Anna Sherman’s travelogue, in which she traverses parts of the Silk Road while retracing Xuanzang’s pilgrimage from Chang’an to India, has become a major talking point on Twitter since it was published May 11.
The essay, with stunning photographs of desert sites in Gansu and Xinjiang, cites a host of Chinese poets such as Du Fu, Bai Juyi, Wang Wei and Yu Xin, as well as fiction writers Tung Yueh (The Tower of Myriad Mirrors), Pu Songling (Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio), and the Buddhist pilgrim Xuanzang (The Great Tang Dynasty Record of the Western Regions). Indeed, her piece is entitled A Poetic Journey through Western China.
A major point of controversy: Where are the Uyghurs of today, or yesteryear for that matter? In fact, they were patrons of the famous Dunhuang Grottoes whose murals often feature Uyghur culture and personages, for they were Buddhists (and practioners of Zoroastrianism and Manicheanism) before they converted to Sufi-inspired Sunni Islam.
The word “Uighur” occurs just 8 times in the 5,800-word piece, and they are described as a “minority ethnic group.” The only major reference to them is this: (Today, Xinjiang is the site of hundreds of mass internment camps, where more than a million individuals from China’s Uighur and other Indigenous ethnic groups are being held indefinitely without trial by the government.)
With the exception of Li Bai, Sherman’s main literary reference points appear to be Han writers who have been frequently (and somewhat famously) translated into English. Is this narrative simply the result of her preferences? Due to a lack of translations from other languages along the Silk Road? Or?
To everyone's surprise and delight, we got a total of 124 participants from around the world, each giving us their rendering of an essay by Deng Anqing.
We scrambled into technical competence, setting up four Zoom meetings in three different time zones, and leading translation workshops with the goal of producing a readable consensus text. We're still in the process of editing that particular Frankenstein – look for it to be published next Thursday, May 21st – but in the meantime we made a (very) short video about the process, also on Zoom, natch. Enjoy!
When The Da Vinci Code author’s next novel needed simultaneous translations in 2013, what happened next was extraordinary enough to inspire a film of its own . . .
. . . as far as Chinese literature is concerned, while we have too much “experience that is not human experience”—too abnormal to be understood as experience commonly shared by human society—we cannot write a “Chinese novel” that is worthy of this “Chinese experience.” Our fiction is just too “nineteenth century,” and is too much like a novel. I certainly cannot do it myself, but I am very eager for Chinese writers, especially young writers, to write novels of an alien Chinese experience — a novel that is not a novel, and one that will add a little fresh blood to the history of Chinese and even world literature.
This essay by Italy's Marco Fumian does a great job of giving a wider context to Fang Fang's diary, and unpacking the elements of the recent smear campaign against her:
In an article published online a few weeks ago, Yan Lianke 阎连科 lamented that Chinese literature, in the face of the raging epidemic and given its incapacity to bring material comfort to those in need, has already become powerless and marginal. What he really meant, was precisely the opposite: in these tragic events, literature can definitely play a certain role, if only Chinese writers decided to finally speak out, “to write about those who are afflicted or alienated” or bear witness to the “absurdity” of the ongoing historical circumstance. But Chinese writers, bounded as they are by the “choices of political correctness,” “fragile and weak like penguins at the South Pole,” and comfortable, after all, in their warm “padded jackets,” are, according to Yan Lianke, mostly turning a deaf ear, and in some cases are even taking part in the ritual of collective celebration singing their “hymns of praise” and “applauding” their own very impotence.
When he was writing these words, however, Yan Lianke was also well aware of the existence of a few contrary cases—in particular, that of a Chinese writer who, in the midst of the prevailing conformity, raised her voice loud and clear, showing that Chinese writers also can, upon the advent of a national calamity, prove to be of some relevance, and that even Chinese literature, if only it tried to, could exert a certain power. Obviously, we are referring here to Fang Fang 方方, the sixty-five year-old author from Wuhan who beginning January 25 of this year documented the state of Wuhan’s quarantine every day for two months, “giving voice with her pen,” as Yan Lianke had said, to her “memory and experience” and to those of the citizens of Wuhan in the days of their long and painful reclusion.
