During the recent National Literary Awards, the ROC's Council for Cultural Affairs conferred an award for special contributions to the development of the nation's literature on Liu Shao-tang, founder and publisher of Biographical Literature. In his acceptance remarks, Liu said, no less cryptically than emotionally, "This is an affirmation, a reversal of verdicts, and an honor that has been delayed."

Although he did not publicly explain his remarks, it is not hard to imagine how difficult it must have been to have published a journal recording events and dissecting the actions of important people back in the days of martial law.

Liu has singlehandedly built a "great wall of Republican-era history," made out of collated and edited documents. From the beginning to his winning the award, 12,458 days have elapsed.

Leave no gaps in history

Biographical Literature was born 34 years ago, in June of 1962. The jobs of publisher, managing director, and editor-in-chief were all joined in a single person-Liu Shao-tang. Then 40, with undaunted spirit, in the first issue he expressed his regret that China had never had any tradition of biographical writing. He further pointed out the concerns of intellectuals in an age when people could be imprisoned for what they wrote: "If Chinese talk about biographical writing, about using their own pens to write about themselves, they inevitably feel ill-at-ease. Why? Simply put, there are two reasons: One is that writing about oneself 'is to be avoided by the virtuous.' People fear others will ridicule them for being vain. There is also that which 'is to be avoided by the wise.' When writing about oneself, inevitably one touches upon the politics of the day, and, even more inevitably, on people from that same era. Admonitions and inferences may incite needless disputes. . . . For these reasons there are many gaps in our country's history." This was why he thought it necessary to publish a magazine devoted entirely to accurately preserving history.

At that time, the great thinker Hu Shih was probably the strongest promoter of biographical writing. When Hu was president of Beijing University, Liu was studying in the Department of History there. Liu's admiration for his school president and his passionate love of history laid the seeds for the Biographical Literature enterprise.

Hu was very persistent in promoting biographical writing. Not only did he write in this vein, he encouraged others to do so, and frequently endorsed the idea in lectures. Liu remembers clearly that his old school president was invited to speak at National Normal University in 1953, and talked for 90 minutes on the subject "Biographical Literature." Hu emphasized that "In 2500 years of Chinese literature, the most undeveloped form is biographical writing."

Many interested people were there that day. In the second issue of Biographical Literature, NTNU professor Tu Cheng-hsiang analyzed the difference between biography and biographical literature. Tu summarized Hu's speech and called on the school to transcribe and publish it in its entirety. Yet Liu Shao-tang was perhaps the only one present who really took Hu's words to heart and made them his mission in life, turning his teacher's ideas into action.

Vice-President and Premier Lien Chan presents Liu with an award for his special contribution to literature. The award represents public recognition and the approbation of the nation. It was earned through the efforts of all the writers, editors, and readers of Biographical Literature.

A legendary figure in his own right

In fact, even at that time Liu was already well-known. He graduated from Beijing University shortly after the Communists occupied Beijing. His home in Manchuria had long before fallen to the Communist forces, and many classmates and friends had already left Beijing. Looking for a job, Liu joined the "Southbound Work Team" of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP). After a period of "study," Liu was assigned to work as a reporter in the official Xinhua News Agency. Later he followed the People's Liberation Army (PLA) as it moved southward, and was assigned to work in the General Political Department of the Fourth Field Army. A year of work experience and personal observation gave him a chance to sense the risks and dangers of totalitarian government, so he fled the country.

At that time, the CCP had just gained control of the country, and was following a moderate policy. It was only with the "Three Antis" and "Five Antis" campaigns of the early 1950s that the real disaster for intellectuals was to begin. Fortunately, by then Liu had managed to escape to Hong Kong. Soon afterwards he came to Taipei and began to write articles on his experiences in Xinhua and the PLA; these were carried in Chung-hua Daily News. Shortly thereafter Liu published them in the book Out of Red China. The book sold very well in Hong Kong and Taiwan, and went through several printings. Liu thus became a well-known young anti-communist author, which he had not anticipated when he first wrote the book.

During the last years of the Chinese civil war US China policy was somewhat sympathetic to the CCP, under the influence of generals Stilwell and Marshall. After the CCP gained control of mainland China, the US initially adopted a "wait-and-see" approach toward the Communist regime. However, after the Korean War broke out, Taiwan-given its political orientation and strategic position-became an important bastion in the effort to contain Communist expansion in Asia. The US adopted a strongly anti-communist policy, and anti-communism became the dominant ethos in the West.

