Although China is the second most powerful country on earth, I think it is true to say that, in general, except for by specialists, little is known about it outside of East Asia. Yet, more should be known, and I think especially by Turks and Turkophiles. For the Turkic peoples of the Eurasian Steppe, the ancestors of the Turks in the West today, were and are the neighbors of the Chinese, and the two peoples have influenced each other’s histories.
Indeed, while the Turkish impact on Europe is pretty well-known, the historic role played by the Turkic and related peoples of Central Asia vis-a-vis the ancient civilizations of the whole continent is often misunderstood. The generally accepted stereotype across the successor states to those civilizations to the east, south and west of Central Asia is that the nomadic Central Asian peoples were nothing but savage and destructive barbarians. Yet, this is a distortion of history. Leaving aside the fact that exceptionally cultured cities such as Samarkand, Bukhara and Merv existed in Central Asia itself, the Turkic peoples, through their conquests, injected a new vitality into the ancient civilizations. I have recently alluded to the fact that the last of the great Muslim empires, each of which existed partially or wholly in Asia, were all founded by Turks. What may be more surprising, though, is that China’s last dynasty, which was also founded in roughly the same period as those empires, was additionally established by a Turkic people, the Manchus. This is just one instance of the significant role Turkic peoples have played in Chinese history.
Another is the 755 uprising of the Turkic general An Lushan, which overthrew the Tang emperor and set off an enormous upheaval in China that outlasted the war itself, which officially ended in 763. Such facts surely justify a necessary interest in this history from Turks and Turkophiles. It is possible to read about such incidents from a comprehensive history of China, such as the 2020 "The Story of China" by the renowned British historian Michael Wood. However, for those who prefer to see history contextualized through the life of a prominent figure of the time, this tumultuous period is well-presented through Wood’s other recent book on China, "In the Footsteps of Du Fu," which was published in 2023 and is the subject of this review.
The book, as its name suggests, focuses on the eighth-century Tang-era Chinese poet Du Fu (712-70), dubbed “China’s Greatest Poet” by Wood himself. Before getting on to the book itself, though, there is another aspect to Du Fu himself that makes him worthy of the attention of a Turk or Turkophile: Chinese and Turkish poetry may share a connection. As an Iranologist, Peter Avery notes that there is a strong case for the ruba’i of Persian literature having “a Turco-Central Asian origin” and as such is “a form comparable with Chinese four-line stanzas of the Tang period” – that to which Du Fu of course belongs – “as well as with Japanese haiku and Malaysian pantum.” This, in turn, opens the intriguing question as to a commonality of at least one form of poetry across Asia, with the Turks playing a leading role within it. Thus, it surely befits Turks and Turkophiles, if they have not already done so, to take a deeper interest in the poetry of China.
Michael Wood is a historian whom those with an interest in the history of Türkiye and its region may well be familiar. He presented four television series set partially in Türkiye and authored their accompanying books. Although "In the Footsteps of Du Fu" is also a TV documentary, I have been unable to access it, so my review is limited solely to the book.
In its introduction, Wood reveals why his trek across China to understand Du Fu has such a personal meaning to him. He relates: "If you love literature of any kind, you will have had one of those moments when you encounter a book that opens a window onto a world you never dreamed existed. Mine was at school when I first encountered Du Fu in A.C. Graham’s wonderful 'Poems of the Late T’ang.' This book was full of wonders ... But the star was Du Fu."
Although I have Graham’s book, it has not had such an effect on me. I have found the poetry in it far less accessible than that of neighboring Japan. However, Wood in "In the Footsteps of Du Fu" rectifies the question of accessibility for Du Fu, not only by quoting much of his poetry at length, but more importantly by contextualizing its creation within his life and times. For what Wood reveals is that Du Fu is a highly autobiographical poet – his verse expressing his cares and concerns as well as his piercing observations.
