Language: Chinese

Weekly Dispatches From the Frontlines of World Literature

The latest from Hong Kong, Egypt, and India!

This week, our Editors-at-Large bring us news from around the globe on the latest in world literature. From Hong Kong’s vibrant multicultural literary festival, to the release of Alaa Abd El-Fattah in Egypt and a collection of award-winning Indian authors, read on to learn more.

Charlie Ng, Editor-at-Large, Reporting from Hong Kong

Hong Kong’s literary scene welcomed a vibrant celebration of European writing with the return of the European Literature Night (ELN) this September. Organized by Czech Centers and the European Union National Institutes for Culture, the event originated in Prague in 2006 with the aim of introducing contemporary European literature through public readings in non-traditional venues. Following a successful debut in Hong Kong last year, the 2025 edition featured a strengthened line-up of thirteen European countries. Over four and a half hours, well-known local guests read excerpts from European writers for approximately ten minutes each. Readings occurred simultaneously at fourteen different locations across Central and Sheung Wan at thirty-minute intervals, allowing audiences to plan their own personalized literature route.

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Life Cycles of the Text: On Eliot Weinberger’s The Life of Tu Fu & Eric Weiskott’s Cycle of Dreams

Was I reading Tu Fu, Du Fu, or 杜甫 ? Or was I reading Weinberger? Have I really read Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky? Or only Pevear and Volokhonksy?

Reviews of translations tend to find themselves in familiar ruts; concern over perceived faithfulness, deftness or lack thereof, that is, if they recognize that it is a translation at all. Below, Mathew Weitman casts a scathing eye to recent criticism of Eliot Weinberger’s The Life of Tu Fu, praised by Forrest Gander as a “distinctive and refreshing” text, and broadens his discussion to include Eric Weiskott’s translation of and expansion upon the Middle English poem Piers Plowman in Cycle of Dreams. Weitman’s essay, through the works of Weinberger and Weiskott, disregards the justification of unconventional translations to explore instead what these works represent for translation, authorship, and humanity’s shared experiences across time and space.

For over forty years, Eliot Weinberger has piqued our foremost and laziest critics. His expertise remains inconveniently wedged between autodidactic and erudite, and his unique blend of formal innovation and wry humor never undercuts the seriousness of his disparate subjects of study. His translations of Octavio Paz, Bei Dao, and Jorge Luis Borges—to name a few—are forever colored by his well-known inquiry into the art of translation, 19 Ways of Looking at Wang Wei (a critical work that is itself colored by Weinberger’s self-reflexivity and ironic dogmatism). This is all to say that though Weinberger’s systematic destruction of readerly expectations—via genre, via tone, via form—should come to be expected, for the past few months I’ve enjoyed the bemused, uncurious, and outright lacking critical discourse around his newest book, The Life of Tu Fu.

In the small pool of Weinberger’s reviewers, two factions have formed in the shallow end. First, there are those who attempt to summarize the work. These blurbists are quick to tell you things you already know—things like (to paraphrase), “Though its title suggests this would be a biography of the Tang Dynasty poet Tu Fu, it is actually a book of poems.” And/or: “Weinberger’s newest collection of poems is not comprised of original poems—at least not in the romantic sense of ‘original.’ Instead, they are translations of various Tu Fu poems collaged together… Like a cento [or something].” These protracted synopses avoid critical engagement with the text almost as assiduously as the text avoids genre. READ MORE…

The Perennial Moon: An Interview with Li Zi Shu and YZ Chin on Mahua Fiction

Mahua writers. . . have eschewed the “pure” language passed down through the eons in favor of depicting reality on the ground. . .

Mahua literature, or Malaysian Chinese literature, emerged in the early twentieth century, drawing inspiration from the Wusi (May Fourth) Movement and reflecting on localised identities, questions of belonging, and negotiations of culture within plurilingual, multicultural Malaysia. Often subjected to nationalist policies that prioritise creative works in Malay, Mahua literature occupies a liminal space, overlooked by Malaysia, mainland China, and the larger Chinese-speaking world, yet resonant in its transnational and Sinophone dimensions, according to scholar Cheow Thia Chan in Malaysian Crossings (2023). Many Mahua authors write in conversational Chinese (Bai hua) embedded with atmospheric Malaysian locality. Called a “transperipheral” formation outside borders by Chan, it navigates a global marginality with a style that’s almost an anomaly—and rightfully so.

