Creation by Association and by Dissociation By Michel Hockx Prepared for symposium on Urban Cultural Institutions in Early Twentieth Century China. (Draft not for citation)

During the Republican period, practitioners of New Literature developed an innovative working style, combining traditional forms of organisation (in literary societies) with modern forms of publishing (in journals). Named collectives were responsible for the production of the majority of New Literature journals throughout the 1920s and 1930s. Literary societies were to be found all over the country, as where their periodicals. Relatively speaking, however, more journals were published in Shanghai, the hub of Republican China's printing industry. Even societies not based in Shanghai would often have their journals published, or handled by a distributor, in that city.

In the contact between Shanghai publishing companies and writers of New Literature, literary societies played a crucial role. The question why there was such a strong need within the New Literature community to work in collectives is difficult to answer, as it touches upon aspects of sociology and psychology that are well beyond the scope of this paper. Much more relevant are the questions how those collectives functioned and how the phenomenon fits into the overall New Literature working style. In this paper, I present a typology of literary societies of the 1920s and 1930s, including short treatments of a number of examples of societies of various types and their strategies within the literary field.

New Literature collectives of the 1920s and 1930s can be divided into two general types, which I shall refer to as habitual societies and organised societies. Habitual literary societies were societies formed as part of the habits involved in setting up a publishing venture. Such societies did not have any traceable activities, often they did not even have a membership. The names of such societies appear in copyright pages of literary journals as either editors of distributors, but they are not mentioned elsewhere in the journal. As a result, little can be known or said about the nature of these societies and it is questionable whether they qualify as "cultural institutions" in any sense of the word. The focus of this paper will therefore be on organised societies.

Organised societies
This type of society would be formed by a group of friends, associates or otherwise kindred spirits, usually referred to in Chinese as tongren. The three most famous early modern literary societies (the Southern Society (Nan she), the Literary Association (Wenxue yanjiu hui) and the Creation Society (Chuangzao she)) all started out in this way, although all eventually grew into something much larger than what is usually covered by the Chinese term tongren jituan (associates collective). In the typology presented here, however, all three belong to the category of organised societies.

Organised societies, whether self-funded or supported by a publishing house, ordinarily announced their existence in local newspapers by means of an official proclamation, often accompanied by a manifesto. The manifesto would normally be reprinted in the first issue of the organ of the society. In most cases, the literary journal run by the society also functioned as a newsletter for its members, to whom it was distributed freely or at a discount. Therefore, the organ would contain such sections as "Members' News" (sheyuan xiaoxi) or "Society Talk" (shetan). Most of these organs would in principle welcome contributions from non-members, but in practice they would serve predominantly as the publication outlet for members. As I have shown for the case of the Literary Association (Hockx 1998), one way to remedy this somewhat contradictory situation was to actively recruit new members among those submitting manuscripts to the journal. In other cases, a society's journal would be open for contributions by outsiders only if they were in genres in which members themselves were not particularly interested. Finally, the society would sign its name as editor, and often also as distributor, on the copyright page.

Organised societies came in all shapes and sizes, but four kinds can be distinguished on the basis of the scope and nature of their activities, as follows:

Literary Field Organisations

Small societies mainly involved in the editing of a literary journal, meant for the publication of members' own works. Membership is limited to those involved in running the journal. Activities of such societies are limited to what takes place in the literary field and their reputation does not usually extend beyond the literary sphere.

Public Sphere Organisations

Literary societies or associations with a relatively formal structure and a public function which extends beyond the literary community. Collectives of this kind depend on a large membership or on shareholders for funding a variety of (publishing) activities, including literary journals, literary series and literature textbooks. Their public visibility derives from factors such as: the hosting of receptions and dinner parties; the establishment of an official location (a bookshop, printing shop or clubhouse carrying the name of the society); the co-signing of general political or cultural manifestos

Political Organisations

Organisations whose literary activities are restricted because they are determined by the agenda of a government or a political party. Their literary significance is usually limited, but for the sponsoring party their value may be considerable.

