Due to its nature, an edited volume is notoriously difficult to organize. In terms of its structure, an edited volume is a collection of essays composed by a team of scholars who have different writing styles, research agendas, and academic expectations. In terms of its contents, an edited volume is a hotchpotch of jarring themes that cover different times, places, and issues. Because of these differences, an editor must take considerable measures to connect the disparate essays. Usually, an editor can pull a volume together in three ways. First is giving the volume an attractive title to draw readers’ attention to what brings the essays together. Second is creating a coherent structure to give each essay a specific role in the volume. Third is writing an inspiring introduction to explain the reasons for including the essays and to specify their roles. In short, like a composer of a symphony, an editor must find ways to transform a cacophony into harmonious sound and synchronized musical movements.

Regrettably Keywords in Chinese Culture is not coherent. The first problem is the book title which reminds readers of Raymond Williams’ famous book, Keywords: A Vocabulary of Culture and Society (1976). To make matters worse, in her introduction Wai-yee Li invites readers to compare the volume with Williams’ book on the grounds of using keywords “to chart cultural and historical changes” (x). Even though Li cautions readers that “[t]his book departs from Williams’ agenda of contemporary social and political intervention and his focus on modernity” (ix), the harm has already been done. After reading the “Introduction,” readers of Keywords in Chinese Culture expect to see the same comprehensive study of terms, arranged from A to Z, as Williams did in his book. To their dismay and dissatisfaction, readers only find studies of a small number of terms including he 和 (harmony), shi 史 (script or history), fuguo 富國 (enrich the state), ming 名 (name), zhong 忠 (loyalty), xiao 孝 (filial piety), qing 情 (desire), and zhen 真 (true self). Throughout the volume, it is never clear why these terms are chosen and what they are supposed to prove. But it is clear that these terms do not represent the entire imperial China, nor do they tell us everything about Chinese culture.

The second problem is the authors’ different views. While differences among authors are common in an edited volume, it is surprising to find a sharp discordance between the authors of the chapters and the author of the “Afterword.” On the whole, the nine authors in the volume see keywords as dynamic, polysemic, and ever-changing. They consider them as linguistic containers that change their meanings as society becomes more complex and complicated. For some authors (e.g., Yuri Pines and Chiung-yun Evelyn Liu), the fluidity of Chinese keywords also shows how different players in Chinese society contest for power. This dynamic approach to keywords is in stark contrast with Christoph Harbsmeier's structuralist and deterministic approach. In the “Afterword,” Harbsmeier proposes to develop a taxonomy of terms to trace the intellectual life in China. On the surface, this goal seems noble. Harbsmeier tells us that the study is to “elaborate pre-existing Chinese conceptual grid which continues to inform modernizing conceptual developments in China, and where Western modern concepts have to compare” (397). But the starting point of this cross-cultural comparison is to build a taxonomic system “of all semantic field (or synonym groups) in which every semantic field has its logical place in a metalinguistically construed overall taxonomic ontology of semantic fields (or concepts)” (399). The question remains: Who will design that taxonomic system and by what measures will that system be built? Throughout the volume, the tension between building a universal taxonomic system and charting the changes in the meanings of words is never resolved, causing confusion among readers who look for a coherent argument in the volume.

These two problems notwithstanding, I find Keywords in Chinese Culture insightful and inspiring when I block out the “Introduction” and the “Afterword,” and concentrate on the nine chapters. Read in succession, the nine chapters form a coherent unit. They begin with two methodological studies of how to examine key terms in China, followed by seven essays that provide concrete examples to show how key terms can reflect drastic social and political changes in pre-modern China. What must be remembered is that the authors are only interested in tracking historical development based on the changing meanings of terms. They make no attempt to develop a “conceptual grid” to map the semantic field in pre-modern China. For them, pre-modern China was never static and monolithic. It is hard to fully capture its creativity, diversity, and plurality under one taxonomic system.

As a reader, I find this dynamic view of pre-modern China refreshing and invigorating. China is often portrayed in today's media as an enemy or an adversary, and this picture of a dynamic China reminds us that, contrary to what is said in the media, China has never been unidimensional. More importantly, this dynamic China began long ago in ancient antiquity, developed over thousands of years in its imperial period, and continues on undeterred to this day. As in other places in the world, China has always been a land of opportunities and hopes, even though its socio-political system looks authoritarian, elitist, and patriarchal.

