Today Joseph Brant interviews Xueting C. Ni, Chu Xidao and Hong Niangzi about writing horror and their recent anthology Sinophagia
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| Cover by Alyssa Winans |
Xueting C. Ni has been extolling the virtues of Chinese cultures to the geek community since
the mid 2000s, hosting tea tastings and Wing Chun demos at anime conventions,
publishing articles on China’s traditions, emerging popular cultures, both on
her own website, and for major media such as the BBC and RTE. She writes nonfiction
books which have covered mythology and the growth of internet fiction in
China, as well as collecting, editing, and translating (a set of roles she
refers to simply as “curating”) genre fiction for a Western audience. The
latest of these, Sinophagia, was released worldwide on September 24th,
from Solaris Books.
We managed to sit
Xueting down, alongside Chu Xidao (a pen name meaning Knife-Loving Chu), and
Hong Niangzi (The Red Lady), both contributors to the book, to ask them about
the project.
Ms. Chu, Ms.
Hong, your works are all very popular in
China, and are beginning to be translated for the West. Ms. Chu, I know you had
work in The Way Spring Arrives,
which Ms. Ni was also featured in, but
for those of our audience who have yet to discover you, what can they expect?
CX: I’m a writer from the generation that grew up during the transition between traditional and internet literature. As a student, I was educated in the traditional classics, but when I was beginning to write for the general public, it coincided with the explosion of China’s internet age, and I found homes for my work, not just in magazines and anthologies, but on forums, blogs, and literary websites. I was getting instant feedback from my readers. At university, I studied pop culture, and particularly found its dissemination of narratives interesting. This is definitely present in my creative work, which combines my interests with the changing times. Even though I write fantasy about ancient or imagined worlds, the themes are unique and the issues are eternal, and I hope I’m reflecting the current psyche of the public.
XN: She’s not just famous for horror, though. She’s well known in China
for qihuan (fantasy) and wuxia (martial arts fantasy) works, and also, she’s
just released a new licenced novel based on the Assassins Creed games, set in
the Tang Dynasty.
HN: Well, I’m a woman born in 1981 in a
remote mountain village in the Chinese province of Hunan, whose culture
venerates witchcraft and spirits. I grew up with no television or radio, and
there were frequent power cuts, so our
main entertainment was lighting a fire in the house to keep the cold out and
listening to the older generation telling us scary tales. Many of these stories
became the inspiration for the horror works my readers have loved. I’m so happy
to be translated into different foreign languages, and for these fireside
stories told in our village to make their way out of China and be enjoyed
across the world.
Xueting, after
the success of Sinopticon, many people were clamouring for a Sinopticon Volume
2. What made you pivot to horror?
XN: As an eclectic reader, I have always read
across genres. As I said in a previous
interview, science fiction reflects the hopes of a nation, and horror reflects
its fears. I think that both of these facets are important to explore,
particularly in such an unusual and rapidly developing society as China. I can
also see that, after what the world has been through in the current decade, it
really needs the darker genres right now to work through some of those
experiences and emotions, and the popularity of horror attests to that thought.
China has produced some excellent pieces of horror both traditionally and in
the contemporary times (although it may not like to see them as such) which I
feel the Anglopsphere would enjoy and benefit from. Sci-fi, horror, wuxia and
crime, these are genres I have always been drawn to and are particularly
important to me.
We’ve recently
heard a lot about science fiction in China, but not modern horror. Why is that?
XN: Part of the reason is in my previous answer: what horror represents is not what China likes to present to its people or the
world. After a mini-boom in the 2000s, there was a slew of trashy works
exploiting the profitability of this type of storytelling that gave the genre a
bad reputation, as well as tragic copycat killings that happened around the
same time as the Death Note incidents in Europe. These resulted in a ban that went
on for a decade, discouraging many writers and eventually, filmmakers, that
persisted for a while. There seems to be a rather polarised view of horror in
China. The traditional zhiguai or chuanqi, records or tales of the strange that
are often quite atmospheric and employ the supernatural to explore a range of
social and societal issues, these are treasured but not seen as horror. What is
seen as horror are the stories with the jump scares and torture gore. Part of
the aim of this anthology and the talks I’m currently touring is to try and
merge these two concepts and elevate the genre to the literary status it
deserves, on par with others, because, just like them, it seeks to explore the
depths of the human experience.
HN: Science fiction novels gained a lot more attention in
recent years because they express advancements in technology and imaginings of
the future, which resonates with the social psyche in this age of rapid
development, whereas horror literature in China is usually associated with
superstition as well as the supernatural. Even modern horror isn’t free from
this stereotype. Moreover, I don’t think there’s enough translated works out
there to enable foreign readers to appreciate China’s excellent horror tradition,
which is an immense shame, because Chinese horror writing is often entangled
with its millennia-old cultures, it depicts the intuitive foresight of an
ancient Eastern civilization on human nature, reincarnation, fengshui and
cosmology in the modern times. It’s mysterious and bizarre, but also splendid
and magnificent.
How difficult is
it as a woman to write in the horror genre? Do you think it is harder in China
than it is in the West?
CX: I feel the genre
is very well developed. I’ve seen plenty of dark suspense magazines, and the
best-selling novels have all been thrillers. And online, the genre is booming.
XN: I think the use of those terms
demonstrates the issue China has with horror. A lot of writers don’t want to be
associated with it at the moment. They prefer the term xuanyi, “doubt and
suspense” or dark mysteries. If you euphemise something or avoid it altogether,
then it comes under the danger of erasure. I was not aware of this euphemism at
first. When I was initially putting together this anthology, quoting the terms
for horror (kongbu and jingsong) to
some publishers and agents, I stuck out like a sore thumb. Some publishers
choose to assume I was soliciting for work and tried to assess me for
translating their fantasy titles. Some authors backed out of the project
altogether; others ignored the messages of this mad woman. I got sent some works that were suspenseful rather than horror. At the moment, it is hard for writers
in China, especially women who want to delve into social horror, because very
often a lot of their experiences are not seen as disturbing, and should be.