Liu's writings about his experiences studying and working in the PRC, being first-hand reports, were well-received in the US academic community. The US Information Service (USIS) carried Liu's Chunghua Daily News articles in its popular Chinese language bi-weekly America Today. Then two professors at New York University translated the book in an abridged version, which was published simultaneously in Boston, London, and Toronto. Hu Shih wrote the introduction to it, and the US Embassy in the ROC issued a circular recommending the book. Later the USIS had the book translated into more than ten languages, including Japanese, Korean, Thai, Hindi, Arabic, and German.

Because Liu's permission had not been sought before his articles were republished, the USIS agreed to buy 10,000 copies of Liu's original Chinese version by way of compensation. Thus Liu had a small sum to his name, and many have assumed he used this money to start Biographical Literature. But Liu says that wasn't the case. At that time, he was unmarried, had many friends, and was easy-going about spending. Though the NT$50-60,000 that he got would have been enough to buy a good house at that time, he spent it all without really knowing where it all went. When he did start up Biographical Literature, he did so without any capital. However, the fame that he acquired through his book established his reputation as an internationally known anti-communist writer, so that when Biographical Literature ran articles which touched on then politically sensitive topics, he did not encounter serious problems. Thus the book deal did have its lasting benefits.

Liu has to fret over each month's cover. It is said that he has a detective's instinct in collecting photos. CCP founder Chen Duxiu （featured on the cover） was an idealistic intellectual. In early modern China, with its intolerance for dissent, could his fate have been anything but tragic?

Fate and opportunity

From Hu Shih's advocacy of biographical writing and Hu's own writing of his autobiography, to Liu Shao-tang's commitment to biographical writing that has lasted to this day, fate and opportunity played a role, and there were a few struggles along the way.

Liu was born and raised in Liaoning, Manchuria. When he was 10, the Mukden Incident of 18 September 1931 occurred, beginning the Japanese occupation of Manchuria, and Liu's father sent him into China proper. There Liu began his roaming youth.

Perhaps because he was personally caught up in the national turmoil of that era, Liu has always been deeply interested in great historical events. He was only 16, and still in high school, when the Marco Polo Bridge Incident occurred in July 1937, initiating all-out war between Japan and China. Though it was not easy, Liu made his way along. He tested into Southwestern United University in Kunming, an institution set up jointly by refugees from Beijing, Tsing Hua, and Nankai universities. There he met several renowned historians and deepened his understanding of political history: History needs materials, which are the records of people and events. People and events are obscured in wartime, and materials can be easily lost unless someone preserves a record. This idea frequently occurred to Liu, though he had no idea this would become his mission in life.

After WWII Liu was assigned to Beijing University, which returned to Beijing. Although Communist power was on the rise, and Beijing was the scene of endless student demonstrations, Liu looks back fondly on that rare opportunity to pursue the student life. Among those who taught or lectured there were the history scholar Fu Ssu-nien, school president Hu Shih, and Tsui Shu-chin, a historian and educator under whom Liu worked in Taiwan for five or six years. They all influenced the course of Liu's life.

After coming to Taiwan from Hong Kong, Liu worked as Tsui's assistant. Tsui, then teaching at National Taiwan University, was an open-minded man of broad interests who had many friends in party, government, and military circles, as well as in academia at home and abroad. Liu thus had opportunities to meet leading personalities, who told countless intriguing stories over the dinner table or in idle chit-chat. Having the nose for news of a reporter and the fine judgment of a historian, Liu would often have an urge to record these stories to share with the public. But people would stop talking as soon as he took out his pen. Being busy himself, and unable to remember so much material on his own, Liu's ambitions were disappointed. But he never gave up his concept.

Chang Hsueh-liang(shown with his wife Chao Ssu), who was kept under hous e arrest for most of his life after being involved in the Xi'an incident, was a key figure in modern China. After the deaths of the two presidents Chiang, Chang finally appeared in public at his 90th birthday dinner, organized by his former subordinate Chang Chun. The fall of Manc huria and the Xi'an incident were crucial events in modern Chinese history. Have the reams of material which have appeared in Biographical Literature vindicated Chang? The second person at the right, back row, is Mrs. Liu, who is in charge of the magazine's circulation. (courtesy of Liu Shao-tang)

"What should I do?"

With virtually no warning, Tsui died of a virus infection in his late 50s. Liu, who was without any family, had found his element working with the knowledgeable and outgoing Tsui; Liu was able to do something he loved, and made countless friends in the process. At that time Richard Walker, then a visiting professor at NTU and a close personal friend of Tsui's, had a deep impression of Liu-he often saw Liu babysitting for the Tsuis.

