stage. Her first novel, Eat Me, was an international best-seller and her fifth novel, The Infernal Optimist, was short-listed for the Australian Literature Society Gold Medal. The Empress Lover is her seventh novel. She lives in Sydney.
PRAISE FOR LINDA JAIVIN
Praise for A Most Immoral Woman
‘passionate, turbulent and very erotic … I doubt the true story carried all the wit, charm and passion that Jaivin injects into her writing. Her research seems meticulous, her characters are flawless and the plot is engrossing. Jaivin has done it again, and is rapidly becoming Australia’s most enjoyable writer’ West Australian
‘Jaivin shows that to popularise can be a legitimate and fun way to educate … a most engaging, clever and memorable romp through an important recounting of rival imperialist ambitions’ Sydney Morning Herald
‘colonial intrigue and erotic embellishment entwine in steamy splendour against a tumultuous historical backdrop. Cleverly constructed, this is to bodice ripping what Harvard is to playschool’ Australian Way
‘Jaivin combines [Sinology and erotica] in a historical novel of thorough research … Jaivin creates a fully realised, intensely lived-in past’ Sunday Age
Praise for The Infernal Optimist (shortlisted for the Australian Literature Society Gold Medal 2007)
‘Jaivin’s ear is brilliantly tuned to demotic expression, using it to share her outrage through comedy’ ALS Gold Medal judges
‘An Australian Catch-22’ Sydney Morning Herald
‘pants-wettingly funny … an endearing comic portrait … biting political commentary, more effective because it is implied’ The Age Praise for Dead Sexy
‘Jaivin can satirise human pretensions, insecurities and other foibles with considerable insight and verve’ Canberra Times
‘The writing is as slick as the magazine headlines it satirises’ The Age
Praise for Miles Walker, You’re Dead
‘Rapier sharp. This is a witty, fast-paced piss-take of the art world, politics and culture’ Juice
‘The hot novel of the summer … fast and funny, it’s a satirical thriller with a romantic comedy sub-plot – one of those books that break the mould … A treat not to be missed’ The Bulletin
‘Jaivin tangos, foxtrots and cha-chas her way across the artifices of painting in Miles Walker … this book will have you reading passages out loud to friends and giggling helplessly on public transport’ Courier-Mail
Praise for Rock ’n’ Roll Babes from Outer Space
‘Witty and wickedly satiric … The plot is rocket-fueled and the puns almost literally fly off the page. Few writers have skewered the rock and roll world so savagely and accurately and with so much delight’ Washington Post
‘A lunatic mix of sf, erotica and good old-fashioned Australian myth-making, doing for inner Sydney what Banjo Paterson did for the bush … [it’s] like a teenage fantasy gone mad, and this is what makes it such a fun read’ Australian
‘There’s plenty of gender bending, drug gobbling, and rude high jinks … Linda Jaivin’s Tom Robbinsish sex writing gives the story a rapid pulse and gratifyingly sweaty palms’ New York Times
‘Rock ’n’ Roll Babes from Outer Space is a romp. The sex is sexy and the language original and amusing’ Sydney Morning Herald
Praise for Eat Me
‘You’ll enjoy this tasty romp – you’d better, you slave – and will thank Jaivin for the exquisite pleasure’ Paper (USA)
‘Erotic escapism at its best, with a touch of humour and a touch of class; a blend of fetishism, fun and kiwi fruit’ New Woman
‘The true strength of this book … is Jaivin’s merciless wit and her ear for dialogue … She’s bitchy, wicked and intelligent. She has firm control over her material and a talent for slicing through the pretension with the precision of a sushi knife’ Weekend Australian
‘This book does for sex what … Absolutely Fabulous did for fashion: it takes a subject we’re all passionate about and makes wickedly clever fun of it’ Glamour (USA)
‘This tossed salad of erotic scenarios charms as few examples of its genre ever have’ Kirkus Review
Praise for The Monkey and the Dragon
‘lively and likeable … a fine piece of reconstructed reportage … Jaivin’s narrative moves from lighthearted absurdity to movingly rendered tragedy’ The Age
‘Jaivin picks carefully through the myths and inaccuracies that still surround the demonstrations and subsequent massacre, never losing her narrative drive … The combination of Jaivin’s pop status and her passion-infused yet clean prose bringing the personal and political tumult … to a new audience’ The Bulletin
‘A fresh and insightful perspective’ China Journal
Praise for Confessions of an S & M Virgin
‘In this vastly varied and … readable collection, Jaivin tackles subjects as diverse as the Tiananmen massacre and the trials of having a penis … with the same determined irreverence … The writing is excellent, her mix of humorous observation and hard facts perfect’ Australian ‘Jaivin’s writing, like Jaivin herself, is vivacious, insightful and original’ Sydney Morning Herald
‘Jaivin’s writings rank among the finest pieces of reconstructive journalism published by an Australian’ Australian Book Review
‘a writer of quiet skill and humanity tackling the big issues’ The Age
‘Linda Jaivin is a writer of some discipline but minimal bondage. In other words, she wants it both ways – serious and funny. And who could blame her? She can do it both ways’ Canberra Times
‘Jaivin’s writing shines and burns’ Sunday Age
Praise for New Ghosts, Old Dreams
‘An extraordinary work … a vibrant, probing guided tour of the Chinese mind today: readable without vulgarization, consistently entertaining yet deeply serious. The editors know contemporary China as no one else does’ Andrew J. Nathan, Professor of Political Science, Columbia University
‘This book will dwarf the dozens of others that have appeared on the Tiananmen massacre and related events … The selections are expertly chosen, smoothly translated, and introduced by Geremie Barmé and Linda Jaivin, whose knowledge of contemporary Chinese urban culture is unmatched in the Western world’ Perry Link, Professor of Chinese, Princeton University
Also by Linda
Jaivin
Fiction
Eat Me
Rock ’n’ Roll Babes from Outer Space
Miles Walker, You’re Dead
Dead Sexy
The Infernal Optimist
A Most Immoral Woman
Non-Fiction
New Ghosts, Old Dreams: Chinese Rebel Voices (co-edited with Geremie Barmé)
Confessions of an S&M Virgin
The Monkey and the Dragon
Found in Translation: In Praise of a Plural World (Quarterly Essay 52)
Beijing (Reaktion City Scopes series)
He was Our Man in Peking. She was … everybody’s.
1904. At the age of forty-two, the handsome and infl uential Australian George Ernest Morrison, the Peking correspondent for The Times of London and a renowned ladies man, is considered the most eligible Western bachelor in China. Morrison has yet to meet his match … until one night, near to where the Great Wall meets the sea, he encounters Mae Perkins, the ravishing and free-spirited daughter of a Californian millionaire, and a turbulent affair begins.
War, meanwhile, has broken out between Russia and Japan for dominion over northeast China. Morrison’s colleague Lionel James has an idea that will revolutionise war correspondence, but the Russians, the Japanese and even The Times’s own editor, it seems, would rather see James hung from the nearest yardarm. James believes that only Morrison can help him. Just as Mae seems to be slipping away from Morrison, James’s quest propels him into her orbit once more.
