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When you think about the people who write literature, what image is in your mind's eye?

I imagine some guy smoking, with a shot of whiskey.  Black and white photo of course.  Disheveled, broke, alcoholic, unorganized.



(Image Source)

How about a CHINESE writer?

 

(Image Source)

Li Bai right now is either spiritually transcendent, or drunk off his ass.  No, I shall rant about Li Bai another day. I despise Li Bai! How did this imbecile survive time! Bah!

Back to the topic.  Notice we have roughly the same aforementioned qualities as the first writer, but this person is literally a thousand years old!

What about the modern Chinese writer?  Completely blank.  When we just look at the photos of Neruda, Kawabata, Ellison, Faulkner, et cetera, they all give off a glowing aura.

"That's right, I may have some messed up emotional baggage, but my can express a reality about humanity that you can't.  Suck it."

But there's one picture that I hope becomes the image of a Chinese writer.  This is is Eileen Chang:



I am absolutely ashamed to admit, but I never read any of her work in completion!  But every time I look at this photo, her allure pulls me back in.  Her photo says, "You know you want to read me!"

She shall be my new banner for my blog until I read and blog one work about her.  Move over Han Shitie!