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Columbia Global Reports
The Subplot: What China Is Reading and Why It Matters
What does contemporary China's diverse and exciting fiction tell us about its culture, and the relationship between art and politics?
The Subplot takes us on a lively journey through a literary landscape like you've never seen before: a vast migrant-worker poetry movement, homoerotic romances by rotten girls, swaggering literary popstars, millionaire e-writers churning out the longest-ever novels, underground comics, the surreal works of Yu Hua, Yan Lianke, and Nobel-laureate Mo Yan, and what is widely hailed as a golden-age of sci-fi. Chinese online fiction is now the largest publishing platform in the world.
Fueled by her passionate engagement with the arts and ideas of China's people, Megan Walsh, a brilliant young critic, shows us why it's important to finally pay attention to Chinese fiction--an exuberant drama that illustrates the complex relationship between art and politics, one that is increasingly shaping the West as well. Turns out, writers write neither what their government nor foreign readers want or expect, as they work on a different wavelength to keep alive ideas and events that are censored by the propaganda machine. The Subplot vividly captures the way in which literature offers an alternative--perhaps truer--way to understanding the contradictions that make up China itself.
The Subplot takes us on a lively journey through a literary landscape like you've never seen before: a vast migrant-worker poetry movement, homoerotic romances by rotten girls, swaggering literary popstars, millionaire e-writers churning out the longest-ever novels, underground comics, the surreal works of Yu Hua, Yan Lianke, and Nobel-laureate Mo Yan, and what is widely hailed as a golden-age of sci-fi. Chinese online fiction is now the largest publishing platform in the world.
Fueled by her passionate engagement with the arts and ideas of China's people, Megan Walsh, a brilliant young critic, shows us why it's important to finally pay attention to Chinese fiction--an exuberant drama that illustrates the complex relationship between art and politics, one that is increasingly shaping the West as well. Turns out, writers write neither what their government nor foreign readers want or expect, as they work on a different wavelength to keep alive ideas and events that are censored by the propaganda machine. The Subplot vividly captures the way in which literature offers an alternative--perhaps truer--way to understanding the contradictions that make up China itself.
136 pages, Paperback
First published February 8, 2022
43 people are currently reading
2359 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 83 reviews
January 31, 2022
This was a really fascinating and (too)brief survey of contemporary Chinese literature, it's major themes and movements, and how authors have variously dealt with living under a censorious government. Lots of authors to dive into, and I really appreciated the discussion of the historical trends (as well as learning that generations are described by their birth decade. It's somewhat odd but no stranger than boomers versus gen x versus millennials). I also was impressed by how Walsh explored both the traditional print trends including the recent rise of SF) and the internet-driven literature (and how the government has a hate-love-hate relationship with those platforms and slash-style stories in particular). A really good introduction that makes me want to explore more.
**Thanks to the author, publisher, and NetGalley for a free copy in exchange for an honest review.
**Thanks to the author, publisher, and NetGalley for a free copy in exchange for an honest review.
April 18, 2022
"Literature is perhaps the art form most able to resist the kind of oversimplification required by polarized political debate."
A deeply ironic quote from a book that purports to be about literature but is 80% political bromide and cliche.
There's a simple formula to understand what Megan Walsh thinks about a book: Is it anti-communist? Then it's good. Is it communist? Then it's propaganda and can be disregarded. Is it literary fiction written by dissidents? Then it's terrific. Is it genre fiction written by happy patriots? Then it's slop.
The title was a very poor choice for this book, since she makes little attempt to actually figure out what the Chinese are reading, nor does she make a case as to why it matters. In general she chooses books that are available in English translation, which makes me question her Chinese literacy. She also has a picture of Chinese life that appears to be straight out of the New York Times.
I was very eager for this book, waiting days for it to be released and then days more for it to arrive. But I quickly realized that there wasn't much to learn from it. I own around 400 Chinese books, largely drawn from the lists of popular and great works from JD and Douban, yet I only recognized four or five titles from my own collection. Granted, one of my main criteria in building this library was that the work not be available in English translation (though maybe a third are), but that just drives home my suspicion of how qualified she is to write about what the Chinese are reading in China rather than what Americans are reading from China. Even one of the most popular books of all time, 射雕英雄传 (Legend of the Condor Heroes) barely received a mention - and only to mention that Jin Yong's works were banned until the '80s!
She always turned what could have been a thoughtful literary discussion into a simplistic political statement, yet made no effort whatsoever to explore the politics and motivations behind them or how changing political landscapes have changed the calculus.
There were some interesting things in the book, especially in the first and last chapters. But her zeal to polemicize made it a very unpleasant read, being a tone that doesn't in any way fit the bill. There's so much simplification, assumption, and stereotype that it really feels more like the kind of book that should be published by Peter Navarro or Bill O'Reilly. Almost totally absent is any attempt to reflect on the Chinese experience, except through the eyes of dissidents (which, admittedly, is the only experience Americans usually know about when it comes to "communist" countries).
The final chapter about science fiction was probably the best, having focused more on substance. She seems to be a fan of sci-fi, offering more balanced and descriptive content rather than political cliches. But then there was the discussion of danmei and online fiction more generally ("the mainland’s internet literature boom makes it the largest self-generating industry of unregulated, free-market fiction in the world"), something which should have been explored in far greater depth since this is actually "what China is reading". Danmei, an exceedingly popular genre also known as BL, Boys' Love, with very many TV adaptations, was so briefly mentioned that I thought I missed it, and generally written off with derision - perhaps because the thought that gay romance is such a huge genre fails to gel with her political biases?
There are far better books to go to if you want either a scholarly picture of the state of politics in China, or a personal account of life under The Party, and especially if you are interested in Chinese literature, not English translations of Chinese literature. On all counts, this book is a very poor choice. But if, contrary to the claim in the title, you want to know what Americans think about and read from China, this might just be what you are looking for.
A deeply ironic quote from a book that purports to be about literature but is 80% political bromide and cliche.
There's a simple formula to understand what Megan Walsh thinks about a book: Is it anti-communist? Then it's good. Is it communist? Then it's propaganda and can be disregarded. Is it literary fiction written by dissidents? Then it's terrific. Is it genre fiction written by happy patriots? Then it's slop.
The title was a very poor choice for this book, since she makes little attempt to actually figure out what the Chinese are reading, nor does she make a case as to why it matters. In general she chooses books that are available in English translation, which makes me question her Chinese literacy. She also has a picture of Chinese life that appears to be straight out of the New York Times.
I was very eager for this book, waiting days for it to be released and then days more for it to arrive. But I quickly realized that there wasn't much to learn from it. I own around 400 Chinese books, largely drawn from the lists of popular and great works from JD and Douban, yet I only recognized four or five titles from my own collection. Granted, one of my main criteria in building this library was that the work not be available in English translation (though maybe a third are), but that just drives home my suspicion of how qualified she is to write about what the Chinese are reading in China rather than what Americans are reading from China. Even one of the most popular books of all time, 射雕英雄传 (Legend of the Condor Heroes) barely received a mention - and only to mention that Jin Yong's works were banned until the '80s!
