From expansion to decline
According to the Persian historian Rashid al-Din, born in the middle of the 13th century, written Mongolian literature dates back at least to the 12th century: in his encyclopaedic universal history(Jami al-tawarikh), he refers to a work that has unfortunately disappeared, theAltan Devter. However, there is no doubt that oral tradition has kept track of a much older epic that stretches from Tibet to Mongolia. This tale, several million verses long - which has earned it the title of the world's longest work, and the merit of being listed by Unesco as part of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity since 2009 - is still told today, on special occasions and sometimes to music, as is the case in Mongolia, where the singers are accompanied by violinists. And it's not impossible that it continues to inspire and expand. The story focuses on the fate of a Central Asian king, Gesar (Kesar in Tibetan, Geser in Mongolian), who possesses supernatural powers but is nonetheless human. The trials he faces and the values he embraces - courage to be himself and respect for others - will lead him to Buddhahood, with the story taking on a religious dimension in some versions. Given its scope, it's difficult to grasp this legendary cycle in its entirety. It should be pointed out, however, that some people link it to a character who actually existed in the 11th century in the principality of Ling, in Kham, Tibet, and that this supreme text has sometimes been co-opted for political ends. Douglas J. Penick's adaptation - translated from the American by Editions Points under the title Gesar de Ling: l'épopée du guerrier de Shambala (Gesar of Ling: the epic of the warrior of Shambala ) - at least gives us an idea of it in French.
The codex, considered to be the country's first book, is entitled L'Histoire secrète des Mongols(Mongolyiin Nuuts Tovtchoo). It depicts the life of an equally mythical figure, albeit perfectly ambivalent, as he is regarded by some as a military genius who united nomadic tribes to found the greatest empire of all time, and by others as a bloodthirsty madman: Genghis Khan. This 13th-century work remains anonymous. It was originally written in the oldest Mongolian alphabet, Uyghur - one of many adaptations of the Arabic alphabet used to write other languages - but survived in Chinese translations, and it wasn't until the 19th century that it became known in the West. Like all seminal texts, this one does not shy away from being legendary without claiming to be perfectly factual; though imperfectly historical, it is nonetheless invaluable. It was in this vein - between folklore, the definition of a national identity and the memory of the past - that several later works were written, including theAtltan tovch, a 17th-century historical chronicle, and theErdeni-yin tobči (17th century), a national chronicle featuring 17th-century legislative texts.
In addition, as early as the 13th century, books from nearby India, Tibet and China were being translated, a phenomenon that was to accelerate, certainly encouraged by the conversion to Buddhism of the sovereign Altan Khan (1502-1582) in 1578. Sacred, poetic, scientific and philosophical texts of foreign origin thus found their place in local culture, with which they sometimes intermingled, at a time when Mongolia was increasingly confronted with outside influences, submerged by rivalries that saw the Oïrat tribes and the Manchus clash, for example. A true novel with many twists and turns, which will come to an end when the yoke of the Qing dynasty is imposed, signaling the end of independence.
The struggle for independence
It wasn't until the second half of the 19th century that movements for independence gained sufficient momentum to finally make it a reality. This new effervescence led to the reinvention of a national literature, initially in oral form and in the form of highly popular tales, some depicting common people humiliating officials of the ruling caste, others using beggar monks (not lamas) as heroes, the allegory concealing the rebellion and encouraging denunciation of the misery suffered by the oppressed. Sandag and Guélegbalsane were two storytellers who made a particular mark on people's memories.
In the written word, literature is embodied in the features of a man whose dual identity - Bao Henshan in Chinese, Vanchinbalyn Injinash in Mongolian - perfectly expresses the divergence of his era. Born in 1837 to a father whose taiji title guaranteed that he was a direct descendant of Genghis Khan, the future writer was also well read and a great collector of Mongolian books, and received an excellent education in both languages, but it was ethnic tensions that indirectly led to his death, as in 1891 the Jindandao revolt - renamed an "incident" by the Chinese despite the tens of thousands of Mongols killed - led him to flee to Liaoning, where he died the following year. Considered to be Mongolia's first novelist, his life's work was clearly focused on social and even political issues, from the critical and patriotic The Blue Chronicle, which evoked the 13th century, to the One-Storey Pavilion, which described the struggles of youth against oppression in southern Mongolia. Although his novels were translated into English and Russian during the 20th century, no French version appears to have ever been published. Among his contemporaries, two names particularly stand out in the poetic (and often satirical) genre: Dulduityn Danzanravjaa (1803-1856), who was also an astrologer and philosopher, and Danzanvanjil (1856-1907), who features in Myagmar Dush's list of Mongolia's 100 most influential personalities.