Professional Organisations

Organisations which provide the basis for their members' livelihood. Many small drama societies of the Republican era were of this type, but the most important example is the Chinese Writers' Union, the main literary institution of the People's Republic of China, which falls beyond the scope of the present study.

These are, of course, fluid categories. It is possible for societies to belong to more than one category, or to develop from one type into another, especially from the first into the second, which may be considered a sign of "success". A good example is the Creation Society, which started out as a small collective with (avant-garde) ambitions limited to the literary sphere, but which gradually developed into a complicated commercial venture with hundreds of shareholders and a well-known physical location in Shanghai. (cf. Hockx 1999: 74) Moreover, in its later stages, it was also at least partly a political and a professional organisation, as some of its members maintained close ties with the Communist Party, whereas others supported their livelihood by working full-time in the Creation Society Publishing Department. The Literary Association is typical of the second category of non-political public cultural organisations that are, I believe, unique to the Republican period. The best example of the third category is the 1930s League of Left-Wing Writers, which has been the subject of a book-length study by Wang-chi Wong (Wong 1991).

For literary field organisations, the example set by the Creation Society in its challenge to the Literary Association soon became paradigmatic. Most manifestos of such organisations emphasise the lack of ideology or organisation, and the singular devotion to literature. A typical case is the Low Grass Society (qiancao she), which founded the quarterly journal Low Grass in 1923.[1] The cover of the first issue, published in March of that year, proudly states that the journal was a "self supported publication of the Low Grass Society" (qiancao she zifei chuban). A poem-like manifesto on the opening page was complemented at the end of the issue with a more prosaic statement of the aims of the organisation, signed by one of its founders, Lin Ruji:

We do not dare to speak loftily of any literary ism (zhuyi), nor do we dare to use that traditional erroneous notion of putting out a sign and telling people we are unique.
We are unwilling to be affected by the vulgar habit of "literary men disparaging one another" (wenren xiangqing), turning the untainted garden of art into a manure pit, where maggots fight for food.
In fact, in China's immature ­ we believe that is what we are ­ literary arena, all one can hope for is that all kinds of literary isms sprout forth like bamboo shoots after the rain. The dream of unification we dare not and will not dream!
Writers of literature have suffered long enough from the scorn of society, even if this deserves to be borne by those common beggars of letters. But we believe that only those who are truly faithful to art can understand real works of literature. Therefore we are only willing to cherish and encourage each other.
This is the attitude held by the associates of our little society. It is also what we wish for with the publication of this little magazine.[2]

The rest of the article of which these are the opening lines is in part addressed to the other members of the society, who were scattered over four different cities (Beijing, Nanjing, Shanghai, Tianjin). Lin Ruji explains, for instance, why the first issue, which he edited, does not contain a criticism section, in a statement that seems clearly addressed not to the general readership but to his fellow society founders:

We associates are determined not to criticise any works by any current Chinese writers. Moreover, we shall never discuss other people's criticism of us, but let others judge by themselves, in order to reduce conflicts. For this reason I have decided to leave out the criticism section. This is a change from the editorial principles we drafted for the first time last year.[3] [my italics]

The passage indicates that the Low Grass Society existed at least a year before the journal came out and that meetings and perhaps other literary activities were held by the founding members, presumably when they were all still studying in Beijing.[4] It also indicates that Lin took these meetings, and therefore the institutional level of the society, seriously, and wished to abide as much as possible with its decisions. In the same piece, Lin also calls upon his fellow members to send in manuscripts for the second issue of the journal, which will be edited by one of the other member.