New book, by Paul Bevan, in Brill's China Studies series (vol. 41)
"In Intoxicating Shanghai Paul Bevan explores the work of a number of Chinese modernist figures in the fields of literature and the visual arts, with an emphasis on the literary group the New-sensationists and its equivalents in the Shanghai art world, examining the work of these figures as it appeared in pictorial magazines. It undertakes a detailed examination into the significance of the pictorial magazine as a medium for the dissemination of literature and art during the 1930s. The research locates the work of these artists and writers within the context of wider literary and art production in Shanghai, focusing on art, literature, cinema, music, and dancehall culture, with a specific emphasis on 1934 – ‘The Year of the Magazine’.""https://brill.com/view/title/54636
What better way to spend lockdown than having a shot at literary translation? You know you always wanted to try it, so why not have a go now? Paper Republic and The Leeds Centre for New Chinese Writing have partnered up to offer an essay by Deng Anqing as a piece for first-time translators. Deadline 30th April 2020, and details here: https://writingchinese.leeds.ac.uk/give-it-a-go-translation/
A number of emigrée authors are consciously choosing to write in a foreign language, rather than their mother tongue. For instance, among Chinese from the PRC, there are Xiaolu Guo in the UK and Yiyun Li in the US. Some because they believe -- rightly, I'd say -- that this will help shorten overall time-to-market. But others for different reasons.
I found this conversation between two writers, Japan's Yoko Tawada, now living in Germany and writing in German, and Madeleine Thien, daughter of a Chinese couple who moved to Canada, to be interesting from this perspective:
Madeleine Thien: When your narrator makes the leap onto the train, it’s a big leap. Maybe, in some ways, before, women in literature, when they make a big change, it must be a leap. It’s a somersault. The forces are so intense that you have to have so much propulsion to risk another life. Whereas maybe men can sort of blur from one position to another, or there’s more shading from self to self. I have the feeling that women, for a long time, if they wanted to make that jump, it was a deep cut. A break.
Yoko Tawada: Yes, that’s right. Today my friends, my male friends, do not want to go abroad or live in Europe. For a certain time, or if they’re working for a Japanese company, then it’s okay.
I first read Wu He’s novel around 2000 shortly after it was initially published. I was immediately struck by the author’s unique narrative voice, unconventional style, and the world of Taiwan indigenous culture which the book explores. I ended up writing about the novel in my 2008 monograph, A History of Pain: Trauma in Modern Chinese Literature and Film and eventually decided to translate the novel. As a literary translator, I think I was also attracted by the unique set of challenges the novel presented, which were very different than anything I had ever previously encountered.
Aside from being the best depiction of deep-seated family drama I’ve read since Franzen’s The Corrections, I love how Harman’s translation captures some of the distinctive features of Ge’s colloquial Chinese. Shengqiang is foul-mouthed and blunt, his friends equally so, and the descriptions of the town life are vivid and—despite the cultural differences—brought me back to my own small-town childhood.
It was bad enough that author Fang Fang (方方) has regularly posted her popular Wuhan Diary (武汉日记) on China’s social media, offering her personal — and not occasionally, critical — comments on the effects of the deadly epidemic during the lockdown, penned at Ground Zero. Reports The Diplomat (Conscience of Wuhan):
. . . each entry in Fang’s Wuhan Diary has been consistently deleted by Beijing’s censors within an hour or so of it being posted on Fang’s social media page. Yet each post has gone viral before being struck down, being shared by millions of WeChatters within China and abroad.
The Book of Shanghai edited by Dai Congrong & Dr Jin Li (Comma Press, 16 April 2020)
Featuring Wang Anyi, Xiao Bai, Shen Dacheng, Chen Danyan, Cai Jun, Chen Qiufan, Xia Shang, Teng Xiaolan, Fu Yuehui & Wang Zhanhei
Translated by: Lee Anderson, Yu Yan Chen, Jack Hargreaves, Paul Harris, Frances Nichol, Christopher Macdonald, Carson Ramsdell, Josh Stenberg, Katherine Tse, and Helen Wang
In the past, when writing about the realities in China, it was hard to find a milestone-type of event that has significance as a topic for writing. Sometimes you think there is a key event, but its significance disappears very quickly because, no matter what happens, there’s always the opposite argument and explanation. Things that you think matter often don’t matter to others. Even with big topics like the Cultural Revolution, some think it’s good, some think it’s bad, and others think it’s best not to discuss it. So it has been hard to find a starting point.
But the virus has already had a deeper impact on the people than even the [2008] Sichuan earthquake [that killed 69,000]. The virus causes isolation and shutdown, which mirrors the isolation and shutdown in Chinese society, and also because it was directly the result of controlling speech and clamping down on “rumors.” Everyone is isolated, even though it’s not necessary. This is symbolic. During normal times, people aren’t free but they don’t feel it, but now everyone feels their unfreedom.