Walker was a scholar of the disciplinary system in China's civil service in imperial times, and a staunch liberal. He didn't buy any of the Communist line, and so got on well with Liu, who had also failed to be convinced in his "studies" under the CCP. Walker later served as US ambassador to Korea, but remembered his colleagues in Taiwan fondly. Since retiring he has come to Taiwan often. He came here in May of 1996 and sought out Liu to talk over old times. Walker even asked Liu to accompany him to pay his respects at the graves of diplomat George Yeh and media doyen Jimmy Wei. Some people joke that Walker was even more Chinese than a Chinese, to which he responds, "But I've always been a Chinese!"

Going back to our story, after Professor Tsui's death, Liu-who had formerly resented the fact that there are a mere 24 hours in a day-suddenly found himself with 24 hours of free time each day, and didn't know what to do with himself. Sometimes he hung around with his mahjongg-playing friends, but he could never develop an interest in this example of the "cream of Chinese culture." Still a young man in his 30s, he wondered if he would just muddle through the rest of his days this way. The more he thought, the more determined he became that this would not happen. But, working for a Ministry of Defense publication, with no worries about the necessities of life, what he really wanted was to go back to working the way he had with Professor Tsui, listening to stories and collating materials. Wasn't that precisely the "biographical literature" that Hu Shih talked about, but which had as yet failed to evoke a response in literary and historical circles?

Liu became overjoyed at the prospect of giving his life some direction, and immediately got to work, organizing the great amount of materials he already had at hand and seeking scholars' support. He quickly went to report this good news to Hu Shih, who had come to Taiwan to head the Academia Sinica. Much to Liu's surprise, Hu Shih didn't encourage Liu, knowing that putting out a magazine wasn't easy, especially at that time in Taiwan. Instead he reminded his student that putting out a magazine meant late nights and a series of endless deadlines, that it would be hard to find a continuous supply of good articles, and that obtaining sufficient funding would be very difficult. Even more importantly, Hu pointed out that in the case of historical materials, truth and accuracy are of paramount importance, and with so much copy in each issue, the work of collecting and verifying would be exhausting. What if he couldn't do all the work in time? And Taiwan in 1962 was a cultural desert, where intellectuals' biggest bookstores were the second-hand book stands on Kuling Street and where writing about contemporary history might very well get one thrown into jail. If Hu's old friend and KMT bigwig Lei Chen was thrown into jail for publishing Free China, how could an unknown scholar like Liu avoid these risks?

Liu himself was not too worried. He knew that Hu approved of his ideal, and for practical matters he had already obtained promises for contributions from several dozen major academics, including Sheng Kang-po, Tao Hsi-sheng, Ling Hung-hsun, Su Hsueh-lin, Liang Shih-chiu and Liang Han-tsao. With these promises, he thought it was worth giving it a try. If it really turned out that one day he was too short of copy or too low on funds to put out a monthly, he could always put out a quarterly. Hu Shih saw that Liu had a point, and Liu was happy to get the support of the person who had inspired him in the first place. He always had a "just-do-it" sort of attitude, but his historian's training and experiences as a refugee had given him the habit of being more cautious about everything. Since everything was ready, the first issue of Biographical Literature came out in June of 1962 with a press run of 4000 copies. The only regrettable thing was that Hu Shih wasn't able to see the magazine. Liu's old teacher suddenly died on February 24 in the Academia Sinica, leaving behind people's fond memories of him and a stack of excellent articles to later be published in Biographical Literature.

Former PRC Premier Zhou Enlai is one of the most controversial figures in modern Chinese history.

Overnight fame

Readers in that cultural desert had probably built up a ferocious thirst. In the magazine the editor passionately announced to the readers of the world, "Biographical literature is a kind of literature that takes biography as its realm. Any writings or materials related to biography are works of biographical literature," and "anyone can write it as long as they are not out of synch with their age and can amply reflect upon the age or serve as a witness for the age." Of course most of the first issue's writers were famous writers or soldiers. They wrote well and had seen and heard much, and carried the collective memories of many of the members of their generation. Soon after publication, the magazine sold out, requiring Liu to quickly organize a press run of another 1000, which were distributed to readers outside Taipei who had ordered through the mail. This laid a solid foundation for the magazine.

