Q: How did you happen to become interested in sinology?

A: There's nothing remarkable to tell of. Back in my day, we had to go into the service for two years after high school. I studied Russian in the air force, and when we went into the university I wanted to study something from a non-European culture instead of French or German like everyone else. When a classmate of mine talked about taking Chinese, it seemed like just what I'd been looking for and I went along with him. He's now the British ambassador to Hungary and has nothing to do with Chinese, but for me that decision turned out to be crucial.

Q: That took some courage, didn't it--pursuing a completely unfamiliar culture? Did you ever have any doubts or feel like you couldn't go on?

A: Those thoughts are pretty inevitable for someone studying Chinese, I think.Especially during the first two or three years, when you keep slogging away without seeing any results. There's so much to learn. You've got a head full of characters, but when you pick up a book you can't read it. It's really frustrating. Fortunately, a lot of us studied Latin and Greek in high school, so we knew that the only way to understand a different culture is to put in time and plug away at it.

Q: And how did you come to study classical Chinese fiction?

A: I've always liked literature, and Chinese studies at the time were focused mainly on fiction and drama. Professor H.C. Chang was my tutor in third year, and he sort of took me under his wing, so to speak. Choosing Hsiyu chi [The Journey to the West] for my doctoral dissertation was the result of talks with him. At the beginning, of course, I didn't know exactly what direction my research would take, but I gradually found that what interested me wasn't the 100-chapter version of the novel so much as how the story had evolved and taken shape before that. So my dissertation--and my first book [The Hsi-yu chi: A Study of Antecedents to the Sixteenth-Century Chinese Novel; Cambridge, 1970]--was on that subject.

Q: Comparative literature was a hot subject for a while, and many people like to look at Chinese literature from a Western viewpoint. What do you think about this?

A: My own view is that it's very easy to read all kinds of deep meanings into a book like the Hsi-yu chi. A Marxist finds it's obviously an exposition of Marxism. A student of child psychological development says, "Oh, it's all written so clearly." Even Neo-Confucianists and Taoists of the Five Elements school can make it fit their theories. It's all too easy--whatever you say, fits--so I don't have much interest in that type of literary criticism.

When I read Chinese literature my purpose is not "interpretation" but to study why Chinese society has the kind of literature it does and what its background is, in terms of customs, beliefs, history, and the like. That is, I tend to read literature from rather a sociological or anthropological perspective.

Q: Do you find the Chinese society you read about in old fiction very different from today's?

A: Not necessarily. It's like this: if a Westerner hopes to understand Chinese society simply by sitting in the Cambridge library reading books, his chances are probably slim. We still need to experience it personally. Speaking for myself, I studied in Hong Kong for a year during graduate school, and when I came back I found that I got a lot more out of what I read. As for the difference between ancient and modern times, if you get to know the Chinese people of Hong Kong and Taiwan and then go back to Hong-lou meng [Dream of the Red Cham ber]and Ju-lin wai-shih[The Scholars], you'll find the characters pretty familiar. Even though there aren't any more gentry families, the people are Chinese and they have the same basic nature. And the reason why great works are great is they point out the universals. Look at Monkey and Pigsy in the Hsi-yu chi, aren't they like people, too? All this is easy to say, of course, but to really teach it to students is tough.

Q: What's your latest subject of research?

A: It's the Kuang-i chi [Extensive Record of the Strange] in the T'ai-p'ing kuang-chi [a collection of early fiction from the Sung dynasty]. The Kuang-i chi was lost long ago, but many of its sections are preserved in the T'ai-p'ing kuang-chi. I wrote a preliminary study a couple of years ago trying to determine its original form, author, period, and the like. The book's contents are interesting. The author, Tai Fu, was a petty official following the An Lu-shan rebellion who recorded all kinds of supernatural tales that he heard people talking about and which reflect the popular religious beliefs of the T'ang dynasty.

Q: So this, too, is a way of looking at society through fiction?

A: It is. But the T'ai-p'ing kuang-chi is only a starting point. You also have to study local gazetteers, inscriptions on steles, essays, official histories, and anecdotal records--they're all important material. Especially stele inscriptions. Scholars have enjoyed copying them ever since the Sung dynasty, but it was mainly for their calligraphy. In fact, they also have historical value that's well worth referring to.

Q: Sinology is not exactly a hot subject in England, and even fewer people study classical Chinese fiction. Do you ever feel lonely?

A: That's a good way of putting it; you do feel a bit lonely, more or less. But my personal temperament is such that the greatest enjoyment I get out of research comes not from others but from dealing with the material and making discoveries. I don't expect my books to have tens of thousands of readers. Just two or three are enough, are worth it. If I get a letter once in a while, if someone has found a book of mine interesting and wants to see me or have a chat, then that makes me even happier--the work hasn't all been wasted. I've read a lot of good books and made a lot of good friends in my research, so what's there to complain about?

[Picture Caption]

The Chinese furniture in Professor Dud bridge's office was purchased from China by a British writer and is now one of Magdalene College's prized possessions.

Modest, unassuming, and a meticulous scholar, Glen Dudbridge indeed has the air of an internationally renowned sinologist.

Sun Wu-k'ung (Monkey) is a ubiquitous figure in Chinese fiction, drama, and folk activities. Shown is the noted Peking opera performer Sun Yuan-pin with a mask of Monkey.

Professor Dudbridge's second book examined the Sung dynasty narrative "Miao-shan ch'uan-shuo," a story about the goddess Kuanyin.

Monkey is an estremely popular puppet character, too.

Modest, unassuming, and a meticulous scholar, Glen Dudbridge indeed has the air of an internationally renowned sinologist.

Sun Wu-k'ung （Monkey） is a ubiquitous figure in Chinese fiction, drama, and folk activities. Shown is the noted Peking opera performer Sun Yuan-pin with a mask of Monkey.

Professor Dudbridge's second book examined the Sung dynasty narrative "Miao-shan ch'uan-shuo," a story about the goddess Kuanyin.

Monkey is an estremely popular puppet character, too.