The Low Grass Society achieved rapid success and, typically, relinquished much of its independence in the process. Already in the second issue of Low Grass (July 1923) it was announced that the society was to publish a second organ: a trimonthly supplement to The Republican Daily News, once the stronghold of the core members of the Southern Society, entitled Wenyi xunkan (Literary Arts Trimonthly). Following the example of the Literary Association's Literature Trimonthly, with which it was perhaps meant to compete, this supplement contained more essayistic than literary writings. It apparently lasted for fifty issues, changing into a weekly after the twenty-first issue.[5] Also like the Literary Association organ, the Low Grass Society used its supplement partly as a newsletter to maintain contact between members and strengthen the collective identity of the organisation. In the seventh issue (6 September 1923), an obituary for a deceased society member appeared on the front page of the supplement. From the tenth issue (16 October 1923) onwards, a section called "Ben she xiaoxi" (News From Our Society) began to appear irregularly. Later retitled "Tongxun" (Correspondence), the sole aim of this section was to allow members to keep in touch, as many had travelled abroad for study. Paradoxical as it may sound, the management and the readership of The Republican Daily News apparently had no problems with the fact that a small literary collective was using up space in a mass-distributed newspaper to publish letters exchanged among its members.

Another way in which the Low Grass Society enhanced its public profile in the pages of Literary Arts Trimonthly was by publishing reviews of its own quarterly journal.[6] Meanwhile, the quarterly itself, from the third issue (December 1923) onwards, was published and distributed by the Taidong Bookshop, which also published the Creation Society journals. One of the "News From Our Society" colums in Literary Arts Trimonthly explained this move in a somewhat apologetic fashion, by pointing out that there were not enough members to take care of the printing and distribution. However, the takeover by Taidong can also be seen as a measure of success, which certainly not all societies managed to accomplish. The growing distinction between successful and unsuccessful individuals and groups within the ever expanding New Literature community gave rise to another strategy employed by aspiring writers and collectives throughout the 1920s and 1930s. This was the strategy of posing as an "unknown author" (wuming zuojia, literally "un-famous author"). In the next sections, I look at some examples of this strategy as employed by literary societies of the period.

Unknown Authors
From the beginning, one of the strong points of the Low Grass Society was its ability to establish contacts with other similar groups from all over the country. The Low Grass quarterly always contained many simple advertisements for publications of such groups. In the second issue, a list of sixteen journals was published with which the Low Grass Society had established "exchanges", probably meaning that they exchanged copies of and advertisements for each other's journals.[7] Printed on the (unnumbered) page across from this list, however, one finds an advertisement-like announcement containing, as far as I know, the earliest occurrence of the programmatic use of the term "unknown author", which was to appear with great frequency in literary discourse during the following decades. The announcement is worth translating in full:

Unknown Authors Society Agreement (wuming zuojia she gongyue)

(1) Name: Unknown Authors Society.
(2) Nature: To put effort into the study and creation of literature.
(3) Membership: All unknown authors can join. No introductions necessary.
(4) Enterprises: First to bring out a regularly appearing publication, as an organ for publishing research and opinions; then to engage in as many as possible editing, translation and publication enterprises.
(5) Duties: Each member must pay an annual fee of two yuan. Those who do not pay shall not enjoy the rights mentioned under (6) below.
(6) Rights: Members have the right to elect officers, to submit manuscripts without restrictions and to purchase this society's publications at a discount.
(7) Officers: One editor, one secretary cum treasurer, one distributor.
(8) Elections: Once a year, to be held during the annual general meeting, with the exception of [the election for] the editor.
(9) Meetings: An annual general meeting will be held each year in mid-August, to report on all current affairs of this society. Provisional meetings can be called by the officers.
(10) Correspondence: Our temporary correspondence address is ­ Mr Yang Yongxue, No. 4 Normal School, Nanjing.

APPENDIX
Bylaws of the first regular publication:

(1) This publication will be called Unknown Authors.
(2) Publication will be twice a month, one large page, approximately 14,000 characters.
(3) Content sections: Discussion, research, creation, translation, reading notes, random jottings etc.
(4) The first issue will appear on 1 September 1923
(5) Contributions are welcome, but only remunerated with a copy of this publication.

I do not know if this society ever did anything other than publish this "agreement". The journal Unknown Authors is certainly nowhere to be found, and one would almost be tempted to consider the possibility that the announcement was a hoax.[8] Even if it were, however, it introduced a very powerful concept into literary discourse. Its strategic usefulness was instantly recognised by the members of the Low Grass Society themselves, who used it in a manifesto-like proclamation in the first issue of Literary Arts Trimonthly, printed on the fold between the first and the last page of the supplement, a space commonly used for all kinds of advertisements and announcements. The text of the proclamation read:

Special Announcement by This Supplement

This supplement has obtained the support of The Republican Daily and was founded on 5 July [1923]. Its content is purely [devoted to] the study of literary arts.

