fluktor -|||- study - office - newsletter May 14, 2004

Der erste Kaiser
Victor Segalens imaginäre Malereien
© Die Berliner Literaturkritik, 14.05.04

FRANKFURT AM MAIN (BLK) – Das erstmals 1916 erschienene und jetzt ins Deutsche übersetzte Buch "Malereien" von Victor Segalen liege nun vor, informiert Elmar Schenkel in der "Frankfurter Allgemeinen Zeitung" vom 14.5.2004.

Das Schicksal Segalens sei so rätselhaft wie das seiner Bücher, die sich immer wieder im riesigen Kessel des deutschen Büchermarktes auflösten. In "Malereien" entstehen seine flüssigen Schriften zwischen Zeichen und Bildern, die die chinesische Geschichte und den kaiserlichen Orientalismus darstellen. Segalen erfasse poetisch die Übergänge zwischen Bild und Sprache. Im Zentrum der himmelsblau-blutigen Welt der Imagination erscheine immer wieder der "Gelbe Kaiser", der für Segalen ein Sinnbild für einen "Begründer und Schlächter" zugleich sei.

Nun erscheine das wundervoll-seltsame Stück, dessen Geschicklichkeit an die großen Persönlichkeiten der französischen Kunst und Philosophie anknüpfe, freut sich der Rezensent. (mir/nja)

Literaturangaben:
SEGALEN, VICTOR: Malereien. Aus dem Französischen übertragen und herausgegeben von Rainer G. Schmidt. Gemini Verlag, Berlin 2003. 215 S., 23 €.
http://www.berlinerliteraturkritik.de/index.cfm?id=6332

************************

The rise and rise of little voice
Despite hostility from male critics in her native China, Xiaolu Guo's harrowing, intimate novels have made her one of the country's most successful literary exports. She tells Laura Barton why she came to Britain

Laura Barton Thursday May 13, 2004 The Guardian

Beneath her blunt-cut fringe, Xiaolu Guo's eyes move around the room, over the coffee cups and the pale walls to the long window with its view over a damp, pigeon-grey London. She is calmly beautiful, tiny and intense; a kernel of a woman. At the age of 30, she is already an accomplished novelist, essayist, screenwriter and film-maker, well known in her native China. In Britain, however, her reputation so far has extended only to her short film Far and Near, which won her the ICA/Becks Futures prize in 2003. But this may be about to change, with the translation into English of her novel Village of Stone, the tale of an unfulfilled young woman living in Beijing.
Xiaolu's own story, like that of Coral, the protagonist of her novel, began in a small fishing village in a remote part of China - in that "tiny corner of the sea that, on a map of China, appears as nothing more than a deep blue stain, with no air or shipping routes to link it with anywhere else", as she describes it in Village of Stone. Like her narrator, Xiaolu lived with her grandparents until she was eight years old. It was an austere and deeply conservative environment, the community steeped in Chinese tradition: her grandmother, a child bride, still bound her feet, and Xiaolu recalls the long white cloth laid out on the floor on washing day, and her "tiny, twisted feet".

The only reading matter in the village was Mao's Little Red Book of quotations. "Nobody would read a book, and they had never heard of a machine called TV. I mean, we didn't have this" - she looks up at the light bulb - "this bubble light. I remember when I was a child I would stand on the beach, and across the water from our village was Taiwan - they were the enemy of China - and at night, if the wind was not strong, you could hear the radio music from Taiwan. You couldn't hear the lyrics, and Taiwanese is a different language - it's quite soft. But you're standing there the whole night, thinking, 'God, such beautiful music!' I think that's the only cultural input I had. It made you think: what would it be like to leave the fishing village?"

Her childhood was laced with violence. Her grandparents, she says, weathered a physically tempestuous relationship, and when Xiaolu moved back to live with her parents, her mother often beat her, "because in the countryside, girls are just not valuable". She was a difficult child, she says, awkward and distant, "because I didn't know what love was. I didn't have anybody to love, or anybody to love me". At the age of 18, displaying considerable chutzpah, she decided to leave the village and take herself as far away as she could, to Beijing. There she studied at the Film Academy, supporting herself by writing scripts about cop car chases and disgruntled mothers-in-law for TV soap operas. At the academy, she immersed herself in film, trying fervently to catch up with fellow students who regarded her as "the little peasant" whose knowledge of film amounted to crumbs. "You don't know about Jean-Luc Godard?" they would ask her. "You never heard of David Lynch before?" And then, as she describes it, "I really kind of got into the big swimming pool."