Among these Mahua voices, Li Zi Shu stands out as a representative figure, along with King Ban Hui, Li Tianbao, Zeng Linglong, Ho Sok Fong, and Ng Kim Chew. Born in Ipoh, Perak in Malaysia, Li Zi Shu worked as a schoolteacher, dishwasher, shoe store salesperson, and then a journalist before dedicating herself fully to writing short novels. Eventually, she began writing longer works, including her celebrated first full-length novel The Age of Goodbyes, published in its Chinese original in Taiwan in 2010 and in mainland China two years later. Chosen as one of the best novels by Asia Weekly in 2010 and China Times in 2011, the novel was translated into English by Louise Meriwether Prize-winning Malaysian fictionist YZ Chin for Feminist Press.

In this interview, I spoke with Li (in West Malaysia) and Chin (in New York) in a conversation that spans Li’s novels, especially The Age of Goodbyes, the diaspora of Mahua writers and Malaysian Chinese communities, and what it means to not belong.

Alton Melvar M Dapanas (AMMD): Zi Shu, your novel The Age of Goodbyes was described by Michael Berry in The Columbia Companion to Modern Chinese Literature (2016) as “not only a new take on Malaysian Chinatown life during the 1960s but also a fresh use of the Chinese language, tinged with a neoclassical style, and a complex metafictional narrative.” Could you share how this novel come together over time?

Li Zi Shu (LZS): The Age of Goodbyes was written before I turned forty. At that time, I felt a sense of urgency—I had been writing for over a decade, mostly short stories and flash fiction. I was eager to try my hand at a longer form, or rather, I truly wanted to craft something more “grand,” something that could be regarded as a “great” work. Looking back now, I realize that was a somewhat naive perspective, and perhaps a misunderstanding of what literature is. Over the years, I have developed a much greater appreciation for the subtle and the minute. Nonetheless, before I turned forty, I held high expectations for this long novel. I wanted to pour all my knowledge and ideas accumulated over the years into this one work. The use of a metafictional narrative was a deliberate “device,” partly because it allowed the novel to have more space—much like adding an attic or a cellar to a house, enabling multiple layers of storytelling to coexist. At that time, I was eager to demonstrate everything I could do with a novel within a single piece. The structural choice of metafiction was driven by that desire.

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Magical Taiwan: A Literature Exhibition Bringing Myth, History, and Reimagined Futures to Osaka

. . . a place where gods, spirits, and spectral beings coexist across layered landscapes and tradition.

From August 10 to 20, Osaka hosted “Magical Taiwan,” an exhibit featuring the breadth and deep lineages of divination, folklore, spiritualism, and the supernatural in Taiwanese literature. From genre mainstays to oral traditions to indigenous influences, the featured works and writers emphasized their unique cultural traditions, while gesturing towards an affinity and commonality with Japan’s own significant mythologies.

In Japan, the time of Obon is when the veil between the living and the dead grows thin. In some regions, it is said that one’s ancestors travel between the realms on “spirit horses” fashioned from cucumbers and eggplants. This summer, however, right before the festivities, a different crop of guests crossed the threshold; from Taiwan to Japan, ghosts and gods traveled on the wings of the written word for “Magical Taiwan,” an exhibition of Taiwanese literature. The Special Room of the Osaka City Central Public Hall, with its frescos of Japanese myths and legends, provided an ideal locale for the event, which was curated by the National Museum of Taiwan Literature and subtitled “The Enchanted Page: Folktales and Magical Realism in Taiwan Literature.” Time seemed to slow as people of all ages moved through the six themed areas, each a gateway to Taiwan’s literary enchantments, spanning the shimmering realm of magical realism, the chilling darkness of ghost stories, and the enduring influence of folkloric wisdom.

