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When all was lost, she painted herself as a lonely, abandoned woman in a desolate autumn night,<br />

her only outlet her poetic sensibility and artistic talent (C8). A short authorial postscript to the eight<br />

paintings, dated 1859, summarizes Chen Yunlian’s last effort to direct her intended readers, her sons<br />

and grandsons (adopted or by concubines), to recognize her contributions to the Zuo family and to<br />

say to her husband: “J’accuse!” – by the means available to her – poetry and painting.<br />

In another extraordinary move, in a note to a line in her poem about a visit with relatives in the<br />

capital in 1860, Chen Yunlian records that, because her hands were afflicted with a disease that<br />

caused her not to be able to stretch them, she could not hold a brush and therefore asked her<br />

husband’s sixth elder brother Chaosheng to inscribe the eight colophons she had written. 22 The dirty<br />

laundry is displayed for all to see in the eight autobiographical paintings and Chen Yunlian’s narrative<br />

and emotional outbursts she recorded in the colophons.<br />

Coda<br />

Chen Yulian manipulates the poetic genre and the organization, form, and structure of her poetry<br />

collections to construct a self‐narrative in which her poetic and artistic talents, illness, poverty, and<br />

economic labor are inextricably intertwined with two conflicting narrative versions of her conjugal<br />

relations with her husband, Zuo Chen: one representing a harmonious, companionate couple, the<br />

other a “broken” marriage between an abandoned, resentful wife and her philandering husband. The<br />

reality of the latter was no doubt a common occurrence within the polygynous system of late<br />

imperial China. Chen dealt with her loss and bitter memory by writing them into a life story that<br />

articulates her gendered discontent forcefully. What is so unusual in her case is how she cast aside<br />

the virtues of modesty, restraint, and acceptance expected of gentlewomen in her society and<br />

turned one strand of her poetry collection and its framing devices into her personal vehicle of<br />

resentment and published and publicized revenge at her profligate husband.<br />

Keywords: Paratext, Poetry collection, Life history, Women, Late Imperial China<br />

Grace S. FONG<br />

Professor of Chinese Literature<br />

Department of East Asian Studies<br />

McGill University<br />

grace.fong@mcgill.ca<br />

Notes<br />

1<br />

See Gérard Genette, Paratexts: Thresholds of Interpretation, Cambridge University Press, 1997.<br />

2<br />

I use the collection in the Harvard‐Yenching Library, whose digitized version is available online in<br />

Ming Qing Women’s Writings http://digital.library.mcgill.ca/mingqing.<br />

3<br />

Fang Tinghu, in Chen Yunlian, Xingangge shicao, “Xu,” 1b. Citations are to the online digitized<br />

1859 edition http://digital.library.mcgill.ca/mingqing/search/resultswork.php?workID=97&language=eng.<br />

4<br />

Although nowhere stated in the paratexts, the 1851 four‐chapter edition, which is now<br />

“embedded” as part of the 1859 edition, may have been printed to celebrate Chen Yunlian’s<br />

birthday.<br />

5<br />

Chen, Xinfangge, “Zixu,” 1a. This pronouncement comes from the “Shun dian” in the Shang shu.<br />

However, Chen refers to the Zuo zhuan as the source.<br />

6<br />

Chen, Xinfangge, “Zixu,” 1b.<br />

7<br />

Chen, Xinfangge, “Zixu,” 2a.<br />

8<br />

Chen, Xinfangge, “Zixu,” 1a‐2b.

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