She graduated in 2000, and began a period of unpaid work on film sets. To keep the wolf from the door, she decided to write a book. "People say, 'Oh you must be really passionate about writing,' but for me it's from hunger," she says unapologetically. "And I gave myself a deadline. I said, 'OK, so this novel has to be finished by the winter.' " She was fairly confident of being published: China has a lot of publishing houses. "It is," she says, "a very literary country."

Even so, she found that her work was slightly at odds with the traditional Chinese literary canon. "In China we adore big historical novels," she explains. "To write that is to dedicate your own little life to the big party, to China, to the big continent. We sacrifice ourselves to it." Not surprisingly, people were somewhat resistant to her quiet novels, with their hugely personal themes of love, yearning, and the darker side of relationships.

"My father was an artist, and his generation, the older generation of artists, they could never focus on themselves," she says. "They worked for the government all their lives, and they dedicated their lives to communism. Whenever they painted or wrote about themselves they were told, 'You have too much self-regard, you're too bourgeois.' The great art was art that was dedicated to others." Chinese male critics have not been altogether kind about this new generation of young women authors keen to write about their private lives, such as Wang Any, Tie Ning, and internet sex columnist Mu Zimei: "They say, 'Oh God, she never looks at other people's lives.' "

Despite this, Xiaolu managed to forge a successful career as a film-maker and novelist in China. But in 2002, with five novels published, she began to feel unsure of her direction. "I was stuck," she says. More than anything, she found her personal life at odds with her career as an author. "I spent four years in one relationship and then another four years with another man, and I wrote books in that time. And then another four years with another man, and I wrote another couple of books," she explains. "But the problem is, all that time you live inside the house and you live with a man and you don't have a new life at all, you have no external influences ... and that can be really destructive."

She illustrates the dilemma by sketching it out on the tabletop. "You put writing and men in the same place," she says, setting her hands side by side. "And if you don't have men, do you write?" She raises her left hand. "And if you can't write, do you find a man and love him?" She lifts her right hand. "And it's a totally different thing - your career and your love life." Her hands sit on the table for a while, as if the matter is still unresolved.

Two years ago Xiaolu moved to Britain on a scholarship from the British Council to study documentary film-making at the National Film School. "I wasn't interested in studying film," she admits. "I wanted to write. I thought, 'OK, I want to get out, I want to leave China and just write for a year.' But then I ended up coming here to make a film ... I made [Far and Near, about a Chinese writer arriving in Britain for the first time] in two weeks. I'm standing there with all this wind and these cars and the cameras and I'm thinking to myself, 'Ohh, I want to go back to writing.' "

In a reversal of the situation at home, it is China's female writers, not their male counterparts, who are most successful and widely known outside China - novelists such as Jung Chang and Hualing Nieh. "I think," she says, with the air of someone who has thought this through many times before, "Chinese women novelists have somehow been symbolic of the Chinese traditional culture. They write about bound feet, concubines, about these traditional Chinese women's lives that are symbolic of old China, and which can be really exotic [to the western reader]."

But she thinks it is the fact that she and other contemporary women writers now choose to write from their own experience and their own perspective - not an invented idea of old China - that has made them more popular outside their native land. "Chinese male writers like to write histories of China or of war, which is quite difficult for the west. When westerners start to read about China they can't so easily get into the political drama, or the civil war. So when the female writers say, 'My mother used to ... ' it's so emotional, and it's so much easier for the west to understand."

Perhaps this growth of interest in Chinese women's literature simply stems from the fact that they are more interested in and engaged with the world. They are perhaps not so willing as their male peers to, in Xiaolu's words, "dedicate their own little lives to the big party". Her own writing is full of the thrill of someone who is finally able to separate her own personal history from that of her country. "After some years I'll go back," she says. "But first I want to discover myself, to see my reflection, to see what I can do if I don't live in China for a while. Because when you're in China, the big, big Chinese voice overwhelms your own."

Village of Stones by Xiaolu Guo is published by Chatto & Windus, price £12.99.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/china/story/0,7369,1215472,00.html

**********************

900 Jahre alter Stelenwald will auf die UN-Weltkulturerbeliste

Die im Nordwesten gelegene Provinz Shaanxi forciert derzeit ihre Vorbereitungen für eine Neuaufnahme ihres 900 Jahre alten Stelenwaldes in die Weltkulturerbeliste.