The exhibit began with “Indigenous Taiwan: The Inspiration Behind Myths and Magic,” in which three authors from Taiwan’s various indigenous groups showcased their works: 絕島之咒 (Curse of the Island) by Amis writer Nakao Eki, 巫旅 (Witch Way) by Puyuma author Badai, and 八代灣的神話 (The Myths of Badai Bay) by Tao/Yami writer Syaman Rapongan. Attendees could be seen paging through a copy of the latter, a collection of myths and legends important to the native people of Lanyu (Orchid Island), located to the southeast of Taiwan. Happily enough, the July 2025 issue of Asymptote features an excerpt from Rapongan’s Eyes of the Ocean (with an accompanying lesson plan in the issue’s Educator’s Guide); in it, Rapongan—who has been described as an “ocean writer”—recounts a scene from his travels to Greenland: READ MORE…

What’s New in Translation: August 2025

The latest from Palestine, France, Germany, Brazil, Italy, Bulgaria, Japan, Canada, Cuba, Argentina, Slovakia, and China!

This month’s round-up of newly released titles spans twelve titles across twelve countries. We’ve got a profound and lucid collection compiled of diaries from the genocide in Gaza; a readdressing of womanly sacrifice in the domestic realm; an Argentinian novel reinventing the history of Italy’s famed “Park of the Monsters”; the long-awaited esoteric and experimental tome from German writer Michael Lentz; essays and textual riches from the father of surrealism; and much, much more. . .

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Voices of Resistance: Diaries of Genocide by Nahil Mohana, Sondos Sabra, Ala’a Obaid, and Batool Abu Akleen, translated from the Arabic by Basma Ghalayini and Ayah Najadat, Comma Press, 2025

Review by Justin Goodman

Similar to the intimate testimonies of Atef Abu Said’s Don’t Look Left and Plestia Alaqad’s The Eyes of Gaza, Voices of Resistance compiles the diaries of four Gazan women, tracing their thoughts as they mourn their martyred, fear their decimation, celebrate the Palestinian people, and sacrifice meals for the sake of birthday pastries. Together, Batool Abu Akleen, Sondos Sabra, Nahil Mohana, and Ala’a Obaid highlight what Gillian Slovo describes in her introduction as both a beauty “in [their] honesty and spirit” and a horror as they gain “a whole new vocabulary for describing the sounds of different bombs.” This latter is compiled by Mohana in a list running half a page long, as she distinguishes the subtleties between “Bouf” (aerial bombing) and “Dddof” (artillery shelling). Most importantly, however, she adds: “. . . we have begun to lose our hearing.”

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Summer 2025: Highlights from the Team

Our bountiful Summer 2025 edition is filled with gems—as these highlights from our team show!

I have complicated feelings about Carolina Brown’s “Anthropocene” (tr. Jessica Powell). The brevity it accords its narrator’s transness is alternately touching and maddening, the fatphobia is at once completely spot-on for such a self-loathing narrator and at the same time it is pretty dehumanizing‚ but, ultimately, all that falls away in the ravaged face of a one-armed zombie jogging across the post climate-change Antarctic wasteland. A wonderful sci-fi tale.

I’d love Syaman Rapongan’s Eyes of an Ocean (tr. Darryl Sterk) for the title alone, but fortunately, Rapongan seems like a strong contender for the title of the actual most-interesting-man-in-the-world. His play with words, his treatment of colonization and indigeneity, the kindness with which he talks about younger generations. I really needed to read something like this, after all the ugliness that’s been going on in my own country.

I love the gender-bender secret agent in Valentinas Klimašauskas’s Polygon (tr. Erika Lastovskytė) so freaking much. The concluding discussion of airplane spotters is a particular stand-out for its treatment of how individuals become conscious of their political power.

Refugees are human beings. Where Rodrigo Urquiola Flores’ “La Venezolana” (tr. Shaina Brassard) shines is in its steadfast refusal either to vilify or idealize them, to present them in all their messy humanity, and in its willingness to show how shameful the narrator’s behavior towards them.

—Julia Maria, Digital Editor

Emmanuelle Sapin’s story “A Child Is Stolen” (tr. Michelle Kiefer) starts off with a swift, telling punch to the gut and builds from there.

