There is an indivisible relationship among time, space and memory, all of which coexist, interrelate and interact with one another in the city. Instead of being fixed, they are mercurial and malleable, manifesting themselves in the city with manifold appearances. In the final chapter of City of the Mind, Lively writes: “Time and space are illusory, and the city itself absorbs and reflects, so that here and there, at crucial points, it is both the same and different” (CM 223). The city, neither being an empty area nor an abstract Concept-city, should be regarded as an ongoing and productive space. It is enriched or layered by numerous memories continuously. In this way, the city resembles a palimpsest as well as a kaleidoscope which can reflect diversified histories of different people for generations. The memories of the past that vibrate rhythmically in the city become not only the reference with which we find our individual origins but also a medium with which we define our own identities.
In City of the Mind and in “The Old Capital,” both Lively and Chu demonstrate how memories guide the protagonists (Matthew in City of the Mind and the female middle-aged narrator in “The Old Capital”) to stroll between time and space and help them reflect on either themselves or the cities they live in. As rhythmic saunterers, both Matthew and the female narrator stroll around the cities to ruminate on omnigenous memories, histories and rhythms in the cities, thereby liberating
themselves from their traumas and representing their own city of the mind. In addition, both writers touch the topic of parental relationship in their works. In City of the Mind, Lively discusses the issues of children’s “essential time” and their sensibility to feel the immediacy of the present by depicting the interaction between Matthew and his daughter Jane. Instead of being a flat character, Jane, through Lively’s presentation of
her conversation with Matthew, her appearance, her emotions, and her curiosity, is vividly represented in the novel. However, unlike the little girl Jane, who represents the children that can “preserve the complex neuroses of the past, the threat of the supernatural, the fear of the millennium, the ultimate unreliability of the world” (CM 213-14), the anonymous daughter in “The Old Capital,” who is mainly illustrated by the narrator herself, makes clear the dying of the past prominent and accentuates the narrator’s deep sorrow for changes. From my perspective, the daughter in “The Old Capital” can be regarded as a witness to the changes of the city. Chu lets the daughter point out the loss of memory, or the loss of the narrator’s representational spaces.
Although both Lively and Chu represent the figure of child in their works to contrast the world of the child with the cognitive world of the adult, they adopt different perspectives. Lively, who starts her writing career as a writer of children’s books, represents the figure of Jane not only from Matthew’s eyes but also from the standpoint of a child. However, in “The Old Capital,” Chu, as a critical and outspoken writer, takes the standpoint of an adult—an experienced but helpless middle-aged woman—to observe how the city of children’s generation is radically different from that exists in older generation’s memory and therefore brings out either her critique or imperative concerns. In short, the sentiments in “The Old Capital” center on the adult rather than on the child. It is because of this accentuated stress on the
discontentedness of the adult that we are able to be affected by a strong, lingering sense of loss of and anxiety about the past when reading “The Old Capital.”
While working on City of the Mind and “The Old Capital,” I reflect upon urban experiences and urban images illustrated in these two fictions. My urban studies of these two fictions direct me to constantly ponder on my own city and my own lived experiences. Although I have never been to London before, reading City of the Mind enables me to imagine and visualize Matthew’s London (or Lively’s London). Just as
Huang claims, the study of City of the Mind is “not isolated from real life since urban studies are a far cry from an ivory-tower conception of philosophical or academic work” (87). Working on this novel prompts me to recognize that each city is
kaleidoscopic and abundant in diversified rhythms. One is allowed to construct one’s mental vision of the city with one’s individual lived experience. Apart from reading Lively, my reading of Chu’s novella pushes me to reflect upon my impression of Taipei. After spending more than three years pursuing my studies in Taipei, I have built some kind of familiar, intimate relationship with it. The days of strolling around different streets in the city in the past three years make me experience the peculiar atmosphere of Taipei: progressive, changing, quick-paced, and resourceful while at the same time tranquil, ancient, and historical. I am especially fond of sauntering around the quiet Lane 7 of Qingtian Street, because of its tranquility and historical traces. My experiences of inhabiting Taipei have enriched my individual memories, transformed my original personality, and reshaped my identity. As a temporary inhabitant of Taipei, I seem to have deeper and more affective response to the problems and concerns Chu raises.
On the one hand, I want to praise Chu’s efforts to speak out different voices for diverse groups in Taiwan. In this regard, “The Old Capital” can be regarded as a representative exemplum which demonstrates her shift of writing concerns. Her early works during the days of the San-san Literary Group are mainly addressed to one imaginary China, while her more recent works are much more related to
contemporary Taiwan and the diversified groups living in Taiwan. Just as Yang claims,
… The San-san Literary Group devoted their minds and youth to reconstructing the imaginary utopian China by the means of literary writing. They used words to prostrate themselves to the remote, illusory
country. What they represent in their works was so distant from the realistic politics that made the business of foundation mired in those excessive romantic lyrics. However, from the Lifting of the Martial Law or so to the end of 1990s, some novels of Chu’s sisters which are based on the memories of the Villages of the Military Dependents as well as of living experiences turn the previous mirage into realistic self experiences.
