In 2024, Taiwan stands out on the global stage for its cutting-edge technology and dynamic democracy. WiFi, like freedom of speech, is a basic right, with mobile signals reaching even 3,850 meters up Yushan’s North Peak. This high connectivity has fueled Taiwan’s democratic movements over the past decade, marking it as modern as any nation can be.
However, just slightly more than a century ago, Taiwanese daily life was largely woven by formidable forces of nature, spirits, and colonizers. Back then, it was through divination and magical rituals that people sought answers, companionship, courage, and a glimpse into the future. Does such a mindset still exist in contemporary Taiwanese society? I believe it does on certain levels. Just take a look at the green Guai Guai (乖乖) snacks on TSMC’s machines—a little superstitious good luck charm for the machines to behave nicely.
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How did Taiwan transition from a pre-modern state to modernization? What did people go through along the way? The 2023 historical novel “Reasons of the Land” (緣故地, tentative translation) by Qian Zhen (錢真) offers a VR-like sensory experience for today’s readers, along with an impactful perspective. The story recounts the “Bamboo Grove Incident” (竹林事件, or 林杞埔事件), an anti-Japanese action conducted by the island’s inhabitants in 1912 during the early Japanese colonial period.
Cover of the book《Reasons of the Land》. Image sourced from eslit.com.
Back then, residents living in Zhushan (竹山, literally ‘Bamboo Mountain’) area, where located in the center of the island, relied on bamboo forests for their livelihood. Those farmers and artisans adapted to living in harmony with nature, using bamboo shoots to prepare dishes, mature bamboo to make furniture, and bamboo pulp to produce paper for rituals.
The mountains were often shrouded in thick fog, and sometimes natural disasters brought death and injury to both people and livestock. The uncertainties of life caused fear and doubt, leading people to rely on the sorcerer’s divination to determine the auspiciousness of their actions. When someone in the family fell ill, they would also invite a sorcerer over to chant incantations for healing. In such an era, magic and religion were not just spiritual supports—they were an integral part of people’s daily lives, just as we now turn to Google whenever we encounter problems.
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The story focuses on three individuals involved in the Bamboo Grove Incident—Liu Qian (劉乾), Liu Ci (劉賜), and the sister A-Rui (阿蕊姐). They were all born during the final years of the Qing Empire’s (清國) rule. Although they witnessed the withdrawal of Qing soldiers and the arrival of the Japanese, distant wars or regime changes were not as significant to them as their daily lives.
It was the bamboo groves that constituted the center of their existence: Qian made a living by providing divination and healing services to the bamboo farmers; Ci’s family had harvested and sold bamboo for generations; and A-Rui supported herself by making bamboo-made paper offerings for the spirits. Of life, they asked for very little.
The Qing Empire had exploited them for sure, but the newly arrived Japanese colonizers brought even more suffering: they took away the bamboo forests that the dwellers had relied on for generations, handing them over to large corporations. Dissatisfaction grew among the people; however, appealing to the Japanese laws didn’t bring justice. Qian, Ci, A-Rui, and other locals of the Zhushan area wanted change, and with no other options, they placed their hopes in the only means they knew—sorcery.
Qian, who knew the art of spellcasting, could summon ghost soldiers to fight, helping everyone drive out the Japanese and return Taiwan to its people. Moreover, Qian received mysterious premonitions, which helped reveal the best times to act. The moment of attacking the Japanese police officers had come—could they succeed?
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Qian, Ci, A-Rui, and other characters that appear in the book were real people who existed in history. The author uses rigorous historical research as the framework for the story; but beyond that, she carefully examines and depicts the inner landscapes of the characters, and it’s under such meticulous portrayals of psychological states that the complexities of the human mind are revealed layer by layer.
For example, we might assume that since these people were willing to risk their lives, they must have been strongly convinced that magic would bring them victory, allowing them to shape Taiwan’s destiny. However, as we read on, we discover that Qian, Ci, A-Rui were not completely certain about the authenticity of magic or spiritual communications—neither were they fully confident that their actions were truly good, honest and just. On the eve of the uprising, Qian told Ci, “In order to establish our own country, killing is permissible.” However, even he did not fully believe his own words.
If so, why did things still develop this way? As a modern reader, we might both doubt their beliefs as mere superstitions and think that, given their lack of confidence, the uprising was likely a rash action. However, the truth revealed by the author may surprise the reader. She sharply showcases the subtle interactions between the “deity” and the “followers” while also gently and compassionately presenting the inherent ambiguity and uncertainty in people’s hearts. After reading the story from an omniscient perspective, I think even some readers may feel that magic and divine powers truly exist.
There is also a character who loathed the oppression of the Japanese but was irresistibly drawn to the advanced technology introduced by the Japanese. He didn’t want to kill, but he also didn’t know if seeing evil and being unwilling to help eliminate it was a form of killing in itself. Even the Japanese, despite holding a dominant position, were not entirely confident; the author uses the extraordinary cruelty and violence of a Japanese police officer, as well as his wife’s side descriptions of him, to reveal the deep-seated unease within the oppressors.