Ahmad Shamlou’s poems in Niloufar Talebi’s lilting translation hover in waves of emotion and radiance: “Give me mirrors and eager moths, / light and wine…”

With playfulness and insight, Katia Grubisic sharpens the discussion about AI and translation by focusing on error in her piece “The Authority of Error”: “My argument is that AI makes the wrong kind of mistakes.  Mistakes breed resilience, and, most importantly, humility.”

Fawwaz Taboulsi, in Yasmine Zohdi’s translation, steers us directly into the sadness of Lebanon, 1982, and the time of the Siege of Beirut. His grief speaks with lucidity: “And, ever so slowly, the departing fighters peel away from the grasping, waving hands and from the embracing arms. Like skin peeling off its own flesh. They peel away from the farewells. From the prayers. From the promises.”

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about how writers build characters. Jana Putrle Srdić’s poem “End of the world, beginning” in Katia Zakrajšek’s translation, does this in striking ways: ” Sitting on a warm rock, scratching in the wind, / you are a monkey, a branch with ants filing along it, debris in the air, / spots of flickering light”

—Ellen Elias-Bursać, Contributing Editor READ MORE…

Weekly Dispatches From the Frontlines of World Literature

The latest literary news from Hong Kong, Sweden, and Mexico!

This week, our Editors-at-Large bring us updates on book fairs, industry trends, and tk. From the impact of censorship on book fairs in Hong Kong, to the domination of Scandi-noir in Sweden, to a celebration of a beloved publishing house in Mexico, read on to find out more!

Charlie Ng, Editor-at-Large, reporting from Hong Kong

The 35th Hong Kong Book Fair took place from July 16 to July 22, at the Hong Kong Convention and Exhibition Centre in Wan Chai. This year’s theme, “Food Culture.Future Living,” aimed to explore culinary traditions and histories, connecting food cultures and lifestyles. As part of the event, the “Theme of the Year Seminar Series” featured a variety of sessions with authors and speakers dedicated to discussing food cultures from various perspectives. Topics included the historical significance of culinary traditions, the link between nutrition and health, and future trends in food consumption. Despite its rich programming, the fair experienced a notable decline in visitor numbers, with attendance dropping approximately 10% from the previous year. Organizers from the Hong Kong Trade Development Council reported that around 890,000 visitors participated, down from 990,000 in 2024. This decline followed the disruption caused by Typhoon Wipha, which forced the fair to suspend activities for an entire day. Some exhibitors expressed dissatisfaction with the situation as there was a significant drop in sales attributed to the typhoon’s impact on the peak business day.

Meanwhile, Hong Kong literary group the House of Hong Kong Literature announced the cancellation of its own book fair, originally scheduled for July 18-27. The non-profit organization expressed regret for the abrupt decision, which stemmed from unspecified reasons that were beyond the organizer’s control. Co-founder Tang Siu-wa mentioned that the cancellation affected their fundraising efforts, especially as profits were intended to support their relocation. In recent years, independent publishers and bookstores in Hong Kong have increasingly organized alternative book fairs to counter perceived censorship by the Hong Kong Trade Development Council. The HKTDC had explicitly rejected applications to join Hong Kong Book Fair from publishers that published books on pro-democracy movements or asked exhibitors to remove sensitive titles from their shelves. Moreover, the “Reading Everywhere” independent book fair co-hosted at Hunter Bookstore, located in Sham Shui Po, faced scrutiny from the pro-Beijing newspaper Wen Wei Po, which alleged that the event fostered “soft resistance” against the government. The bookstore’s director, Leticia Wong, defended the fair, stating that the selection of books focused on local authors and was not intended to conceal any titles. Some other businesses in the same district were also accused of “soft resistance,” including a pen shop that sold ballpoint pens featuring local-concept designs, which won an award in 2019, and a café with graffiti of a frog on the wall, interpreted as Pepe the Frog, a cartoon character that gained symbolic meaning as a pro-democracy icon during the 2019 protests. READ MORE…

Weekly Dispatches From the Frontlines of World Literature

The latest in literary news from Bulgaria, China, and India!

