By Eric Abrahamsen, January 21, '08
Literary critic Xie Youshun has posted some recommendations of books published in the last year. I persist in liking Xie Youshun, though it’s true that he knows who he works for (the Writers’ Association, and by extension the government), and from time to time this is regrettably apparent in his writing. But still, he’s got taste, and his recommendations should be taken seriously. I was pleased to see Sheng Keyi in the number-one spot; I haven’t read this particular book, but I’ve been proselytizing her nonetheless. Here’s what he has to say:
1. 道德颂 [Dàodé Sòng, literally Ode to Morality, as distasteful as that sounds], (novel), by Sheng Keyi, published January, 2007, by the Shanghai Art and Literature Publishing House.
This is a powerful work of fiction. That a traditional story of an extra-marital affair should be so shocking, even moving, and penetrate so deeply into the inner thoughts of men, is a feat rare for writers of Sheng’s generation. Where others have drawn to halt (the subject itself is by no means fresh), Sheng Keyi has the narrative powers to go deeper, and this is her genius as a writer. This genius is also apparent in her use of precise, cutting, muscular language to lay bare the subtle changes of a person’s heart. Moving outwards from the selfish individual, Sheng begins in earnest to address the complexities of human nature which lay behind the war of the sexes. Not only has she written of how the sexualized self begins to disintegrate in this immoral age, she also reveals the pity and kindness which still survive in the depths of the heart. Calmly, incisively, Sheng Keyi has written of the complicated entanglement of lust and morality in modern life.
The other books on the list are: Mai Jia’s novel 风声 (fēng shēng), a lecture series on the arts and culture edited by Lu Ting and Xu Hong called 人文通识讲演录 (rénwén tōngshí jiǎngyǎnlù), a collection of poetry by Deng Xiaojing called 黄麻岭 (huáng má lǐng), Wu Erfen’s novel Sisters (jǐemèi) and Jia Pingwa’s new novel Happy (gāoxìng).
By Eric Abrahamsen, January 21, '08
Lü Zheng studied publishing for his undergraduate major, but now works for a children's animation studio. He is a fan of edgier, more experimental fiction.
"I started going online around 1999. Early on I wrote a single short story for Rongshuxia, about a trip I took with some high school classmates, and it was accepted by the editors there. I also wrote some poems once in high school, they were terrible and I never did anything with them. After graduation I found a big envelope, wrote 'Do Not Throw Away' on it, and put them all in there.
"I read a lot of fiction on the internet back then, my favorite writer was A-Cheng, a lot of his stuff you could only find on the internet.
"After I got to college I couldn't really spend much time online – they restricted our internet time on campus, and I would have had to go out to the internet bars. I mostly read fiction in the libraries or bought magazines. Now I use the internet as a sort of literary testing ground – I'll read bits and pieces of various books, but I always buy paper copies of the ones I like. The fiction I read is all in books and magazines. I would never read anything on a cellphone.
By Eric Abrahamsen, January 21, '08
Ding Jieru was a Chinese literature major, and is now a graduate student in Chinese literature at Beijing Normal University.
"I started going online in 1999, first to play games and chat, but then someone told me about Rongshuxia. From 2000 I started writing there, a bunch of 'youth literature' type fiction, and I made some friends that way. I was very pleased with myself, and have saved a bunch of the longer comments left by readers.
"There wasn't much of a commercial element to Rongshuxia then, though it was something of a cultural phenomenon. Right at that time was the first New Concept Writing Competition (新概念作文大赛) for high-school students. It was the first time that students were actively encouraged to write creatively, something other than what a teacher had assigned. That competition was held jointly by Rongshuxia and a magazine called Sprout (萌芽).
By Eric Abrahamsen, January 18, '08
Wang Danhua is a freelance translator and writer in her late twenties. She has worked at local media outlets, and briefly at a medium-sized publishing house, and often writes articles on publishing and literature for local media outlets. We talked January 14.
“I started going online my sophomore year, in 1999, right when the internet was getting popular. It was mostly just Rongshuxia (榕树下) then, everyone was posting there. It wasn’t a complete free-for-all, there were moderators, and some competition. Of maybe 20 or 30 articles I sent them, mostly essays but some fiction, I think they rejected a few.
“I also spent a lot of time on Xici Hutong (西祠胡同), more for literary news and information than actually reading fiction or writing.
“Later on, some newspaper and magazine editors contacted me about reprinting my articles. I don’t know if they did or not – I wasn’t thinking much about those things then. I said ‘go ahead’, and never asked them to tell me when the articles came or, or to pay me for them.
By Eric Abrahamsen, January 18, '08
Part one of a two-part overview piece on the current state of Chinese literature has gone up at the Guardian's website. It's a good piece, as introductory articles go (I'm not just saying that because I'm quoted in it).
By Eric Abrahamsen, January 16, '08
The first internet literature piece is an interview with Shen Haobo (Shěn Hàobō, 沈浩波), who has dual identities as an avant-garde poet and the head of a publishing company. Most of his poetry can be found online via the venerable Shijianghu website, and his company is Xiron (dǎtiě wénhuà, 打铁文化), which specializes in publishing internet literature. The following is based on a conversation that took place November 12.