We shall adopt a completely open attitude and we welcome submissions. For we believe that among writers in China, apart from the famous ones, there must be countless unknown authors. Therefore we very much hope that unknown practitioners of the literary arts will come and help us. However, we do not accept any attacks or unreasonable criticism. Manuscripts may be sent to The Republican Daily.

The members of the Low Grass Society employed the concept of the "unknown author" to attract contributors, without openly polarising against "famous authors". However, the distinction itself contained the seeds of polarisation, and before long the term "unknown author" became part of avant-garde discourse. Unknown authors came to represent not only an untapped resource of literary talent, but a community of artists who were more talented and more committed to literature than the establishment which "oppressed" them. Some perfect examples of this phenomenon can be found in the journal Bailu (White Dew).

White Dew, edited by "The Literary Arts Research Association of the Progress Society" (Jin she wenyi yanjiu hui), began publication in November 1926, and was another avant-garde New Literature venture supported by Taidong publishers. Moreover, for a very short while during 1926, the same Association, like the Low Grass Society before them, also ran a literary supplement to The Republican Daily, even under the same name of Literary Arts Trimonthly. So what kind of an organisation was "The Literary Arts Research Association of the Progress Society", and how did they fight the cause of the unknown author?

The Progress Society and the Attacks on Celebrity
The third issue of White Dew, dated December 1926, carried a call for members from the Progress Society, in which the aims of the society were described as follows:

This society aims to unite ambitious young people (you zhi qingnian) from all over the country, to engage, on the basis of the principles of division of labour and mutual aid, in academic debate and cultural propaganda, in order to attain social reform. We were established three years ago. Branch societies have been established in various places. We strive to spread our work among the people. As far as academic research is concerned, we have already established branch societies for social sciences, natural sciences and literary arts in Beijing, Guangdong and Shanghai. As far as publications are concerned, we are exerting all our efforts to plan their further development.[9]

The statement was signed by a Yang Youjiong at Fudan University. A similar announced appeared in White Dew in May 1927, this time unsigned.[10] The aims of the Progress Society were restated. It was further stated that "young comrades" had been coming forth in large numbers to join the society. The society would still except every applicant expressing his or her honest opinion about the society and introducing his or her recent activities. Applicants were reminded that one must first become a member of the "main branch" (zongshe) before one might join one of the three branches. Finally, in an editorial in the next issue, the activities of the society were introduced in more detail, and immediately appeared much less impressive than the various announcements had made them seem. As it turned out, the journal White Dew was the only publication of the society in print at the time and it was, as mentioned above, produced under the responsibility of the Literary Arts Association of the society. The Social Sciences Association had announced the publication of The Social Sciences Magazine, forthcoming with Taidong publishers, but not yet in print.[11] Two branch societies in Guangzhou and Nanjing had published short-lived journals, which had closed down due to lack of funding.[12] Naturally, this modest output need not mean that society activity at the local level was equally limited, but White Dew contains no records that might corroborate such an assumption.

Compared to the main branch of the society, its Literary Association adopted a much more belligerent stance. Already in the first issue of White Dew, a little notice was printed on the copyright page, stating the following:

This journal is of a pure literary nature. We sincerely welcome all unknown young authors from inside and outside China (guo neiwai qingnian wuming zuojia) to contribute. We regret, however, that we cannot accept any so-called masterpieces by celebrities (mingliu jiezuo).[13]

In the second issue, the Association published its own manifesto, full of hyperbolic language comparing, among other things, literature to a burning torch, stimulating alcohol, a revealing and moving painting and a tender rose. In by now familiar language, the author of the manifesto and main motive force of the Association, Wang Baoxuan, deplored the decline of society and of literature, and called upon all like-minded young people to "come and work with us; the Muse is smiling and holding out her arms."[14] Some of the language of this manifesto demonstrates the fact that avant-garde positions within the literary field can be occupied with the help of any available literary ideology. Even though the style of the manifesto resembles that of the earlier Creation Society, the content is more reminiscent of the latter's nemesis, the Literary Association and its supposed stance of "art for life's sake". In Wang Baoxuan's words:

The comrades of the Progress Society have become aware of the closeness and importance of the relationship between literature and life. Moreover, we feel that until now our contributions to the literary arts have truly been too irregular, and too listless, therefore we have organised a Literary Arts Association, in order to continue the work of the great historic calling, so that our thoughts and works can gradually move up the right track of literary art, and step onto the level road of life.[15]

The same mix of avant-garde rhetoric with a famous slogan related to the Literary Association can be found in an announcement in the front of the third issue of White Dew, signed by "The Literary Arts Association of the Progress Society", which is worth quoting in full:

United Front of Unknown Authors

Idols have seized the palace of literary arts. Since then talent has been buried for ever. Unknown authors have been obliterated. We cannot continue to be weak. We must leap to our feet like an angry lion. We must shower the paper with our blood and tears. Unknown authors, are you still not coming here?
Here is the garden where the flowers of your mind can wildly blossom. Here is our united front! We shall attack the bogus writers with full force. We aspire to be the loyal servants of the literary arts. Oh, unknown authors, White Dew welcomes you!

--The Literary Arts Association of the Progess Society[16]

In a slightly later article by Gu Fengtian (Fengtian 1927), entitled "Qilai, women de zhanshi!" (Arise, Our Fighters!), the author combines the unknown authors' stance with a double rupture, as follows:

[T]hose shameless, unfilial beings calling themselves literary writers, they have committed blasphemy against our most lofty, most sacred God of the Literary Arts! What's more, they have been allowed to pollute our most esteemed Garden of the Literary Arts! It is they who are wearing the masks, it is they who are pulling mischief and stirring up trouble (zhuang gui zuo guai), who have come to trample on the Garden of the Literary Arts, and therefore our Garden of the Literary Arts has been unable to produce even a few splendid flowers! Let us open our eyes and see. It does not matter to what society they belong, or to what association. It does not matter if they pedantically call their publications "self sponsored". Can we see any collective that isn't full of demons (yaomo), full of stench? Have pity on the sacred and pure God of the Literary Arts, who has been fouled by them! And on the verdant garden of literary arts, which has been violated by them! As for those filthy, smelly beggars of letters (wengai), let's not even talk about them. How about those dog-like self-styled literary writers, which of them doesn't stink all over? All who are our comrades, come stand by our side, we must form a huge united front, to launch an attack on those shameless beggars of letters and demons of letters (wenyao)! [my italics]

Somewhat surprisingly, the aggressive style of criticism employed by the White Dew authors (of which more examples in Chapter 5), is not reflected in their literary work at all. Much of the fiction published in the journal during these years, by authors such as former Southern Society member Liu Wuji, is relatively well-written, if overly sentimental,[17] but rarely particularly inflammatory or confrontational. It is my impression that those who employed the unknown author epithet were generally fully aware of its strategic nature. The fact that, during the 1920s, the Taidong bookshop was supporting a number of groups using similar strategies indicates that a commercial aspect was also involved. Nevertheless, it remains striking to see how many groups and individuals were tempted to style themselves as unknown authors.

The term returns regularly in the 1930s, when more attempts were made to unite unknown authors in large collectives.[18] Meanwhile, the commercial overtones became stronger. In many manifestos and editorials, the unknown author was portrayed as an aspiring writer with much talent but few connections, whose eager attempts to get published were constantly frustrated by journal-editors only interested in buying manuscripts from famous authors. The plight of the unknown author eventually became an issue of debate in literary circles in Shanghai, taking the term beyond its initial strategic usefulness. There was concern about the fact that the quality of the work of established authors was suffering under the pressures put on them by journal editors wanting to buy their manuscripts. There was also acknowledgement of the fact that such editorial behaviour violated principles of quality and made it difficult for newcomers without connections to publish work of possibly high quality. Many journals, not just avant-garde ones, began to include specific statements in their colophons that they welcomed contributions by unknown authors. Zhang Ziping's journal Jieqian even went so far as to publish a special issue in which all contributions were published anonymously, challenging the reader to see if s/he could tell the difference between the works of known and unknown authors.[19]

