The most influential commentary on the Songs of Chu (Chu ci) is still that by Wang Yi of the Eastern Han. His understanding of the “Li sao” as Qu Yuan's “autobiography” has hardly ever been challenged, much to Gopal Sukhu's dismay. In his attempt to unravel a pre-Han meaning of the poem, Sukhu continues a line of research begun by Arthur Waley and David Hawkes in the 1950s. According to Waley, the “Nine Songs” (Jiu ge) preserved an ancient shamanic practice of Chu that Wang Yi supposedly had veiled by regarding the songs as lore of Qu Yuan's life. It should be noted, however, that only four out of eleven poems of the “Nine Songs” chapter suited Waley's conception, and that Wang Yi's commentary itself provided the idea that triggered Waley's—and ultimately Sukhu's—approach. In a greatly enhanced version of his dissertation of 1993, Sukhu extends Waley's reconstruction to the “Li sao.” He claims that when creating the poem, Qu Yuan not only availed himself of Chu shamanism, but also criticized its ongoing displacement by adherents of Xunzi.
The book begins with a brief commentarial history in search of critics of Wang Yi's reading. Chapter 1 is mainly concerned with refuting Wang Yi's understanding of the term “to come down” (jiang), in line 4 of the “Li sao,” as “to be born,” because for Sukhu this expression offers the strongest evidence of the shared shamanic origins of the “Li sao” and the “Nine Songs.”
Chapter 2 establishes Wang Yi as “Deng Sui's propagandist” (p. 69). Using Jiang Tianshu's famous study from 1982 as a basis, Sukhu suggests that the empress Deng commissioned Wang Yi's commentary to legitimate her seizure of power. The only new piece of evidence is a line from the Book of Songs used by both Wang Yi and the empress.
In chapter 3, Sukhu interprets the shifting gender of the protagonist of the “Li sao” as a reflection of the changing appearance of a spirit-possessed medium (or “shaman,” in Sukhu's usage). A Guoyu passage that relates the descent and influence of benevolent ancestral spirits to the sweet fragrance emitted by good government, and the descent of malevolent spirits to the foul odor of bad government, prompts Sukhu to regard the beginning of the “Li sao” as the description of the descent of the spirit of Zheng Ze (“True Norm”) into the shaman Ling Jun (“Spirit Fair Share”).
Chapter 4 examines the floral imagery of the “Li sao.” By gathering fragrant plants, the female shaman Ling Jun (alias Qu Yuan) nourishes the spirit Zheng Ze—“the personification of a philosophical idea” of the heavenly mandate (ming, p. 120)—and maintains the attraction of Ling Xiu (alias King Huai). Ling Xiu, however, becomes gradually distracted by malodorous weeds that sever the love relationship and force the possessed shaman to complain at the grave of Shun. Sukhu interprets the mundane sections about legendary rulers as statements by the shaman's alter ego.
In chapters 5 and 6, entitled “The Philosophy of the Li sao,” the author conducts “the experiment” (p. 117) of positioning the poem within the moral-political discourse of the third century BCE. Concluding that the “Li sao” reflects ideas proposed by Xunzi, Sukhu argues that the ritualist poet Qu Yuan protested against the destruction of the old shaman tradition of Chu by Xunzi's followers. He stretches the argument so far as to claim that texts from Baoshan, being older and prognostic, and from Guodian, being younger and Xunzian in nature, document this transition.
Chapter 7 addresses the journeys in the “Li sao.” Sukhu interprets the first journey as a vision projected by Shun into the mind of the shaman, bolstering his argument with evidence for an understanding of dreams as inspirations by ghosts. At its end Zheng Ze/Ling Jun consults Ling Fen, that is, an already spirit-possessed shaman in a vision projected into him by a god consults another shaman. Ling Fen's prognosis initiates the final journey, ending with the spirit's return to the sky, denoting the king's loss of the mandate and the shaman's retreat to Kunlun mountain.
Translations of the “Li sao” and the “Nine Songs,” a somewhat dated bibliography, and an index complete the book.
To be very clear: Endeavors to reconstruct an earlier understanding of the “Li sao” are scientifically legitimate and necessary. Sukhu is correct to lament the stasis of the research. Moreover, to propose a new understanding against overwhelming paradigms is daring. Sukhu consequently employs a wealth of information to support his claims. Regrettably, however, his study suffers from several fundamental problems. First, an antiquated understanding of commentaries as quarries of meanings: Sukhu presumes to judge the validity of glosses, neglecting that context, not lexicon, determines ascriptions. Second, a lack of a thorough understanding of Wang Yi's commentary and its prehistory: this is evident from Sukhu's misleading treatment of Wang Yi's role in the exegetical discourse on the “Li sao” during the Han, of Wang Yi's classification of the “Li sao” as a canonical work, or of Wang Yi's—actually Liu An's—understanding of the journeys, as well as from Sukhu's translations (see, e.g., pp. 14, 48, 145, 181–84). Without this understanding, he is bereft of an important measure of plausibility and critical distance, as is exemplified by his interpretation of floral imagery that is essentially Wang Yi's. Third, the attempt at a conclusive reconstruction in the absence of correlating pre-Han sources: his effort to present a complete interpretation of this highly complex poem forces Sukhu to apply extreme pressure on the meaning of certain parts to suit his understanding. As a result, the book mixes important discoveries (chapter 3) with highly dubious derivations, or offers flawed translations (see, e.g., pp. 42, 43, 76, 94–95, 121, 123). Fourth, the lettered rendering of the “Li sao”: its succinct elegance regrettably hampers the reader's ability to replicate Sukhu's interpretation of the poem. Fifth, the impossibility to prove that the “Li sao” has ever been understood as Sukhu conceives it: Sukhu should have stated this impossibility from the beginning, to gain analytical leeway and to remove pressure from both himself and his treatise. A critical assessment of the origins and the validity of Waley's conception of the “Nine Songs” could have preempted Sukhu's own interpretation of the “Li sao” from becoming overly complex and from going to extremes. It could have enhanced plausibility, and it might have prevented the author from attempting far too much on such limited grounds.