The Secret Life of Publisher Shen
Shen Haobo has been working in the publishing industry since graduating from college, though he did not start his own company until 2001. Xiron is one of the businesses that operate in the wide gray band at the edge of the formal publishing industry, by buying publishing numbers (kānhào, 刊号) from publishing houses and putting out their own books. Xiron came to prominence by publishing (zhūxiān, 诛仙), a martial arts fantasy which first appeared online, and has since put out several other major hits, including That Ming Dynasty Stuff (míngcháo nàxiē shì’r, 明朝那些事儿) and the first version of Chun Shu’s Beijing Doll. Xiron publishes upwards of 200 books a year, over 70% of which started out life on the internet.
By Eric Abrahamsen, January 16, '08
The Arts Council England has asked me to do some poking around into the state of internet literature in China, and graciously allowed me to concurrently post the results here. Expect more posts on this topic over the next week or so.
First a simple introduction to online literature in China, which will apply to this whole series. Though the internet has played a role in China’s literary scene since the mid-90s, it didn’t come of age as a phenomenon until 2003 or so, when the massive literary sites began to gain momentum. The largest of these sites now host thousands of works of original fiction, posted there by regular users around the country. The line between writers and readers has blurred as users read and critique each others’ writing, and the works with the highest ‘click counts’ climb the charts. Paper-and-ink publishers have taken notice, and many cherry-pick the most popular works from the top of the charts for publication as regular books. The vast majority of online writing is genre-based: romance, sword-and-sorcery, urban noir, etc, and the more high-brow stuff is very rare. The commercial model of these sites is still up in the air, as well. Some charge readers for access to the most popular works, others make money serializing literature to cellphone readers, and many charge agent fees to publishers who cherry-pick their writers. As the sites mature, larger media groups are starting to consider investing or purchasing, though this is still a new trend.
Something to read first: a Danwei translation of an interview with some internet publishers.
By Eric Abrahamsen, January 13, '08
That’s what you get for an extended vacation: all the fun goes on while you’re gone. I more or less missed a Book Fair (北京图书订货会), being asleep for most of it. The panel discussion by American booksellers sounded particularly interesting. All I’ve been able to find is this series of posts and blog entries by participant Karl Pohrt (of the Shaman Drum Bookshop); while it’s interesting to read his perspective on independent bookselling, I wish there’d been more about what went on in China.
[Edit: I spoke too soon, more posts from Pohrt are going up, take a look.]
The January-Feburary issue of World Literature Today appears to feature a story called ‘Old Stories and New Voices in Beijing’; it’s locked in the land of paper, but if anyone knows what that’s about, please drop us a line.
This highly amusing article about guerilla translation groups in China sports the excellent opener: “The Chinese are by far the best in the world at being numerous.” So true.
I may be late to this party, but I’ve just discovered the elvita威 events listing site for Beijing, and am in hog’s heaven. You always knew there was this much going on in Beijing, you just didn’t know how to get invited to the party. Special recommendation: the Google calendar for literary talks and cultural seminars in Beijing. Oh yes.
It was a long day out but we’re back in the saddle. Expect things.
By Eric Abrahamsen, December 11, '07
The first of Yu Hua's new book, Cries in the Drizzle. I haven't read the original, but this is one of Yu Hua's earlier books, and it sounds as if it might not be his strongest.
The other is of Wang in Love and Bondage, published on the MCLC website. The review is first of all an excellent background on Wang Xiaobo, which is nice, though it's very positive about a translation I just can't understand anyone liking. I hope this book marks the last of the Chinese/foreign translation team efforts – it's just not the right way to go. Still, the review is quite worth reading.
By Eric Abrahamsen, December 10, '07
One of the great mysteries of Chinese to English translation. Mark today on the calendar.
By Eric Abrahamsen, December 8, '07
It appears that John Updike has been officially nominated to tackle Chinese literature for The New Yorker. First there was a dual review of Su Tong's My Life as Emperor and Mo Yan's Big Breasts and Wide Hips in 2005, now an examination of Ha Jin's latest novel, A Free Life. We couldn't ask for a better reviewer (though I suppose we could ask for someone more familiar with Chinese literature).
Apart from Updike's general judgment of the book (neither as focused nor compelling as his other works) a good portion of the review is dedicated to language. Ha Jin is compared to Nabokov and Conrad as a writer who came late to English and achieved, if not mastery of it, at least fluency, and although a charitable reader might prefer to overlook language in favor of the story, Updike doesn't. There's a good reason for that – the book is about immigrants, and in particular the immigrant's struggle to learn the language, but judging from Updike's examples, Ha Jin's own English is slipping as well. Nan Wu, the protagonist, is tripped up by verb modifiers and prepositions (how many Chinese students of English have I heard bitterly cursing prepositions!), while Ha Jin himself is tripped up by awkward usages, inflated metaphors, and turns of phrase that sound to Updike as though they were translations from the Mandarin. I was curious about this last – the example given is "If his wife had been of two hearts with him, this family would have fallen apart long ago", but I can't tell whether this might really have been born as a Chinese phrase in Ha Jin's head.