She always turned what could have been a thoughtful literary discussion into a simplistic political statement, yet made no effort whatsoever to explore the politics and motivations behind them or how changing political landscapes have changed the calculus.
There were some interesting things in the book, especially in the first and last chapters. But her zeal to polemicize made it a very unpleasant read, being a tone that doesn't in any way fit the bill. There's so much simplification, assumption, and stereotype that it really feels more like the kind of book that should be published by Peter Navarro or Bill O'Reilly. Almost totally absent is any attempt to reflect on the Chinese experience, except through the eyes of dissidents (which, admittedly, is the only experience Americans usually know about when it comes to "communist" countries).
The final chapter about science fiction was probably the best, having focused more on substance. She seems to be a fan of sci-fi, offering more balanced and descriptive content rather than political cliches. But then there was the discussion of danmei and online fiction more generally ("the mainland’s internet literature boom makes it the largest self-generating industry of unregulated, free-market fiction in the world"), something which should have been explored in far greater depth since this is actually "what China is reading". Danmei, an exceedingly popular genre also known as BL, Boys' Love, with very many TV adaptations, was so briefly mentioned that I thought I missed it, and generally written off with derision - perhaps because the thought that gay romance is such a huge genre fails to gel with her political biases?
There are far better books to go to if you want either a scholarly picture of the state of politics in China, or a personal account of life under The Party, and especially if you are interested in Chinese literature, not English translations of Chinese literature. On all counts, this book is a very poor choice. But if, contrary to the claim in the title, you want to know what Americans think about and read from China, this might just be what you are looking for.
January 23, 2022
What can we learn from the state of Chinese fiction? This seemingly bizarre question is the subject of The Subplot, another in the superlative series of short books from Columbia Global Reports. Megan Walsh has read an amazing amount of Chinese fiction and has researched the background of both the authors and the circumstances. The results are most revealing. China, shall we says, thinks different.
In China, it used to be that if you wrote good poetry, you could get a good civil service career. Today, writing is one of riskiest paths anyone can take. The omnipotent Xi Jinping set the stage for extreme caution when he announced in 2014 that: "Modern art and literature needs to take patriotism as its muse, guiding the people to establish and adhere to correct views of history, the nation, the country, and culture." This would have sucked all the air out of the room anywhere else, but Chairman Mao had already colored in that box decades earlier. Walsh says: "Mao placed a blanket ban on all genre fiction because, naturally, there was no crime in socialist China, no need for fantasy when society defers to science, and no use for romance when one loved the Party above all else."
This stifling diktat has of course crippled nonfiction, which must bend and twist to meet the demands of patriotism first, but for fiction it has inspired creative workarounds - until they become too popular.
So China's literary scene has developed differently. A third of printed books are self-help, compared to 6% in the USA. Fiction makes up just 7%, but a lot of important factual work ends up there. Walsh says nonfiction authors can be found publishing novels, because if they published their findings as fact, their books could be censored or banned, and they could be canceled from publishing or from their day jobs. Bans from working or participating in all media loom over everyone. So symbolism and substitutions figure significantly in Chinese novels.
And still there is risk. This is because there are no laws, just diktat. Authors have to guess the flavor of the hour when they put words to paper. She cites one author who wrote about corruption, figuring his book would be dead on arrival, censored into nothing. But exactly the opposite happened; the censors didn't cut a word. He had hit a brand new sweet spot because President Xi had just begun his campaign to oust the most flagrant of the corrupt from their positions (outside his own family). So it was more than okay for someone to expose the depths of it. It was actually desirable.
But for every result like that, there are many more where writers might even be jailed for writing that does not demonstrate correct thinking. Especially if they are successful. Walsh says "Controversial topics are generally overlooked by the government as long as they don't sell. But draconian punishment for the most successful transgressors is a commonplace tactic."
Asking for it would include writing about the border territories of the Uyghurs and other ethnicities. China's reading habits are not allowed to include those who are not Han Chinese, unless they express joy for what the country and the party have done for them. Hong Kong, Taiwan, Tiananmen - best not to go there if you want to survive as a writer. Even bookstore owners have been disappeared over them.
Going round the censors by publishing overseas doesn't necessarily work either. It will still get authors canceled at home, and their intended audience in China will likely have no access to those books at all.
It's the biggest single books market in the world. So what do the Chinese read?
There is a very lively online e-book scene, like soap operas in print, where books go on for hundreds of chapters, and authors grind out anywhere from 2000 to 20,000 words (100 pages) a day to keep up with demand. They have produced celebrity writers, film and tv tie-ins, and little of lasting value.
Uniquely to China, there is a fashion online for boy-boy romance novels and comics, written by girls. Apparently they must be written by girls to qualify. Girls know these things best.
In a chapter on whodunnits, Walsh finds even in this normally harmless pabulum for the masses, authors do not and cannot know where the line is. If a private detective makes police look bad, is that over the line? Under Mao, she says, "crime fiction vanished. Given that crime was clearly the product of unjust bourgeois and capitalist societies, it was irrelevant to Mao's law-abiding socialist society." Today it is available, but it seems strained.
The line is constantly shifting, without notice or process as government reshapes history and implements new policy. She says government expends enormous amounts to erase the past as it actually was, replacing it with the China Dream history, in order to focus on the future. Where they intersect, in the present, is a gamble for any writer.
Walsh describes numerous books from the rich sci-fi sector, where there might be some level of safety for writers. As in any culture, there is a huge number of people writing, and she does her best to feature at least the prominent. She even taps into the new nostalgia rage for back to basics- an unrealistic longing for the villages "that urbanites have never visited." Where life was simple and satisfying. This of course suffers from the erasure of history like nothing else does. It neatly forgets the poverty, hardship, famine, the terror and tortures of the Cultural Revolution and the Hundred Days Flowering, the melting of all metal tools and utensils in backyard furnaces, to make patriotic "steel". It's what drove millions to the cities, even though they weren't legally allowed to settle there and lived without any of the rights of residents.
This is not a criticism of China. Nostalgia is no different anywhere it festers, including in the USA with its Make America Great Again.
Chinese writers quite naturally run the gamut of styles and genres, filling in gaps wherever they find them. I confess I have only reviewed one of them, a book of essays by Han Han, who took his youthful winnings in the writing game and plowed them into car racing.
Walsh covers the bases, and points out all these political twists and turns, but she hasn't made the book about them. Reading it familiarizes the reader with important names in Chinese literature, their successes, their fears and their innovations just to pursue their craft. The outside pressures, as the title suggests, are but The Subplot.
David Wineberg
In China, it used to be that if you wrote good poetry, you could get a good civil service career. Today, writing is one of riskiest paths anyone can take. The omnipotent Xi Jinping set the stage for extreme caution when he announced in 2014 that: "Modern art and literature needs to take patriotism as its muse, guiding the people to establish and adhere to correct views of history, the nation, the country, and culture." This would have sucked all the air out of the room anywhere else, but Chairman Mao had already colored in that box decades earlier. Walsh says: "Mao placed a blanket ban on all genre fiction because, naturally, there was no crime in socialist China, no need for fantasy when society defers to science, and no use for romance when one loved the Party above all else."
