Jessica Imbach has been Junior Professor of Sinology/Contemporary China at the University of Freiburg since April 2024. She previously worked as a lecturer at the Asia-Orient Institute at the University of Zurich. Her research examines the intertwining of literature, politics and new media, with her current project shedding light on the fantasy and science fiction boom in China since the 1990s.

At the end of May, a large number of female writers in the Chinese province of Gansu - exact figures are not yet available - were confronted with the full force and arbitrariness of the Chinese legal system; they face hefty fines and several years in prison for a crime that falls under China's anti-pornography law - that of writing erotic romance novels - but which sounds so inconceivable that it caused an outcry and much critical commentary even among Chinese commentators. As in previous campaigns, the police explicitly targeted so-called 'boys' love' literature. This genre of romance, in which the protagonists are both men, is widespread throughout East Asia. It is mainly published on digital literary platforms - the current case focused on the Taiwanese platform Haitang, where authors publish their texts chapter by chapter and readers can subscribe to their favourite works for a fee. Despite the homoerotic content, this literature is predominantly written and read by women - be it out of a desire to explore romantic and sexual desire beyond female stereotypes, the search for a modest extra income or simply a taste for social subcultures. However, the state's strict intervention here is primarily motivated by family policy: boys' love literature is seen as an expression of a growing singles culture in China, in which women prioritise independence and career over marriage and family. The very complexity of this phenomenon is an example of the peculiar mixture in which literature operates in China today - a space of tension in which discourse on values, economic interests, rapid digitalisation and state influence overlap in complex and sometimes contradictory ways.

Literature as a matter of state

The veneration of the written word is not just a tradition in China. The diagnosis given by progressive intellectuals at the beginning of the 20th century that China's military defeat by the European colonial powers - and, much to the dismay of the political elite at the time, by its neighbour Japan, then considered to be backward - was largely due to Confucian state doctrine, was particularly momentous. Ironically, however, their proposed solution was profoundly Confucian: only a new literature could modernize China. In particular, the idea of a "new novel" was ascribed almost supernatural powers. The late Qing reformer Liang Qichao, for example, stated in a programmatic essay that nothing had greater power over people than literature and therefore "the only way to a new people is through the new novel." Today, these words may seem unrealistic and absurd, but the idea that literature has an important role to play in public life everywhere is a recurring theme throughout the 20th century. However, it was the Maoist revolution and its Soviet-inspired cultural policy that contributed to the success of this idea. Initially, this involved military mobilisation against Japan, but later also the implementation of land reforms, education against superstition and political education, all underpinned by the glorification of the Chinese revolution.

Under Xi Jinping, many of the framework conditions may have changed, but he still adheres to the fundamental idea that literature should be a meaningful reflection of society. State control is also still an issue: according to the official roadmap for China's cultural sector, the country should have transformed itself into a "cultural superpower" by 2035. In 2013, for example, Xi launched a campaign with the unwieldy title "Telling China's story(s) well" (jianghao Zhongguo gushi 讲好中国故事). Unlike in Mao's time, however, the campaign sets no specific thematic or stylistic guidelines. Literature and art should convey a "positive and three-dimensional image of China", but the specific form of the narrative is left to the creatives themselves.

Internet literature

In order to understand why literature continues to have such a profound social impact however, it is not enough to refer to its historical and state-ideological significance. Today, much literature develops outside the traditional literary sphere, particularly in the digital space. Internet literature - rapidly published, serially consumed, often interactively co-created - now reaches a huge audience in China and has created some multimillionaire authors. To visualize the extent of the popularity of digital literature in China, it helps to take a look at the latest statistics: Over half of China's approximately 900 million internet users read literature online every day. Almost more remarkable than the figures themselves is the fact that the China Internet Network Information Centre records the reading of literature at all. Although the state is keeping an increasingly close eye on this digital sphere and, as in the case of the arrested Haitang authors, is intervening with selective clean-up campaigns, strict control has so far failed to materialise - not least because Internet literature today often provides the source material for TV series, mangas and video games. It is therefore of great economic importance to China's cultural and creative industries.

Fantasy literature has become the dominant genre on digital literature platforms. It can be continuously expanded on, making it ideal for a subscription-based business model based on continuous reader loyalty; endless novels promise endless profits. The enormously long story arcs often follow a video game logic. The protagonists advance from one level to the next, constantly defeating new enemies and improving their magical abilities. For many authors, this narrative mechanic has long since become a real-world strategy. The focus is no longer solely on literary success, but on the prospect of a lucrative adaptation of their work.