This week, our Editors-at-Large take us around the world for updates on literary events, awards, and initiatives. From a celebration of the 101st edition of a cornerstone in Bulgaria’s literary scene, to a deep dive into innovative literary prizes in China, and an introduction to the winner of the 2025 Armory Square Prize for South Asian Literature in Translation—read on to learn more.

Andriana Hamas, Editor-at-Large, Reporting from Bulgaria

Recently, I had the pleasure of attending a couple of literary events organized within the annual Пловдив чете (“Plovdiv Reads”) festival in my hometown. One of them was a discussion about the anniversary issue (the 101st, to be precise) of the Bulgarian magazine for literature and the humanities called Страница (“Page”).

The magazine, published every three months, was founded in 1997 in Plovdiv in collaboration with the local university St. Paisii Hilendarski. Throughout the years, it has provided a platform for a vast array of voices. In fact, almost all Bulgarian authors who have been active since and before Issue 1 have been present on its pages through their poetry, short stories, essays, criticism, memoirs, translations, interviews, and more. What truly separates it from other similar projects, however, is the dedicated literary criticism section and its yearly academic analysis of the development of Bulgarian literature over time, the directions it seems to have taken, and emerging trends in the Bulgarian literary scene.

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Our Summer 2025 Edition Has Landed!

Featuring Alda Merini, Bassam Yousuf, Carolina Brown, and Daniel Saldaña París in our AI-themed Feature

Do other people have inner lives? Or are they just NPCs with no consciousness, no soul? We can’t know for sure! Philosophers call this “the zombie problem,” which also happens to be the tagline of our Summer 2025 issue. Not least because there is an actual zombie featured for the first time in our pages via Carolina Brown’s biting cli-fi; the “zombie problem” is also at the heart of any discussion about AI—the theme of this edition’s wildcard Special Feature. Alongside MARGENTO’s extraordinary hybrid human-AI work, we are proud to bring you an exclusive interview with acclaimed translator Boris Dralyuk, a dossier of poems by the beloved Italian master Alda Merini, an excerpt from Lithuanian novelist Valentinas Klimašauskas’s genre-bending Polygon, a pair of pieces by Anna Tsouhlarakis and Syaman Rapongan centering their indigenous worldviews, and our first article from the Azerbaijani amid new work from 32 countries—all of it movingly illustrated by Singapore-based guest artist Xin Lui Ng.

The question of consciousness takes center stage in our Special Feature on AI—not the ersatz sentience of AI itself, but rather the uneasy cognizance, among members of the literary community, of its disruptive potential this side of singularity—hence the Feature’s title, “What AI Can’t Do.” From Daniel Saldaña París’s incisive meditation on AI in translation to S. K. Birk’s tale of a fiction-generating chatbot forced into the role of a lonely girl’s eternal yes-man, these pieces highlight the limits of AI as a tool for transforming the more fundamental problems of a society that too often turns a blind eye to hegemony and suffering.

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Elsewhere, “the zombie problem” becomes grotesquely literal, from the undead trudging across post-climate change Antarctica in Brown’s “Anthropocene” to the humanoid fungi encountered by the hikikomori in Luis Carlos Barragán Castro’s intense mind trip of a story “Cephalomorphs.” One might turn into a zombie too, carrying out inhuman orders on behalf of an authoritarian regime as we see in Syrian writer Bassam Yousuf’s devastating real-life account of a childhood friend-turned-torturer. Even in more idyllic circumstances, one can suddenly discover that one is “no longer there,” that one has become “a suspended, emptied image, merged with its surroundings,” as Slovenian poet Jana Putrle Srdić puts it in “End Of The World, Beginning”; indeed, social norms can disfigure a person until they lead a life that is more performance than living. In DramaYannis Palavos gives us the story of a man dogged by crime and a daughter dogged in turn by his memory, her searching monologue part exorcism, part attempt to restore humanity to them both. Appearing in English for the very first time in our fourth Special Feature themed on outsiders, Bolivian author Rodrigo Urquiola Flores’s encounters with Venezuelan refugees unfold across a gamut of misadventures—but through it all he never lets us forget their humanity or his.

