The author and artist, Tsai Chih-chung, was already noted as the creator of numerous cartoon "superstars." His comic strips appear in many local newspapers and magazines, including Chinese papers in the United States, Europe, Southeast Asia, and Japan. He has well over a million readers around the world, making him perhaps the best-known local cartoonist.
The Drunken Swordsman, one of Tsai's more popular creations, is a niggardly, arrogant, self-centered character who delights readers by getting himself in trouble thanks to his own stupidity. Another of his characters, the Fat Dragon, is innocent and absent-minded. Unlike the Drunken Swordsman, he often performs great feats by accident. Other creations, such as the Bald Detective and the One-Eyed Thief Marshal, have their own unique traits and enthusiastic admirers.
Tsai, a self-trained cartoonist, quit school at the age of 15. But over the years he has developed an impressive command of Chinese literature, philosophy, and history. He especially enjoys studying the intricacies of Zen, and his recent efforts to present the Chinese classics in comic form—a pioneer undertaking in Chinese literary history—is a result of his extensive reading and reflection.
Tsai was born in a remote village in southern Taiwan, and the appeal of rural life is obvious from the way he speaks of his youth: "During my childhood, the biggest crime I can remember is a theft case. A boy was found stealing fruit in a neighbor's orchard. He was not turned over to the police, but to the head of the village instead. The latter called the boy's father for settlement, and the father agreed to do two things as compensation for his boy's error. First, he had to stand at the intersection of two main roads for a whole day, offering a cigarette to every man passing by. Since the two roads were the only paths in the village, almost everyone had to use them if they wanted to go anywhere. The villagers felt sorry for the father, and were quite embarrassed when they took the cigarettes from his hand. Some simply stayed at home and left what they had to do outdoors to the next day."
The second act of compensation, Tsai adds, was in the form of a much more severe punishment. Villagers always held birthday parties, weddings, funerals, and other special celebrations outdoors, and the tents enclosing the area were provided by the head of the village. The father had to provide part of one of the large tents and write his son's name and crime on it. Thus, each time the tent was used, the villagers were reminded of the boy's misbehavior—and of the father's failure to raise his son properly.
Tsai's father, one of the few intellectuals in the village, was noted for his excellent calligraphy. He worked both as a secretary at the village administration office and as a farmer after office hours. Unlike most Chinese fathers, he did not ask his children to follow his career path. Instead he gave them complete freedom to manage their own lives.
From his primary school years, Tsai was eager to succeed in his studies. He often worked late into the night in order to attain his goal of exceeding the abilities of his classmates. Like other boys his age, he was crazy about comic books: "By every Thursday, a couple of friends and I would have already used all our weekly allowance to buy newly published comic books, which we would take turns reading. Eventually, I started scribbling all sorts of comic figures in the blank spaces and on the edges until there wasn't any room left."
Tsai was the only graduate from his primary school to pass the entrance exam to the locally famous Changhua Junior High School. During his freshman year, the school was undergoing reconstruction. Due to an insufficient number of classrooms, freshmen attended class only half a day. As a result, Tsai did not have to study as hard as before, so he paid more attention to comics. He carefully studied their forms in various newspapers and magazines, and tried to make his creations match their style. Eventually, he tried submitting his work to publishers. After two years, a publisher in Taipei invited him to come to work for him. Although Tsai would have finished junior high school in less than a year, he decided to grasp the opportunity to turn his hobby into a profession.
During the evenings, Tsai's father always sat on a rattan chair reading his newspapers. That evening, after reaching his decision to quit school, Tsai stood behind the chair, and said, "Papa, I am going to Taipei."
Still reading, his father asked, "Do you have a job there?"
"Yes," replied the young artist. Continuing to gaze at the newspaper, his father said, "All right, go."
During the entire brief conversation, Tsai did not go around the chair to face his father, nor did his father turn to look at him. Tsai says he has always been grateful for his father's tacit understanding: "From my frequent scribbling at home, I guess my father knew what I was going to do in Taipei, and he did not dissuade me.
"Over all the years he has always been considerate. As you know, Lunar New Year's Eve is a very important occasion for all members of the family to gather around the dinner table. It is all the more so to villagers in our hometown. Those unable to return before Lunar New Year's Eve without sufficient reasons are almost considered criminals.