By Eric Abrahamsen, November 21, '07
I'm reading a book by 张翎 (Zhang Ling), a Chinese writer living in Canada, called Mail Order Bride, and have found two good terms so far. One is 思凡 (sīfán), meaning the longing that an immortal, monk or nun feels for the mortal world, and for the company of the opposite sex. The other is 信达雅 (xìndáyă), which represent the three proper principles of translation as laid out by 严复 (Yán Fù), a famous Chinese translator of the late Qing dynasty. 信 indicates 'fidelity', 达 'fluency', and 雅 'grace'. I was pleased to find this.
By Eric Abrahamsen, November 20, '07
- Paste Magazine carries a review of Ha Jin’s newest novel, A Free Life. It seems he’s turned from writing about China from an expat’s vantage point, to writing about America as an immigrant. But 672 pages…?
- Here’s an interesting twist on the journalist’s obligatory China Book: Beijing Confidential is an account written by the Globe and Mail’s former China correspondent, Jan Wong. Wong is Chinese, an alumnus of Peking University, and during the worst of the Cultural Revolution denounced a fellow student, thereby more or less ruining her life. The book is the account of her visit to China in 2003 to find that student, and make some sort of amends.
- Recently I discovered that Chinese ATMs’ habit of asking you, after you’ve finished your business, if you’d like to ‘Print Advice?’ is not the humorous solecism of someone’s electronic dictionary, but rather something we can blame on the British. It seems that there really are ATMs somewhere in England which presume to pronounce upon your personal life, when all you wanted was a record of your transaction. It doesn’t make any sense to them, either.
- A series of recent articles have gotten me all excited about the future of Chinese literature in Western markets. First was this IHT piece, which begins with Xu Xi and goes on to mention a few of the signposts of growing interest in Chinese writing: HarperCollins’ presence here, Penguin’s acquisition of Wolf Totem, and some quotes from Marysia Juszczakiewicz of Creative Work. Then there was this in the Guardian, berating the British for not reading enough translated fiction. Good! Lastly was Nury Vittachi cheerleading for the Man Asian Literary Prize, though since he’s partially responsible for the establishment of the prize, maybe that’s less a sign of the times.
So everything indicates a literary scene that’s trying hard to go global. The publishers are here, and while they’re mostly still huffing and puffing at the water’s edge, they’ll all eventually work up the courage to jump in. But what about readers? The Guardian article is not, when it comes down to it, terribly optimistic about the odds of foreign literature in the UK, and the US is no better. Publishers getting up the gumption to drop cash on a book doesn’t guarantee a readership, especially when no equivalent sum is spent on marketing. Most tellingly, I saw very little discussion of the Man Asian Literary Prize in mainstream western media, or in the literary websites that link together readers, publishers and the media. Sure, it’s a chicken and the egg problem; sure, it’s an evolutionary process, but I’m wondering if that process won’t be a little slower than I’ve been blithely assuming.
- Can someone confirm that, when typing Mongolian or Tibetan into a computer, you first type in Chinese-looking text like so, and then run it through some processor so that it actually comes out in a Mongolian or Tibetan font? This is most curious.
By Eric Abrahamsen, November 16, '07
In September of 2006 the South China Morning Post ran a profile I wrote of Jiang Rong, the author of Wolf Totem. Given Wolf Totem's recent win (and the fact that the profile is getting quoted in recent news stories) I wanted to reprint that article here.
Wolf at the Door
HOW DOES A book about Mongolian wolves - a book weighted down with complex historical theories, written by an unknown university researcher with a history of trouble with the government - sell a million copies in China? The mainland's best-seller lists are crammed with business manuals and martial arts fantasies. Why is the reading public devouring an old man's recollections of the Cultural Revolution, and his muted call for reform of China's political system?
Wolf Totem - part memoir, part socio-historical treatise - is one of the most popular books in recent memory. Since its publication in April 2004, it's sold more than one million copies legally, and perhaps six times that number in pirated editions. It's spawned a children's version called Little Wolf, Little Wolf, a film adaptation is to be produced by the Forbidden City Film Company, and an English translation is due next year, Penguin having paid a record fee for the rights.
For all Wolf Totem's popularity, next to nothing is known about its author. Jiang Rong is the pseudonym of an economics researcher at a Beijing university, a man who doesn't show up to his own press conferences, who's kept his identities so separate that his university colleagues had no idea he'd written a book.
His anonymity is not entirely voluntary - in conversation Jiang hints at past political troubles that resulted in his being barred from teaching, and from much of public life, for the past two decades. But surely that would also exclude him from publishing books? "At the time they didn't know it was me," says Jiang, a 59-year-old man with piercing eyes and a sly grin. Did that cause him problems once they found out? "Yes", is his only answer.
By Eric Abrahamsen, November 12, '07
Apparently I'm the last to know (I've been asleep all day), but Jiang Rong has taken the Man Asian Literary Prize. Huzzah!