Writing Diplomacy: Translation, Politics, and Literary Culture in the Transpacific Cold War
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Writing Diplomacy: Translation, Politics, and Literary Culture in the Transpacific Cold War L. Maria Bo Submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in the Graduate School of Arts and Sciences COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY 2018 © 2018 Lamyu Maria Bo All rights reserved Abstract Writing Diplomacy: Translation, Politics, and Literary Culture in the Transpacific Cold War L. Maria Bo This dissertation explores how literary translators mediated cultural diplomacy between the U.S. and China during the Cold War period. Focusing on best-selling bilingual authors Lin Yutang, Eileen Chang, Hua-ling Nieh Engle, and Jade Snow Wong, I show how these “cold warriors” negotiated political boundaries, concepts, and agendas while they wrote and translated literary texts. Their works, usually divided into Asian vs. Asian American literature, are here productively read together as pawns in the same ideological struggle, even as they exceed the traditional bounds of Cold War periodization, polarized nation-states, and disciplinary canons. Together, they evince new forms of transnational cultural production that shaped policies of containment, propaganda, resistance, de-colonialism, and racialization. This project thus theorizes translation as its own process of ideology-formation, rather than overlooking it as a mere medium for communication. In the end, examining linguistic exchange in the Cold War redefines what we conceive of as Asian-American, by reconfiguring the outright ideological struggle between Democracy and Communism as an equivocal conflict in the space opened up by translation. Table of Contents List of illustrations iv Acknowledgements v Dedication viii INTRODUCTION 1 CHAPTER I: Untranslatable: Lin Yutang, Cultural Diplomacy, and the Translation of Affect 27 CHAPTER II: Freedom Over Seas: Eileen Chang, Ernest Hemingway, and Translating the Truth in the Cold War 77 CHAPTER III: Language Lessons: Translating Jade Snow Wong’s Fifth Chinese Daughter and the Making of an Ethnic American 120 CHAPTER IV: Converting Conversations: Hua-ling Nieh Engle and Co-Translation at Iowa’s International Writing Program 164 CONCLUSION 212 BIBLIOGRAPHY 218 i List of Illustrations 1. P. 179. Excerpt from translated drafts of the Literature of the Hundred Flowers anthology, Vol. 1. From Hua-ling Nieh Engle Papers, box 1, University of Iowa Archives. 2. P. 182. Excerpt from translated drafts of the Literature of the Hundred Flowers anthology, Vol. 1. From Hua-ling Nieh Engle Papers, box 1, University of Iowa Archives. 3. P. 205. Pages from the 1980 English translation of Hua-ling Nieh Engle’s Mulberry and Peach, Beacon Press. 4. P. 206. Pages from the 1976 Chinese-language original of Hua-ling Nieh Engle’s 《桑青與桃紅》, Union Printing Press 友聯出版社. 5. P. 207. Pages from the 1980 Beijing version of Hua-ling Nieh Engle’s 《桑青与 桃红》, Beijing Youth Publishing House 中国青年出版社. ii Acknowledgements I have found that starting small in thanksgiving often develops its own momentum. Little by little, memories pour out to enlarge the spirit: A huge debt of gratitude goes to the advisors who took me under their wing while I was at Columbia University: Rachel Adams, Brent Edwards, and Lydia Liu. Their patient advice and astute commentary made this project into the best version of itself. In particular, Rachel’s patient reading of draft after draft demonstrated belief in my ability to grow and improve, and has modeled for me attitudes of teaching and empowerment that I have already begun to model in my own teaching of others. Brent’s precise formulation of problems always gave me feedback I could trust, and his cogent questions consistently challenged my ideas while offering clear avenues for improvement. Lydia’s intellectual sophistication would not rest until my ideas had shed all their unnecessary weight and become lean and supple as sinew and bone. For their time, investment, and feedback, I am enormously grateful; whatever failings remain in this project are entirely my own. I would not have made it to the finish line without the intellectual community that my peers and friends shared with me while I was a graduate student at Columbia. Zachary Roberts and Michael Paulson both read drafts at critical moments, and joined me on excursions for Sichuanese food at others. Alex Rocca and Abigail Kret opened their home for shared food and ideas, and Molly Rose Ávila was always there with a listening ear. Nicole Gervasio offered much needed accountability for writing, teaching, humor, self-care, and so much else. Jason Ueda, Linh An, and Sue Mendelsohn at Columbia’s Writing Center became the family on campus that I’d always wanted, and all the hardworking staff there who read drafts, dried tears, and otherwise slapped me out of my bouts of despair gave me a writing community that