There were times when I returned several days, even one month, after New Year's Day because I had been busy with work. My father understood. I didn't even have to apologize for this. I would have never accomplished much without my father's understanding."
When Tsai was honored as one of the ten outstanding young men of 1985 by the ROC Jaycees, he gave a short, yet emotional, acceptance speech: "I want to show gratitude to my father. I want to thank him for not forcing me to continue schooling, to attend extension school, or to take computer courses. I want to also thank him for not asking me to fulfill what he had failed to do during his life time .... Thank you, Papa."
In 1963, at age 15, Tsai traveled to Taipei, alone, with NT$200 in his pocket (NT$1 was then equivalent to US$0.25). The small publishing company that had hired him promised free lodging and a monthly salary of NT$300. But in recognition of his talent and hard work, Tsai's new employer gave him NT$600 as his first month's pay. Three months later, Tsai moved on to a new job with the largest comic book publishing firm in Taiwan, the Wen Chang Publishing Company, at a starting monthly salary of NT$3,000, which far exceeded his father's salary as a village administrative secretary.
Tsai explains, "I did not enter Wen Chang for high pay. I have never done things in my life for money. I went there because of the attractive working environment. There were 80-plus young cartoonists between 15 and 18 years old all working together. We shared many happy times. After office hours, we organized various sports teams, and our basketball team even won a championship. We're all middle-aged now, and working in different fields. Only two of us still work as cartoonists."
During his four years at Wen Chang Publishing, Tsai turned out more than 400 comic books. And his monthly salary plus remuneration rose to NT$10,000. Yet, he was not satisfied. His stories were copied from popular adventure novels with many violent scenes and were regarded as "useless" or even "harmful" by the general public. What really hurt were letters from former classmates, saying, "I can never figure out why such an outstanding student would quit school merely to create those kinds of books."
The artist and self—taught scholar at work.
At about this time, Tsai was summoned for the ROC's three-year compulsory military service, and was assigned to the Air Force. He reported for duty bearing a bundle of his drawings and requested an assignment where he could use his artistic talent. He got it-drawing charts for the logistic services department. The comparatively easy job left him plenty of free time to carry out his personal plan: to undertake an in-depth study of the history of Chinese and Western art.
Tsai began with ancient China and slowly worked his way up to the Ching Dynasty. He then moved on to Western art, going from the pre-Renaissance painters to the Impressionists. He carefully studied the life and artistic style of each important artist, making detailed notes in the process. While studying many of the artists, he painstakingly imitated their works stroke by stroke, trying to capture the spirit of their art. Tsai now says confidently, "Show me a painting, and I will tell you who the artist is by its style."
After he completed his military service, Tsai worked as an art designer for a construction company. But the job held no interest, and the monthly salary of only NT$3,000 was a sharp drop from what he had been receiving before at the Wen Chang Publishing Company. Nevertheless, he was resolved not to draw any more violent adventure comic books.
Within months, Tsai came across a notice offering an art designer position at the Kuangchi Program Service (see FCR, April 1987). The large company was established in Taiwan by Catholic priests with the goal of producing high-quality TV programs. Tsai supported this concept, but he was not qualified for the position being advertised. The job called "for a candidate who is a university graduate of relevant departments, and has at least two years of experience in the field."
Tsai refused to be discouraged, however, and took a representative sampling of his works to the president of the company, Fr. Raymond Parent. Admitting that he had not even graduated from junior high school, Tsai asked that Fr. Parent at least look at some of his previous work before rejecting him out of hand. This was done, and Tsai was allowed to compete for the position with 30 others, all university graduates. The result: Tsai got the job.
His work in the Kuangchi Program Service turned out to be both enjoyable and a useful expansion of his previous experience. He started by designing colorful titles for TV programs. But seeing the well-equipped animated cartoon production room in the basement of the office building, he wanted to do more. Since animated cartoons were not being produced in Taiwan in the early 1970s, Tsai asked Fr. Parent to bring back samples of Walt Disney productions from his next trip to the United States.
When the samples were handed to him, Tsai immediately look the cartoons and a projector home and started some additional self-instruction. Tying the projector to the beam above his desk with the lens pointing down, he viewed the films frame by frame, carefully studying every detail, copying line for line those pictures that he considered especially important.
