forestofglory

Welcome to the second post of our read a long of The Social Life of Inkstones: Artisans and Scholars in Early Qing China by Dorothy Ko! For this post we are reading: "Chapter 3: Suzhou"

Previous posts:
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2

You are welcome to join in at any time!

In this chapter we meet Gu Erniang and several other inkstone carvers and some of their patrons. Here are some optional discussion questions:

What where the main arguments in this chapter? Did you find them convincing?

Did any historical figures introduced in the chapter stand out to you? In what way?

Did any of the inkstones or other objects in the chapter stand out to you? In what way?

What did this chapter make you want to learn more about?

Did anything in this chapter remind you of fiction you enjoy? Or inspire creative writing thoughts fic or otherwise?

(I might be slow to respond because my wrist has been acting up again)

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

rhysiana

Finally I get a chance to read the chapter and respond! (Stupid real life this week, ugh.) My thoughts on this chapter aren't lining up neatly with the usual questions, so forgive this sort of mish-mash response:

I appreciated Ko's mention of the difficulties in finding true records of handcrafts and craftspeople, because this has certainly been my experience in trying to research other East Asian handcraft histories. (Particularly hampered by my own interest being in a craft that is almost entirely done by women and falling on the craft side of the officially recognized arts vs. folk crafts divide in Japan.)

This is somewhat connected to my next note to myself: "Gu Erniang's circle of admirers - cliquish popularity of commercial artists," which sparked thoughts of modern day artists who can become popular in niche circles via social media (or fan artists, for that matter), who may or may not sign their art, regardless of how passionately a follower collects their work. Particularly if an artist/artisan makes physical objects out of unusual materials (fiber arts, etc.), signing the work may not even be considered standard practice. But also, the longish passage about her circle of admirers in Fuzhou made it uncomfortably clear how quickly her livelihood could have been taken away if she had fallen out of favor.

This latter point was also emphasized by the discussion of the contemporary Yang brothers, who lived as itinerant assistants to officials. At first, this seems like a more stable arrangement, as they had personal patrons, but given that they both died young and, it sounds like, overworked, and since Ko later makes the point that Gu Erniang's static location at her workshop gave her more stability for customers to find her, it seems like she really did luck out on several axes.

(Fictional thought aside: The job as a specialty assistant to a traveling scholar/official would make good cover for a spy.)

The following passage inspired thoughts about class and status in various c-dramas:

It is not known if Dongyi returned the tribute with a poem of his own, but it does not matter. In the world of scholarly etiquette, to be sent a poem, just as to be invited to view flowers with other scholars, conferred a vicarious status of “scholar” on the recipient. The contrast between Lin Fuyun’s view of Yang as “not-quite” a scholar and You’s assessment of “scholar and more” serves as a reminder that the so-called social status of a person was conferred by others, hence subjected to a degree of subjective judgment.

It could be a good detail in a fic focused on a social climbing character to have them assiduously collecting invitations. (A thing that I've actually seen in SFF--I think it was in Ann Leckie's Provenance that collection of forged invitations is a plot point.)

Xie Ruqi, our romantic artisan-scholar with the bannerman admirer from the first chapter, is back! I enjoyed the picture Ko painted of the meeting of colleagues here.

One of the names used to refer to Gu was contrived: “female knight-errant” refers not to Gu’s deeds but is triggered by the association between the knife-wielding ancient assassin Zhuanzhu, whom many considered a hero, and the knife-wielding female artisan (an association common among those who spread her legends).

So interesting to see the earlier explanation of the name of the street her shop was on brought up again here. (Who else wants a story about an artisan by day, assassin by night now?)

This does also remind me though that I thought it was kind of an odd choice to so closely tie the introduction of Gu Erniang in this book to the idea of forgery. The opening of the chapter introduces her street first as one well-known for forgers, and then things close with thoughts on how often she herself appears to have been forged. (It reminded me of the special exhibit our art museum did on works attributed to Rembrandt that have since been reclassified as fakes/forgeries or, more correctly, works from his workshop that his various apprentices and assistants did rather than him personally. I'm not entirely sure how these two lines of thought intersect yet, so it'll be interesting to see what the next chapters say about Gu Erniang's influence after her fame spread.)

A very intriguing passage to end the chapter on:

The Suzhou writer Zhu Xiangxian related that Gu (whom he called Qinniang) often discoursed orally on her philosophy of inkstone making in these words: “An inkstone is carved from a piece of rock; it would have to become round and lively as well as fat and opulent before the wonders of carving is made apparent. If the inkstone appears dull, dry, emaciated, and stiff, it is in fact the original face of the rock. Then what good did the carving do?” These words highlight the transformative power of the artisan at work: her artistry is none other than the generative work of heaven’s creation that bestows life onto the stone. Carving stone is thus the ultimate act of “culture” improving upon “nature.”

Makes me wish we had more records of her actual thoughts!

From:

forestofglory

It has taken me forever but I am finally replying!

Anyways don't worry about sticking to the discussion questions -- they are very optional. (Sometimes I have hard time knowing what to say without a starting point)

Great point about how precarious everyone's livelihoods where.

The bit about being sent a poem really does feel like something out of a drama!

I really get the impression that Ko wanted to know so much more about Gu Erniang, and kept expanding the scope of her research due to limited sources.

From:

forestofglory

Going to finally answer some of my own questions here!

I'm sure this chapter had an argument so much as it was trying to ground us in what little is know about the actual Gu Ernaing before we move on to talk about her image in popular culture.

