This book adds richly not only to understanding of the unique form of Daoism in Central Hunan today, but to the entire fashi tradition that rose to prominence in the Song-Yuan. In the hills of China's central Hunan province, an anxious young apprentice officiates over a Daoist ritual known as the Banner Rite to Summon Sire Yin. Before a crowd of masters, relatives, and villagers-and the entire pantheon of gods and deceased masters ritually invited to witness the event-he seeks to summon Celestial Lord Yin Jiao, the ferocious deity who supplies the exorcistic power to protect and heal bodies and spaces from illness and misfortune. If the apprentice cannot bring forth the deity, the rite is considered a failure and the ordination suspended: His entire professional career hangs in the balance before it even begins. This richly textured study asks how the Banner Rite works or fails to work in its own terms. How do the cosmological, theological, and anthropological assumptions ensconced in the ritual itself account for its own efficacy or inefficacy? Weaving together ethnography, textual analysis, photography, and film, David J. Mozina invites readers into the religious world of ritual masters in today's south China. He shows that the efficacy of rituals like the Banner Rite is driven by the ability of a ritual master to form an intimate relationship with exorcistic deities like Yin Jiao, which is far from guaranteed. Mozina reveals the ways in which such ritual claims are rooted in the great liturgical movements of the Song and Yuan dynasties (960-1368) and how they are performed these days amid the social and economic pressures of rural life in the post-Mao era. Written for students and scholars of Daoism and Chinese religion, Knotting the Banner will also appeal to anthropologists and comparative religionists, especially those working on ritual.

David Romtvedt's No Way: An American ""Tao Te Ching"" explores the art of living in the fast-paced, dangerous, unpredictable contemporary world. Lucid and wise in the spirit of its ancient Chinese predecessor, No Way functions as a kind of offbeat-yet-deadly-serious manual on the conduct of life. This slightly tongue-in-cheek take on the Tao's advice acknowledges that nobody likes being told how to live, least of all the author himself. With an openness to complexity and mystery, in tones that range from cool to passionate, No Way brings the Tao into the social turmoil of a twenty-first-century United States beset by political strife, mass shootings, and financial greed. Romtvedt combats cynicism and malaise with wry verse that positions itself in the role of the trickster. The voice of these poems can be serious and contradictory yet also humorous and welcoming. By suggesting that the days of the ancient Tao are gone for good, No Way offers readers an invitation to guide themselves forward, free of sages and rulers.