In light of the recent flurry of announcements surrounding AI-powered literary translation services, this seems as good a moment as any to gently remind our readers that Asymptote has, for the past fifteen years, been a painstakingly human endeavor. Nothing about our work—from the meticulous curation of each issue to the minutiae of holding together a far-flung, 100-strong virtual team—has ever been generated by machine or delivered at algorithmic speed. If the growing encroachment of AI into daily life has deepened your appreciation for human creativity and labor, we warmly invite you to support us by becoming a sustaining or masthead member. Long live human-powered literature!

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Weekly Dispatches From the Frontlines of World Literature

The latest from India, Bulgaria, and Hong Kong.

In bringing you the latest in literary news around the world, our editors speak on the mysterious disappearance of a renowned Indian literary prize, the death of an iconic Bulgarian writer and community leader, and ongoing discussions of queerness and translational crafts in Hong Kong.

Sayani Sarkar, Editor-at-Large, reporting from India

In a surprising turn of events, the JCB Prize for Literature, one of India’s leading book awards, has seemingly ended without any official announcement. The only information available is a legal notice on their website stating the “revocation of the licence” for the JCB Literature Foundation, established in 2018 by JCB India (a global manufacturer of construction equipment) with the aim of promoting and celebrating Indian writing and helping readers worldwide discover the finest contemporary Indian literature.

This development has sparked significant discussions within the literary community in India. Concerned writers and translators are left wondering whether the Prize will return in a different format, but there have been no announcements regarding the 2025 shortlist. Since 2018, a selected jury has been responsible for creating a longlist of ten, a shortlist of five, and selecting the winner. Each shortlisted author received Rs 1 lakh and their translators were awarded Rs 50,000; if a translated work is named the winner, the author received Rs 25 lakh and the translator was awarded Rs 10 lakh. This prize was previously the highest-paying literary award in India, and its sudden absence is troubling, especially given the recent surge of interest after Banu Mushtak’s Heart Lamp’s win at the International Booker Prizes this year. READ MORE…

What’s New in Translation: June 2025

New publications from Iran, Argentina, Spain, Peru, Mexico, Japan, France, Finland, Sweden, China, and Italy!

This month, we’re delighted to be bringing twelve brilliant titles from eleven different countries. Find here the novelization of a famous chess match that reveals the greater geopolitical game playing us all; a summery fiction that melds the structures of nature and human architecture; a poetry collection rendering tender portraits of working-class women; a lyrical rewriting of a remarkable nun-turned-conquistador’s New World adventures; and so much more.

oblivion

Oblivion: and Other Plays from Post-revolutionary Iran, edited by Nahid Ahmadian and Ali-Reza Mirsajadi, translated from the Persian by Nahid Ahmadian, Ali-Reza Mirsajadi, and Hesam Sharifian, Seagull Books, 2025

Review by Henry Gifford

In order, the five plays included in Oblivion: and Other Plays from Post-revolutionary Iran are set in Arabia in the fifth century AD (The Sacrifice of Senemar by Bahram Beyzaie); China in the second century BC (Oblivion by Hamid Amjad); Spain in the twentieth century (Dance of Mares by Mohammad Charmshir); somewhere (per stage directions and blank spaces left in the dialogue) in the city you’re in, on the day you’re reading it (The Child by Naghmeh Samini); and a laundromat in Los Angeles at three in the morning (Bird of Dawn by Sepideh Khosrowjah). Their narratives are of a hubristic yet indecisive king and his palace; imperial bloodshed and familial betrayal; sex and mariticide; an infant born on a migrant raft, protected at the border by three women who all deny being his mother; and three generations of Iranian immigrants, each with romantic trouble and divided identities. Some are epic, and others are everyday. None of them are set in ancient Persia or modern Iran, and only the first and last are explicitly about Persians or Iranians.

