Chinese Civilization and its Discontents

"The urge for freedom," wrote Freud in Civilization and its Discontents, "...is directed against particular forms and demands of civilization or against civilization altogether. It does not seem as though any influence could induce a man to change his nature into a termite's"   (p. 43, Norton ed.).  Perhaps that unshakable resistance to  the group explains not only why so many cultures all but codify certain forms of rule-breaking, but why such widespread and tolerated rebellions are often noted with pride or affection as an identity marker for the group.

That solidarity in transgression may explain my initial reaction to Deborah Fallows' account of the Chinese approach to legal and official authority in Dreaming in Chinese. Fallows  notes that the Chinese have a bewildering array of rules, many of them governing seemingly harmless behavior, then moves on to the garden of transgressions:

Cars pay no heed to green Walk signals for pedestrians, just as pedestrians head blithely into the streets against red Don't Walk signals. Crowds ignore bus attendants who scream at them through their bullhorns to stand back from the curbs. People argue with traffic attendants and even policemen who blast their whistles, trying in vain to keep people off the crosswalks and safely on the sidewalks. Airline attendants warn passengers to stay buckled up until the plane arrives at the gate, but most passengers jump up to rummage through the overhead bins as soon as the wheels touch the runway. People smoke in front of No Smoking signs, spit in front of No Spitting signs, and sit on the grass in front of Keep Off The Grass Signs (158).

Charming, right? Even more so, the rulebreaking is not a matter of simple defiance, but of extraordinarily nuanced subliminal negotiation:

A posture, a look, a hesitation, or any one of a variety of subtle moves adds much to shades of meaning. This subtle kind of body language is not something that can be taught: you use your eyes and ears together to interpret a mismatch between what you're hearing and what you're seeing, or to catch a soft "I don't really mean it" undertone. Finally, you just get a feeling, and you know it when you see it (161).

Fallows has several hilarious examples, but you'll have to buy the book to experience them.

Though by turns amused and bemused, Fallows is not sentimental about this convoluted behavioral code -- and nor, I think, should a reader be. Its underside is harsh:

A matter of tone in China

Twenty years ago, a graduate student friend from Taiwan told me something about the Chinese language that is by now I think pretty common knowledge:  the same syllable pronounced in a different tone can have a different meaning. Being tone deaf, I was astounded by this.  It seemed to me that you'd have to essentially sing in Chinese to make yourself understood.

In Dreaming in Chinese, Deborah Fallows chronicles her adventures (and misadventures) stemming from a full-bath immersion in Chinese during a three-year sojourn. Memorizing and reproducing tones is indeed central to her struggles -- and her account sheds some light on the mystery of how tones can function so centrally.

One very funny tale involves her attempt to ask attentive attendants in a Chinese Taco Bell whether they offer take-out.  To prepare us, Fallows explains that the each of the two syllables by which she tried to signify "take-out" could have at least four meanings, depending on tone. Possible meanings for one syllable include bag or parcel, eaten your fill, 'hail' as in rain pellets, newspaper and hug.. She cannot make herself understood. The restaurant greeter calls for reinforcements within, and she is surrounded by boys in sombreros struggling to decode her two syllables. The scene reminds me of Woody Allen attempting to rob a bank in Take the Money and Run, insisting to a crowd of helpful bank personnel that the last word of his scrawled note does indeed spell "gun".