Xia comes across, even in his notes, as a man with a bookish sense of humor—the kind that reveals character and makes you want to meet him. At one point he borrows Jin Shengtan’s manner of commenting on Water Margin: “I too want to ask” (p20). Anyone who has read Jin’s comments knows what a witty presence he is; the influence shows. Elsewhere Xia writes that a remark is not really funny in itself, but that when schoolgirls gather they like to laugh, “a rule that probably holds in China and abroad” (p224). It is close to a grumble, but it is also true, and female readers may well smile in recognition. Then there is his gloss on “Don’t I know it?” as “我岂不知之哉?” (p41). A literal rendering into Chinese would sound stiff and a little showy; Xia’s explanation is instead mischievous.
I have not read his other work, but I suspect Xia could write very well. In this book he turns “he looked up at the paling, peach-colored sky beyond the newly leafed branches” into “嫩芽初绽，树着新绿，霞艳似桃，薄暝徐合” (p20). There is no modern translationese in it; it is faithful, expressive, and elegant enough to show real literary skill. Yet in a volume meant for English learners, his manner remains approachable, like a patient teacher. He explains vocabulary and phrases, but he spends even more time on how an essay is put together and how one might learn to write.
In the latter half of the book, loose sentence keeps coming up. A writer who handles loose sentences well is not afraid of detail: modifiers and descriptions enrich the sentence, and the ending trails on, lingering after the thought seems complete. Such a sentence feels lazy and relaxed, and its virtue is ease and openness. It is not the abrupt, decisive stop of the periodic sentence (p279). I had never noticed this before. I used to think only in terms of long and short sentences, but where a comma falls inside a long sentence, and where a clause is placed, directly changes the reading experience and the weight of emphasis. For the first time I felt there was real learning in such matters.
Xia also repeats his point about clauses. In one note he praises two relative clauses as light and natural: a relative clause can be dropped in almost casually, and the sentence does not become clumsy or heavy; anyone who wants fluent English should pay attention to this sort of thing (p159). Later he repeats an earlier remark: if Chinese students can use relative clauses freely in composition, more than half the road to smooth writing has already been traveled (p371). He sounds like a teacher afraid that students will skim past the important point.
On description, he is equally direct. Good descriptive writing should let the reader see, hear, smell, and taste; this is what “concrete description” means. If writing is not to be hollow or vague, one should pay attention to ordinary sensory experience (p198). He also warns: “The temptation to add an adjective is very strong here, but once the adjective is added, the rhythm is thrown off; at this point the writer must hold his breath and restrain himself” (p147). That phrase—“the temptation to add an adjective”—is excellent. I know the experience: to make a sentence seem more impressive, one involuntarily adds adjectives, and later sees that none of them were necessary.
He compares Chinese and Western fiction as well. In old Chinese novels, the habit is to describe a character’s appearance and clothing as soon as the person enters. Here the student has already entered, but his appearance is described only later. The old Chinese method uses a detached, outside viewpoint; this passage uses the viewpoint of the novel’s protagonist. At first Professor Milon does not notice him, so there is no description; when the professor notices him, the description begins. Character description is made to coordinate with the protagonist’s psychological activity, and this seems superior to the old method (p26). The Xia brothers were deeply engaged with both Chinese and foreign literature, especially fiction.
His advice on reading fiction is just as memorable. The reader should not rush to condemn a character’s absurdity. The proper attitude is to ask: Is this emotional attitude a common human phenomenon? Even if one thinks it is not common, is the situation possible as the author presents it? Does his handling of it convince? Do the light passages make the reader feel light, and the tense passages feel tense? Is the organization compact? Has he expressed this emotional attitude just right? And there is one more important question: is the problem of life he raises meaningful? After reading the story, does the reader know life a little better, or feel a little more seriousness and awe toward it? (p167). This is very different from the formula we are often taught—“the essay expresses… implies… reflects…”—and it focuses on how the writing works. It can correct one’s reading habits, even one’s assumptions about criticism.
There is cultural advice too, not only grammar. Humility, Xia says, is the manner a highly educated person should have. People learning English conversation may be able to speak eloquently, but if their manner is insufficient, they still have not mastered the subject (p319).
Not long ago I read an article about European languages. It pointed out that English contains a large stock of Latin-derived and Anglo-Saxon words, so that the same meaning may have two words, with the Latin one feeling older, rather like classical Chinese. This book offers good examples. Cordial and hearty both mean “sincere,” but cordial comes from Latin for “heart,” while hearty comes from Anglo-Saxon for “heart” (p298). Lacteal means the same as milky; lacteal comes from Latin, milky from Anglo-Saxon (p342). Of course, explaining English directly through Chinese is not a rigorous method, but for a non-native reader it is enough to connect the book with knowledge encountered elsewhere. That kind of mutual confirmation while learning is genuinely enjoyable.
Xia was from Suzhou and studied for a long time in Shanghai, so some notes have a familiar local flavor. He explains that swell is slang for “very good,” a common word roughly like Beijing’s “棒” or Shanghai’s “崭” (p24). “崭” is common in speech, but I have rarely seen it written; I am not sure the written form is accurate, though it means “praise.” In another note, “the careless student has been caught; the professor need not search left and right” uses “拆烂污” (p234), meaning that the student has been sloppy and caused trouble. I had not seen that phrase for a long time; readers from other regions might not recognize it and would need a Chinese annotation of their own.
The book’s main weakness is that it is old enough to have dated. One note identifies the Duke of Cornwall as the present Prince Charles, explaining that the heir to the British throne is called the Prince of Wales and that at the time this prince had not yet been formally invested with that title (p357). Who would have thought that in 2015 he would still be heir? There are also some hard errors of the kind Zhu Jisong has discussed in his essay on the merits and flaws of Xia’s annotated edition. Still, it remains a good catalogue of examples, teaching readers how to analyze good writing by good methods and how to learn to write well.
(Page references are to the 1985 edition.)