14 – Heavenly Sword, Dragon Sabre

And so we come to the final book in the Condor Trilogy, and this time there isn’t a giant bird in sight.

The three books actually share pretty much the same vein: a young boy from a disadvantageous background is bullied and beaten but gains astounding martial arts skills through luck, kindness (such as helping some old man who turns out to be a skilled warrior), and natural talent.

As the novels progress though, you find than Jin Yong starts playing with the usual themes and tropes. In the first novel, good versus evil is clearly delineated. In the second novel, he starts to question rules and regulations through Yang Guo and Xiao Long Nu’s relationship.

In this third novel, it is Zhang Wuji, orphan of an ill-fated couple. One is a student of the orthodox Wudang School, the other is the princess of the heretical Ming Cult. But Jin Yong has definitely gone beyond the usual and near the end of the novel it becomes clear that what is orthodox and what is heretical don’t necessarily conform to black and white.

It’s a much more entertaining novel in that it contains a lot of action and political machination, so it’s a serious nail-biter. However, Jin Yong overdoses on the romance again, and this time our hero falls for four different girls. Oh to be a martial artist who is young, handsome, and leader of a powerful cult. Maybe Wuji is the first Mary Sue.

As a teacher I obviously enjoyed the use of historical figures and characters to enrich the story. It’s quite a giveaway, though, when you know the history of China. Still it’s a fun touch that keeps the novel (and the entire trilogy actually) grounded despite its fantastic battles.

And so it must be said: though the Condor Trilogy is of the wuxia genre it goes beyond the action and the fighting to introduce characters who are almost as human as you and me. Jin Yong should be commended for creating writers who are pretty much flesh and blood in their portrayal, so much that every single detail that happens to the characters can be painful and heartbreaking or joyful and ecstatic. You just get drawn in.

For a genre that’s been ridiculed as cheap and low-brow, Jin Yong’s “Condor Trilogy” truly is a cut above even the most “recommended” of “intelligent” novels.

13 – Return of the Condor Heroes

The second book in the trilogy really isn’t about the original “condor heroes”, so if you’re expecting more adventures from Guo Jing and Huang Rong, you might be disappointed.

The secret lies in the actual Chinese title, which is more accurately translated as “Divine Eagle and Gallant Knight”. The story centres around the son Yang Kang and Mu Nianci left behind: Yang Guo.

The boy has been orphaned and has been accustomed to roaming wild and cheating his way to survive. When Guo Jing finds him, he decides to take care of the boy and betroth his own daughter Guo Fu to him. Huang Rong, however, has other ideas.

She didn’t trust the father and so she didn’t trust the son. This tiny detail sparked nearly a lifetime of mishaps, mistakes, and misunderstandings, not to mention lost limbs.

It’s a much darker novel than the first; it’s not just your usual good versus evil anymore. There’s no question where Guo Jing stands but Yang Guo was always on the brink of turning into a bitter madman who would kill at whim.

But of course, he manages to thwart evil, pursue love, and prove everyone wrong. It’s a coming of age story, so to speak, though with a lot more dead
bodies and mangled people than your run of the mill John Green novel.

What’s most striking, actually, is that Jin Yong went all out with the romance in this one. You might as well be wallowing in teenage hormones and angst while reading the novel. Girls are throwing themselves on Yang Guo
left and right, but obviously he has eyes only for the beautiful Xiao Long Nu.

The novel ends on a cliffhanger, which brings us to…

12 – Legend of the Condor Heroes

Yes, I’m still on a wuxia kick.

This time I read Jin Yong’s popular Legend of the Condor Heroes, which is part of a trilogy. It’s been adapted into films and television shows multiple times, but I suppose nothing beats reading the book version.

A lot of the subtle nuances and themes are lost when a wuxia book is transported into a different medium. Usually all you get are the non-stop wire-fu scenes and that’s that. Not that I’m complaining because those movies were my introduction to wuxia, but once you read the books you just realise what you’re missing.