Thomas Bird profiles one of the most prolific Chinese-to-English literary translators around, Nicky Harman:
I stopped teaching in 2011 to focus on translation and have been very busy ever since. I love the fact that I work with living authors and have had the luck to translate a range of works – Jia Pingwa’s long novels about the countryside, Dorothy Tse Hiu-hung’s short fiction about a distinctly surreal Hong Kong, Chen Xiwo’s dark stories that offer excoriating insights on human nature, and Yan Ge’s and Huang Beijia’s novels about growing up and behaving badly, to name a few.
Their investigation takes us from creepy commuter-train-gropers to the dark reaches of the internet, where evil festers in many forms — online bullies and sexual predators as well as shady tech businesses, fake websites and chat rooms, even voices in people’s heads. If you’re not nervous reading “Second Sister” on the subway, you will be when you venture online.
Bertrand Mialaret reviews Chi Zijian's newly published Neige et Corbeaux, French edition of Chi Zijian's 白雪黑鸭:
In “White Snow, Black Crows”, Chi Zijian wanted to revive [Harbin's] Fujiadian before and during the [pneumonic] plague epidemic by showing the impact of the disease on daily life and its limitations; “in other words, I wanted to put aside the bleached skeletons and describe life under the cloud of death” (p.360). Yet the number of deaths in Fujiadian exceeded 5,000, or nearly three out of every ten people.
The characters are many and very diverse: a eunuch, Zhai Yisheng, a redeemed prostitute, a Russian singer, Sennikova, a restaurant, a distillery, grain storage areas. The town of Harbin is an important character.
Many aspects remind us of the Covid-19 epidemic that we are experiencing and the attitude of our fellow citizens who lack discipline; perhaps they think like in Harbin, that contagion is inevitable and that one can lead a normal life!
La première fois que j’ai vécu une épidémie de maladie infectieuse à grande échelle, c’était en 2003, au moment de l’épidémie de Sras en Chine. Mon mari venait de mourir peu de temps auparavant dans un accident de voiture ; j’étais plongée dans une douleur si profonde que je n’en voyais pas le fond. L’irruption soudaine de cette épidémie virulente dans mon existence, après la catastrophe que je venais de subir, m’a fait comprendre qu’une maladie de ce genre était aussi effrayante qu’un accident de la circulation : elle apporte tout doucement sans faire de bruit la mort dans son sillage.
The author Fang Fang has been writing some fiery blog posts since being locked down in her home city of Wuhan.
Now, thanks to the brilliant Brigitte Duzan, a couple of these blogs are in French, on Brigitte's website. The original blogs in Chinese (frequently taken down as soon as they went up) have apparently found a more stable home on Caixin.
Hong Kong translator and editor Min Lee, formerly of Chinarrative, has launched a separate newsletter spotlighting reader-generated Chinese non-fiction. Gushi focuses on extended essays on everyday life from the general public published in PRC online platforms. The first few issues feature stories set against the coronavirus outbreak in China. Please take a look. If you like what you read, do subscribe and spread the word.
The weakening of China’s book industry started long before the outbreak. It was like the sickly plant that I had on the windowsill: even as I looked after it daily, watering it, trying to kill the mold, pumping a few drops of nutrients from time to time, it continued yellowing and withering away, silently and mysteriously.
Here are two linked blogposts about ”The Japan-China-Korea Peace Picture Book Project” — a great project “to document the past honestly, share today’s sorrow, and create a peaceful tomorrow together” - 11 books on war translated, published and shared in all three countries - by David Jacobson, Minjie Chen, Reiko Nakaigawa Lee, and Jongsun Wee. Part 1 Part 2
The Flock of Ba-Hui and Other Stories from Camphor Press, a collection of Lovecraftian horror by a pseudonymous author is among the more interesting works to appear recently in translation from Chinese.
Of course, web novels and online writing have made it into translation before. I’m thinking of Shen Haobo 沈浩波, who made a name from poems published online (and who once made a living as a publisher of online lit), and also Murong Xuecun 慕容雪村, whose Leave Me Alone was first posted online—some of that has made it to ink and paper, but most of the translation of web stuff remains online, and it’s mostly in the form of light novels, like Godly Stay-Home Dad神级奶爸 and the nearly 5000 chapter Martial God Asura修罗武神 (it could be 10,000 chapters by now).