Li Ao, a writer now only in his early sixties who was then a young talent writing powerful poetry, was also a contributor to the magazine in its early years. Liu Shao-tang says that during the controversy over the forced retirement of the old members of the First National Assembly, Li once made a joke in which he said that there were two reasons the old assemblymen were able to live so long and enjoy good health: one was Veterans' General Hospital, which protected their bodies, and the second was Biographical Literature, which kept their spirits from flagging. Many people thought the readers of the magazine were about the same age as the persons whose lives were being recounted in it, believing only people of such advanced age would want to read the nostalgic reminiscences it published.

In fact, Biographical Literature's readers come from all over and from all age groups. Liu's wife, who has toiled with Liu Shao-tang since the first issue and whose contributions to the magazine he humorously describes as being "no help, but no hindrance either," says that the magazine has many old readers and subscribers, but that over the course of three decades its readership hasn't declined much, which shows that there are still many people who care a lot about history.

The journal carries people's stories, and of course includes stories of the love lives of famous people. Though there is much to be regretted in the love affair between Chiang Ching-kuo and Chang Ai-juo, it is still a moving tale.

Are all the readers old fogies?

When Wellington Wei, now an official at the Government Information Office, was a student at NTU, he viewed every issue of Biographical Literature as "must-read" and got a lot out of it. Based on his analysis drawn from many years of reading the magazine, he says that someone who likes the magazine would definitely enjoy history and have definite conceptions of and viewpoints about modern history, and also care about the era they live in. The personal accounts published in the magazine give substance, feeling and depth to historical incidents, and bring history to life.

Wei recalls that he started reading the magazine in his freshman year at college, before people were free to speak as they pleased, yet the magazine was very bold about what it published. The historical documents were more stimulating and comprehensive than his formal history education at university. After he performed his military service and passed the test to work at the GIO, he was sent to South Africa to work on his English. Every month he would try to save half of his monthly salary, and when he returned to Taipei he bought bound copies of the back issues he had missed. Later, whenever he was sent abroad, he always did likewise, buying bound copies on his return. He believes that it is the only magazine now worth collecting.

Are there any concrete advantages to reading Biographical Literature? Wei, who is a deputy divisional director, says there are many. Everything in the magazine, whether it discusses noble deeds or the actions of the unscrupulous, makes for a good read: some articles describe behavior to emulate, others provide ample chances to learn from others' mistakes. You can read about how great scholars pursued their research, how generals made their military decisions, how foreign affairs officials crafted their diplomacy. It also examines the misdeeds of history's curs, how their selfish actions hurt the nation and the world. "Books of history are tales of tears." Biographical Literature has such a wide range of subject matter that it's impossible to talk about it all, but Wei thinks it worth talking about just the bits that helped him at his work.

One specific instance he recalls is the time when renowned historian Chen Tsung-yao, a Columbia University PhD and then vice-director of the GIO's International Information Services Department, was invited to deliver a paper at a symposium on modern Chinese history in Taiwan. Because Chen was busy with his regular duties, he asked a few colleagues to help him gather some Chinese documents, and he himself went to find materials in English.

Wei remembers clearly that the topic that time was Yuan Shih-kai, the first ROC president. He collected all of the documents related to Yuan that were published in Biographical Literature, grouped them in categories and then gave them to his superior Chen. Chen later wrote a very substantive paper, the sources of which he admitted were largely drawn from Biographical Literature.

In the office of Biographical Literature, which hasn't changed in 30 years, Liu talks over details with senior editor Chiu Ching-hui （left） and contributing editor Yu Hsiang-lin.

An experienced and astute historian

This experience raised Wei Yin-chu's interest in biographical literature from the level of a hobby to that of a scholarly pursuit, and for a while he very much wanted to take university courses in history, with the aim of later working at the Academia Sinica's Institute of Modern History. But his close friend Chang Li, a research fellow at the institute, talked him out of this idea because real research work was excruciatingly dull and extraordinarily slow-there were masses of oral histories recorded ten years earlier that had still not been processed for publication.

But in the view of the institute's director Chen San-ching, since Liu Shao-tang began the magazine thirty-odd years ago, although his work cannot be said to follow the traditional methods of academic research, his contribution to Chinese contemporary history has been incomparable, for he has rescued countless quantities of first-hand material including manuscripts, photographs, documents and personal memoirs, and has inspired many people who then participated actively in research and writing.

Biographical literature is both history and literature, and Liu Shao-tang once wrote: "In fact traditionally in China there was no distinction drawn between literature and history-hence the saying that 'the Six Classics are all history.' I think the most important thing in studying history is historiography, for without historical data we would have no basis for research. Biographical literature and history are both inseparable from historiography, which is why it doesn't matter if literary circles don't accept biographical literature as literature, but historians have to recognize this close cousin."

