|
Jennifer Cody Epstein on her novel The Painter from Shanghai
If, twenty years ago, when I was plodding through what I thought was my first novel (a proverbial, semiautobiographical, coming-of-age saga with a plucky American reporter abroad as its main character), someone with a clear view of the future told me how my writing career would evolve—that I'd complete four stints overseas, three journalism jobs, two masters' degrees, one marriage ceremony, and two childbirths before, finally, tiredly, typing those two magical words out, The End—I'd have been surprised only that it took so long. If, however, they then showed me the book I was to complete—a sprawling historical saga set in a land I'd never lived in, its heroine an obscure but fiercely talented Chinese painter—I'd have been shocked. What on earth will I be thinking? I'd have found myself wondering. What would possibly possess me to take on this story?
The answer lies in a progression of events, starting with a 1998 visit to the Guggenheim Museum. It was there that my husband and I attended an exhibit of modern Chinese art, and it was there that I saw my first Pan Yuliang painting—a lush and Cezanne-esque self-portrait, the artist seated serenely in a Parisian window. The work—hung among far more subdued watercolors and ink drawings as well as enormous revolution-era posters—drew me like a magnet. And while its unique East/West blend of brushstrokes struck me as fascinating, the accompanying bio of Pan's life literally stunned me. Breathlessly, I pulled my husband away from a Chairman Mao portrait and pointed. "Look," I said. "This is an amazing story."
Michael, a filmmaker with a good eye for plot and image, read Pan's bio, which briefly outlined her rise from prostitute to Parisian artist. He studied her portrait. Then he turned back to me.
"This," he announced, with characteristic certainty, "is your first novel."
I blinked.
It was true that I had a masters in international relations. I'd lived in Japan, Thailand, and Hong Kong. I even—thanks to ten years of Japanese language studies—knew a little bit about written Chinese. But I knew nothing about Asian art or even about art in general. Indeed, at that point—freshly accepted to Columbia University's MFA program—I'd only started seriously writing fiction. When I finally managed a response, it was something along the lines of "You're nuts"—though also somewhat less polite.
Yet, like idea of living in Asia in the first place, what seemed a startling proposal slowly took root. As I wrapped up my job at NBC I scoured the Internet for glimpses of Pan Yuliang's work and life, and kept her Paris self-portrait as my screensaver. When I entered Columbia in the fall, I committed myself more fully, taking graduate-level courses in Chinese history, reading up on Chinese brothels, and hiring a Chinese translator to help with texts. I even signed up to take a few casual courses in oil painting—with decidedly mixed results.
I held off writing about Pan Yuliang, however, for several more months, long enough to complete my first year at Columbia. Long enough to take a maternity break for my first child. Long enough to spend three sleepless, postpartum months wondering whether I'd ever write anything again.
And, finally, I did. After an early feeding one morning, I sat down in my still-sleeping household and clicked on my Pan Yuliang screensaver. I gazed at the extraordinary, painted gaze and at the mother-child image Pan had titled Motherlove.
And I began.
Discussion Questions
1. What happened to Yuliang's mother and father? How are Yuliang's experiences of family and intimacy shaped by her Uncle Wu and, later, her life in the brothel?
2. In rendering Yuliang's years working as a prostitute, Epstein depicts the intersection of the sexual economy, the business elite, and political leadership. How do the intrigues of the brothel affect the economy and government in Wuhu?
3. How does poetry play a role in Yuliang and Zanhua's relationship? How does their shared appreciation for poetry stand in contrast to their feelings about visual art?
4. Yuliang's budding talent for sketching is not revealed until chapter sixteen. Do earlier chapters contain any hints of her artistic abilities?
5. How is Shanghai different than Wuhu? How does Yuliang's life change after she moves to Shanghai?
6. What results from Yuliang's confrontation with the women in the bathhouse in chapter twenty-four? What does this scene reveal about Chinese female society—and what does it reveal about Yuliang?
7. Teacher Hong instructs Yuliang to "see the skin as more than simply skin." Jingling, as she mentors Yuliang in the brothel, advises her protégée to remember that "it's just skin." Whose advice does Yuliang follow, and why? Why is painting nude figures important for Yuliang?
8. How does politics play a role in the story? To what extent is Yuliang a political person?
9. Both Xudun and Zanhua have strong feelings about politics and government in China. What two ideologies do these men represent? Are they entirely opposed?
10. In the 1920s and '30s Shanghai was often called "the Paris of the East." As depicted in the novel, how does Shanghai compare with the French capital? Both cities are cosmopolitan, but in different ways. How do you see those differences?
11. Why does Yuliang demand an abortion? Do you think she comes to regret that decision?
12. How does the course of Yuliang's personal and artistic career compare with that of her mentor, Xu Beihong?
13. In chapter thirty-three, when Xudun takes Yuliang to the top of Notre Dame Cathedral—in what seems to be one of the most exciting and romantic moments of Yuliang's life—her thoughts return to her uncle, who sold her into prostitution. Yuliang, however, frequently professes a desire to stay "rooted in the present." To what extent is she able to do that? How do the wounds of her past manifest themselves later in Yuliang's life? How do they affect her art?
14. After she moves to Nanjing—after years in Paris and Rome and a stint as an outspoken teacher at the Shanghai Art Academy—why does Yuliang submit to acting as "the second woman" to Guanyin in Zanhua's household? Why does Yuliang feel sympathy for Zanhua's first wife? Do you think Guanyin deserves sympathy?
15. "It is hard to find heroes in times such as these," says Qihua, referring to Zanhua. After all that is revealed about him later in the book, does Zanhua emerge as a hero in this story? Does Xudun? Had Xudun lived, do you think Yuliang would have chosen him over her husband? Would you want her to?
16. In moving back to Paris, Yuliang chooses a life of free artistic expression over a more traditional life of marriage. The last chronological scene in the novel is the prologue. Based on that opening scene, how do you think Yuliang views her life's choices? How do you view them? Having finished the book, how has your feeling about her life and character changed? Why do you think Epstein chose to begin the novel with this scene?
17. At the end of her life, Pan Yuliang had become known in her Paris circle as the "Woman of Three 'No's" for her steadfast refusal to work with dealers, take French citizenship, or enter into love affairs. Why do you think she was so firmly against each of these things? Are they in keeping with the image of her you've formed from reading The Painter of Shanghai?
|