This stifling diktat has of course crippled nonfiction, which must bend and twist to meet the demands of patriotism first, but for fiction it has inspired creative workarounds - until they become too popular.
So China's literary scene has developed differently. A third of printed books are self-help, compared to 6% in the USA. Fiction makes up just 7%, but a lot of important factual work ends up there. Walsh says nonfiction authors can be found publishing novels, because if they published their findings as fact, their books could be censored or banned, and they could be canceled from publishing or from their day jobs. Bans from working or participating in all media loom over everyone. So symbolism and substitutions figure significantly in Chinese novels.
And still there is risk. This is because there are no laws, just diktat. Authors have to guess the flavor of the hour when they put words to paper. She cites one author who wrote about corruption, figuring his book would be dead on arrival, censored into nothing. But exactly the opposite happened; the censors didn't cut a word. He had hit a brand new sweet spot because President Xi had just begun his campaign to oust the most flagrant of the corrupt from their positions (outside his own family). So it was more than okay for someone to expose the depths of it. It was actually desirable.
But for every result like that, there are many more where writers might even be jailed for writing that does not demonstrate correct thinking. Especially if they are successful. Walsh says "Controversial topics are generally overlooked by the government as long as they don't sell. But draconian punishment for the most successful transgressors is a commonplace tactic."
Asking for it would include writing about the border territories of the Uyghurs and other ethnicities. China's reading habits are not allowed to include those who are not Han Chinese, unless they express joy for what the country and the party have done for them. Hong Kong, Taiwan, Tiananmen - best not to go there if you want to survive as a writer. Even bookstore owners have been disappeared over them.
Going round the censors by publishing overseas doesn't necessarily work either. It will still get authors canceled at home, and their intended audience in China will likely have no access to those books at all.
It's the biggest single books market in the world. So what do the Chinese read?
There is a very lively online e-book scene, like soap operas in print, where books go on for hundreds of chapters, and authors grind out anywhere from 2000 to 20,000 words (100 pages) a day to keep up with demand. They have produced celebrity writers, film and tv tie-ins, and little of lasting value.
Uniquely to China, there is a fashion online for boy-boy romance novels and comics, written by girls. Apparently they must be written by girls to qualify. Girls know these things best.
In a chapter on whodunnits, Walsh finds even in this normally harmless pabulum for the masses, authors do not and cannot know where the line is. If a private detective makes police look bad, is that over the line? Under Mao, she says, "crime fiction vanished. Given that crime was clearly the product of unjust bourgeois and capitalist societies, it was irrelevant to Mao's law-abiding socialist society." Today it is available, but it seems strained.
The line is constantly shifting, without notice or process as government reshapes history and implements new policy. She says government expends enormous amounts to erase the past as it actually was, replacing it with the China Dream history, in order to focus on the future. Where they intersect, in the present, is a gamble for any writer.
Walsh describes numerous books from the rich sci-fi sector, where there might be some level of safety for writers. As in any culture, there is a huge number of people writing, and she does her best to feature at least the prominent. She even taps into the new nostalgia rage for back to basics- an unrealistic longing for the villages "that urbanites have never visited." Where life was simple and satisfying. This of course suffers from the erasure of history like nothing else does. It neatly forgets the poverty, hardship, famine, the terror and tortures of the Cultural Revolution and the Hundred Days Flowering, the melting of all metal tools and utensils in backyard furnaces, to make patriotic "steel". It's what drove millions to the cities, even though they weren't legally allowed to settle there and lived without any of the rights of residents.
This is not a criticism of China. Nostalgia is no different anywhere it festers, including in the USA with its Make America Great Again.
Chinese writers quite naturally run the gamut of styles and genres, filling in gaps wherever they find them. I confess I have only reviewed one of them, a book of essays by Han Han, who took his youthful winnings in the writing game and plowed them into car racing.
Walsh covers the bases, and points out all these political twists and turns, but she hasn't made the book about them. Reading it familiarizes the reader with important names in Chinese literature, their successes, their fears and their innovations just to pursue their craft. The outside pressures, as the title suggests, are but The Subplot.
David Wineberg
October 28, 2024
It is a very brief, up-to-date literature review of Chinese literature. At first, I was slightly confused since the author started with the 'old masters' (Mo Yan, Yu Hua, Yan Lianke, Su Tong), so I thought that all she had to offer was presenting works well-established in Western readership. Fortunately, that's not the case. As we move along, some geeky vibes appear – wildly imaginative sci-fi writers, the world's least regulated market of Chinese online fantasy etc.
Walsh is well aware that translations don't have a chance to catch up with everything being published in China nowadays (I won't even discuss minor languages such as my native Polish). Her representation indeed seems to show 'what China reads', I only wish she elaborated more on 'why it matters. But if you guys think that some old males writing about past traumas is the only thing Chinese writers have to offer, dig in into that one!
Walsh is well aware that translations don't have a chance to catch up with everything being published in China nowadays (I won't even discuss minor languages such as my native Polish). Her representation indeed seems to show 'what China reads', I only wish she elaborated more on 'why it matters. But if you guys think that some old males writing about past traumas is the only thing Chinese writers have to offer, dig in into that one!
May 22, 2022
This book is one of the best to learn about contemporary Chinese literature. I am a reader from Taiwan. I read Chinese literature a lot and I highly recommend this book to every reader interested in Chinese literature. I’ve written a detailed review in Chinese and submitted to a popular op-ed in Taiwan. Please have a look if you are interested. Happy reading!
https://www.thenewslens.com/amparticl...
https://www.thenewslens.com/amparticl...
July 19, 2023
An interesting introduction to what Chinese are reading now. A short treatment, most of which I had not known before. Fascinating to learn about all the online publishing going on, with even some in translation. Took a star away because I was not overly impressed by Walsh's occasional comparisons to the West, e.g. the popularity of the book 1984 in China to the West upon Trump's election. Recommended for anyone interested in reading (and learning about one branch of) world fiction.
November 10, 2021
The Subplot, by Megan Walsh, is a fascinating survey of modern Chinese literature, particularly fiction. In each chapter, Walsh looks at a different theme of literature and the limitations and forces that shape it, from incredibly verbose online fiction to the struggles of writing crime fiction in a society with ‘zero’ unsolved crime. While I am sure having a more in depth knowledge of China’s politics and society would have only added to my appreciation of this book, even with my very basic knowledge I was able to understand and enjoy the discussion. Reading The Subplot will certainly add several Chinese authors to your TBR pile.
June 6, 2022
It's strange whenever the author mentions Xi Jinping or Mao Zedong in the book, she writes President Xi and Chairman Mao. It is very not comfortable. I mean, they have their names, and don't need to be addressed with titles ALL THE TIME, even if their titles' forever. It's disturbing. She wrote so many people have helped her with Chinese, translation, and named some prominent names, but none of them felt it's weird? Her editor didn't see it?
August 16, 2022
Pretty short but jam packed and supremely well researched. I commend Walsh for pulling her weight to gather all the source material she did and pull it together with such fascinating and cogent analysis. The Subplot covered the Cultural Revolution and China’s rapid economic uplift and urbanization from an often overlooked perspective: What are the people reading? Side note- It definitely felt a bit meta to be reading about reading.