Laut Zhao Liguang, stellvertretender Kurator des Stelenwald-Museums in Xi'an, besteht der Stelenwald in der Provinzhauptstadt Xi'an aus über 3.300 Stelen und Grabsteinen, die während unterschiedlichen Perioden erbaut wurden. Dabei gilt die Han-Dynastie (206 v.Chr.-220 n.Chr.) als früheste Periode.

Die berühmte Daqin-Stele des Nestorianismus, die sich durch ihr kleines Kreuz auf der Stele auszeichnet, wurde 781 v.Chr. mit Inschriften versehen und kennzeichnet die Eröffnung einer nestorianischen Kirche. Die Nestorianer, eine frühe Abspaltung der Christen, unterschieden sich vom Orthodoxen Christentum durch ihre Auffassung, dass die menschliche und göttliche Natur von Christus als völlig getrennt voneinander zu betrachten seien.

Bei einer weiteren Tafel handelt es sich um den Steinklassiker von Kaicheng aus der Tang-Dynastie (618-907) mit 13 Klassikern und historischen Aufzeichnungen sowie insgesamt 650.000 Schriftzeichen. Der Stelenwald birgt auch Schätze chinesischer Kalligrafien von berühmten Kalligrafen von der Han-Dynastie bis zur Qing-Dynastie (1644-1911).

Der Stelenwald, der auch als "größte Steinsammlung Chinas" bezeichnet wird, entstand erstmals während der Zeit der Song-Dynastie (960-1279), so Zhao.

Einige Stelen erzählen auch von der Einführung der Religion in China und dem Kulturaustausch auf Nichtregierungsebene zwischen China und Syrien, Persien, Indien und Japan während der Tang-Dynastie (618-907).

Eine Stele ist eine Kombination aus Malerei, Schnitzerei, Kalligrafie und Kultur, erklärt Zhao. Weiter fährt Zhao fort zu erklären, dass die Bedeutung der Stelenwälder auf ihren wertvollen Informationen für die Erforschung der Schönen Künste, Kalligrafie und Schnitzereikunst im Alten China, der Geschichte der Religion in China und des alten Austausches zwischen China und dem Ausland beruhe.

1961 wurde der Stelenwald unter obersten staatlichen Schutz gestellt.

Derzeit stehen weltweit insgesamt 730 Weltkulturerbestätten auf der Liste, 28 davon befinden sich in China.

(Xinhuanet/Übersetzt von China.org.cn, 8. Mai 2004
http://www.china.org.cn/german/112569.htm

******************

basler zeitung, letzte Änderung: 13.05.04 13:16

Deutsche Museen kooperieren mit chinesischen

Dresden. DPA/BaZ. Eine künftige Kooperation mit chinesischen Museen ist Ziel einer Reise deutscher Museumsdirektoren ins "Reich der Mitte". Auf Einladung der chinesischen Seite wollen sich die Chefs der Bayerischen Staatsgemäldesammlungen, der Staatlichen Museen zu Berlin, der Dresdner Kunstsammlungen, der Staatsgalerie Stuttgart und des Museums für Moderne Kunst Frankfurt/Main bis zum 23. Mai informieren und gemeinsame Projekte planen, teilten die Staatlichen Kunstsammlungen Dresden am Donnerstag mit.
Geplant sind Besuche von Kulturdenkmälern in Shanghai, Wuzhen, Hangzhou, Xi'an und Peking sowie der Akademie der Künste. In einer Unterredung mit dem chinesischen Kulturminister sollen Projekte mit dem Nationalmuseum angesprochen werden, die das geplante Deutschland- Jahr 2007/08 begleiten werden. Für die deutsche Seite spielt der kulturelle Austausch mit der Volksrepublik zunehmend eine Rolle. "Europäische Kultur findet grosses Interesse", hiess es. Zudem besuchten auch immer mehr chinesische Kulturtouristen die europäischen Metropolen.

