The Last Empress
By Ann Mah
South China Morning Post Book Review
Published: July 22, 2007
Was the Dowager Empress Tzu Hsi - who famously plotted her own rise, executing court rivals and draining China’s coffers - simply the victim of bad publicity? In her new novel, The Last Empress, author Anchee Min picks up where she left off in Empress Orchid, presenting a revisionist look at Tzu Hsi’s years of power, her loneliness, sacrifice and strength.
Chinese scholars have long been fascinated by Empress Tzu Hsi, traditionally depicting her as ruthless, manipulative and greedy. “She was a mastermind of pure evil and intrigue,” says a Chinese communist textbook, quoted by the author. In The Last Empress, Min chooses a fresh point of view, portraying the aging monarch as a loving mother and loyal patriot who reluctantly retains power. Unfortunately, though the material is rich, Min’s characterization of this fascinating woman - one of China’s only female rulers - feels thin, hampered by stodgy prose that does little to explain Tzu Hsi’s motivation.
As the mother of the emperor, Tzu Hsi assumes the throne until her son, Tung Chih, reaches maturity. She watches with despair as her son squanders away his life, frequenting brothels instead of fulfilling his court duties, telling her “the business of running the nation makes [him] sick, period.” When Tung Chih dies of a venereal disease at the age of nineteen, Tzu Hsi chooses her young nephew, Guang-hsu, as his successor, adopting him as her son.
The hairpin twists and turns of political machination form the core of this sedate novel, as the Dowager Empress struggles to consolidate power and determine the loyalty of her ministers. Unfortunately, even the most ardent fan of late Qing dynasty imperial history may have trouble following the complex plot. Tzu Hsi must navigate a court filled with intrigue, where bribes are freely exchanged and servants spy on her every move. When Tzu Hsi’s favorite eunuch, An-te-hai, mysteriously dies, she finds herself without a confidante; her “heart was shattered, and the pieces were pickled in sadness.”
Her lonely existence is further magnified by a lack of romance - Tzu Hsi pines for the courtesan Yung-Lu, but duty prevents her from satisfying her desire. “We are ladies of masks,” she tells her daughter-in-law, Lan. “Cloaking ourselves in divine glory and sacrifice is our destiny.”
Tzu Hsi’s adopted son, the feeble Guang Hsu, falls under the spell of the wily political reformer Kang Yu-wei, furthering her resolve to retain power. She navigates the growing conflict with Japan, Russia, France, England and Germany and, after an assassination attempt on her life, sentences Kang Yu-wei to death (though to her chagrin, he escapes to Japan). Min presents Tzu Hsi as a weary leader who longs to retire, but whose sense of responsibility - and fear of a crumbling China - keep her on the throne. The author strives to explain Tzu Hsi’s many follies - even the Summer Palace’s extravagant marble boat, which the empress famously diverted military funds to build, is dismissed as an unfair attack. “To justify further foreign encroachments in China,” says Tzu Hsi, “I had to be made into a monster.” Unfortunately, Min’s portrayal of Tzu Hsi is too one-dimensional to be convincing, the empress’s voice too moralistic to engage the reader. Intriguing glimpses into court life suggest Min’s talent as a novelist, but this book reads more like a volume of history than a work of fiction, the fascinating political intrigue rendered dry.
Plagued throughout his life by illness, the young emperor Guang Hsu finally succumbs to death, leaving the aging Tzu Hsi to choose a new ruler of China. She once again sacrifices her own desires to rise from her deathbed and proclaim the infant Puyi as emperor, before dying.
With the throne weakened by the Boxer Rebellion, Puyi’s reign lasted only three years before China quickly disintegrated into a “dark time of warlords and lawlessness.” Though reviled as a “corrupt, besotted, reptilian female dictator,” Min suggests that it was Tzu Hsi’s strength and determination, her self-sacrifice, that held the country together. Perhaps, yet one can’t help but feel that this kinder, gentler Tzu Hsi makes for rather lackluster reading. Selflessness may be virtuous but evil and intrigue sell books.