The writer’s keen eye carefully observes all aspects of the events, astutely capturing the psychological processes of different forces. This allows the novel to transcend the barriers of time, events, and culture backgrounds, making it an exceptional work that directly addresses human nature; it also allows the fictional novel to serve a historical function, enabling us to learn from the past and reflect on contemporary issues.
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The reader of today may be surprised: by 2024, Taiwan-Japan relations are close and friendly, as if no one remembers the suffering from the colonial period. Yes, Taiwan is peculiar in this regard. Taiwanese people don’t seem to hold grudges.
On holidays, families visit the scattered colonial or authoritarian sites for outings and excursions. In Tainan, the largest tourist city and a former Dutch colony in Taiwan, the emblem of the Dutch East India Company is printed on various souvenirs for positive promotion, much to the embarrassment of visiting Dutch tourists. Japanese colonial sites across Taiwan have been restored, and many tourist attractions now feature Japanese-style themes. In fact, living on this vibrant and bustling island, it’s easy to forget that this is actually a country that has suffered from successive colonization by various powers.
But there are reasons for this.
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At the end of the story, as the timeline enters the 1920s, we see Taiwanese intellectuals establishing the influential Taiwanese Cultural Association (台灣文化協會) and continuing the Taiwan Parliament Petition League Movement (台灣議會設置請願運動). During fifty years of Japanese colonization, the concept of legality, along with other modernization processes, gradually took root in the hearts of the Taiwanese people.
After being treated as second-class citizens by the Japanese for so long, the Taiwanese initially looked forward to “returning to the embrace of the motherland” as equals after World War II. However, the Taiwanese people quickly discovered that the Chiang regime, which had come across the strait between 1945 and 1950, was more feudal and tyrannical than the Japanese. The worst of all: they still looked down on the Taiwanese. This sense of disappointment and anger influenced the Taiwanese perception of the Japanese colonial era.
We can observe this subtle psychological shift through two important novels. In recent years, historical materials about the “White Terror” (白色恐怖) period perpetrated by the Chiang regime have been gradually and partially unclassified for the public. After thoroughly examined these materials, Shawna Yang Ryan (楊小娜) published the highly acclaimed and significant novel “Green Island” (綠島) in 2016, which vividly describes the decades-long persecution of Taiwanese intellectuals by the Chiang regime.
Compared to the revelations of the harsh methods of the Chiang regime, nowadays the brutality of the Japanese colonial period is often downplayed. Even though the Chiang regime and the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) still have many elderly supporters in Taiwan, the younger generation has become more proactive in seeking their identity from the history before the KMT’s arrival. Contemporary Taiwanese literature and art reflect this nuanced shift: while there is still deep criticism of the Japanese colonizers, the tone is not always sharp. For example, Yang Shuang-Zi (楊双子)’s “Taiwan Travelogue” (臺灣漫遊錄), published in 2020, describes the delicate romantic relationships between Japanese and Taiwanese people during the late Japanese colonial period.
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In Taiwan, decolonization and transitional justice are challenging tasks. People are eager to find pride in the history of this land, and the large influx of immigrants brought by the Chiang regime has now integrated into society. As one can imagine, seeing the past of ourselves or those we live with too clearly can be very uncomfortable. Therefore, although colonial or authoritarian relics are prominently scattered across the country, many prefer to coexist with them and focus on living well in the present.
This mindset, whether criticized as hypocrisy or praised as empathy, allows people with diverse backgrounds and scars to live together on this island. I sincerely hope that people can gain a deeper understanding of Taiwan’s past and that those who have suffered injustices can be vindicated. However, I also understand that this is not an overnight process. In my view, the contemporary Taiwanese people’s benign indifference toward the remnants of colonialism or authoritarianism is not a sign of apathy, but rather an effort to nurture these marks into pearls. Taiwan is an island of pearls.
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Just like a hundred years ago, Taiwan still faces enormous challenges, and Taiwanese people are still striving to take control of our destiny. Seen from the surface, we have significantly reduced our reliance on divination (though not entirely—just look at the fervor for the Mazu pilgrimage or the incense-filled Longshan Temple in Taipei). Instead, we now place our faith in the “silicon shield,” hoping to find answers, companionship, courage, and a glimpse into the future through the most advanced chips and AI technology—the most powerful magic of our time.
The future remains unknown, and we are still groping forward in the mist, much like the farmers in “Reasons of the Land” who nearly got lost in the bamboo grove. I hope this novel will help readers understand Taiwan better and see the lustrous brilliance scattered across this island nation; or at the very least help provide some enjoyment when observing the sometimes-quirky behaviors of Taiwanese people. Happy reading!
- Book Review: Reasons of the Land - July 4, 2024