I love the image of Gu Ernaing sitting and talking about inkstones while sipping tea and looking at the garden!

In terms of objects. I really enjoyed all the pictures of tools here.

The ancient name of Suzhou is of course Gusu so the city is forever associated with Caiyi, Clould Recesses and various Lans in my mind.

From:

rhysiana

I love the image of Gu Ernaing sitting and talking about inkstones while sipping tea and looking at the garden!

Same! That little section giving a glimpse of her visit with the other artisans was great.

The Suzhou/Gusu link was one I definitely noted. If Wei Ying opened up a shop in Suzhou, I think it would definitely be on this street.

From:

rhysiana

I really get the impression that Ko wanted to know so much more about Gu Erniang, and kept expanding the scope of her research due to limited sources.

Unfortunately relatable.

From:

blueshiftofdeath

I actually read this a while back but didn't get the chance to write up my thoughts... so I might be missing some stuff. But here goes!

First of all, super exciting finally learning about Gu Erniang's legacy! The moment we all (or at least I)'ve been waiting for!

One of the first chronological stories we have about her is Huang Zhongjian commissioning an inkstone from her, after he had her father in law make him an inkstone and wanted a new one with better materials. He greatly praised the inkstone and treasured it as a piece to pass on his sons, but his one criticism was that the stone was "too contrived", or literally, "too skillful and crafty".

Obviously I am reading a lot based on extremely skimpy, fourth-hand information from a single probably stuck-up reviewer, but it's easy for me to imagine that Gu Erniang started out with designs that excessively showed off her "skill and craft", given that she had big shoes to fill and presumably would have an uphill battle proving her abilities.

To further read into no information-- Ko mentions how Gu had "nothing short of a meteoric rise" and "it is likely that Erniang had already learned inkstone-making from her father-in-law and husband while both were alive. She may have learned by observing them work, like most apprentices, or received more formal instruction."

Presumably, based on how it only took "a handful of years" to establish herself after her husband's and father-in-law's deaths, she had already been making inkstones while they were alive-- inkstones that matched or even exceeded the value of theirs. I posit that, given what we know about similar situations around the world (where women in a male-dominated field work with their husbands that are established in that field), it's likely that some of her stones were already sold under the name of her husband.

Future directors of an epic Gu Erniang biopic, take note!

Very interesting to me how there was no note (that I recall) of people questioning Gu Erniang's skill due to her sex-- the main barrier it presented seems to be that her allegiance to the family line (the Gu line) was in question, due to additionally having a natal family. To me this is an example of how cultural values that are on the surface equally constricting for all groups can still inherently disadvantage one group-- in this case, the strictness and seriousness of "ancestral lineage" in Chinese culture, due to how lineage works in conjunction with heterosexual marriages, inevitably has logistical issues that leads to women being devalued ("two families must combine to continue a lineage, how is lineage defined?" -> "lineage is defined by the male members of the family" -> literally the patriarchy). Of course we have a similar system in the West, but I think it's less visible to me because lineage specifically is taken more seriously in Chinese culture (and also because my mom constantly complains to me about Chinese ancestor worship).

I also wonder how the "degendering" of Gu Erniang by her clients relates to her being a craftswoman, one two levels. On the first level, as Ko says, the objects a person makes are more important than the person themselves. Versus for scholars, it seems that they were judged based on their "resumes" to some extent, which isn't very surprising. People continue to think "hm, so and so went to a good school and implemented these great ideas-- probably this other idea they came up with is also good!", aka judging a person's output based on the person, rather than the other way around. That's a scenario where sexism is more likely to bar someone from the appreciation they deserve.

On the second level, I wonder if the fact that Gu Erniang was doomed to be lower status than her clients-- due to being a craftsperson, rather than a scholar-- shielded her from insecurity that often leads to the burying of women's reputations. None of these scholars would be threatened whatsoever by the greatest craftsperson of their time being a woman; if she was a scholar, it'd be a different story. This train of thought makes me extra interested in how female scholars fared during this era!

Also on that note is how this relates to the later mythologizing of Gu as an "ultra-feminine persona" by those who (unlike her patrons, who degendered her in some sense) had no direct contact with her; her direct patrons were seeking high quality inkstones for their own sake, leading to the standard "the object is more important than the craftsperson" mentality. People less interested in inkstones for their own sake, and more interested for their theoretical prescribed value (aka forgers and some collectors), would be more likely to prescribe that value based on the person behind them. This could be a challenge with the craftsperson being female (and therefore in theory less skilled than a man), hence needing to lean into female-specific advantages. These inkstones are super good, in a feminine way!

Speaking of reputation, I enjoyed the commentary on how fame was (is?) defined by what people say about your works, rather than your works themselves, and how this effect is exponential over time, as people continue to have more to say about the people that have already had things said about them, and nothing to say about people that have had nothing said about them. In a sense, having 12 existing forgeries of Erniang's inkstones speaks more to the assessment of her at the time than having 12 legitimate works would.

Other thoughts:

Loved the story about the assassin hiding a dagger in a fish! Cool!
It continues to delight me how these people would write poems and encomiums about how great their inkstones are. I guess it's not that different from how I might write a blog post on how much I love my new keyboard/whatever, but the sense of ritual/formality from the praise described in the book is novel and fun to me.
Very happy for Huang Zhongjian getting his 20-year-old wish fulfilled... thank you Ms. Gu!