To save content items to your account,
please confirm that you agree to abide by our usage policies.
If this is the first time you use this feature, you will be asked to authorise Cambridge Core to connect with your account.
Find out more about saving content to .
To save content items to your Kindle, first ensure no-reply@cambridge.org
is added to your Approved Personal Document E-mail List under your Personal Document Settings
on the Manage Your Content and Devices page of your Amazon account. Then enter the ‘name’ part
of your Kindle email address below.
Find out more about saving to your Kindle.
Note you can select to save to either the @free.kindle.com or @kindle.com variations.
‘@free.kindle.com’ emails are free but can only be saved to your device when it is connected to wi-fi.
‘@kindle.com’ emails can be delivered even when you are not connected to wi-fi, but note that service fees apply.
This article reconsiders prevailing assumptions of bureaucratic continuity in postwar Japan by examining the case of the Ministry of Communications during the Allied Occupation. While existing scholarship emphasizes institutional inertia, this study shows how structural reform and inter-institutional negotiations involving both American authority and Japanese agency reshaped parts of Japan’s administrative system. The case calls for a more differentiated, organization-focused perspective on postwar reforms and demonstrates that these transformations had enduring effects beyond 1952.
Following the blooming of the Hundred Flowers came a metaphorical springtime. How was it formed? As metaphorical wordplay continued to shape public discourse, the sustained input of creative writers gradually transformed the discussion of flowers to a broader theme of spring. Poets such as Ai Qing wove ever more detailed depictions of bucolic scenes to both comment on the state of the Republic and to join in the word play that was now present across genres of writing. In the process, an ever-expanding circle of writers joined the metaphorical and allegorical debate, including Zhou Shoujuan, who saw the movement as a resurrection of the literary public sphere of the May Fourth era. We also observe the migration of metaphorical imagery from text to visual-culture, as floral scenes and those of spring became omnipresent in magazines and newspapers.
What could you do if you felt out of step with Maoism? What if the great blooming of early 1957 did not reflect your feelings about the People’s Republic? How could you express yourself with the language available to you and circulating throughout public discourse? This chapter traces the frequent but disparate and isolated practices of botanical metaphor inspired by the Hundred Flowers but deployed in critique, echoing practices that have remained potent since the Book of Odes. It begins with the story of Jiang Rende, who arranges grass on his desk and thinks of Lu Xun, and reveals a world of critical but disconnected deployments of the botanical imagery of the Hundred Flowers.
This chapter explores the interactions of high-level Chinese and North Korean leaders. It argues that the actions of Chinese and North Korean leaders – especially Mao Zedong and Kim Il Sung – were critical to building political order in the PRC and the DPRK. It shows how the utterances and actions of these leaders were particularly influential in shaping popular emotions and establishing the legitimacy of the PRC and DPRK.
Who had the power to innovate and shape public discourse in the high Mao era? Through the example of Fei Xiaotong and his essay “The Early Spring Weather of the Intellectuals,” this chapter explores what happens when critique, however mild, captures an audience, draws responses, and creates its own eddies of creative imitation. It shows the power of the classical literary canon eight years after the founding of the People’s Republic and that literary brio drawing on this canon could shape public discourse and challenge the dominant framing of a national slogan. It also shows how writers who supported the campaign turned to the same literary canon to attack Fei Xiaotong’s metaphor and restore the sense of springtime. It was not only the Party that was capable of “doing things with words.”
How do national campaigns and local literary practice interact? This chapter tells the story of Liu Shahe and Shi Tianhe, two Sichuanese writers who, following signals from Beijing and Moscow, found themselves on the wrong side of local political and literary elites. It explores how Liu and Shi fell out with the Sichuanese literary establishment, and how what became known as the “poetry case” came to the attention of Mao Zedong. It describes the differential power dynamics that existed among the individual, the local, and the central state in the early People’s Republic of China. Despite becoming known as “anti-Party,” “anti-socialist,” and “poisonous weeds,” the chapter reveals that Liu and Shi fell from grace for putting into practice signals from the Party center.
The conclusion offers a broader look into the role of emotions in alliances and the similarities and differences between Sino-North Korean friendship and other Cold War alliances. It shows how the idea of Sino-North Korean friendship limited emotional freedom in China and North Korea.
From the summer of 1957 and throughout the Mao era, “poisonous weed” was a label to be avoided at all costs. Having fallen for the flowers in early 1957, Xu Chengmiao would find himself labeled a “poisonous weed” by the end of the year. As with the Hundred Flowers, the advent of this pernicious botanical label has its own history. This chapter explores how “poisonous weeds” entered the Chinese garden, the role of the Soviet Union in the Chinese Arcadian turn, and how lionized writers such as Guo Moruo gave an endogenous spin to writing that celebrated an idyllic rural life. This then deepened the creative engagement with the Hundred Flowers as it traveled back to the Soviets and into internal circulars. It also studies how the circulation of the Hundred Flowers helped Mao navigate the fallout from Khrushchev’s “secret speech,” and what happened after the chairman stepped into the garden with his own take on the flowers.