A short biography of Du Fu is therefore also needed here. The aforementioned interrelationship between the Turkic and Chinese peoples forms the background to part of the story of Du Fu. The major event in the life of Du Fu was when the Chinese state suffered what Wood calls a “massive societal collapse” due to the uprising of An Lushan and its aftermath.
Du Fu is presented by Wood as a man “whose job, his being, his destiny, was as a poet.” Wood aptly commences his journey to literally trace the life journey Du Fu at Gongyi, the site of Du Fu’s birth. Du Fu was a child prodigy, but one who is aware of his talents. Wood quotes him as declaring, “I’d read everything and thought I was superb!” His first travels commence in a time of peace. As a young man, he goes to the then-capital of China, Chang’an. He comes there to take the examinations that would enable him to become a functionary of the Chinese state. Wood makes it clear that “the city would play a special part in his imagination” due to its great cultural as well as political significance. Although supremely confident in his ability, Du Fu actually fails the civil service exam, and Wood notes that, “This failure in a sense is the moment that begins his wanderings, his life as a ‘sojourner.’” His journeys are, however, not simply physical. He also commences on a spiritual quest. Wood noted that, “Du Fu was often drawn to Buddhist and Daoist monasteries, both for spiritual knowledge and for temporary food and accommodation.” This double role of spiritual guidance and hospitality is also interesting, being provided by the külliye system of the Ottoman Empire. It is from this time that Du Fu’s earliest surviving poem was also written. Du Fu does return to the capital, though, and gets a job as a minor official, providing him with enough of an income to get married and begin a family life of his own.
Then the uprising occurs. Chang’an is captured and sacked. From this point on, unrest will be the constant background to Du Fu’s wanderings as he seeks to escape conflict and find a permanent place of refuge. The anarchic conditions that cause many millions of deaths either directly or from the resulting famine cause Du Fu to also write that, “In this vast whirling chaos, there is no end to the sorrow.” Du Fu seeks a better life for himself and his family by heading west. He temporarily stays in Qinzhou, but then is forced to move on, this time southwards, when the war starts to head westwards as well. The external chaos is mirrored in Du Fu’s own self-doubt, “I’m old, stupid, listless, I can’t seem to make any plan for my life.” For the next part of his journey, the external winter conditions are horrendous, an attempt to settle fails and he keeps moving on, eventually heading into Sichuan. In this fertile and warmer region, he feels he has finally found a refuge for himself. At Chengdu, he built himself a hut, the rebuilt version of which Wood describes as “perhaps China’s most famous literary monument.” Du Fu even feels that this could be a place of permanent settlement for him. As the fortunes of China in the war improve, however, Du Fu decides to attempt to return home by means of the great Yangtze River. He sets out on his epic journey back, passing through what Wood calls the “incredible dramatic landscape” of the Gorges, which were even more splendid before the creation of the Three Gorges Dam. Du Fu even made another temporary settlement within them. Here, he proves prolific in the production of poetry but is less successful in matters of everyday life, with Wood noting, “He was always scraping to make ends meet.” In 768, he ups and moves on again, passing through Jingzhou, where he pauses “for several months,” to Gongan, then Changsha on Lake Dongting. And then he sets off on his “last journey,” which takes him to Leiyang before he turns back toward Changsha, dying somewhere on the way. Wood reveals that it is unclear what caused his death or exactly where it occurred. His tomb, however, is near the town of Pinjiang in Xiaotian village.
As there is so much for me to say about Wood’s book and the striking poetry of Du Fu is easily accessible online, I will give only one example of a poem of his here. I have chosen this highly atmospheric and profound one as its opening line will surely appeal to Turks and Turkophiles:
"Crescent moon stilled in the clear night
Half abandoned to sleep, lamp wicks blossom
In echoing mountains unsettled deer stir
Falling leaves startle locusts
Suddenly I remember east of the river (the taste of) mince
And that boat drifting through falling snow.
Tribal songs rise invading rifling the stars,
I am empty aware at heaven’s edge."
This poem belongs to the greatest poetic period of Du Fu’s life, the one in which the critic Steven Owen claims he took “the Chinese language as far as it could go ... and no one later took in further.”