Yet these are, in fact, plays from the same country over the same quarter-century, from 1995 to 2019. The diversity of their settings and scale is a wise editorial decision intended to highlight the diversity of theater in Iran, but it also reflects a practical need of addressing contemporary, local problems obliquely under a censorship regime. What is more interesting is the collection’s consistency, and in particular the nonchronological approach taken within almost all of the plays. Oblivion, for example, begins with two siblings going to meet their adoptive brother after years apart; the encounter then extends over the course of the play as a frame to the story of their lives and their parents’, acted out in shadows on a scrim behind them. The formal blending extends this sense of collapsed time; as the editors’ introduction explains in great detail, shadow puppetry (khayāl-bāzi) is an old Persian form, here embedded within a more modern, European-inflected mode. The other plays are similarly mixed—traditional aspects and motifs cohering with contemporary themes and styles.

Every nation has history, but I wonder, reading the plays of Oblivion, if there is something about Iran—a young nation of an ancient culture—that has made its past more palpable, fraught, and vividly present. READ MORE…

Weekly Dispatches From the Frontlines of World Literature

The latest from China, North Macedonia, and Sweden!

In this week’s round-up, our editors discuss the continual relevance and essentiality of literary criticism, new projects to promote literature in translation, and a memoir that reneges on skepticism to embrace interconnectivity. 

Xiao Yue Shan, reporting for China

Last week, the ceremony of the fourteenth Tang Tao Youth Literary Research Awards took place in Shanghai, honouring five young scholars and their articles in the field of criticism, with subjects ranging from the re-interpretation of classics to the analysis of contemporary intersections between textual practice and artificial intelligence. The list of awardees included Li Jing on academic systems and knowledge transformation in the digital age; Wang Xuesong on visual forms and the construction of new poetic genres; Han Songgong on the works of novelist Bi Feiyu and their analysis of human nature; Wang Bingzhong on Lu Xun’s The True Story of Ah Q and the procession of character development through spiritual awakening; and Li Zhuang on Cai Chongda’s “Hometown Trilogy” and the potentiality of literature being a point of stability amidst a fractured era.

The award, established by the National Museum of Modern Chinese Literature and given annually to scholars under the age of forty-five, has done much to nurture emerging critics and academics since its inauguration. Named after the great twentieth-century essayist, historian, and Lu Xun expert Tang Tao, the prize aims to promote innovation and passionate diligence in the field of literary studies—qualities that awardee Wang Xuesong saw as emblematic of youth itself, commenting that scholars should continually aim for the same persistence, enthusiasm, and warmth with which they began their careers (presumably before they’re crushed by the relentless pressures and depressions of academic bureaucracy).

Literary criticism can seem elitist at best and masturbatory at worst, but anyone who’s a fan will likely understand that the hermeneutics and analysis of texts are in fact interpretations and inquisitions into our most basic interests: life, reality, and the human desire for creation. To see how we continually re-engage with classical works and their sociohistorical context with the illumination of contemporary understanding, or to gauge how our faculties of intelligence and critical thinking may be altered or recalibrated with technological developments—these are pivotal questions that move beyond the page to address themes of social conflict, societal evolution, and the ever-changing modes and methodologies of expression. In substantiating the importance of these practices, judge and professor Chen Sihe noted: ‘AI has created a greater expectation for the humanities, and only when our studies prove themselves to be irreplaceable, can they have an independent and individual existence.’ It calls into question what would qualify literary criticism to be seen as irreplaceable in the greater scope of things; anyone reading this, or anyone present for Chen’s speech that evening, would certainly agree that these studies already are irreplaceable—after all, what’s more worth studying that our most integral art of communication?—but as the underfunding of the humanities continues the legacy of scholars working in uncertainty and abject poverty, and the monstrous figure of AI continues to encroach, the growing smallness of our minority cannot be denied. READ MORE…

Weekly Dispatches From the Frontlines of World Literature

The latest from India, Hong Kong, and Sweden!

This week, our editors are introducing a generous new anthology that illuminates India’s capital, the winners of prestigious Swedish literary awards, and a feature of Hong Kong poets. Read on to find out more.

