In this blog post, we will examine Lu Xun’s significance and why his works remain important today.

Lu Xun’s Contemporary Significance

In September 2010, reports emerged that Chinese textbooks had drastically reduced the amount of writing by Lu Xun—the preeminent intellectual of the Enlightenment era—and instead included a large number of works by authors and intellectuals who provided theoretical support for China’s reform and opening-up policies. In response, some scholars argued that Lu Xun’s historical role had already come to an end and that his place was in a memorial hall, not a library.
Some scholars argued that to understand today’s changing China and utilize it as nourishment for the development of our own literature, we must break free from the “ghost of Lu Xun.” They believed we should not remain bound by the spirit of the times from a century ago, when Lu Xun was active, but rather devote more effort to accurately interpreting and understanding the diverse literary phenomena currently unfolding in contemporary China.
However, the position Lu Xun occupies in Chinese literature and culture as a whole is immense and unshakable. Even if not entirely free from politics and ideology, Lu Xun’s literature and actions—which remained true to the spirit of the times and reality—are more than worthy of being recognized as “classics” in the truest sense.
As Lu Xun scholars such as Lin Xianzhi have pointed out, Lu Xun—who “died in the 20th century but lives on in the 21st”—is the cornerstone symbolizing the origins of modern China’s literary and humanistic spirit, as well as the powerful spiritual energy that has shaped today’s China. Therefore, even if his writings have been scaled back in textbooks, this is merely a minor measure reflecting changes in Chinese society and the trends of the times; it does not mean that Lu Xun has been ousted from the consciousness and culture of the Chinese people.
Rather, it is reasonable to interpret this as evidence of maturity—since Lu Xun’s literature and ideas have already deeply permeated the consciousness of the Chinese people, there is no need to emphasize them in textbooks. In any case, such measures cannot dilute the spirit of Lu Xun that flows through the consciousness and veins of the Chinese people living today. For this reason, it can be said that Lu Xun is still needed.
There are sufficient reasons and grounds for Lu Xun’s stature. Living through an extremely turbulent era, he set the most faithful example of how an intellectual should live and maintained the purity and archetype of the intellectual. He did not succumb to prevailing trends or pursue personal gain, nor did he compromise with injustice or violence. He fought valiantly, sparing no regard for his own life.
Furthermore, as a great mentor, he entrusted the fate of the nation and the people to countless young intellectuals, offering everything he had with the attitude of “step over me and rise,” thereby becoming a shining example. His struggle was not against specific individuals or groups, but against the era and the nation as a whole.
Lu Xun opposed the so-called “cannibalistic society” created by feudal traditions; he resisted attacks from pseudo-literati who, caught up in the whirlwind of new ideologies, turned their backs on literary truth to chase after power and authority; and while standing up to oppressive political power, he lamented the divisions and mutual attacks within the intellectual community. The purpose of this struggle, in a word, was freedom—that is, the freedom of every individual and, collectively, the freedom of the nation.
The belief that no value can be created without freedom lay at the very foundation of his struggle and his literature.
Lu Xun was an indomitable warrior, and his literature was an immortal chronicle of that struggle. Lu Xun, who could not feel his own existence without fighting—the traces of his arduous struggle as an unheralded, aged, and weary fighter, along with his rhetoric, are poignantly captured in this book.