Their writing tones, which are not only sensitive and memorial but also critical and scolding, are closer to the realistic politics. (147)
In “The Old Capital,” we are able to be affected by Chu’s strong urge for the recovery of the collective memories of a certain ethnic group which shares similar background and face the same identity problem as she does. One of the most important things that she represents in “The Old Capital” is the respect for those who do not have the same identification with the homeland. Moreover, even though those second-generation mainlanders hold different opinions from most local Taiwanese, they still see
themselves as the people who grow up here. Near the end of her novella, Chu cites the final paragraph of A Comprehensive History of Taiwan: “A shimmering ocean, a beautiful island, the essential site of our sage kings and wise elders’ identity” (“The Old Capital” 217).27 Here, the author ultimately expresses that Taiwan is the land that the narrator can depend upon, despite her different lived experiences and cultural background. In this way, the female narrator, who repeatedly wails over the death of her memories and gets involved in the anxiety of self-identity crisis, seems to be able to extricate herself from the tumult in the end.
On the other hand, we, living in the twentieth-first century, are experiencing a much more different changing world. Those who live in big cities witness cityscapes undergoing quick renewal. We, the newer generation, are less influenced by and less
27 「婆娑之洋，美麗之島，我先王先民之景命，實式憑之。」
burdened with the past or the shadow of political persecutions, such as the 228
Incident (二二八事件) and the Formosa Incident (美麗島事件，或稱之為高雄事件).
Take myself for instance. Growing up in a traditional, local Taiwanese family, I do not have the same strong feelings for and astonishment at the changes of Taipei but enjoy myself its transient changes. The Villages of the Military Dependents, which were once the common scenes in Chu’s works, have become history. They have turned into a symbol which signifies a certain period of people’s past memories. I still remember that the Villages of the Military Dependents have been gradually torn down and brought into part of the community reconstruction during my elementary school years. Therefore, I claim that we, as a younger generation, should get rid of the historical shackles resulting from the KMT-Communist Civil War, the firm belief in the recapture of China, and the influences of one-party dictatorial dominance. While inheriting the collective memories of Taiwan, we are also creating our own lived experiences, which are totally different from the previous generations. In this way, we are likely to re-identify ourselves and reconcile with the rapidly changing world with a new perspective. I put an expectation on ourselves that we can and should build our own mental vision of the city, our individual city of the mind.
What’s more, unlike Chu’s narrator who holds a profoundly grievous attitude towards the rapid and violent changes of Taiwan, I optimistically deem that those changes can be regarded as one part of the memories or the lived experiences of the city. The relationship between the following two forces is dialectical and flowing continuously: one is the changes resulting from the conceived urban plans; the other is the past histories constructed by people’s lived experiences and memories. Just as Lefebvre points out in the triad of his spatial theory, the three elements of space; that is, spatial practice, representations of space and representational spaces, are in an active state. They are incessantly produced and reproduced. Each of them should not
be disregarded when we examine the urban formation. The images of the city, accordingly, are represented in a variety of forms. Both histories and contemporary changes play the important roles in molding the memories of the city.
The traces of memories cannot be obliterated thoroughly by social changes.
Although the original traces of histories might be transformed into softer and mute rhythms, they are still ringing around every corner of the city, waiting for the one who is sensitive enough to discover them. In this light,” I want to propose a potential figure to my readings of City of the Mind and “The Old Capital; that is, a rhythmic saunterer. My proposed rhythmic saunterer has the ability to live the city by walking and to exert his or her rhythms to build up his or her relationship with the city. His or her individual rhythms become the key to decode the cultural and symbolic meanings contained in our lived space. In addition, these rhythms which consist of individual memories and lived experiences will simultaneously become the new ingredients to the remolding of the city, which endows it with new meanings and new lives. By walking, the rhythmic saunterer can move about the city independently and exert different senses to appreciate the city instead of being limited by regulated urban plans. Most important of all, my ideal rhythmic saunterer, rather than getting drowned by the past pessimistically, would regard histories as a force and a reminder: a force that pushes people to move forward to our ideal communion for different ethnic groups, and a reminder that warns people not to recommit the discrimination and political persecution in the past. In other words, I want to suggest that histories, instead of being the shackles which people rigidly adhere to, should become an inspiration which stirs people to find their origins and re-identify themselves.
Acquainting myself with the complicated histories of Taiwan as I grow up, I little by little understand that there might be no single and absolute answer to the past
predicaments. But it does not mean that we cannot help but get involved in those
historical straits. A rhythmic saunterer can appreciate cities from different angles.
Surveying individual lives will help us walk through, and then step out of the shadows of traumas and dilemmas.
Finally, I want to conclude my thesis with a belief. I am deeply convinced that everyone can be a rhythmic saunterer and construct his or her own mental vision of the city, for the ability to appreciate the city and the manifold rhythms it creates is inherent in each individual. What we need to do is to become aware of our lived city, open our minds to its murmuring memories, respond to it, enjoy being a rhythmic saunterer, and stroll among time, space and memory.