Zohra Salih, Editor at Large, reporting from India

It has been a harrowing week in this part of the world. We are still, very cautiously, coming to terms with the ceasefire that was finally declared to de-escalate tensions between India and Pakistan, the consequences of which have been disproportionately and brutally borne by the residents of occupied Kashmir (one of the most militarized zones in the world). Things are now supposedly returning to ‘normal’, yet the fact that war was blatantly invoked, justified, and celebrated by fellow citizens has created an atmosphere of unease around writing about India in its aftermath, to say the least.

If he were alive today, one person would have found the words to make something meaningful and urgent amidst this fog of madness: Saadat Hasan Manto. Born in India and forced to make a second life in the newly formed Pakistan, the fiery writer and chronicler of Bombay was considered prophetic for his stories that anticipated with stark-eyed clarity the savagery awaiting the two nations post-Partition, a decision he vehemently opposed. May 11 is the 113th anniversary of his birth, and there is no better time to return to his short story, ‘Toba Tek Singh, or his collection Mottled Dawn: Fifty Sketches and Stories of Partition, than now. Those in Mumbai have also been able to experience his stories—many of them excluded from the usual anthologies—as part of an audio theatre piece performed by Katha Khana at the iconic Prithvi theatre on May 13.

I would also be remiss to not mention The World With Its Mouth Open by another journalist turned author, Zahid Rafiq, which came out in December last year. Rafiq’s debut short story collection vividly and humanely renders the lives of the people of Kashmir as they go on with what has come to be called ordinary life, marked by precarity. There is a quietness to the writing that allows Rafiq to enter your mind and transport it to the valley, blocking out all the noise that obscures its image in the mainstream imagination. Needless to say, it is essential reading for the times we are living in today. READ MORE…

The Working Class Literature Festival: Forms Worth Fighting For

Working-class literature, then . . . confronts us not with surrender, but with the need to react.

The Working Class Literature Festival, now in its third year, is looking towards the future: one of continual resistance against capitalist oppressions, global cycles of exploitation, and the exclusivity of cultural capital. With the themes of the first two editions being Genealogies and Geographies, the varied and passionate programme of 2025 is focused on Perspectives—corralled by a defiant and buoyant slogan at its center: “We will be everything.” This year, Veronica Gisondi reports from the Festival in Florence, the persistence at its core, and the contemporary context by which writers must address our classist social reality.

A spectre is haunting a factory on the outskirts of Florence. It is the spectre of class struggle, of community, of collective care: the life force with which Campi Bisenzio’s ex-GKN factory has been brimming since the mass dismissal of its workers in 2021. Home to the longest factory occupation in Italian history, the automotive components plant has been lending its premises to the Working Class Literature Festival since 2023. With more than seven thousand people attending this year’s festival, held from April 4 to 6, the popularity of Europe’s largest working-class cultural event can be read as a symptom of our time, where a widespread sentiment of distrust and frustration toward Italy’s famously conservative literary industry meets a shared need to carve out a space to reclaim, discuss, and problematize the power of working-class writing—a writing whose words are never given, but fought for—and a strong desire for unity and change.

The three-day initiative brought together blue-collar workers, trade unionists, writers, researchers, and a diverse range of publishing industry professionals to celebrate the power of class struggle, in the factory as much as on paper. Rather than being industry-backed, state-funded, or sponsored by banks (as is usually the case for major Italian literary events), the Working Class Literature Festival is independently subsidized. Thanks to the joint efforts of Collettivo di Fabbrica GKN, SOMS Insorgiamo, Edizioni Alegre, and Arci Firenze, in collaboration with Rosa Luxemburg Stiftung, the factory was transformed from a self-contained, closed-off world into a porous space for concrete action—a space, as artistic director Alberto Prunetti said in his opening speech, “for poetry,” that is, poiesis: a process of emergence through which “things are made” and “new imaginaries” can be built. “It is our duty,” he added, “to create a future where factory work and literature can once again converge.” Inspired by the impact of the GKN workers’ ongoing struggle, the festival aims to break the boundaries of individualism and subjectivation to encourage collective forms of debate and active dissent that concern work, culture, and the publishing industry alike. As Prunetti wrote on Jacobin Italia, “one of the festival’s features is that it crosses literature and politics, and makes literature a political act.” READ MORE…