In following Du Fu on the ground, Wood has returned to an approach that he has used in the past, his feeling that in traveling in the footsteps of historically significant, or even mythological, figures, the geography itself will reveal something about them. Wood evocatively paints an atmosphere that links modern China with the China of Du Fu. For instance, in Changsha, Wood relates: "I walked down the corniche in the soft breeze, the last sunlight dappling through the trees. Watching the evening dancers jive and waltz to a live trio with music box, saxophone and guitar, it was easy to imagine Du Fu and other artistic exiles swept by the tides of war congregating down here – like the south of France in the 1930s or Casablanca in the Second World War."
Much like Virgil to Dante, Wood is an excellent guide into what is surely for many readers unfamiliar regions. He is also the perfectly balanced guide to his subject. Since the focus of the book is on Du Fu and not himself, Wood is not the kind of writer who lets his ego eclipse his subject. This has the further benefit of making the reader particularly cherish the instances, such as the one just quoted, when Wood temporarily turns the spotlight on himself. In the book, Wood allows Du Fu to speak for himself.
Yet, as that passage also illustrates, Wood’s book is not a mere collection of Du Fu’s poems. Wood acts as a guide not only in bringing the reader with him across China, but he also provides the historical and geographical circumstances of Du Fu’s poems. Moreover, as in the above passage, he contextualizes Du Fu by making enlightening comparisons for a readership that is presumed to have a better knowledge of European than East Asian culture. Another example is with Du Fu’s experimental Gorges poems, Wood noting that “perhaps we might compare them with the late phases of poets in the western tradition such as Ibsen, Yeats and Rilke and especially Shakespeare.” Moreover, Wood feels that a European would see “parallels” between the poetry Du Fu wrote in mourning the state of China in his day with the harrowing poets of World War I.
Wood, as the quoted passage also shows, additionally links the fate of Du Fu with the present. In a more sombre tone, Du Fu declares that “I really don’t fit in this world,” which could be the maxim for the modernist author or poet. What is more, Wood reveals that Du Fu in his realism “gives voice to the poor and downtrodden” and that this voice is akin to that of those suffering conflict today.
As he travels through modern China in search of a poet of the distant past, Wood is to be commended for not ignoring or depreciating but being understanding of the newly rising state that he sees. As a historian, it would of course be odd if he did not mourn the physical loss of the past, and lament its sometimes kitsch replacement. For instance, Wood declares that “for the modern traveller in search of Chang’an there are only a few signs” and that “the old city of Chengdu has been destroyed by developers since the 1950s. Only a couple of streets are left; a confected traditional China.” However, his balance is manifested when he adds of the latter that “it’s a pleasant city to hang out in nonetheless.” And in Chongqing, Wood electrifyingly mentions his “breathing in the pure exhilaration of modern China.”
In the book, Wood also gives space to the Chinese themselves to speak about Du Fu, and this is not limited to experts. Thus, the voices range from professor Yang Yu, who reveals her lifetime passion for the Du Fu to members of an “enthusiastic” local group of poetry lovers from near the site of the poet’s tomb “some of the hundred or so members” of which “are local farmers who have a passion for literature.” Relatedly, Wood is not only interested in how the works of Du Fu exist in the literary tradition but also how the poet has been transmitted through folk memory, reflecting a key interest of Wood’s that he also explored here in Anatolia.
I have long enjoyed Wood’s work, and this new book was another delight for me, so I feel it deserves the highest possible reviewing grade. I do have one caveat, though. It is that an expert on China might find certain faults with the book that, with my lack of any real pre-existing knowledge, would prevent me from seeing. Yet I will caveat my caveat by adding that I think that Wood’s intention in writing the book was never for such an audience anyhow. Rather, it appears to have been written for a reader such as myself – that is, someone who regrettably knows far less about China, its history and literature, than they ought, and for them it is an invaluable introduction to one of its key poets and periods.
Review: 5 from 5