To quote this redditor’s comment about the value of fiction: “Fiction has obvious value. All art that speaks to people adds to the human experience… art enriches culture. It provides a shelter from and celebration of the times we live in, as we live them. And fiction tells future civilizations about our values and our fears.” If we agree with this (and I certainly do), it’s easy to see why it would be so potent to understanding a nation by understanding what their people are reading.
Beyond exploring the contents of what the Chinese population is reading, Walsh also dives into literary critiques, publication laws, and censorship. A really interesting topic was the rise of the booming web novel industry where amateur writers can churn out word counts in the millions daily. Which leads to another interesting topic, the dichotomy of a socialist regime and a capitalistic market which asks what the people really want (and it turns out, the people often desire the very overtly sexual or even homoerotic content that the CCP tries so hard to tamp down).
As an American, it was really easy to accept the default mindset that China is geopolitical adversary to my nation’s interests. But a big takeaway for me was that no matter the nationality, we are all just trying to make sense of the world around us somehow… and many of us (including all of us here on Goodreads) seek to do so by reading.
TL;DR- After reading this, I feel that I have a stronger grasp on contemporary China and its political values. What do the people actually care about? It’s all in the literature. 4/5 stars
To quote this redditor’s comment about the value of fiction: “Fiction has obvious value. All art that speaks to people adds to the human experience… art enriches culture. It provides a shelter from and celebration of the times we live in, as we live them. And fiction tells future civilizations about our values and our fears.” If we agree with this (and I certainly do), it’s easy to see why it would be so potent to understanding a nation by understanding what their people are reading.
Beyond exploring the contents of what the Chinese population is reading, Walsh also dives into literary critiques, publication laws, and censorship. A really interesting topic was the rise of the booming web novel industry where amateur writers can churn out word counts in the millions daily. Which leads to another interesting topic, the dichotomy of a socialist regime and a capitalistic market which asks what the people really want (and it turns out, the people often desire the very overtly sexual or even homoerotic content that the CCP tries so hard to tamp down).
As an American, it was really easy to accept the default mindset that China is geopolitical adversary to my nation’s interests. But a big takeaway for me was that no matter the nationality, we are all just trying to make sense of the world around us somehow… and many of us (including all of us here on Goodreads) seek to do so by reading.
TL;DR- After reading this, I feel that I have a stronger grasp on contemporary China and its political values. What do the people actually care about? It’s all in the literature. 4/5 stars
December 26, 2024
Seeing the webnovels I read back in highschool being mentioned and analyzed in a more academic text was surreal as hell but still a pretty interesting read nonetheless.
I feel like a more in depth analysis would be appreciated but I do understand this was written as a snapshot of what the literature scene in China looks like so it ain't bad solid 3.5/5
I feel like a more in depth analysis would be appreciated but I do understand this was written as a snapshot of what the literature scene in China looks like so it ain't bad solid 3.5/5
October 28, 2021
A generation raised under Maoist principles struggles to find meaning in a future-oriented consumerist society. Novelistic accounts of decadence share a literary landscape with the sparse, direct poetry of exploited factory workers. In digital factories, the authors of online fiction produce text at an industrial scale, competing for the likes, shares, and attention of their readers. On the social margins, straight women pen the romances of gay men and Han Chinese authors romanticize the perceived self-sufficiency of Mongalian nomads. In a local spin on the whodunnit, authors align their detective fiction with the official realities of a country in which every murder case is reportedly solved. Writers respond to rapid industrialization, whether by drawing on historical themes of communion with nature or by imagining future lives in which humans themselves are automated.
These are the subplots of The Subplot, Megan Walsh’s survey of the forces, concerns, and ideas that have shaped and continue to shape contemporary Chinese literature. The Subplot’s promise is held in its title: this concise, detailed survey introduces its readers to the liminalities, the modes between “criticism and complicity,” that have given form to contemporary Chinese literature. Before addressing these conditions directly, Walsh addresses a bias she has identified among reviewers outside of China: that in order for Chinese literature to merit attention and evade accusations of authoritarian complicity, it must be “banned in China,” an overt subversion or critique of the ruling Chinese Communist Party.
Walsh demonstrates, however, that while censorship is one of the forces shaping contemporary Chinese literature, it is by no means the only force. That the forces are multiple, but also generative because of their restrictions, weaves throughout the work as its throughline. In some cases, dictates—whether imposed by a censorious government, demanded by a hyper-engaged readership, or internalized by pragmatic authors—have given rise to particular literary forms. In other cases, however, censorship is a peripheral concern, and writers, like anywhere in the world, engage with the realities that encompass them (and often not in ways that please officials).
Generally speaking, the chapters are thematically organized: historical memory (and its correlate, historical amnesia), realist fiction, responses to technological advancement, and so on. The wordplay of the first chapter, Lost Causes, struck me as ingenious: the causes in question refer not only to political causes, but the literal causal factors that have been erased from official memory, unmooring those whose personal experience of the Great Leap Forward and Cultural Revolution has all but disappeared from contemporary recollection. Some of the themes feel less cohesive, however, such as the grouping into a single chapter of homoerotic romances penned by straight women (danmei) and ethnic minority literature. Perhaps neither filled an entire chapter, so together they went.
As a reader uninitiated in the subject, The Subplot was an engaging and accessible overview of contemporary Chinese literature. I have cursory knowledge of contemporary Chinese history, but a deeper familiarity with China would be helpful to better grasp the significance of certain arguments. For example, understanding how older people have responded to lost causalities in the post-Mao era was challenging without an explanation as to how official historiography has dealt with the Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution. That’s on me to explore later, alongside some of the authors Walsh has compellingly made a case for in The Subplot.
I received this book free from NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.
These are the subplots of The Subplot, Megan Walsh’s survey of the forces, concerns, and ideas that have shaped and continue to shape contemporary Chinese literature. The Subplot’s promise is held in its title: this concise, detailed survey introduces its readers to the liminalities, the modes between “criticism and complicity,” that have given form to contemporary Chinese literature. Before addressing these conditions directly, Walsh addresses a bias she has identified among reviewers outside of China: that in order for Chinese literature to merit attention and evade accusations of authoritarian complicity, it must be “banned in China,” an overt subversion or critique of the ruling Chinese Communist Party.
Walsh demonstrates, however, that while censorship is one of the forces shaping contemporary Chinese literature, it is by no means the only force. That the forces are multiple, but also generative because of their restrictions, weaves throughout the work as its throughline. In some cases, dictates—whether imposed by a censorious government, demanded by a hyper-engaged readership, or internalized by pragmatic authors—have given rise to particular literary forms. In other cases, however, censorship is a peripheral concern, and writers, like anywhere in the world, engage with the realities that encompass them (and often not in ways that please officials).
