Xiaoshuo.blog

erwai tushuguan (2)For some time, it has been dawning on me that what I am really interested in is not so much what is written in and about China (as the old name of this blog writingchina would seem to suggest), but rather all sorts of narrative fiction written in the Chinese script(s). (I dare say the intelligent reader will have noticed this long before I did).

Taiwanese nature writing, postcolonial Hong Kong concept lit, Sinophone fantasies from European backwaters, Southeast Asian urban fables, Shanghai quotidian novels, borderless online scribleries in simplified character slang: I want to investigate and celebrate all of it!

IMG_2441The term xiaoshuo 小说 – which today means any kind of narrative fiction writing, from novels (long fiction 长篇小说) to novellas (medium fiction 中篇小说), short stories (short fiction 短篇小说) and flash fiction (tiny fiction 小小说) – has a long and complicated history in Chinese culture. The essentially diminutive term xiaoshuo (literally small talk), used traditionally to refer (somewhat derogatorily) to “minor philosophical discourse or a type of unofficial, inferior history” (Lu: 39), with strong negative connotations of rumour and gossip rather than of pure fabrication and artful creation as in the latin fictio.

Several scholars (see below) have written fascinating accounts of how the xiaoshuo genre (as well as the attitudes toward it) developed from Confucian warnings against its deceitful nature and the notoriety (and popularity) of the strange and supernatural zhiguai tales to the canonised masterpieces of Ming/Qing serial fiction and today’s cyber romances.

So – in an effort to make it simple and do what it says on the tin – welcome to the new cleaned up & ad free (I hope!) version of my blog on fiction in Chinese: xiaoshuo.blog

 

Lu, Sheldon Hsiao-peng (1994): From Historicity to Fictionality – The Chinese Poetics of Narrative.

Zeitlin, Judith (2006): ‘Xiaoshuo’ in Moretti, Franco (ed.): The Novel: History, geography, and culture.

Why are Chinese authors more Chinese than authors?

This Monday I met Chinese author Mai Jia 麦家, who’s novel 》解密《 (Decoded) from 2002 has just been translated into Danish by Susanne Posborg. I was pleasantly surprised that the work of this so-called ‘king of the Chinese spy novel’ (中国谍战小说之父王) is less about secret agents and more about the emotional and intellectual development of its characters. Mai Jia seemed to experience the same kind of gratified surprise when our conversation turned to literary topics – topics which to me it seemed only natural to discuss with a writer. Later I was to understand why.

That same evening, Mai Jia gave a public interview with a Danish journalist at the Royal Library in Copenhagen. This journalist asked only one question about the novel itself, most of which is set during the Cultural Revolution. The question was why Mai Jia did not give a more detailed account of the different forms of political repression and limitations of movement during that era, and not only the ones relating to the plot of his novel. Why, in short, he hadn’t written a different book. The remainder of her questions focused on the challenges she perceived to exist for a Chinese author and about the China she read into the book. Both in terms of historicity and actuality, she had read his work as documentation and not as literature.

mj3
Mai Jia and I in conversation in Copenhagen

I do not think that an interviewer should avoid all sensitive questions or questions pertaining to matters not literary. But I do think that she should at least acknowledge that the author is more an expert on literary issues and his own work than on current and historical Chinese politics. I wonder how many American or European novelist are forced to explain how their art relates to the refugee crisis or if they feel under surveillance from the NSA.

 

This attitude is reminiscent of Fredric Jameson‘s (in)famous allegation in relation to Chinese and African novels, that “All third-world texts […] are to be read as what I will call national allegories,” (Jameson, 1986: 69). Even though China has since entered the realm of capitalism, it seems that some powerful readers are doing their best to continue to read novels from China as nothing more than documentation of a specific ‘Chinese reality’.

I think it is more fruitful to look at literature (especially in translation) as affording a meeting place. Just as translation constructs a bridge between two languages with material from both sides, so is literature, unlike statistics and other documentative formats, something that happens between the author and the reader. It includes as well as frustrates personal and cultural pre-understandings, and that is why we learn from reading.