The term "unknown author" was originally a strategic notion employed by avant-garde collectives eager to present themselves to the literary community. Later, it also became a topic of debate among literary figures worried about editorial practices and interested in cultivating hidden talent. In both cases, the underlying assumption was that literature was not merely a serious vocation, but one that could yield profits to those involved, in the form of financials gains (fees, royalties) and especially symbolic gains (fame, recognition, being published). Those who had gained fame were viewed with suspicion, while those who had not were encouraged to come and get it. From a strategic perspective, labelling oneself as unknown was one of the best ways to become known.

Other Societies and Collectives of the 1930s
The examples discussed above show that many were aware of the strategic nature of the unknown author label. Some of the manifestos I quoted should at least partly be read as forms of posturing, which were sometimes even tongue-in-cheek. Strategic thinking and polarisation were typical of many literary sphere societies of the Republican period, especially during the first decade or so of the development of New Literature. There were, however, plenty of other groups which engaged much less actively in the "fame game" and paid more attention to their own collective activities.

A good example is the Tender Age Society (Hualing she), which I have been unable to trace in any reference work, but which was apparently quite active on the literary scene in Chongqing around 1935.[20] In the June 1935 issue of their journal Lanman (Romantic), published on 15 June 1935, appears a letter from one of the members, who had apparently left the city, under the title "Sheyou zhi yin" (The Voice of a Fellow Member).[21] On the next page, there are three announcements for society members: the first urges everybody to keep the "secretary of the standing committee" (changweihui shuji) informed about changes of address; the second announces the holding of a tea party for members on 30 June and the third mentions the publication of special summer holiday issues of both journals the society is publishing, leading one to assume that most members were students. The rules for contributors are printed at the top of the copyright page, as was common in most journals. The first rule states that outside contributions (laigao) are welcome, except for poetry, which was the favoured genre of the society members. Further down, it is also stated that contributors whose work is published will receive either a fee or a free copy of the journal. The editor and distributor printed in the copyright page are both the Tender Age Publishing Society (Hualing chuban she), but one of the other two distributing institutions mentioned is a middle school in Shanghai.

Another example is the Beijing-based Spray Society (Langhua she), which, according to Fan Quan, counted between 100 and 200 members, holding fortnightly meetings to "discuss current literary issues or the works of society members". (Fan Quan 1993: 355-56) In 1936, the society signed its name on the copyright page of its organ Spray as both editor and distributor, but used an equally large font to print the name of its general reseller, the Shanghai Journal Company, which distributed the journal to bookstores all over the country.[22]

In the 1930s one also comes across several larger study societies, especially in universities in Beijing, publishing journals devoted to the study of classical literature or folk songs. Due to the fact that many of the contributors to these journals (and members of these associations) were accomplished writers, those organizations are sometimes considered part of the literary field. To me, it seems unlikely that their journals, such as Wenxue nianbao (Literature Yearbook), played an active role in either material or symbolic literary production. One thing to be kept in mind, however, is that frequently censored, banned and persecuted authors like Guo Moruo were able to publish academic articles in these journals without any problems.

Conclusion
In this paper, I have discussed literary and public sphere organisations of the 1920s and 1930s, their activities, and the styles they adopted in order to position themselves within the literary field. I have focused on one very common way of positioning, which we might term "the avant-garde style", characterised by groups of associates dissociating themselves violently from other, often very similar groups. Over the years, the "unknown author" epithet became almost a standard element of the discourse employed by avant-garde groups. Typically, avant-garde societies would start out as informal groups publishing a self-sponsored journal. Their success, in literary terms, can be measured by their ability to strike publication deals with newspapers with nationwide circulation or publishing houses with nationwide distribution networks. In the 1920s, the Taidong publishing house appeared especially interested in contracting avant-garde groups. During the 1930s, the literary scene became more varied and commercialised, with the avant-garde style being but one of many different styles available to literary collectives aiming to achieve distinction. Throughout the Republican period, the literary society, with its long history in Chinese culture, proved itself to be a remarkably stable cultural institution, capable of adapting itself to the professional writing and publishing processes that are characteristic of the modern era.