Generally speaking, the chapters are thematically organized: historical memory (and its correlate, historical amnesia), realist fiction, responses to technological advancement, and so on. The wordplay of the first chapter, Lost Causes, struck me as ingenious: the causes in question refer not only to political causes, but the literal causal factors that have been erased from official memory, unmooring those whose personal experience of the Great Leap Forward and Cultural Revolution has all but disappeared from contemporary recollection. Some of the themes feel less cohesive, however, such as the grouping into a single chapter of homoerotic romances penned by straight women (danmei) and ethnic minority literature. Perhaps neither filled an entire chapter, so together they went.
As a reader uninitiated in the subject, The Subplot was an engaging and accessible overview of contemporary Chinese literature. I have cursory knowledge of contemporary Chinese history, but a deeper familiarity with China would be helpful to better grasp the significance of certain arguments. For example, understanding how older people have responded to lost causalities in the post-Mao era was challenging without an explanation as to how official historiography has dealt with the Great Leap Forward and the Cultural Revolution. That’s on me to explore later, alongside some of the authors Walsh has compellingly made a case for in The Subplot.
I received this book free from NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.
February 20, 2022
A marvellous introduction to and overview of contemporary Chinese writing and publishing, an environment in which Chinese writers have to work under constant surveillance and censorship, and in which many have turned to internet publishing as a creative space that is largely free of control and where they can up to a point avoid official censorship. Beijing continues to jail writers for expressing forbidden ideas and thus many have become increasingly inventive, even if this sometimes means writing vast sagas in instalments, epic works that sometimes are more than 6 million words long. Some writers churn out up to 30,000 words a day – for comparison The Great Gatsby is a mere 47,000 words. Traditional formal publishing still exists but the online world allows writers to bypass the traditional gatekeepers, and the sheer size of the novels found online makes it harder for the algorithms to search them for forbidden topics. Understanding a country’s literature is an essential part of understanding the country itself and this accessible and eminently readable exploration of the subject is a wonderful glimpse into Chinese writing today, and offers many suggestions of what to read next to delve further into Chinese literature.
March 12, 2022
I’m clearly not the right audience for this. For someone writing a book about popular reading tastes, the author has a very obvious bias in favor of literary fiction. The section on danmei is particularly galling: she mentions titles without mentioning authors, and is generally disrespectful toward the genre in a way that will be familiar to all romance readers who are used to having their reading tastes dismissed out of hand.
December 24, 2022
This was fascinating and I would recommend it anyone interested in non-Western literature and the role of literature in a society in general. It's a quick read and sometimes I wanted more context or more structure, but it's a good introduction nevertheless.
January 13, 2022
**I received an ARC of this book from Netgalley.**
A really interesting read, and I definitely feel like I learned a lot. Walsh does a great job of giving quick background context to each of the different types of books she describes, though you can definitely tell when one of the genres (or sub-genres) is one she's less familiar with (usually because that section will lack quotes from a sample book). I think anyone interested in learning more about China's current literary landscape - or anyone looking to add off the beaten trail reads to their TBR - will find this enjoyable.
A really interesting read, and I definitely feel like I learned a lot. Walsh does a great job of giving quick background context to each of the different types of books she describes, though you can definitely tell when one of the genres (or sub-genres) is one she's less familiar with (usually because that section will lack quotes from a sample book). I think anyone interested in learning more about China's current literary landscape - or anyone looking to add off the beaten trail reads to their TBR - will find this enjoyable.
June 1, 2022
Upon finishing reading The Subplot, I browsed the reviews in Goodreads on this book to see what others said about the book. I found the review written by David Wineberg is the most comprehensive with key references to the book's key points. (www.goodreads.com/review/show/4498709888)
Even though I can read Chinese literature, in recent years I have been reading mostly English nonfiction books. Hence, I am lost with what is popular Chinese literature nowadays in mainland China. I would say that this book does provide me an overview of the genre in favour now by Chinese readers. Although the author's references to different books to make her point might be confined to selections with English translation and being called as having political spin, my experience from watching China mainland's online drama movies and TV series (based on fiction books) seems that the author's selection correlate with China readers' interests.
Bear in mind that state censorship is a given in China, it is not surprising that people will find readings that use symbolism and substitutions in the content or stories of controversial topics adventurous. With the global popularity of science & technology and fantasy based fiction (some even with screen productions), it is not surprising that China writers have also been aiming to fuse technology and literature ... serving the purpose of gaining readership and a means to metaphor their ideology into stories.
Even though I can read Chinese literature, in recent years I have been reading mostly English nonfiction books. Hence, I am lost with what is popular Chinese literature nowadays in mainland China. I would say that this book does provide me an overview of the genre in favour now by Chinese readers. Although the author's references to different books to make her point might be confined to selections with English translation and being called as having political spin, my experience from watching China mainland's online drama movies and TV series (based on fiction books) seems that the author's selection correlate with China readers' interests.
Bear in mind that state censorship is a given in China, it is not surprising that people will find readings that use symbolism and substitutions in the content or stories of controversial topics adventurous. With the global popularity of science & technology and fantasy based fiction (some even with screen productions), it is not surprising that China writers have also been aiming to fuse technology and literature ... serving the purpose of gaining readership and a means to metaphor their ideology into stories.
March 2, 2024
I wanted to dislike this book more than I did. I wanted to dislike it because it sticks to the same old cliches of Western surveys of Chinese lit: the more patriotic and socialist the literature is, the less likely it is to be discussed with anything resembling respect. "China" in the statement "What China is reading" does not for Walsh include the masses of Chinese people who prefer patriotic uplifting stories about New China. Only Zhou Meisen's In the Name of the People gets mentioned in that category, and Walsh makes it clear Zhou was not critical enough of the Party for her tastes, offering edgy alternatives that satisfy her needs.
This is just personal preference nitpicking but why do none of these surveys ever mention Ah Nai and her brilliant and extremely popular reform and opening up epic LIKE A FLOWING RIVER (now a TV series). Again, it's too patriotic. (Also the NYT never gave coverage to Ah Nai like they did IN THE NAME OF THE PEOPLE). Walsh choices read like insular elitism in which the Chinese masses are too "brainwashed" to be included.
But anyway I should move on to addressing why I disliked this book less than I thought I would. Walsh is a keen critic of the West in ways that seem almost unintentional. For example, I agree with her overall assessment in the following quote, even if I think her categories like "disinformation" and "democracy" are misapplied:
"Bill Clinton’s suggestion back in 2000 that the internet would bring democracy to China and that trying to control it would be like 'nailing Jell-O to the wall' seems pretty comical these days. The spread of online disinformation in the US and UK is now almost certainly the greatest threat to Western democracy, while the CCP has the Jell-O exactly where it wants it."
She has a few other pointed observations in this vein, hinting at similarities between Trump's populism and the CPC. All of course condemnatory from her urban liberal perspective. But movements like MAGA communism (while still nascent and small), put her statements and critiques in an interesting light.
So while I am just sick of these lit surveys dismissing and under-appreciating patriotic socialist Chinese literature, this one is a head above the rest because of some interesting and timely observations coming from the author when comparing today's China to today's West.
This is just personal preference nitpicking but why do none of these surveys ever mention Ah Nai and her brilliant and extremely popular reform and opening up epic LIKE A FLOWING RIVER (now a TV series). Again, it's too patriotic. (Also the NYT never gave coverage to Ah Nai like they did IN THE NAME OF THE PEOPLE). Walsh choices read like insular elitism in which the Chinese masses are too "brainwashed" to be included.