References:
Jameson, Fredric (1986): ‘Third-World Literature in the Era of Multinational Capitalism’ Social Text, No. 15 (Autumn), pp. 65-88.

Mai Jia (2016): Afkodet. Trans. Susanne Posborg. København: Møllers Forlag.

Mai Jia (2014): Decoded. Trans. Olivia Milburn & Christopher Payne London: Penguin Random House.

In the winter, I write poems for Haizi

With this beautiful poem on winter by the great 20th century poet Haizi 海子, I wish you all the best for the coming year:

在黑夜里为火写诗
在草原上为羊写诗
在北风中为南风写诗
在思念中为你写诗

In the dark of night, I write poems for fire

In the open grass plains, I write poems for sheep

In the heart of the north wind, I write poems for the south wind

In my longing, I write poems for you

första snön! (16)

The poem was written in 1988 and can be found in 》海子诗全集《 (The Complete Poems of Haizi). Beijing: Zuojia chubanshe, 2009, which is a lovely huge blue book, a pride to any book shelf. I took the liberty of translating it myself because it made me happy. A published translation into English by Dan Murph can be found here (from this book). More translations of other Haizi poems into English can be found here, here, and here.

Further reading: ‘Hai Zi – cult figure of modern Chinese poetry’ by Hanna Virtanen; ‘Missing Haizi’ by Xi Chuan 西川, translated by Deliriumliberty.

Blogs on Chinese Literature beta version

IMG_2004I am adding a section with links to other blogs dealing with Chinese fiction to this site.

You can find it in the right sidebar below the tag cloud.  Below are some that I have come across so far, but more will follow.

Suggestions more than welcome!

Ghosts gathering in Shanghai: ACCL Fudan 2015

Tales of snake women, cinematic phantoms and apocalyptic comets filled the small meeting room at one of the top floors of Fudan‘s Guanghua Towers, when I took part in a panel on the role of the Uncanny in Chinese literature and film organized by Charles Laughlin and Zhange Ni at this years ACCL conference in June. Our aim was to discuss how fictional narratives might make use of uncanny elements to push the limits of scientific and enlightenment discourse.

First speaker Jessica Imbach from University of Zurich, talked about ambiguous gender roles in republican era ghost stories from Shanghai writers such as Zhang Kebiao and Xu Xu. Kenny Ng from City U. of Hong Kong showed us beautiful film clips from 1930s Hong Kong ghost movies, Yizhi Xiao from Brown University found supernatural elements in the otherwise rational and scientific comet writings of early 20th century Chinese sci-fi and I presented my analyses of uncanny places as sites of both trauma and self-realization in the works of Can Xue (read abstract).

Other presenters included Ping Zhu on Lu Xun and the ‘Ghost question,’ Shuyu Kong on ghosts in Liu Suola, Heng Chen on Anti-rationalism and Lu Xun’s take on fiction, Liang Luo on the legend of the White Snake, Vivien Wei Yan on Qing detective stories, Mengxing Fu on Wang Tao’s Zhiguai writing, Peng Liu on Buddhism in Lü Bingcheng’s writing and Lei Ying on the transformations of Guanyin in Li Yu’s fiction.

I want to thank the organizers (not least Shengqing Wu and the student assistants!) and participants for a wonderfully inspiring conference.

ACCL Fudan

Can Xue’s Uncanny Places at ACCL Fudan

Currently I am rereading Can Xue’s amazing short stories with a focus on uncanny places: Places where quotidian life has an unnerving backside and insects crawl within the dilapidated walls of home.

The research is for a paper I am going to present at this years conference for The Association of Chinese and Comparative Literature, to be held June 18-20, 2015 at ICSCC Fudan University, Shanghai. I am really looking forward to join the panel ‘Modern Chinese Culture and the Uncanny: “Superstition” as a Critique of Enlightenment’, organised by Charles A. Laughlin and Zhange Ni, and see what eerie and interesting discussions come out of it.