____________________

Matthias Arnold M.A.
Digital Resources
Institute of Chinese Studies
University of Heidelberg
Akademiestr. 4-8
69117 Heidelberg
Germany

Phone: ++ 49 - (0) 62 21 - 54 76 75
Fax: ++ 49 - (0) 62 21 - 54 76 39

http://www.chinaresource.org
http://www.sino.uni-heidelberg.de

www.fluktor.de
www.zhaomo.de.vu


	May 14, 2004: [achtung! kunst] victor segalen - guo xiaolu - shaanxi stelenwald - dt-ch museumskooperationen

	Der erste Kaiser Victor Segalens imaginäre Malereien © Die Berliner Literaturkritik, 14.05.04 FRANKFURT AM MAIN (BLK) – Das erstmals 1916 erschienene und jetzt ins Deutsche übersetzte Buch "Malereien" von Victor Segalen liege nun vor, informiert Elmar Schenkel in der "Frankfurter Allgemeinen Zeitung" vom 14.5.2004. Das Schicksal Segalens sei so rätselhaft wie das seiner Bücher, die sich immer wieder im riesigen Kessel des deutschen Büchermarktes auflösten. In "Malereien" entstehen seine flüssigen Schriften zwischen Zeichen und Bildern, die die chinesische Geschichte und den kaiserlichen Orientalismus darstellen. Segalen erfasse poetisch die Übergänge zwischen Bild und Sprache. Im Zentrum der himmelsblau-blutigen Welt der Imagination erscheine immer wieder der "Gelbe Kaiser", der für Segalen ein Sinnbild für einen "Begründer und Schlächter" zugleich sei. Nun erscheine das wundervoll-seltsame Stück, dessen Geschicklichkeit an die großen Persönlichkeiten der französischen Kunst und Philosophie anknüpfe, freut sich der Rezensent. (mir/nja) Literaturangaben: SEGALEN, VICTOR: Malereien. Aus dem Französischen übertragen und herausgegeben von Rainer G. Schmidt. Gemini Verlag, Berlin 2003. 215 S., 23 €. http://www.berlinerliteraturkritik.de/index.cfm?id=6332 ********************** The rise and rise of little voice Despite hostility from male critics in her native China, Xiaolu Guo's harrowing, intimate novels have made her one of the country's most successful literary exports. She tells Laura Barton why she came to Britain Laura Barton Thursday May 13, 2004 The Guardian Beneath her blunt-cut fringe, Xiaolu Guo's eyes move around the room, over the coffee cups and the pale walls to the long window with its view over a damp, pigeon-grey London. She is calmly beautiful, tiny and intense; a kernel of a woman. At the age of 30, she is already an accomplished novelist, essayist, screenwriter and film-maker, well known in her native China. In Britain, however, her reputation so far has extended only to her short film Far and Near, which won her the ICA/Becks Futures prize in 2003. But this may be about to change, with the translation into English of her novel Village of Stone, the tale of an unfulfilled young woman living in Beijing. Xiaolu's own story, like that of Coral, the protagonist of her novel, began in a small fishing village in a remote part of China - in that "tiny corner of the sea that, on a map of China, appears as nothing more than a deep blue stain, with no air or shipping routes to link it with anywhere else", as she describes it in Village of Stone. Like her narrator, Xiaolu lived with her grandparents until she was eight years old. It was an austere and deeply conservative environment, the community steeped in Chinese tradition: her grandmother, a child bride, still bound her feet, and Xiaolu recalls the long white cloth laid out on the floor on washing day, and her "tiny, twisted feet". The only reading matter in the village was Mao's Little Red Book of quotations. "Nobody would read a book, and they had never heard of a machine called TV. I mean, we didn't have this" - she looks up at the light bulb - "this bubble light. I remember when I was a child I would stand on the beach, and across the water from our village was Taiwan - they were the enemy of China - and at night, if the wind was not strong, you could hear the radio music from Taiwan. You couldn't hear the lyrics, and Taiwanese is a different language - it's quite soft. But you're standing there the whole night, thinking, 'God, such beautiful music!' I think that's the only cultural input I had. It made you think: what would it be like to leave the fishing village?" Her childhood was laced with violence. Her grandparents, she says, weathered a physically tempestuous relationship, and when Xiaolu moved back to live with her parents, her mother often beat her, "because in the countryside, girls are just not valuable". She was a difficult child, she says, awkward and distant, "because I didn't know what love was. I didn't have anybody to love, or anybody to love me". At the age of 18, displaying considerable chutzpah, she decided to leave the village and take herself as far away as she could, to Beijing. There she studied at the Film Academy, supporting herself by writing scripts about