His ability to teach himself new styles remains an enviable strength of his development as a cartoonist. He says, "I am confident of my learning ability. I can always learn as long as I am interested. And I think following masters prevents falling into a repetitious, limited style. It all depends on your own efforts to learn."
After spending three months studying Disney's cartoons, Tsai found he was able to create very good animated cartoons of his own. Word of his talent soon spread, and people began asking for his works. One friend finally persuaded him to leave the Kuangchi Program Service to co-found the Far East Animation Production Company. The decision reaped immediate rewards. Clients from as far away as Hong Kong and Singapore ordered cartoon commercials for their products.
In 1981, a Hong Kong businessman came to ask if Tsai would turn one of his most popular comic strips, Old Master Q, into animated form. At first Tsai was not interested, but his partner was enthusiastic. Tsai finally agreed, and plunged into production with his usual fervor. The results amazed him. When the animated "Old Master Q" was released it attracted thousands of theater-goers. Ticket sales hit a record-breaking NT$73,000,000, and it won a Golden horse Award, the highest honor bestowed to Chinese filmmakers.
Tsai speaks thoughtfully about the incident: "I realized perfectly that my 'Old Master Q' was inferior to Walt Disney's productions in many respects, but mine was almost ten times more popular than his in Taiwan. Why? Because 'Old Master Q' is the story of a contemporary Chinese-people see something in him about themselves, and the familiarity touches their hearts. This was quite enlightening, and it's had a big impact on my later creations."
Even though the animation company was well-respected, and was making good money, Tsai began losing interest. The work was no longer fun. It had become a heavy burden. He says that at times he was so frustrated that he wished he could "jump out the window of a high office building." The company had earned far more than he had ever expected, but there was more to life. Tsai asked himself: "What am I doing all these for? If I need only NT$100 a day to be comfortable, why exhaust myself for NT$3,000? Man comes to this world naked, and will leave naked. So what is my purpose?"
He turned to disciplined methods of finding answers. He studied Zen, and he meditated. Finally, he says, a thought came to him: "What really counts is the process instead of the results. I should live every day well. And what I—not anybody else—think, feel, and want is what mailers." His next step was a change of venue.
Tsai left his company and established the Dragon Cartoon Production Company with some other talented artist friends. But only a few years later, he again moved, this time to turn freelance. Now he is his own master. "I take no orders. I put down what has come into my mind little by little. When people come to ask for my work, I decide what I think should suit them; if they agree with me, I will complete the work for them, if not, they have to look for someone else."
But what if no one is interested in his works; will he think it is wasted time to draw them? "No," he says firmly, "As I said, the process itself is what mailers. I have been rewarded with the enjoyment I gain from working."
Tsai is quite sincere about this. He works more than ten hours a day, and before he turns in each night, he lines up on his bed all the work completed that day. Explaining this habit, Tsai says: "I love to count what I have achieved in a day. I feel delighted when the number goes straight up. Otherwise I would be depressed for wasting a wonderful day, and, or course, I would not sleep well that night."
The classics reclassified—cartoon wisdom.
The stories for Tsai's comics now come primarily from Chinese classic novels, but he humorously weaves in contemporary settings. For example, in his comic version or the ramous Ming Dynasty novel Pilgrims to the West, Monkey, who is the super-hero, takes a space shuttle instead or riding on the clouds to Heaven. Tsai is never short or such wild ideas: "There are many incidents in our daily life which can be good comic subjects. All I do is always try to keep a keen mind and wide-open eyes."
More than this is involved, or course, for Tsai clearly is a lifetime student. His dedication to personal research or the past also contributes greatly to the quality or his creations. He says that he reads every night after work, often railing asleep with the bedside lamp on. And his book collection is wide-ranging: art history, Chinese classics, philosophy, adventure novels, natural science, and tour guides. He loves to travel, saying that "one will learn more by traveling ten thousand miles than by reading ten thousand books." But even when traveling he always takes several books along.
His trips around Southeast Asia and Japan in recent years have also had a practical purpose: to seek potential publishers for his works. His comic strip characters now entertain Chinese newspaper readers in Singapore, Malaysia, and Hong Kong. His trips to Japan have won him more than publishers, for many Japanese artists have become good friends. Although some Japanese publishers had hoped Tsai could draw a strip to their specifications, he turned down the request and the offer or 10 percent in royalties. He wants to be his own boss, and therefore only promised to let his works be translated into Japanese.