I didn’t iii even know to ask for and felt beyond blessed to enjoy. Their comments and advice have proven invaluable for turning this project into a finished product. I also owe sizable intellectual debts to scholars near and far: to Colleen Lye, for seeing potential in a green undergraduate who had never considered serious scholarship, and for her unwavering support ever since; to Richard So, who has always inspired me with his commitment to the rigors and rewards of research; to Marc Hertzman, for taking me on a journey to understand Asian migration to South America before much work was even done on the topic; to PJ Nadal, for exchanging work and offering generous feedback and company. To Alan Stewart, for his staunch support and steady leadership during particularly difficult seasons navigating my way to a PhD. And also, to the entire 20/21 Colloquium at Columbia University, which offered me much in terms of reading, time, and intelligent feedback: thank you. To my New York City family, and the community that I have at All Angels’ Church: thank you for eight long years of relationship, ones that have been marked with equal parts brokenness and victory. In particular, thanks to Chris O’Brien, Pamela Wong, Charity Kittler, Rhonda Scott, Lana Norris, Jeannie Rose and Nate Barksdale, and Kevin and Katie Kuo for their sustained investment, prayers, and support. This project, and so much else in my life, would not have happened without you. Sachiko Clayton changed the way that I approach work, and made it possible for me to continue learning as I wrote. Amy Seymour’s encouragement at the finish line was critical, as was Lindy Desciak’s work and lunch sessions to keep me from getting distracted. Una Fan did consistently distract me, but even that helped this project along in its own way. To those who sent food and well wishes from afar, including Stephanie Lai, Donna Almendrala, Chris Joel, Neesha Roberts, Joyce Lee, Lillian Shen, and Lisa Ro: this project iv benefited from your generosity in sharing your ideas and questions with me, even if they were not explicitly academic. Thank you for continuing to share the opening of life and its mysteries with me. And finally, to my family: Joseph and Priscilla Bo, Daniel Bo and Dorcas Tang, Frances and Joe Cordova, Samuel and Lucy Bo, who to this day still know nothing of what this project is about but who have supported it from cradle to completion anyway. I am overwhelmed when I think of how much you have done for me. To God: for giving me a life lived in grace and continual redemption. It is both harder and more beautiful than anything I could have imagined. Lastly, to myself. Thank you for not giving up. v Dedication for my family, a lifetime of hoorays vi Introduction In Hua-ling Nieh Engle’s novel Mulberry and Peach, translated to English from the Chinese in 1981, an early scene features the female Chinese protagonist evading the interrogations of a United States Immigration Service officer who visits her home: ‘Don’t make jokes. I represent the Immigration Service of the Department of Justice and I am here to investigate Mulberry… I need your cooperation. Please tell me everything you know about Mulberry.’ ‘OK, listen.’ Peach sprawls on the floor and pillows her head with her arms. She crosses her legs and swings her calf up and down as she talks. She is speaking in Chinese. The agent can’t understand. He paces back and forth. The papers rustle under his feet. He motions for her to stop, but she goes on speaking in Chinese. Gusts of wind are blowing in. He finally interrupts her. ‘Excuse me, may I use your bathroom?’ The glasses slide down his nose, revealing his thick eyebrows. His eyes are still hidden. ‘Of course.’ When he comes back, Peach is standing by the window, her blouse half-open, her breasts full. She looks out the window and smiles faintly. Her belly is slightly swollen. The agent from the Immigration Service picks up his briefcase and walks out, without saying goodbye. (6) The fraught, failed communication in this scene brims with unsaid meaning. It vacillates between intimate disclosures and insurmountable distance: the agent’s eyes, still hidden behind his dark glasses, stand in stark contrast to the exposure of Peach’s body, her bared breasts and belly. The body language of pillowed arms, a swinging calf, and vague “motions for her to stop” all gesture toward the nonverbal communication that is in play. But spoken language is what really undercuts the force and flow of the conversation. Peach’s responses in Chinese allow her to give the agent exactly what he wants while still withholding all the relevant information. Her deliberate lack of translation disregards his discomfort. She finally desists when he interrupts with a non-sequitur request to use her bathroom. The bathroom’s intimate, yet utilitarian space 1 makes the agent’s escape a hollow exit: he goes deeper into Peach’s apartment only to turn around and leave “without saying goodbye”.