For a plant as renowned and beloved in China as the plum blossom (meihua 梅花), there is conspicuously little written in English about eating it. However, without understanding the historical affection for consuming plum blossoms, our comprehension of it as a cultural icon misses an important dimension. This article explores the intriguing discourse surrounding plum blossom consumption in three sections. The first section introduces the key concept of qing 清 (“purity”) and its relation to the “poet’s spleen” (shiren pi 詩人脾), which provides a theoretical framework for a relationship between eating it and writing poetry. The second section examines Song-dynasty poems on this eating practice, particularly those by Yang Wanli 楊萬里 (1127–1206) and the Rivers and Lakes poets (jianghu shiren 江湖詩人). Their poetry was closely tied to new developments in the notion of qi 氣 and “poetic spleen” (shipi 詩脾). The third section turns to culinary recipes, primarily from the Rivers and Lakes poet Lin Hong 林洪 (fl. 1224–1263), who promotes qing aesthetics in plum blossom dishes. I argue that the discovery of culinary value in a flower long regarded as more symbolic than edible marks a significant development in Song-dynasty (960–1279) literati culture, aesthetics, intellectual history, and medicine.
In this paper, I explore the millennium-long presence of the chickpea in premodern China by highlighting three key historical moments. The legume had its first rise to prominence as a cosmopolitan “Muslim Bean” in the Mongol Yuan (1271–1368) imperial diet. It then experienced a phase of obscurity, as the most renowned Chinese herbalist, Li Shizhen 李時珍 (1518–1593), conflated it with the pea. A disparate identity of the legume emerged around the same time, as the bean garnered attention from famine relief specialists, consequently transforming into a source of sustenance. The multiple lives of the chickpea were characterized with a common emphasis on its foreignness, drawing connections to various Eurasian cultures beyond China. The plant’s enduring presence, coupled with ongoing allusions to its alienness, makes it a perpetual foreigner in the broad expanse of the Chinese empire.
This article examines the tabular presentations in Sima Qian’s Shi ji and Gu Donggao’s Chunqiu dashi biao through the lens of a siege in 630 bce. Recognized as exemplary historical tables of the Spring and Autumn Period, the two tables process historical narratives at both micro and macro levels in an unprecedented manner, aiming to provide a larger picture of general historical trends. By emphasizing a visual and spatial representation of history in its tabular design, the Shi ji table invites the reader to examine the text nonlinearly and to construct a dialectical relationship between it and related narrative chapters. On the other hand, Gu’s text-oriented tables, usually misunderstood as a mere continuation of those in the Shi ji, require a linear reading and cannot directly produce a visual representation of the general patterns of the Spring and Autumn Period. However, to compensate for the lack of a visual overview, Gu composed “impromptu poems” (kouhao), which orally sketch general historical trends, to help beginners memorize the history of the Spring and Autumn Period. This article aims to demonstrate the use of tabulation at the crucial beginning point of Chinese historiography and its reinvention in the late imperial period.
This paper conducts a comprehensive exploration of methodology in historical linguistics, focusing on language subgrouping. Employing Tangut, a severely eroded medieval language, as a case study, it scrutinizes previous linguistic analyses that depart from the rigorous Neogrammarian method, specifically referencing Beaudouin (2023). These non-compliant analyses have impeded recent progress in understanding the genetic relationships within Burmo-Qiangic, a field marked by prolonged debates and with gradual advancement recently. In a subsequent step, adhering to Neogrammarian principles, namely, Ausnahmslosigkeit der Lautgesetze and positive shared innovations in language subgrouping, the paper discusses the plausibility of, as well as the good practice to argue for, a “Tangut-Horpa clade” within the Gyalrongic branch of Burmo-Qiangic. By advocating for the universality of these Neogrammarian principles, the paper aims to improve the accuracy and reliability of subgrouping languages characterized by significant typological diversity. This, in turn, contributes to a deeper comprehension of rigorous methodology within the context of the Sino-Tibetan language family.
This Element examines China's embrace of green development on the global stage, or 'Chinese global environmentalism.' It traces Chinese global environmentalism's historical evolution and motivations and analyzes its deployment through the governance tools of green ideology, diplomacy, economic statecraft, and international development cooperation. It conceives of Chinese global environmentalism as a wide-ranging economic and political strategy used to unsettle traditional views of China and bolster the legitimacy of Chinese power at home and abroad. This Element argues that Chinese global environmentalism, while not without its fits and starts, is enabling China to make inroads internationally with implications for China's rise and the natural environment that are only beginning to be appreciated. This title is also available as Open Access on Cambridge Core.
This article has a two objectives. The first objective is to investigate the history of identity politics in Bangladesh from the British and Pakistani periods to the post-independence era. It argues that the syncretic culture that flourished during the Muslim rule was deliberately disrupted by the British divide-and-rule policy of partitioning Bengal in 1905 along religious lines, fomenting such communal hatred between Hindus and Muslims that resulted in the partition of 1947, with East Bengal joining Pakistan. This also sowed the seeds of identity politics and a “pendulum syndrome” in future Bangladeshi politics, marked by a perpetual strife between advocates of ethnolinguistic nationalism on one side and religious nationalism on the other, which has become a perennial source of violence and volatility for the nation, hindering its growth and progress. The second objective is to explore how Nobel laureate Rabindranath Tagore has been drawn into this strife, facing accusations of being an Islamophobe and a Hindu chauvinist, and why there have been recurrent attempts to replace his song as the country’s national anthem. The article concludes with a rebuttal to such accusations based on evidence highlighting the song’s historical contributions to the nation despite the ongoing campaigns against it.