I’ve pulled examples from two extremes—work mostly of interest to academics on one side, wildly popular wuxia fantasies on the other—but the stories in The Flock of Ba-Hui probably sit somewhere in the middle: still genre fiction but from a slightly more serious tradition, and written with more attention to the craft. They were culled from the Ring of Wonder, a discussion board for fantasy worlds, games, and literature.
Over at chinese-shortstories.com, Brigitte Duzan has just (March 8) posted a very topical, moving and insightful essay featuring excerpts from 封城日记 (Quarantine Diary), by Wuhan-based author Fang Fang (方方). Duzan's piece shines the light on writers and intellectuals who, despite censorship, are speaking out on the very taboo subject of China under the Coronavirus lock-down. It touches on a cast of writers and intellectuals, as well as literary genres, including Yan Lianke (阎连科), Lu Xün (鲁迅), Xie Bingying (谢冰莹) and her Army Diary (从军日记) of the 1930s, professor Dai Jianye (戴建业), Hu Shuli (胡舒立) and controversial reportage by Caixin magazine that she heads, and more.
Translated from the Tibetan by Françoise Robin, the French rendition of Tsering Dondrup's Tempête rouge -- reportedly the premier modern Tibetan novel and certainly the only one to deal critically with China's invasion of Tibet -- has just been awarded the prestigious Prix Montluc Résistance et Liberté. It thus joins the recently published The Handsome Monk and Other Stories, from the same author, translated into English by Christopher Peacock.
A brief backgrounder on the novel and its author:
Issu d’une communauté de pasteurs nomades, Tsering Dondrup (né en 1961) écrit depuis les années 1980 et a fondé une des premières revues littéraires indépendantes du Tibet. Ses dizaines de nouvelles et ses six romans ont été accueillis depuis avec enthousiasme par le lectorat tibétain, en raison de leur mélange d’humour et de noirceur. Tempête rouge ne fait pas exception : seul et unique roman tibétain décrivant l’invasion chinoise du Tibet, il n’épargne ni les cadres corrompus ni les lamas vénaux. A la sortie du roman, en 2006, Tsering Dondrup a été radié du poste qu’il occupait aux archives de son district et qui lui donnait accès aux informations confidentielles ayant nourri les faits relatés ici. Le roman a été immédiatement interdit par les autorités chinoises et son auteur s’est vu confisquer son passeport.
Paper Republic has moved into a new era. Our mission is to promote Chinese
literature in English translation, focussing on new writing from
contemporary Chinese writers, and we recently registered as a charity in
the UK, registration number 1182259. New
era, new ambitions. We're growing, and we need new people to join our
non-profit management team.
In particular, the wonderful Dave Haysom, who helped us develop the Paper
Republic platform, is having to step back to focus on his job. Right now,
we need someone with an interest in the social media side of things, and
someone with an interest in running projects.
Are you interested in Chinese literature in translation? You don't have to be a translator, though it will help if you've done a bit.
Do you know about (or are you willing to learn about) creating posts or Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, and our website? And can you come up with new ideas? Our marketing and social media profile is key to getting more people reading more Chinese literature in translation.
Are you interested in managing a project? Apart from maintenance of the website, Paper Republic is a project-based organization. Everyone on the management team is responsible for taking the lead on a project at some point.
Are you comfortable with technology? We exist mostly online, and are located around the world. That means that most of what we do is done through internet communications. Everyone does a bit of website data entry, as well!
Are you willing to join management meetings via Slack. These can be at ungodly hours (our other team members are scattered in China, the west coast of America and the UK). Meetings are every two to three weeks for about an hour. Other business gets discussed by email.
Are you willing to volunteer your services? Our management team consists of five volunteers. You would be the sixth or seventh member of our team. The management work is unpaid, although we always aim to pay
translators and editors. It doesn’t matter where you live, so long as your
time zone means you can join our Slack meetings.
What will you get out of it?
You’ll be giving something back, to Chinese literature and the wider
Chinese translation community
You’ll be working on a website that has an international reputation
(the London Book Fair judges in 2016 called us the go-to place for Chinese
translations and translators)
For more than ten years, Paper Republic has shaped people’s views of
Chinese literature in translation all over the word.
You’ll be joining a community of translators, and you’ll learn
professional skills (and we hope we’ll learn from you).