Fantasy literature also reimagines historical developments or conceives of futures that do not always coincide with the historical narratives and visions of progress disseminated by the state. It is precisely this subversive potential that poses an enormous challenge; platforms attempt to counter it not only with automated censorship software, but also with incentive systems that reward readers who report problematic passages. The argument here is the protection of minors, but in China the moral justification is often a pretext for political control. Content that could be read as ideologically deviant is thus regulated under the guise of morality. 
For the vast majority of authors and readers, however, the focus is neither on making a quick buck nor on an urge to overthrow the regime, but rather on the sense of community that forms around much-loved works and genres. This reflects a highly idealised understanding of literature; it embodies the hope of social advancement and personal self-realisation like no other artistic endeavour. Literary platforms offer young Chinese people an accessible opportunity to share in this dream.

Literature as a marketing strategy

Only if you understand the unbroken appeal of this literary dream in China can you understand why large Chinese companies and technology corporations like to present themselves in a literary light. For example, both the YouTube-like BiliBili and the short video platform Kuaishou, the main competitor of Tik Tok in China, have published poetry anthologies featuring contributions from their users. The poems are mostly very simple and highly sentimental, but this shows how deeply literature seems to be connected to social hopes and ideals across all social classes. In contrast, Chinese platforms, which today are often heavily criticised for their sometimes very vulgar entertainment offerings, can use poetry to present themselves as culturally relevant and socially responsible.

While poetry is a good marketing strategy for social media platforms with a tarnished image, mega corporations and state-owned technology companies are particularly interested in science fiction. In recent years, the media platform "Future Affairs Administration", which specialises in science fiction content, has already organised various collaborations between China's industrial sector, including state-owned companies such as the energy operator SPIC, and science fiction authors. The collaboration with the Ant Group, which operates the shopping platform TaoBao, resulted in the anthology "Land of Hope", whose stories deal with AI and e-commerce. The most recent publication of this kind was in collaboration with the car manufacturer BYD. In keeping with the company's self-image, the resulting volume of stories was confidently titled "Architects of the Future".

In general, science fiction is enjoying enormous popularity. The genre is increasingly seen as a symbol of China's technological progress and culture of innovation. In this context, the success of Chinese science fiction is seen as a reflection of the country's transformation from a global manufacturing hub to a leader in advanced technology and future-oriented thinking. Anecdotally, it is reported that Liu Cixin's bestseller The Three Suns is now being taught in Party schools where communist cadres receive their political education. And recently, the Vice President of the Chinese Writers' Association, Qiu Huadong, even announced that science fiction will play a central role in the coming "cultural struggle of the great powers" (daguo wenhua boyi 大国文化博弈).

The search for purposeless spaces

Aside from the hype of commercial literary platforms and technocratic science fiction hype, literary voices from underprivileged social classes have also recently gained notoriety. Most recently, Hu Anyan achieved this with his autobiographical collection of stories I'm Delivering Parcels in Beijing, a no-holds-barred description of the abuses of China's gig economy. The fact that such a critical text could be published at all may seem surprising at first glance, but a key factor in this apparent tolerance towards the currently very popular working-class writers - another example is Fan Yusu - is the fact that the Communist Party has been increasingly presenting itself as a disciplining force against capitalist excess - for example by banishing powerful entrepreneurs from public life. Moreover, the existence of such texts should not blind us to the fact that there are increasingly more taboos, and a growing number of writers and urban intellectuals can no longer publish their texts in China. Nevertheless, many continue to write and their texts circulate in private chat groups with like-minded authors. Online, the term "drawer literature" (chouti wenxue 抽屉文学) has been coined to describe this underground literature. The digital resurgence of this term, originally introduced to refer to literature written in secret during the Maoist era, shows that the literary discourse as a whole has narrowed considerably again in recent years. Today, hardly anyone in China still believes that literature can bring about radical social change. However, what unites all areas of Chinese literature, from boys' love fiction to the new "drawer literature", is the realisation that, for the vast majority of Chinese, literature represents one thing above all: a place of longing.

Jessica Imbach's essay originally appeared in Geschichte der Gegenwart. We are grateful for permission to republish it here.