Chen San-ching, a leading light of the orthodox school of contemporary history, not only holds Liu Shao-tang in high esteem because his "greatest achievements are in the field of history," but also identifies three main reasons for the success of Biographical Literature: The first is the speed with which it presents material, which is worlds away from that of other historiographical publications, let alone the slow pace of the Acad-emia Sinica, which naturally also produces a far less in terms of volume. Secondly it is forward-looking and insightful, and when it comes by reliable new historical data is able to open up new fields of research, unlike academic research in which individuals cling to their pet topic and search out every scrap of material on it, and can hardly change track or start on a new field at short notice. Thirdly, it is able to echo the pulse of the times and is very flexible when it comes to events which have been in the news, so that it can satisfy readers' thirst for information.

Of course, the most basic requirement is still the accuracy of the historical data and the depth of the articles themselves. In Chen San-ching's view, Biographical Literature is very rigorous in this regard, so he does not agree with the moniker given to Liu Shao-tang of "head of the 'unofficial Academia Historica.'" Veteran author T.K. Tong, a Columbia University history professor who is known internationally for his Hu Shih in His Own Words and Memoirs of Li Tsung-jen, and is one of the people most respected by Liu Shao-tang and the writers at Biographical Literature, also does not see Liu Shao-tang as some "head of the unofficial Academia Historica," but rather as "the most accomplished of the contemporary heirs to the 2000-year tradition in Chinese historio-graphy of private research into national history."

T.K. Tong has a deep level of learning and a quick mind. He regards himself as a faithful adherent to Hu Shih's scholarly approach of being ready to "doubt what others believe." Although Hu was the greatest scholar of his generation, held in esteem throughout the world, Tong still insisted on following Hu Shih's research philosophy, often questioning Hu Shih's judgment. He called this the "3:7 appraisal," accepting 30% of Hu Shih's statements, and doubting 70%. For this reason, the senior scholar and writer Su Hsueh-lin denounced him as a "Judas." But this humorous yet unbending scholar holds Liu Shao-tang in the utmost high regard.

He recalls the first time he was approached to do an article. It was a request to translate transcripts of oral history recounted by Hu Shih into Chinese for publication. He felt that translating his own work one more time was simply too boring and presented not the slightest creative challenge, so he absolutely refused. Liu did not try to force him, but only reminded him that he could also get someone else to do the translation, but only a well-known historian would do. "If it's not translated according to your wishes, there's nothing we can do. If in the end your work is ruined, what good would that do?" When T.K. Tong heard this line of reasoning, he obediently went and ordered a microfiche reader and made ready to translate. But little did he expect that some time before the machine arrived, he would receive another long-distance telephone call from Liu. "The magazine has already reserved space for you! Why not write an introduction: Talk about some interesting anecdotes from the year you interviewed Principal Hu!"

T.K. Tong started to write, working out an article word by word in the Chinese in which he had not written for such a long time. But while the microfiche reader had still not arrived, Liu called him once again: "Your first introduction was very well received! Why don't you write a sequel?" Later on, he even wrote a "Part III." When the reader was delivered and Tong could begin translating, Liu asked him not to start just yet, but instead to write about some of his experiences working with Hu Shih, because that was what the readers wanted. He went on writing in this way for ten issues, and only then did Liu say, "That's about right. By now the readers' interest has been piqued enough. You can begin translating the oral history." Looking back on this episode, T.K. Tong finds it very funny. How could he have been so compliant?

Today Tong has gone on to become Biographical Literature's literary backbone and a close friend of Liu Shao-tang. With a deep respect for his intelligence and knowledge, Liu talks at length about T.K. Tong in glowing terms. He directly states that right now it is getting harder and harder to find writers who have such a deep and distinguished grasp of history and an elegant literary style.

Regarding Liu's lucid style in soliciting contributions, Anna Chenault, president of the Flying Tigers, wrote in an article celebrating the silver anniversary of Biographical Literature: "When Shao-tang first came and asked me to write for Biographical Literature, he talked to me for the longest time about his plans. Not only did he want to put out a magazine once every month, he was also getting ready to publish books. At the time I was really shocked. I thought, it's hard to tell whether this monthly periodical of yours is even going to survive. How could you have such big dreams as to put forward a whole batch of publication plans? Shao-tang was just smoking and at the same time talking about his big scheme. He didn't put on any airs like some publication-industry mogul, but instead he had a very lovable bearing, as if nothing could trouble him at all. I think it is because of this that so many people are willing to write for him. I, of course, am no exception."