NOTES

[1] The journal, of which four issues were published between March 1923 and February 1925, was reprinted by Shanghai shudian in 1984.

[2] "Bianzhe zhuihua" (Words from the Editor), Qiancao 1:1, section "Zalu" (Random Records), p. 1.

[3 Ibid., pp. 1-2.

[4] Fan Quan (1993: 347) gives 1921 as the founding date and describes the founding process of the society, as well as its later development into the Sunken Bell Society (Chenzhong she).

[5] Information provided in Fan Quan (1993: 347). I have only seen the first twenty issues of the trimonthly in the 1981 reprint of The Republican Daily News.

[6] See Wenyi xunkan 3 (26 July 1923), 4 (6 August 1923) and 6 (26 August 1923).

[7] Qiancao 1:2 (July 1923), p. 136.

[8] Fan Quan (1993: 579) deals with the society in one line and also has no information about any publications.

[9] "Jin she zongshe zhengqiu sheyuan qishi" (Progress Society Main Branch Call for Members), Bailu 3 (December 1926), unnumbered page opposite p. 1.

[10] "Jin she zongshe qishi" (Progress Society Main Branch Announcement), Bailu 9/10 (May 1927), unnumbered page following table of contents.

[11] This journal, edited by Yang Youjiong himself, did eventually appear with Taidong publishers from 1928-1930, however not under the auspices of the Progress Society, but of a "China Social Sciences Association" (Zhongguo shehui kexue hui).

[12] Bianzhe, "Bianji yuhua" (Comments After Editing), Bailu 11, pp. 39-40.

[13] "Benkan qishi" (Announcement by this Journal), Bailu 1, unnumbered page on inside back cover.

[14] Ibid. "Muse" in English in original.

[15] Ibid.

[16] "Wuming zuojia lianhe zhanxian" (United Front of Unknown Authors), Bailu 3 (Decembers 1926), unnumbered page following table of contents.

[17] See, for instance, Liu's story "Shengfan ye" (Christmas Eve), Bailu 7 (February 1927), pp. 23-34.

[18] Fan Quan (1993: 156-7) mentions the "Organisation of Unknown Authors" (wuming zuojia zuhe), founded in 1931 and the "Unknown Literary Arts Society" (wuming wenyi she), founded in 1933. Another journal for unknown authors, entitled Wuming yuekan (Unknown Monthly), was announced in Zhongguo xin shu yuebao 2:7 (July 1932), p. 34.

[19] Jieqian 1:2 (September 1932). This information is based on advertisements in other journals and references in bibliographies. I have not seen this journal, of which only two issues came out.

[20] I consulted an incomplete set of this journal in the journal library of the Modern Chinese Literature Archives in Beijing.

[21] Lanman 1:6/7 (1935), p. 59.

[22] Langhua 1 (1936), back cover.

WORKS CITED

Fan Quan, ed. (1993). Zhongguo xiandai wenxue shetuan liupai cidian (Dictionary of Modern Chinese Literary Societies and Schools). Shanghai: Shanghai shudian.

Fengtian (Gu Fengtian) (1927). "Qilai, women de zhanshi!" (Arise, Our Fighters!). Bailu 5 (January), pp. 120-126.

Hockx, Michel (1998). "The Literary Association (Wenxue yanjiu hui, 1920-1947) and the Literary Field of May Fourth China". In The China Quarterly 153 (March). pp. 49-81.

Hockx, Michel, ed. (1999). The Literary Field of Twentieth-Century China. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press.

Wong, Wang-chi (1991). Politics and Literature in Shanghai: The Chinese League of Left-Wing Writers, 1930-36. Manchester: Manchester University Press.