But anyway I should move on to addressing why I disliked this book less than I thought I would. Walsh is a keen critic of the West in ways that seem almost unintentional. For example, I agree with her overall assessment in the following quote, even if I think her categories like "disinformation" and "democracy" are misapplied:
"Bill Clinton’s suggestion back in 2000 that the internet would bring democracy to China and that trying to control it would be like 'nailing Jell-O to the wall' seems pretty comical these days. The spread of online disinformation in the US and UK is now almost certainly the greatest threat to Western democracy, while the CCP has the Jell-O exactly where it wants it."
She has a few other pointed observations in this vein, hinting at similarities between Trump's populism and the CPC. All of course condemnatory from her urban liberal perspective. But movements like MAGA communism (while still nascent and small), put her statements and critiques in an interesting light.
So while I am just sick of these lit surveys dismissing and under-appreciating patriotic socialist Chinese literature, this one is a head above the rest because of some interesting and timely observations coming from the author when comparing today's China to today's West.
January 22, 2023
More than a book about what China is reading, I think this focuses more on what Chinese fiction authors are writing. I don’t have really any experience with Chinese literature, and it was interesting learning how contemporary Chinese writers toe the line between writing stories that comment on the current experience of life in China and government censorship. The use of allegory, science fiction, informal publishing networks, and various metaphors are all discussed in this book. I think I will be much better prepared to read and understand Chinese literature in the future having read this book. I recommend it.
There is much we can learn by reading fiction written by people who are different than ourselves. Why not find something from China to dive into?!
There is much we can learn by reading fiction written by people who are different than ourselves. Why not find something from China to dive into?!
January 18, 2024
Very interesting catalogue of Chinese literature outside of the mainstream (read-state sponsored) fare. I loved the fact that it was so concise. Since it's just a tour through the landscape, it was nice to not overstay its welcome. I think I want to read some of the older, unquestioned classics of Chinese literature before attempting any of these more modern, controversial stories-- but it was very informative to hear a sampling of the ways in which modern writers try to say something unique without getting gulaged.
May 25, 2022
This could be the basis for a class on influential Chinese literature, or at least an interesting book club.
August 16, 2022
Interesting and diverse introduction to modern Chinese literature and its many forms. I found many great recommendations and feel better rounded in my knowledge of influences and subtext.
June 4, 2022
A concise yet comprehensive survey of contemporary Chinese literature, especially in terms of breaking down the stereotypes of Chinese writing among western critics.
June 29, 2022
I really enjoyed it. I'm someone who entered into Chinese literature through the way of danmei so it was really helpful to have this chronicling of really interesting reads throughout the years (and how each relates to China's government and its practices at large).
March 31, 2022
While the book is never meant to be comprehensive, the sections on webnovels are woefully lacking. The difference between how she treats literary and online fiction is night and day. You don't need to like something in order to provide insight on it, but the dismissive tone and clear lack of interest don't work in her favor.
May 10, 2022
I'm pleasantly surprised by how up-to-date this book is. It is not to be written as an academic book but when I read the chapters related to my own research I actually found that the author is able to capture the latest trends in this field -- which makes my own current project feels less original...I better hurry and publish before it becomes worthless.
October 6, 2022
Very interesting survey of the state of Mainland Chinese literature, taking pains to counter and complicate the prevailing obsession in the U.S. over China as authoritarian state. It is that, but it's also more.
April 12, 2022
Smart, speedy, witty rundown of the most popular and influential modern Chinese fiction. Explores every genre and touches on politics, tech, internet, and more.
July 16, 2022
What sorts of stories captivate the imaginations of one-point-three-billion people? Or asked perhaps more honestly, What sort of stories does an authoritarian government allow its people to be captivated by? Megan Walsh, a specialist in Chinese Studies who has also lived in mainland China, covers a topic that, for book and culture lovers, is interesting for a variety of reasons, and my own experiences in Shanghai confirm some of the facts Walsh reports here.
Back in 2007 or so, I talked to a young tour guide who was also a hack romance writer. Through her, I discovered that Chinese publishing has entire an division devoted to online serialization of novels, which the authors generally update daily. My tour guide told me she submitted about 3,000 words a day for the novel she was currently writing. Although my jaw dropped at that figure, Megan Walsh reports that 3,000 words a day, while typical, is on the low end of the scale—some writers crank out 20,000-30,000 words a day (that’s about 120 pages in a book) for novels of which Chapter 300 might mark the quarter-way point. I have no idea how somebody simply types that many words a day, let alone improvises a storyline for 12 hours. But as Walsh notes, “Lack of character development and moral maturity is almost certainly a by-product of the speed with which these novels are produced. . . a process that is by necessity knee-jerk and nonstop, requiring characters that are all action and no reflection.”
Publishers allow readers, for various set prices, to subscribe to specific authors or to general categories of novel. Authors are paid (or not) according to the number of clicks and likes their writing generates; ditto for whether authors have a book contract or not: A sweatshop for nerds.
The Chinese government can and does step in any time it likes, based on the whim of the day, to determine which books—electronic or in print—suddenly cause offence. Legal terminology in Chinese law is often left vague and/or incoherent, but most writers know which topics, names, and dates to avoid. Although I can find books in China that I think of as “mysteries,” Walsh reports that “the term ‘crime fiction’ is not widely used” because—in the Best of All Possible Worlds, which Chinese Communism surely must be—crime does not occur, and so we have instead “public security literature.”
What is easier to get past censors is science fiction. Set in other times and places, and perhaps inhabited by different people, current issues and points of view can be acted out through analogy. Writers have for centuries had to devise ways to skirt around censors who were hounding after everything from sex to religion to politics, often with excellent imaginative results by the artists. Some Chinese science fiction writers are also emerging with great success into the English-speaking world and the international stage—Liu Cixin’s Hugo Award-winning Three-Body Problem probably the best known to date—indicating that the topics China’s writers address are universal concerns:
Many writers are genuinely concerned about humanity’s relentlessly self-centered instincts. In Hao Jinfang’s ‘The Loneliest Ward,’ people lie in bed being drip-fed positive feedback until they die, while in Xin Xinyu’s ‘Farewell, Adam,’ they surrender their youth to become part of an amalgamated personality for a teen idol. In the ironically titled ‘The Path to Freedom,’ by Tang Fei, a family that quarantines in the hope of surviving apocalypse outside discovers, too late, that by avoiding biohazardous air, they have failed to evolve the gills and yellow pus required to survive it.
Young writers of mainstream literature and poetry, too, are conscious of and worried about ecological devastation and the costs coming due for rapacious growth. Walsh quotes the writer Xu Zhiyuan, who says the “meaning behind old trees, flowing water, jueju poems, moonlight, and temples has all vanished, to be replaced by tall buildings, neon lights, automobiles, glass, metal cement, profits and earnings, and high interest rates. I do not know how to extract poetic meaning from those things.”
Megan Walsh’s The Subplot introduces English readers to some of China’s writers trying to extract meaning from contemporary experiences, and where to find them.