But when Liu Shao-tang is asked to verify his skills in soliciting pieces, he merely comments lightheartedly, "Threaten! Bribe! Use whatever means necessary."

George Yeh was one of the nation's most outstanding diplomats. He fell from favor after a difference of opinion with Chiang Kai-shek over Outer Mongolia. Was this just a personal tragedy, or one for the whole country?

The junkman of history?

Deputy Director of the Academia Historica Chu Chung-sheng believes that Liu Shao-tang's collection and organization of historical materials has definitely made a "comprehensive" contribution to Chinese history, especially that of the period of entrenched hostility between the ROC and the PRC after the civil war. Many major figures in modern history did not make it to Taiwan, and from this point the accounts about them become like a kite whose string has been snapped. Fortunately, some material on these historical personages has been recorded in Biographical Literature. He believes that it may still be a matter of debate whether biographical literature can serve as biographical history, but beyond any doubt it complements official Chinese national history.

Liu Shao-tang has not the slightest concern whether other people label his work as official history or unofficial history. At any rate, before his receiving the National Award for special contribution to literature, which includes a grant of NT$300,000, he had never received a single cent of government assistance. Thinking that he naturally has no way to stand up next to "official" history, sometimes he bluntly calls himself the "junkman" of history. Taking historical materials that have been discarded and stories that have been ignored, he treats them like treasures, straightening them up and putting them in place, in order to piece together the original appearance of history.

What worries him most is not how other people evaluate him, but how long he will be able to keep Biographical Literature going, and whether there will be good articles to attract readers.

He recalls that when Biographical Literature first came out, each article was rich with surprises, every word elegant. He would often stay up into the wee hours of the morning reading articles, not because he was rushing to meet a deadline, but because he couldn't put them down. He remembers that at that time he particularly set a number of alarm clocks. Every one or two hours, a clock would go off, to remind him that the next day he had important matters to attend to. He would then sleep for a while, but he often could not control himself and simply had to read on to the end, frequently staying up all night.

Recently, the number of articles that really startle him are fewer and fewer. For such commonly discussed topics as the Northern Expedition, the War of Resistance Against Japan or the ensuing Civil War, it is rare to scare up something new. The older generation of writers are passing away in large numbers, and writers of the younger generation that are succeeding them lack inspiration. Biographical Literature senior editor Chiu Ching-lin is also full of regret. The present-day era is increasingly open, and the horizons of the Chinese people are ever broader. In this era when the soil of biographical literature is growing more fertile, the fruit that it bears is growing ever more scant, and the gardeners are disappearing too. Will this eventually discourage people from appreciating the beauty of the plants?

Liu Shao-tang often divides writers of biographical literature into three "generations": The first tell their own stories and are therefore the most exciting. The second tell stories they have heard and offer their opinions; these are also often quite interesting. The third generation still tell the story of the first generation, but can only amass research on paper. They still have historical value, but cannot move the readers.

Nevertheless, enmeshed in his work, Liu has perhaps failed to notice a different perspective. That is, during the era in which he was born and raised, a spectacular national spirit and a lofty human brilliance were stirred up by enormous changes. One by one, marvelous stories naturally began to take shape. Looking on from the sidelines, Dr. Richard Walker sees things more clearly: "The 1930s were China's greatest era. After the Mukden Incident of 1931, Japan's large-scale invasion awakened the Chinese people. The intellectuals no longer opposed the government. The educated young people and the common folk joined ranks. They finally took on board Sun Yat-sen's ideals for China, which were national dignity and democracy. The unequal treaties were abolished, and China stood on its own feet. The intellectuals felt committed to Chinese culture. Liu Shao-tang somehow understood this. He took down their stories for the people. He has also made a pledge with his own life, and that is Biographical Literature."

As long as the vigor of youth does not change, and this age continues, the story of the Chinese people will persist, and Biographical Literature will naturally continue to be published.

Besides the monthly magazine, Biographical Literature has also produced nearly 400 books. These are essential reading for the study of modern China, and much more readable than most historical materials.

The most recent issue of Biographical Literature is right in step with the times. It asks, "Who will be the master of the White House?" The writer is Anna Chennault, of the first generation of journal contributors. The cover photo shows Japanese soldiers destroying a statue of Dr. Sun Yat-sen during the Rape of Nanjing in 1937.