I grew up in the semi-tropical south, dotted by wet paddy fields, but I always wanted to go to the north, the solemn and tough north. According to the geopolitics of China, the north represents culture and power, while the south retains rotten feudal traditions and trivial domestic comforts. I spent the first nineteen years of my life in the southern Chinese province called Zhejiang, a green hilly region south of Shanghai. There, everything was about agriculture. During the day people toiled in the rice paddies beside their buffaloes; at night three generations ate noodles while listening to the chickens in the backyard.
Well Done, No. 3777!
Isis in Darkness
Margaret Atwood presents a man pining for his lost love over decades.
Do Not Say We Have Nothing
An extract from Madeleine Thien‘s Man-Booker shortlisted novel.
Zulu Romeo Foxtrot
Douglas Coupland on rock-star font Helvetica.
In Sight of the Lake
A women looks for control in a story by Alice Munro.
A mildewed dystopia from Camilla Grudova.
Best book of 1947: L’Écume des Jours by Boris Vian
‘In those spring nights, I sat by barbecue stalls in the streets of Beijing, reading this novel under dim streetlights while eating lamb skewers.’
The Price of Freedom, Including VAT
‘I had lost my native country, now I was going to lose a continent.’