cop car chases and disgruntled mothers-in-law for TV soap operas. At the academy, she immersed herself in film, trying fervently to catch up with fellow students who regarded her as "the little peasant" whose knowledge of film amounted to crumbs. "You don't know about Jean-Luc Godard?" they would ask her. "You never heard of David Lynch before?" And then, as she describes it, "I really kind of got into the big swimming pool." She graduated in 2000, and began a period of unpaid work on film sets. To keep the wolf from the door, she decided to write a book. "People say, 'Oh you must be really passionate about writing,' but for me it's from hunger," she says unapologetically. "And I gave myself a deadline. I said, 'OK, so this novel has to be finished by the winter.' " She was fairly confident of being published: China has a lot of publishing houses. "It is," she says, "a very literary country." Even so, she found that her work was slightly at odds with the traditional Chinese literary canon. "In China we adore big historical novels," she explains. "To write that is to dedicate your own little life to the big party, to China, to the big continent. We sacrifice ourselves to it." Not surprisingly, people were somewhat resistant to her quiet novels, with their hugely personal themes of love, yearning, and the darker side of relationships. "My father was an artist, and his generation, the older generation of artists, they could never focus on themselves," she says. "They worked for the government all their lives, and they dedicated their lives to communism. Whenever they painted or wrote about themselves they were told, 'You have too much self-regard, you're too bourgeois.' The great art was art that was dedicated to others." Chinese male critics have not been altogether kind about this new generation of young women authors keen to write about their private lives, such as Wang Any, Tie Ning, and internet sex columnist Mu Zimei: "They say, 'Oh God, she never looks at other people's lives.' " Despite this, Xiaolu managed to forge a successful career as a film-maker and novelist in China. But in 2002, with five novels published, she began to feel unsure of her direction. "I was stuck," she says. More than anything, she found her personal life at odds with her career as an author. "I spent four years in one relationship and then another four years with another man, and I wrote books in that time. And then another four years with another man, and I wrote another couple of books," she explains. "But the problem is, all that time you live inside the house and you live with a man and you don't have a new life at all, you have no external influences ... and that can be really destructive." She illustrates the dilemma by sketching it out on the tabletop. "You put writing and men in the same place," she says, setting her hands side by side. "And if you don't have men, do you write?" She raises her left hand. "And if you can't write, do you find a man and love him?" She lifts her right hand. "And it's a totally different thing - your career and your love life." Her hands sit on the table for a while, as if the matter is still unresolved. Two years ago Xiaolu moved to Britain on a scholarship from the British Council to study documentary film-making at the National Film School. "I wasn't interested in studying film," she admits. "I wanted to write. I thought, 'OK, I want to get out, I want to leave China and just write for a year.' But then I ended up coming here to make a film ... I made [Far and Near, about a Chinese writer arriving in Britain for the first time] in two weeks. I'm standing there with all this wind and these cars and the cameras and I'm thinking to myself, 'Ohh, I want to go back to writing.' " In a reversal of the situation at home, it is China's female writers, not their male counterparts, who are most successful and widely known outside China - novelists such as Jung Chang and Hualing Nieh. "I think," she says, with the air of someone who has thought this through many times before, "Chinese women novelists have somehow been symbolic of the Chinese traditional culture. They write about bound feet, concubines, about these traditional Chinese women's lives that are symbolic of old China, and which can be really exotic [to the western reader]." But she thinks it is the fact that she and other contemporary women writers now choose to write from their own experience and their own perspective - not an invented idea of old China - that has made them more popular outside their native land. "Chinese male writers like to write histories of China or of war, which is quite difficult for the west. When westerners start to read about China they can't so easily get into the political drama, or