Yang Jiang and her husband Qian Zhongshu are highly respected figures in academia, renowned for works like Fortress Besieged and Baptism. However, their family life remained largely private. The cultural world mourned deeply when Mr. Qian passed away in 1998.
Less known is that their only daughter, Qian Yuan, had preceded them in death by a year. Bereft of both her lifelong companion and her only child, the solitude of Ms. Yang's later years is profound. Four years after her husband's departure, the 92-year-old Yang Jiang penned a memoir, We Three, chronicling the 63-year journey of their unique family. Originally scheduled for May publication by SDX Joint Publishing Company, the book's release was delayed due to the SARS outbreak.
The memoir is in two parts. In the first, with her characteristic wisdom and unique style, Yang Jiang uses a dream narrative to depict the emotional experience of the family's final years together. The second part offers a moving, straightforward account of their little-known trials from 1935—when the couple studied in England and welcomed their daughter at Oxford—until Qian Zhongshu's death in 1998. Their journey spanned half the globe and a tumultuous half-century marked by war, illness, political upheaval, and parting. Through every storm, they found solace in each other, their family a steadfast sanctuary. Yang Jiang's book is a profound exploration of the meaning of home and enduring love.
First published in July 2003, We Three has been widely praised by critics and readers alike. Yang Jiang is a celebrated writer, critic, translator, and scholar. Her husband, Qian Zhongshu, was an influential scholar famed for his novel Fortress Besieged. Yang reportedly wrote the book to fulfill a wish of their cherished daughter, Qian Yuan, who died of cancer in 1997.
The book tells the family's story in a unique style. The opening sections describe an extended dream where the scene of final separation is depicted with poignant naturalness. Beneath the calm narration lies immense inner sorrow. Life, Yang Jiang suggests after her dramatic experiences, is like a dream. The memoir records over six decades of family life, marked at times by poverty, political oppression, and even envy-driven vilification.
For many, Qian Zhongshu and Yang Jiang represent the pinnacle of modern Chinese literary achievement. Their daughter, Qian Yuan, was less publicly known. This book offers an intimate look into their lives, revealing authentic and detailed aspects.
He Yan, a reader and senior at Shanghai International Studies University, is most struck by the book's realism: "The descriptions are detailed and the story vividly presented. I can imagine their simple, happy days abroad, the hardships they endured, and almost feel their heartbreak at being separated by death."
Luo Ping, a professor in the English Department at Shanghai International Studies University, finds the book a fascinating glimpse into Yang Jiang's life: "We not only enjoy her simple, plain narration, which radiates strong emotion, but also appreciate her mode of thinking and attitude toward life."
A gentle sadness permeates the book. Through Yang Jiang's recollection of sixty years, we see a portrait of a family supporting and comforting one another through all difficulties.
Here is a taste of the dreamlike beginning of We Three:
One night, I dreamed. I was taking a walk with Zhongshu. We chatted all the way, eventually losing track of where we had been. The sun had set. Dusk was gathering, stretching far into the distance. Suddenly, Zhongshu disappeared. I looked for him everywhere, but there was no trace. I called out; no one answered. I was left alone in the desolate outskirts, not knowing where Zhongshu had gone. I cried his name, his full name. The shout was swallowed by the wilderness, with not even an echo in return. The utter silence deepened the shades of night and my loneliness. Ahead, the darkness thickened. Under my feet was a sandy path, flanked by woods and a flowing stream. I couldn't tell how wide the stream was. Looking back, there seemed to be houses in the distance. Yet no light was visible; it must have been far away…