A winter trip to Japan in 1984 brought another major change in personal direction. One or the books at his side during the travels was the Chuang Tzu, by the Taoist philosopher Chuang Chou. The words or the master stylist and deep thinker made a deep impression. What Tsai had been thinking and doing since his childhood seemed to match Chuang Chou's spirit almost perfectly. Tsai had a sudden and uncontrollable urge to ex press the ideas in cartoons. He alternately read and drew, and by the time he returned home three months later, he had completed the draft or a new sort or book—something far different from any other Chinese book or the past or present. In his hands was a philosophy text made understandable and even more enjoyable by a cartoon presentation. An enthusiastic friend at the Times Publishing Company saw it, and published it in early July 1986.
In its first month or publication, Nature's Flute Melody attracted little attention. It was viewed by many as just another comic book. But people gradually began looking more deeply into its extraordinary contents, and sales skyrocketed. By August, it had climbed to third on the best-seller list.
The assistant manager or the Kingstone Bookstore, Chung Hsiao Branch, says: "It's interesting that readers or the book come from almost all walks or lire. When the sales were at their highest point, we sold close to a hundred copies a day."
Miss Chang, a college student, says she first heard or the book from friends. "My classmates recommended the book to me. They said it's wonderful, and by reading it we would find Chuang Tzu less difficult to understand, not so profound and unapproachable."
Taken aback at first by the popularity or the book, Tsai was inspired to follow up with similar works. He began examining other important works or classical Chinese philosophers with the goal or presenting their ideas in ways that would interest a wider audience than college philosophy majors. By February or 1987, Whisper of the Wise was on bookstore shelves. On the Taoist philosopher Lao Tzu, the book reached No.3 on the best-seller list in its first month or publication.
To date, Tsai has translated the works or Lieh Yu-kou, Han Fei, and the Confucian Analects into cartoon form. Since the Analects is one or the important books in high-school reading lists, many students urged Tsai to have his cartoon version published as soon as possible. But for the same reason, Tsai is extremely prudent in the textual research. He carefully illustrates the background story or each chapter. Of the various interpretations or some or the saying or Confucius, Tsai looks for as many theories as possible, then carefully settles on what he believes is the correct one.
When asked about the frequent appearance or rather strange looking people in his cartoons, Tsai confesses he likes to draw "ugly people," because "handsome men have no exaggerated expressions." Women seldom appear in his works, because he claims that he "doesn't understand them at all." He adds that he had never spoken to girls in his primary school years.
Yet times have changed, for he now has a lovely six-year-old daughter who has inspired him to do something for children. He often took his daughter to the zoo, and was frequently unable to answer her questions about the animals. Thinking that many parents must have the same awkward experience, he began collecting information and odd facts about animals. He selected the most amusing ones to be illustrated in his comic book creation: the Cartoon Zoo.
When he was in his early teens, Tsai recalls reading a translated comic book on the universe, which made him aware or how minute man actually is. His later study or Zen made him further realize that man's value lies solely in himself, and he says he has been essentially indifferent to worldly values ever since.
But he does have an eye for salesmanship nevertheless. Even the size or his books is different. His comic books are all square, but in different sizes—none, or course, in the regular rectangular shapes used by most publishers. As he gently touches a nearby stack or his books with his slender, delicate fingers, he says: "I like squares. And the shape has a practical function: if my books are unmarketable, they will at least stand apart from others on the shelves."
The comment sparks a laugh, for his books are anything but unmarketable. And beyond the fame and wealth they have brought, they have provided happiness as well. Tsai concludes a conversation with one or Chuang Chou's stories round in Nature's Flute Melody, "A man is so crazy about swordsmanship that he sells all his belongings and follows a master to learn 'Dragon Killing Swordsmanship.' Three years later, when he is skilled at the technique, he is anxious to find a dragon to try his hand. But to his dismay, he travels around the world without ever finding one. I'm also a lover or swordsmanship, but my drawing pen is my sword. But in my case I do not mind if my skill is effective at killing dragons, dogs, or anything. My interest lies solely in the swordsmanship itself."