Legend of the Condor Heroes follows the adventures of Guo Jing and Huang Rong, a pair of youngsters who fall in love, get into scrapes, learn kung-fu, get injured, and defeat the world’s(?) best kung-fu masters – all before they settle down and get married. Sometimes condors show up.

All I know about these characters I picked up from Return of the Condor Heroes/em>, which is the second book in the trilogy. I suppose it’s more popular, hence the fact that it’s shown on tv more often. I had a lot of preconceived notions about Huang Rong, for example, because of Return.

It’s not like she does anything to change my mind, though. Young Huang Rong is just as cunning, scheming, and manipulative. The fact that she acts cute to get her way makes everything more irritating.

I can’t shake the feeling that Guo Jing could have done better than get a manipulative harpy for a wife. So I’m biased, but I dare anyone to tell me that Huang Rong is actually loveable. That said, I do concede that someone as stupid as Guo Jing needs a clever shrew to help him get out of scrapes.

What makes Jin Yong’s works so interesting is the manner by which he makes characters so interesting and realistic. These people are extremely talented martial artists but they aren’t above pettiness and folly. He might write about flying swordsmen and powerful kung-fu manuals, but Jin Yong knows humanity – every sick little detail of greed and desire, redeemed only by man’s boundless capacity for good.

11 – Smiling Proud Wanderer

I’ve always been a big fan of wuxia, even before I realised that it was an actual genre of Chinese literature. When I was younger I just thought it was the general term for kungfu movies. My dad had raised us on a steady diet of martial arts films. We would rent them (in Betamax form, natch) from the rental store across the street.

So I was familiar with the Swordsman and the many variants of the Condor Heroes but it was only seven or so years ago that I realised these were actually drawn from serialised novels. My dad was a fan and so I got started on Louis Cha (Jin Yong) who was his favourite.

I’m slightly ashamed to say that I can’t read fast when the book is in Mandarin. It takes me a few days more than an English book would regularly take. This is why my copy (four books, actually) of The Smiling Proud Wanderer is gathering dust under my desk. I still haven’t finished reading the Chinese version.

What I did finish two days ago was the English version, painstakingly translated for free by a few kind enthusiasts. You won’t get a PDF copy as it’s not in ebook form. The translated chapters are in the Lannyland website and in an SPCnet forum.

On to the story itself. Smiling Proud Wanderer isn’t your regular wuxia in the sense that it’s pretty much an allegorical look at politics and all the oily and slimy creatures who call themselves politicians. Here we have martial artists all seeking to gain the highest position in jiang hu, also known as the world of martial arts.

In the middle of the power struggle is Linghu Chong, ironically the most powerful and talented swordsman because he simple does not give a fuck about power. He’d rather be a wanderer, playing music and drinking and living in peace with his wonderful wife.

The novel is rife with betrayal, anger, revenge, lecherous monks, and SO MUCH ACTION. It’s bloody wonderful. Without giving too much away, this is a rich, complicated story that reflects reality in a particularly painful way. Out and out schemers, hypocrites, monsters – we have these in our government in abundance.

As far as I’m concerned, though, the novel is an affirmation. A lot of well-meaning (if overbearing) people have made fun of my life choices. Becoming an academic is rarely seen as a practical choice. Sometimes it’s couched nicely as “well you’re so smart you could succeed in a more profitable field”. Other times it’s a straight “Asian Studies? Is that useful?”

[Someone actually said that to me in Filipino. Trust me, it hurts much worse in the vernacular.]

But I realise that there’s nothing wrong with not lusting after power or riches. It’s not that I don’t care about money. I like money. But to live my entire life running after it? I don’t want that. It’s more important to know what I want, live the way I want to, and understand that there’s nothing wrong with having simple aspirations, like crawling into bed and spending time with a good book.

Linghu Chong is my spirit animal.