For more of my reviews, please see https://www.thebookbeat.com/backroom/...
Back in 2007 or so, I talked to a young tour guide who was also a hack romance writer. Through her, I discovered that Chinese publishing has entire an division devoted to online serialization of novels, which the authors generally update daily. My tour guide told me she submitted about 3,000 words a day for the novel she was currently writing. Although my jaw dropped at that figure, Megan Walsh reports that 3,000 words a day, while typical, is on the low end of the scale—some writers crank out 20,000-30,000 words a day (that’s about 120 pages in a book) for novels of which Chapter 300 might mark the quarter-way point. I have no idea how somebody simply types that many words a day, let alone improvises a storyline for 12 hours. But as Walsh notes, “Lack of character development and moral maturity is almost certainly a by-product of the speed with which these novels are produced. . . a process that is by necessity knee-jerk and nonstop, requiring characters that are all action and no reflection.”
Publishers allow readers, for various set prices, to subscribe to specific authors or to general categories of novel. Authors are paid (or not) according to the number of clicks and likes their writing generates; ditto for whether authors have a book contract or not: A sweatshop for nerds.
The Chinese government can and does step in any time it likes, based on the whim of the day, to determine which books—electronic or in print—suddenly cause offence. Legal terminology in Chinese law is often left vague and/or incoherent, but most writers know which topics, names, and dates to avoid. Although I can find books in China that I think of as “mysteries,” Walsh reports that “the term ‘crime fiction’ is not widely used” because—in the Best of All Possible Worlds, which Chinese Communism surely must be—crime does not occur, and so we have instead “public security literature.”
What is easier to get past censors is science fiction. Set in other times and places, and perhaps inhabited by different people, current issues and points of view can be acted out through analogy. Writers have for centuries had to devise ways to skirt around censors who were hounding after everything from sex to religion to politics, often with excellent imaginative results by the artists. Some Chinese science fiction writers are also emerging with great success into the English-speaking world and the international stage—Liu Cixin’s Hugo Award-winning Three-Body Problem probably the best known to date—indicating that the topics China’s writers address are universal concerns:
Many writers are genuinely concerned about humanity’s relentlessly self-centered instincts. In Hao Jinfang’s ‘The Loneliest Ward,’ people lie in bed being drip-fed positive feedback until they die, while in Xin Xinyu’s ‘Farewell, Adam,’ they surrender their youth to become part of an amalgamated personality for a teen idol. In the ironically titled ‘The Path to Freedom,’ by Tang Fei, a family that quarantines in the hope of surviving apocalypse outside discovers, too late, that by avoiding biohazardous air, they have failed to evolve the gills and yellow pus required to survive it.
Young writers of mainstream literature and poetry, too, are conscious of and worried about ecological devastation and the costs coming due for rapacious growth. Walsh quotes the writer Xu Zhiyuan, who says the “meaning behind old trees, flowing water, jueju poems, moonlight, and temples has all vanished, to be replaced by tall buildings, neon lights, automobiles, glass, metal cement, profits and earnings, and high interest rates. I do not know how to extract poetic meaning from those things.”
Megan Walsh’s The Subplot introduces English readers to some of China’s writers trying to extract meaning from contemporary experiences, and where to find them.
For more of my reviews, please see https://www.thebookbeat.com/backroom/...
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February 25, 2023Absolutely fantastic. This small book was everything I wanted it to be. Megan Walsh shows talent for scouring through a media space not in her native language and pulling together the most salient information to answer the question, "What are Chinese people in the 21st century reading?" As someone who is largely outside the culture and knows little about the roadmap of Chinese literature but is fairly versed in Chinese politics from studies at university, this book is an excellent, must-read roadmap that even incorporates current technological trends that have changed Chinese reading habits.
As it turns out, Chinese writers write what neither the Chinese government nor foreign readers expect. The Chinese government wishes for writers to spout socialist praise and "good moral values". The Chinese writers are not writing that. Foreign readers expect any literature from China worthy of a grand international prize to be immensely critical of the Chinese government and must address censorship, Hong Kong, Taiwan, Xinjiang, Tibet, Tiananmen Square, suppression of freedom of speech, lack of democracy. Again, Chinese writers are not writing this. As with any country, China's literature production is complex. It is a dynamic relationship where "the relationship between criticism and complicity is as cloudy as the editorial demands of the state" (17). In face of this arbitrary and absurd power of the censor, the authors of China change tactics and employ the flexibility of the Chinese language to skirt, dodge, evade, and boy does the Chinese language have pliancy. Some authors, like Mo Yan, allow their public persona to be subsumed by the state, a trade decision so that he can have a little more freedom in writing. Others, like Yan Lianke, have their selves eroded. This is not including the vast array of online fiction discussed, an industry I have learned features 24 million titles with about 430 million active daily readers burning through trashy, fiery, passionate fiction (55)! Also included: whole online communities of women writing for women about gay relationships, ethnic minority fiction of Uighurs and Tibetans heavily policed in that horrifying police state of Xinjiang such that their works require safe abode in Istanbul, the heartfelt story of one of the largest sources of migrant working class poetry on the planet, the underground samizdat-like comics scene, and the optimistic brand of Chinese science fiction that has relative popularity worldwide.
If there is anything to critique, it’s the lack of backing for the numbers she provides. In spite of the lengthy citations at the end of the book I don’t know how she got the estimates for online readers, how she scoured through multiple sites for all the fiction titles. I think there was another instance in which I tried to verify a statement she made and I couldn’t find it in the back of the book. But truth be told, I’m not super picky about this. It’s a well-researched book that really is just an overview of the iceberg of literature.
There's more I could share, but I'd like to wrap up by quoting Yan Lianke, one of China's modern authors leading Chinese literature, whose books have been banned and censored. And the reason I say that he is banned and censored in China is to prime you to hear his words, because there's an expectation that he must be a great author simply because one or some of his books are banned in China. It's a great marketing tool. But, as he says, "the first point I want to make is that a banned book doesn't mean that it's a good book....the corollary to that is a book that is not banned isn't a bad book".
And so I hope that if you have an interest in modern Chinese literature, or if you're wondering if any kind of interesting literature could be produced under the authoritarian conditions of modern, Xi Jinping China, I say come read this very short book and you'll learn a lot!
Link to Yan Lianke's interview
As it turns out, Chinese writers write what neither the Chinese government nor foreign readers expect. The Chinese government wishes for writers to spout socialist praise and "good moral values". The Chinese writers are not writing that. Foreign readers expect any literature from China worthy of a grand international prize to be immensely critical of the Chinese government and must address censorship, Hong Kong, Taiwan, Xinjiang, Tibet, Tiananmen Square, suppression of freedom of speech, lack of democracy. Again, Chinese writers are not writing this. As with any country, China's literature production is complex. It is a dynamic relationship where "the relationship between criticism and complicity is as cloudy as the editorial demands of the state" (17). In face of this arbitrary and absurd power of the censor, the authors of China change tactics and employ the flexibility of the Chinese language to skirt, dodge, evade, and boy does the Chinese language have pliancy. Some authors, like Mo Yan, allow their public persona to be subsumed by the state, a trade decision so that he can have a little more freedom in writing. Others, like Yan Lianke, have their selves eroded. This is not including the vast array of online fiction discussed, an industry I have learned features 24 million titles with about 430 million active daily readers burning through trashy, fiery, passionate fiction (55)! Also included: whole online communities of women writing for women about gay relationships, ethnic minority fiction of Uighurs and Tibetans heavily policed in that horrifying police state of Xinjiang such that their works require safe abode in Istanbul, the heartfelt story of one of the largest sources of migrant working class poetry on the planet, the underground samizdat-like comics scene, and the optimistic brand of Chinese science fiction that has relative popularity worldwide.