Between 1911 and 1921, Chinese oppression gave way to the Russian protectorate. The Communist period, which lasted from 1924 to 1990, nevertheless coincided with a certain opening-up to the world, partly because the use of the Russian language gave access to certain classics of international literature, and partly because some Mongolian writers set about translating, following the example of Byambyn Rinchen, who translated works by Gorky, Mayakovsky, Guy de Maupassant and Nazim Hikmet. A renowned linguist - he graduated from the University of Budapest in 1956 - he worked hard to modernize his native language and freeze its idioms, publishing a grammar of Khamnigan in 1969.
On the creative side, a number of writers came to prominence, notably Sodonombaljiryn Buyannemekh, of whom history retains little except that he was born in 1901 and executed in 1937, a victim of the Great Purges. Dashdorjiin Natsagdorj (1906-1937) also had a few run-ins with the law, but nevertheless inherits the reputation of being the father of modern Mongolian literature. The tragic love story he invented became an opera - The Three Sad Hills - still performed to this day, while his poem My Native Land remains a classic of the genre. His two-year younger son, Tsendiin Damdinsüren, also showed his patriotism by writing the lyrics of the National Anthem, which were adopted in 1950 in place of those of The Internationale, which had become the standard at the start of the Soviet era. A few years later, Chadrabalyn Lodoidamba (1917-1970), who had already made a name for himself in 1954 with his tale Malgait chono(The Wolf and the Cap), wrote what is considered his most remarkable work, Tungalag tamir(The Limpid Tamir), a novel with revolutionary overtones, as it tells the story of a worker who, in the 1920s, is unjustly dismissed and then mistreated again by his new boss, until he can no longer bear the repeated humiliations.. This text was adapted for the screen in 1970 by filmmaker Ravjagiin Dorjpalam and became a huge cinematic success. Finally, let's mention the prolific Ryentchinii Tchoinom (1936-1979), who also had his run-ins with the Communist regime, before turning our attention to an author - whom we will have the privilege of discovering in French - who focused above all on the difficulties faced by Mongolians in reconciling the preservation of their traditions with their entry into modernity.
The revival
Galsan Tschinag was born in 1944 and has spent part of his life abroad, notably in Germany, where he has retained the language. The Mongolian steppes where he grew up provided the backdrop for his heroines, from Dojnaa (published by Picquier) to Dombruk (in Le Fin du chant). On a more intimate level, this author can also be discovered in Ciel bleu : une enfance dans le Haut-Altaï (éditions Métaillié), his first story to win him international recognition, and in Chaman, published by the same publisher, which recalls the spiritual heritage of which he is a worthy custodian.
His country has changed a great deal since the year of his birth: in 1990, Mongolia underwent a democratic revolution and became a republic. This had a paradoxical effect on literature: while censorship was no longer the rule, the only national publishing house also disappeared, making books a rare commodity. Nevertheless, by the early 2000s, the situation had finally stabilized, and the sector can now boast several dozen independent publishers who are doing their utmost to overcome the difficulties of book prices and, above all, the fact that Mongolian speakers use different alphabets (Cyrillic or Barsig). Despite all this, reader demand remains strong, whether for historical works in a country whose past has been erased for so long, or for translations of foreign novels, for which they are as keen as ever. This readership encourages local production, with writers not hesitating to self-publish, sometimes with great success, or to take more traditional routes, as did journalist Baatarsuren Shuudertsetseg, who published her first texts in magazines and is now extremely well known. Her novel, inspired by the life of Queen Anu, has been adapted for the stage, then the cinema, and even as a comic strip for young readers. Luvsandorj Ulziitugs, also a journalist, began by writing poetry before devoting herself to the delicate art of short stories, 13 of which have been translated into French in an anthology entitled Aquarium: short stories from Mongolia today. This collection is offered by Editions Borealia, who have also published Coeur de bronze, a collection of 22 short stories by 20th-century Mongolian writers. Proud of its origins and firmly rooted in its time, the literary generation born in the 1970s is proving that it has no qualms about pushing back frontiers.