This dynamic view of pre-modern China is clearly spelled out in the two thoughtful essays by Carine Defoort and Joachim Gentz. In her candid reflection of her study of early China, Defoort tells us that she has been misled to look for clear definitions of terms when reading ancient Chinese texts. This search for clear definitions caused her tremendous problems in coming to grips with the diversity of meanings in early Chinese texts (3–36). In the middle of her essay, Defoort blames Hu Shi (1891–1962) for promoting the method of zhengming 正名 (the rectification of names). Her point is not to find a scapegoat, but to highlight the fact that using an overly structured and deterministic approach to study China will not capture “the fluctuating power of keywords in Chinese texts, as well as the variety of competing meanings that they harbor” (33).

In an equally elegant essay, Joachim Gentz directs our attention to the power of the Western discourse on China (37–84). He takes the concept he (harmony) as an example and shows how the concept became a “keyword” in the West to understand China. The irony is that the prominence of he as a keyword tells us more about the Westerners’ anxiety about their political fragmentation than what pre-modern China really was. This example shows that the development of keywords in studying China reflects the asymmetry of power between China and the West. Playing the role of the “other,” China is studied not for its own sake but for serving as a mirror to reflect (if not resolve) the problems in the West.

The rest of the seven essays follow closely the chronology of ancient and imperial China. In my opinion, it is more fruitful to read these essays as studies of two paradigmatic changes in China—the political centralization in the early imperial period (roughly from the second century BCE to the second century CE), and the social diversification during the late imperial period (roughly from the thirteenth century to the nineteenth). For the former, we find Stephen Durrant's essay on the change of the meaning of shi from “scribe” to “history” (85–119), Romain Graziani's essay on the conflicting meanings of fuguo (123–168), and Yuri Pines’ essay on the meaning of ming in political discourse (169–215). Although different in tones and focuses, these three essays share the same argument that China became a totally new entity after transitioning from a tribal coalition to an agrarian empire. This structural change was manifested in many ways, including how the past was recorded and remembered (Durrant), how the relationship between the state and the people was conceived (Graziani), and how an individual was perceived in society (Pines).

Of the three essays, Graziani's is most interesting. In the essay, he identifies an internal contradiction in the concept of fuguo (enrich the state). On the one hand, fuguo means “make the country rich by protecting the interest of the people against usury and private speculations” (124). On the other hand, it means “enrich the state, and thus the government by taking out what people have stockpiled—their food, grains, or their cash reserves” (124). At once, fuguo embodies the core contradiction in modern liberalism: Is the goal of liberal democracy to protect the interest of the people (or “freedom of”), or it is to give the state enough power to do its job (or “freedom from”)? I don't think Granziani wants to equate early Chinese political thought to a debate on liberal democracy. But by highlighting the competing claims between protecting the people and empowering the state, Granziani demonstrates the contemporary relevance of early Chinese political philosophy. Through this fusion of horizons between past and present, Granziani shows that the leaders of contemporary China are facing the same problem as the leaders in the West, even though the Chinese leaders use a different language to articulate the problem.

For the social diversification in late imperial China, we find four essays: Chiung-yun Evelyn Liu's study of the dissemination of zhong (loyalty) in Chinese society (219–267), Maram Epstein's study of xiao (filial piety) as an emotive concept (269–313), Andrew Plaks’ study of the change in qing (feelings) from private emotion to metaphysical speculation (317–334), and Wai-yee Li's study of the multiple dimensions of zhen (true self) (335–379). Compared to the three previous essays, these four essays are more coherent partly because they focus on the Ming-Qing period (1644–1911), and partly because they highlight the emotive dimension of Chinese private life when China became more urbanized and mobile. Of the four authors, Chiung-yun Evelyn Liu is most explicit in explaining the characteristics of late imperial China. She writes,

In my opinion, it is this picture of a diverse and dynamic China that makes the last part of the volume very stimulating. No matter whether zhong or xiao, qing or zhen, we find in late imperial China the same transformative creativity and daring courage. There were, of course, inhibitions and social norms that kept everyone at bay. Yet there were opportunities and spaces for individual pursuits, including the satisfaction of emotive needs.

As mentioned in the “Acknowledgment,” the essays in this volume are drawn from papers presented in a conference held at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem in 2016 to honor Andrew Plaks (vii). As a reader, I have an impression that the 2016 conference must have been congenial and collegial. Despite their differences in styles and interests, all nine authors (including Andrew Plaks himself) share the view that China—whether in ancient antiquity or in recent times—is full of diversity and opportunity. More importantly, they believe that in studying China, we must carefully separate what is on the surface and what is hidden underneath the façade of sameness.