For more information about the conference, please go here (scroll down for English).

Read my full abstract here.

Xi Chuan, Fan Wen and Wang Gang in Copenhagen

This years Copenhagen international literature festival Cph Interlit had a Chinese theme arranged in collaboration with China Writers Association, and thus I was fortunate enough to attend this brief interview with three of China’s foremost writers and poets; Xi Chuan, Fan Wen and Wang Gang. The following is published with their consent.

Xi Chuan 西川 (1963-)

Author of 蚊子志, translated as Notes on the Mosquito by Lucas Klein in 2012.

on STYLE: Earlier I wrote lyrical poems, now I just write texts embodying something not poetic. It’s more like poetic notes. I call it ‘poessay’ (散文诗), because it’s somewhere between poetry and essay.
on CHINESE AND EUROPEAN LITERATURE: I once met Doris Lessing. She asked me about the Cultural Revolution and I in turn asked her about European literature. She said that after 1989 it had become less experimental because of the need to deal with real social problems. I also feel that I can’t follow others, but my work has to relate to reality even if that reality is a disaster.
on TRANSLATION: When I translated the Polish writer Czeslaw Milosz, I didn’t use a dictionary, instead I asked my Polish friends whenever there was something I didn’t understand.
on THE UNIVERSAL POET: Being a poet means you have to make sacrifices. Both in China and Denmark. As the American poet Robert Frost has it: “To take the road less travelled by.”

Fan Wen 范稳 (1962-)

Author of 水乳大地, a trilogy on Catholics in Tibet, translated as Une Terre de Lait et de Miel by Stéphane Lévêgue 2013.

on TIBET and RELIGION
I write about Tibet out of love. For most Chinese people it is a place of dreams, and thus a fitting pursuit for a writer.
When you write about Tibet, you have to write about religion. Buddhism permeates the Tibetan society, so you have to get to know Buddhism in order to understand Tibet.
I had the good fortune that my first visit to Tibet took place during a catholic missionary effort. I think that this kind of cultural exchange is a beautiful thing, and so I write about it. For instance I found a missionary’s grave deep in the mountains. That was a most inspiring experience, starting me asking questions like ‘why did he come? What did he do? Why did he die?’
My work was translated into French because the area I write about has connections to France. During the period 1850-1950, 15 missionaries were killed in Tibet.
I don’t know how my books have been received in France, because I can’t read French. But my publishers think they help remind the reader about a part of history forgotten by Chinese and French alike, but which none the less is meaningful and valuable.
It’s hard to say who are good and bad in the novel, the French or the Tibetans. It’s more complicated than that. Tibet was Dalai’s land, so when the missionaries entered, there was a conflict. We cannot decide who is right and who is wrong. Everyone fights to protect their own religion.

Wang Gang 王刚 (1960-)

Author of 英格力士 2004, translated as English by Martin Merz and Jane Weizhen Pan.

on HIS NOVEL ENGLISH
My novel is set during the Cultural Revolution. It is about a boy who has little opportunity and little interest in studying and learning new languages. One day an English teacher from Shanghai is sent to Xinjiang as a punishment, and he and the boy become friends. At this time there is only one English dictionary in all of Xinjiang’s capital. There is also a beautiful female teacher who once a week visits the public bathhouse followed by the boy, who spies on her showering. The English teacher is however in love with the female teacher, and the story turns out to be sad and terrible because in the end the boy and his parents help send the English teacher to prison.
The boy feels guilty for sending his friend to prison. Certainly I write to remind people of the terrible Cultural Revolution, but also to show how it was experienced by a child. It is an admittance of guilt. Too many Chinese today won’t recognize their own part in the Cultural Revolution. I want to arouse their memory because if we forget, then maybe it can happen again. I am afraid of that.