If there is anything to critique, it’s the lack of backing for the numbers she provides. In spite of the lengthy citations at the end of the book I don’t know how she got the estimates for online readers, how she scoured through multiple sites for all the fiction titles. I think there was another instance in which I tried to verify a statement she made and I couldn’t find it in the back of the book. But truth be told, I’m not super picky about this. It’s a well-researched book that really is just an overview of the iceberg of literature.
There's more I could share, but I'd like to wrap up by quoting Yan Lianke, one of China's modern authors leading Chinese literature, whose books have been banned and censored. And the reason I say that he is banned and censored in China is to prime you to hear his words, because there's an expectation that he must be a great author simply because one or some of his books are banned in China. It's a great marketing tool. But, as he says, "the first point I want to make is that a banned book doesn't mean that it's a good book....the corollary to that is a book that is not banned isn't a bad book".
And so I hope that if you have an interest in modern Chinese literature, or if you're wondering if any kind of interesting literature could be produced under the authoritarian conditions of modern, Xi Jinping China, I say come read this very short book and you'll learn a lot!
Link to Yan Lianke's interview
March 16, 2023
The subtext — The Subplot (Megan Walsh)
Politics in China are opaque. Its importance to the rest of us, let alone the Chinese people, is paramount. One is often warned to not confuse a people with their state. And one is often warned that a people can have invisible effects on their state (the state is, after all, made of people). In this brisk book, Walsh argues that Chinese literature is an important way to understand the relations between grand narratives and individual experiences. Or, to put it another way, the “main melody” of the CCP and the actual lives of those it governs.
Walsh argues that Chinese literature and its writers are far too simply conceived in Western minds. Yes, the censors of the CCP and the self-censors (whether organisational, mutual, or internal) of the authors are oppressive. The current objective of the CCP and its conception of history and future shapes and scars the literature industry in China. But the West should not consider whether some author or work being banned in China or not as the worth yardstick. The censors are (slightly) more complex than one might assume, and authors do not fit neatly into exclusive “apparatchik” or “artist” boxes.
Each chapter in the book covers a specific genre or generation of fiction. The first covers those born in the 50s and 60s who, due to the rapid material progress of China (and the Great Leap Forward and Cultural Revolution) find themselves in a psychological state of complete absurdity. Cause and effect have no relation to each other. The second chapter covers the generation writing about and around China’s urbanisation in the 70s and 80s. Some authors are conceived of as too individualist or selfish. Others, enabled by the internet, have given voice to those who would otherwise be without: China’s migrant worker underclass.
The third chapter covers the web novel and escapist fantasy periodicals. The stereotypical setup is: a deadbeat is hit by a truck only to be sent back in time or to a fantastical world and granted equally fantastical powers. He (and it is typically a he) then uses these powers in order to accumulate wealth, power, women, et al. That is: escapist literature produced for young adults. Ironically, though writing escapist fantasies, the reality is one of data- and audience-driven sweatshop labour. And CCP censors have every motivation to get involved due to this genre’s popularity. The fourth chapter covers homoerotic literature (BL, or “Boys Love”) and that by or about ethnic minorities. We get a literary history of the “wolf warrior” diplomacy: from Jiang Rong’s “Wolf Totem” into “wolf culture”. Reflecting “predatory and merciless behaviour in ethnic borderlands”, a culture of domination, conquering, power.
Chapter five and six are more concerned with the harder side of Chinese society. Law and order, technology and development. What of crime thrillers in a society where unsolved murders don’t exist, the authorities are hyper-competent, and justice is always served? What might society or identity look like when we are all sacrificed at the alter of science and technology? An enduring theme here is the arbitrary nature of the censors.
Walsh writes in a concise and convincing style. A reader is certain to be convinced that understanding Chinese literature is important given the geopolitics. Perhaps moreso, a reader should be convinced that Chinese literature is worth reading.
Politics in China are opaque. Its importance to the rest of us, let alone the Chinese people, is paramount. One is often warned to not confuse a people with their state. And one is often warned that a people can have invisible effects on their state (the state is, after all, made of people). In this brisk book, Walsh argues that Chinese literature is an important way to understand the relations between grand narratives and individual experiences. Or, to put it another way, the “main melody” of the CCP and the actual lives of those it governs.
Walsh argues that Chinese literature and its writers are far too simply conceived in Western minds. Yes, the censors of the CCP and the self-censors (whether organisational, mutual, or internal) of the authors are oppressive. The current objective of the CCP and its conception of history and future shapes and scars the literature industry in China. But the West should not consider whether some author or work being banned in China or not as the worth yardstick. The censors are (slightly) more complex than one might assume, and authors do not fit neatly into exclusive “apparatchik” or “artist” boxes.
Each chapter in the book covers a specific genre or generation of fiction. The first covers those born in the 50s and 60s who, due to the rapid material progress of China (and the Great Leap Forward and Cultural Revolution) find themselves in a psychological state of complete absurdity. Cause and effect have no relation to each other. The second chapter covers the generation writing about and around China’s urbanisation in the 70s and 80s. Some authors are conceived of as too individualist or selfish. Others, enabled by the internet, have given voice to those who would otherwise be without: China’s migrant worker underclass.
The third chapter covers the web novel and escapist fantasy periodicals. The stereotypical setup is: a deadbeat is hit by a truck only to be sent back in time or to a fantastical world and granted equally fantastical powers. He (and it is typically a he) then uses these powers in order to accumulate wealth, power, women, et al. That is: escapist literature produced for young adults. Ironically, though writing escapist fantasies, the reality is one of data- and audience-driven sweatshop labour. And CCP censors have every motivation to get involved due to this genre’s popularity. The fourth chapter covers homoerotic literature (BL, or “Boys Love”) and that by or about ethnic minorities. We get a literary history of the “wolf warrior” diplomacy: from Jiang Rong’s “Wolf Totem” into “wolf culture”. Reflecting “predatory and merciless behaviour in ethnic borderlands”, a culture of domination, conquering, power.
Chapter five and six are more concerned with the harder side of Chinese society. Law and order, technology and development. What of crime thrillers in a society where unsolved murders don’t exist, the authorities are hyper-competent, and justice is always served? What might society or identity look like when we are all sacrificed at the alter of science and technology? An enduring theme here is the arbitrary nature of the censors.
Walsh writes in a concise and convincing style. A reader is certain to be convinced that understanding Chinese literature is important given the geopolitics. Perhaps moreso, a reader should be convinced that Chinese literature is worth reading.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 83 reviews