the civil war. So when the female writers say, 'My mother used to ... ' it's so emotional, and it's so much easier for the west to understand." Perhaps this growth of interest in Chinese women's literature simply stems from the fact that they are more interested in and engaged with the world. They are perhaps not so willing as their male peers to, in Xiaolu's words, "dedicate their own little lives to the big party". Her own writing is full of the thrill of someone who is finally able to separate her own personal history from that of her country. "After some years I'll go back," she says. "But first I want to discover myself, to see my reflection, to see what I can do if I don't live in China for a while. Because when you're in China, the big, big Chinese voice overwhelms your own." Village of Stones by Xiaolu Guo is published by Chatto & Windus, price £12.99. http://www.guardian.co.uk/china/story/0,7369,1215472,00.html ****************** 900 Jahre alter Stelenwald will auf die UN-Weltkulturerbeliste Die im Nordwesten gelegene Provinz Shaanxi forciert derzeit ihre Vorbereitungen für eine Neuaufnahme ihres 900 Jahre alten Stelenwaldes in die Weltkulturerbeliste. Laut Zhao Liguang, stellvertretender Kurator des Stelenwald-Museums in Xi'an, besteht der Stelenwald in der Provinzhauptstadt Xi'an aus über 3.300 Stelen und Grabsteinen, die während unterschiedlichen Perioden erbaut wurden. Dabei gilt die Han-Dynastie (206 v.Chr.-220 n.Chr.) als früheste Periode. Die berühmte Daqin-Stele des Nestorianismus, die sich durch ihr kleines Kreuz auf der Stele auszeichnet, wurde 781 v.Chr. mit Inschriften versehen und kennzeichnet die Eröffnung einer nestorianischen Kirche. Die Nestorianer, eine frühe Abspaltung der Christen, unterschieden sich vom Orthodoxen Christentum durch ihre Auffassung, dass die menschliche und göttliche Natur von Christus als völlig getrennt voneinander zu betrachten seien. Bei einer weiteren Tafel handelt es sich um den Steinklassiker von Kaicheng aus der Tang-Dynastie (618-907) mit 13 Klassikern und historischen Aufzeichnungen sowie insgesamt 650.000 Schriftzeichen. Der Stelenwald birgt auch Schätze chinesischer Kalligrafien von berühmten Kalligrafen von der Han-Dynastie bis zur Qing-Dynastie (1644-1911). Der Stelenwald, der auch als "größte Steinsammlung Chinas" bezeichnet wird, entstand erstmals während der Zeit der Song-Dynastie (960-1279), so Zhao. Einige Stelen erzählen auch von der Einführung der Religion in China und dem Kulturaustausch auf Nichtregierungsebene zwischen China und Syrien, Persien, Indien und Japan während der Tang-Dynastie (618-907). Eine Stele ist eine Kombination aus Malerei, Schnitzerei, Kalligrafie und Kultur, erklärt Zhao. Weiter fährt Zhao fort zu erklären, dass die Bedeutung der Stelenwälder auf ihren wertvollen Informationen für die Erforschung der Schönen Künste, Kalligrafie und Schnitzereikunst im Alten China, der Geschichte der Religion in China und des alten Austausches zwischen China und dem Ausland beruhe. 1961 wurde der Stelenwald unter obersten staatlichen Schutz gestellt. Derzeit stehen weltweit insgesamt 730 Weltkulturerbestätten auf der Liste, 28 davon befinden sich in China. (Xinhuanet/Übersetzt von China.org.cn, 8. Mai 2004 http://www.china.org.cn/german/112569.htm **************** basler zeitung, letzte Änderung: 13.05.04 13:16 Deutsche Museen kooperieren mit chinesischen Dresden. DPA/BaZ. Eine künftige Kooperation mit chinesischen Museen ist Ziel einer Reise deutscher Museumsdirektoren ins "Reich der Mitte". Auf Einladung der chinesischen Seite wollen sich die Chefs der Bayerischen Staatsgemäldesammlungen, der Staatlichen Museen zu Berlin, der Dresdner Kunstsammlungen, der Staatsgalerie Stuttgart und des Museums für Moderne Kunst Frankfurt/Main bis zum 23. Mai informieren und gemeinsame Projekte planen, teilten die Staatlichen Kunstsammlungen Dresden am Donnerstag mit. Geplant sind Besuche von Kulturdenkmälern in Shanghai, Wuzhen, Hangzhou, Xi'an und Peking sowie der Akademie der Künste. In einer Unterredung mit dem chinesischen Kulturminister sollen Projekte mit dem Nationalmuseum angesprochen werden, die das geplante Deutschland- Jahr 2007/08 begleiten werden. Für die deutsche Seite spielt der kulturelle Austausch mit der Volksrepublik zunehmend eine Rolle. "Europäische Kultur findet grosses Interesse", hiess es. Zudem besuchten auch immer mehr chinesische Kulturtouristen die europäischen Metropolen. ____________________ Matthias Arnold M.A. Digital Resources Institute of Chinese Studies University of Heidelberg Akademiestr. 4-8 69117 Heidelberg Germany Phone: ++ 49 - (0) 62 21 - 54 76 75 Fax: ++ 49 - (0) 62 21 - 54 76 39 http://www.chinaresource.org http://www.sino.uni-heidelberg.de www.fluktor.de www.zhaomo.de.vu