Works and Literary Value

This book contains fifteen of Lu Xun’s major short and medium-length stories—including “The Diary of a Madman” and “The True Story of Ah Q,” selected from his short story collections ‘Cries’ and ‘Wandering’—which are considered the starting point of modern Chinese literature. These works excel in theme, narrative, and rhetoric, and are representative of Lu Xun’s spirit.
The translation is based on the ‘Complete Works of Lu Xun’ (魯迅全集) published by the People’s Literature Publishing House of China in 1989, and as many footnotes as possible have been included to aid the reader’s understanding. Furthermore, to convey Lu Xun’s sense of responsibility as an intellectual—which compelled him to write these works—and his motivations for writing, the “Autobiographical Preface,” which serves as the preface to the short story collection ‘Cries’, has been included at the beginning in lieu of an author’s preface.
Most of the included works are based on his life experiences and thus directly reflect his life journey. Therefore, for readers who have some knowledge of Lu Xun’s life, each work may feel as if it were a part of his biography.
For example, ‘The True Story of Ah Q’ and ‘The Diary of a Madman’ were written with the intention of satirizing the evils of feudal Confucianism and the low level of consciousness among the Chinese people at the time, as well as to enlighten them; however, Lu Xun’s personal anguish about life is deeply embedded in these works. “The Story of a Tuft of Hair” indirectly conveys the anguish of that time against the backdrop of the queue incident during his early years studying in Japan and the ensuing collective condemnation, while “Hometown” depicts, through evocative scenery, the changes in the times and circumstances he observed upon returning home after completing his studies abroad, as well as the absurdities of traditional Chinese society as viewed through his own reformist ideas; however, upon closer inspection, one can see that it describes a specific period of the author’s own life.
“Mourning Death” can be interpreted as a reflection on the hardships of life shared with Xu Guangping, who was once his student and later became his wife. What is remarkable is that, even when viewed from the perspective of literary aesthetics—setting aside their social utility—Lu Xun’s short stories stand on equal footing with the works of world-renowned short-story writers such as Maupassant, O. Henry, and Pushkin. For this reason, it is necessary to read Lu Xun’s works not as an ideological leader and reformer of Chinese society, but as a pure literary artist.
In his essay “Some Limitations of Chinese Fiction,” Professor John L. Bishop of Harvard University defined the origins of Chinese fiction as the May Fourth New Literature Movement of 1919, citing reasons such as the fact that classical Chinese fiction focused too much on conventional expressions, lacked detailed descriptions, had loose plot structures, and remained confined to popular and fantastical themes. However, it is possible to argue that this is a biased and Orientalist perspective that applies only Western standards to the nature of the novel genre.
Assuming that a literary work is completed by its readers, there is ample grounds to argue for the superiority of classical Chinese novels over Western ones. For example, no Western novel has garnered as many readers as ‘Romance of the Three Kingdoms’ or ‘Water Margin’, and—with the exception of the Bible—few works possess such a vast scale and such a diverse array of characters. Therefore, evaluating novelistic literature solely based on a Western tradition spanning just over 200 years and the standards of American scholars amounts to nothing less than cultural hegemony.
In any case, if we follow Professor Bishop’s argument, Lu Xun’s literature can be viewed as the starting point of modern Chinese fiction. At the same time, Lu Xun’s works fully embody the tradition of classical Chinese fiction, which he himself had systematized. The literary tradition of the ancient city of Shaoxing likely played a significant role in Lu Xun’s decision to abandon medicine and pursue literature.
After Lu Xun laid the groundwork for modern Chinese literature with his whole being, during the period when he focused on miscellaneous essays rather than fiction, Chinese society as a whole was engulfed in the political maelstrom of the left-right debate and the Chinese Civil War. The independence and purity of literature were disparaged, and literature showed a tendency to degenerate into a tool of ideology. Following Mao Zedong’s “Yan’an Literary and Artistic Conference” in 1942, all literature and art were reduced to mere means of “serving” workers, peasants, and soldiers, ushering in a dark age in China during which true, pure literature ceased to exist.
It was only after Mao Zedong’s death, the end of the Cultural Revolution, and the implementation of the Reform and Opening-Up policy that the spirit of literature gradually began to recover. Within a relatively short period of about 30 years, Chinese literature regained its literary depth and creative freedom, cultivated a robust community of writers, and went on to produce Gao Xingjian, a Nobel Prize in Literature laureate, in 2000. Although his reception in China has been somewhat reserved due to his acquisition of French citizenship and his critical stance toward the country, the broader Chinese-speaking world does not hesitate to describe this as the “revival of the Lu Xun spirit.”
There are several reasons why Koreans should read Chinese novels. First, Chinese novels offer the same aesthetic pleasure and insights into human nature found in world classics and modern literature, and readers can enrich their own spiritual world through the unique literary nourishment of Chinese literature.
Second, Chinese novels broaden the depth and breadth of one’s understanding of Chinese society. Relying solely on statistics and theory makes it easy to miss the true nature of China, a country undergoing rapid change. Taking a close look at the thoughts and lifestyles of the Chinese people as depicted in novels is the path to a deeper understanding of China. As Albert Camus said, human life is remembered not through logic but through landscapes.
Third, it is for the future of Korean literature. By studying and embracing Chinese authors’ reflections on history and life—and the literary techniques through which they express these reflections—we can enrich the foundations of Korean literature and cultivate the capacity for it to take its place among the world’s great literatures. To this end, the importance of translation in bringing Chinese literature to Korean readers, as well as improving the quality of those translations, is a critical task.
It is often said that novelists reach the truth that historians dream of through perfect and beautiful fiction, and that readers infer the true nature of history through novels. I hope that readers of this book will gain a deep, visceral understanding of China’s past, present, and future through Lu Xun’s works.