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Yan Lianke (author), Carlos Rojas (translator), Sound and Silence: My Experience with China and Literature, Duke University Press, 2024. 192 pgs.
In late April 2024, Literary Hub released an excerpt from Yan Lianke’s Sound and Silence: My Experience with China and Literature, translated by Carlos Rojas, with an attention-grabbing headline, “Yan Lianke Wants You to Stop Describing Him As China’s Most Censored Author.” In the excerpt, Yan speaks candidly of this characterisation: “[W]henever I am abroad and am introduced as China’s most censored author, I simply remain silent, feeling neither pride nor pleasure in this description.”
Author of a wide range of satirical fiction critical of social, cultural, and political choices made within mainland China, Yan views the moniker “most censored author” as mildly dismissive, instead mentioning the censorship several authors other than himself—among them, Vladimir Nabokov, Jorge Luis Borges, Mario Vargas Llosa, Milan Kundera, Salman Rushdie, and Orhan Pamuk—have suffered, thereby elevating them to the position of “internationally famous banned author” not specifically because they were banned, but rather, because the works they created were “great works.” He then clarifies that the meaning of what it means to be censored can sometimes be arbitrary, citing an author who went to great lengths to bribe Chinese censors to obtain the perceived profitability of being an author “banned in China.” Importantly, Yan notes that this author has not necessarily achieved “artistic quality”, even though they’ve obtained their desired notoriety.
Essential to his examination of his role as a writer of banned literature, he notes the impossibility of readers ever escaping a relationship with state—or even market—power, and clarifies that permitted goals within publishing relate to the principle that “the reader comes first,” with subsequent emphasis upon turning a buck, rather than focusing on “the exploration of artistic truth” or “literature’s unremitting inquiry into the reality of the human soul.” He casts no aspersions on the larger role of the commodification of literature; rather, he bemoans the reality that soulless writing will likely be amplified over writing that interrogates what it means to be human. While this trend is not necessarily limited solely to the Chinese literary market, it certainly features as an economically desirable outcome.
In fact, Yan points to the co-opting of authors who would seek to bow at the throne of commerce, rather than creating a pure expression of artistic integrity. He states: “When power aligns readers, the market, and pure art into a united front… they achieve a state of co-victory, co-prosperity, and coexistence, whereas other writing becomes minoritised, contested, and banned.” Thus, his derision does not appear to be directed at defined political actors, but rather at market forces that both feature innocuous writing that fails to investigate the human condition, and surreptitiously elevates him to a manufactured position as “China’s Most Censored Author.” It appears he finds the label to be disingenuous, at best.
The excerpt includes specific conclusions of how he, as a censored author, might function best. First, he notes that the creation of controversial modern Chinese works should not specifically be sought after by authors, but rather written in alignment with the idea that they are “something that society needs.” Second, while Yan indicates that controversy and censorship are not good, he cannot argue that they are necessarily bad. He again leans toward artistic integrity, noting that: “We must try to help ensure that the qualities of integrity and truth in the author’s work might endure.” In the pursuit of that endurance, his third conclusion, indicating that the author should not become distanced from society, the environment, and most readers, remains prescient, a validation of the elements that comprise the bedrock of an author’s impetus toward artistic integrity. Censorship or not, the writer remains composed within their cultural milieu, discovering, criticising, and clarifying their relation to the world and others.
Whether or not his works are published in his homeland—and I sincerely hope they will be one day—I am grateful to have access to his compelling writings. His contributions have enriched my understanding of modern Chinese literature, enhancing my overall experience as a reader. For this, I extend my gratitude to Yan Lianke and other bold Chinese authors who continue to publish today.
How to cite: Freeman, A. B. “Yan Lianke: The Reader Comes First.” Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, 29 Nov. 2024, chajournal.blog/2024/11/29/yan-lianke.
A. B. Freeman has been an expatriate for over twenty years, living in Japan, Malaysia, Hong Kong, the United Arab Emirates, and Portugal. A lifelong reader, he’s recently discovered his authorial voice, particularly in examining how participation in international migrancy inculcates an authenticity of individuality which may have otherwise lain dormant. He is pleased to list Cha as the home of his first literary publications. He is currently at work on his first novel, Raindrops in Porto. Visit his blog for more information. [All contributions by A. B. Freeman.]
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