HN: Another
challenge, especially in China, is the majority of horror fans are men, who
tend to be bolder and want more thrills, so trying to engage them with female perspectives
is no easy matter. On the other hand, appealing to female readers with love
stories that are full of gore can also be a big challenge, as they tend to
like sweet romances. Relatively speaking, the Western horror tradition is more
established and more diverse, and female writers have a firmer foothold in the
landscape. Yet, these challenges are what compels me to keeping breaking through
the existing frameworks, to explore ever more unique, creative ways of
storytelling, to grip the reader’s attention from the start with a marvellous
sense of suspense, and thus to win their recognition and support.
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| Hong Niangzi / The Red Lady / 红娘子 |
Hong Niangzi, you have a huge following in China,
especially with your Seven Colour Horror series. You yourself present as a
“Colour-Coded Horror Heroine.” How much do you feel your persona is part of
your success, especially in the age of social media and net novels?
HN: In the age of social media and internet novels, an
author’s personal image definitely plays an important role on the propagation
of their works and their success. The “Red Lady” persona I created for myself
is closely associated with my work, and aims to provide the reader with a vivid
and memorable symbol. With the seven colours I am representing seven kinds of
emotions. It is a quick way of conveying the essence of the stories I intend to
express, and my self-image, with its scarlet nature, represents my fiery passion,
like a nüxia of ancient China.
XN: That’s the classic swordswomen of martial arts
fantasies.
HN: In this way, I not only improve the interactions I have
with my readers, but attract more attention on social media. Personal image and
style of work combine to create a unique brand, and definitely give it more of
an impact.
What do you think
is the biggest difference between Western horror and the Chinese tradition?
XN: The biggest difference between Chinese and Western
horror traditions seems to hinge on broad concepts such as delineation and
pacing. The earliest Chinese concepts for gui, which is usually translated as
ghost, actually had crossovers with divinity. It’s not until later that gui
became associated with supernatural beings that cause harm, and morality. There’s
even a place in the cosmos for spirits in the modern Chinese consciousness; they
are not intrinsically frightful. Where
Western horror may delineate more between the natural and the supernatural, for
the Chinese, the horror is generated when taboo boundaries between the living
and the dead are crossed. Chinese storytelling also has a different pacing, a four-part structure rather than the traditional Western three, and Chinese
horror articulates yet a further variation on this. The pacing is something
that reviewers and readers of Sinophagia have already picked up, and feel is an
element that makes the works thrilling for them.
CX: China has had a tradition of “shamanism” since ancient times, and Taoism has its share of spells and charms
to drive away evil spirits. Domestic thrillers pay more attention to karma. An
individual’s death is not the end, and there is still the divine punishment of
evil. Beyond that earthly conflict between good and evil, there is also divine
justice, which focuses on roles within society. Western horror seems far more
influenced by psychology, religion and the gothic aesthetic. Tropes like
multiple personalities, the apocalypse, vampires and homunculi, etc. Behind the
fear, there is often a complex psychoanalysis to be carried out, with more
focus on the individual.
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| Chu Xidao / Knife-Loving Chu / 楚惜刀 |
Ms. Chu, what
inspired you to write horror, and how does it interact with other genres?
CX: Horror comes from an inner
fear, a fear of loss, which is then caught and recorded with a pen. I then
combine it with fantasy, and add a little bit of interpretation outside
reality, with impossible, imaginary scenarios, to dissolve that inner anxiety.
Do you think a country needs to be comfortable to write horror, or in
hardship?
HN: The creation of horror literature is closely linked to
a country’s social environment. In a comfortable environment, people are more
likely to lean towards psychological horror and explorations of the
supernatural; as their basic needs are being met, they can turn their attention
to the experience of mental-related thrills. In hardship, horror novels usually
reflect social problems or survival anxiety, manifesting in a more direct,
radical expressions. I think different environments give rise to different
types of horror literature, but whether in comfort or hardship, it’s possible
to write compelling horror stories.
CX: No matter the circumstances,
as long as humans experience death, there is parting, loss, and fear, and from
that, violence and horror are born.
XN: Definitely. But I think that a country needs a
certain amount of comfort to write horror. It would be ghastly to wish hardship
upon any country. But literature is reflective by nature, and when reality is
the very stuff of nightmares, it’s hard to find the space to reflect. Those
nightmares don’t just go way after they occur. Decades after the Resistance and
Cultural Revolution, writers like She Congge and Nanpai Sanshu are still
reflecting on those recent collective experiences, and it’s important to do so. Contemporary experiences are more fragmented, and those who find themselves in
horrific situations may not be in a position to tell their story, but horror
writers like Yimei Tangguo and Zhou Dedong could and would, with their empathy
and imagination. The roots of human fear are somewhat timeless, and often
period settings can be effective frameworks to examine current or recurring
concerns. This is why I loved working on Xidao’s piece Immortal Beauty. By
retelling such an iconic classic tale as Pu Songling’s Painted Skin, it
examines women’s objectification by society and individual fulfilment, issues
that keep cropping up because they never seem to be resolved.
Sinophagia offers
a mix of styles. Supernatural stories, folk horror, and stories that stray into
science fiction and fantasy. Ms. Chu, are there any other stories in the
collection you particularly enjoyed, or authors you’re glad the West is
discovering?
CX: Death of Nala offers a brief glimpse
into such a multifaceted dilemma and is a story that really gripped me by the
heart. Xiaoqing, who wrote The Shanxiao,
has been a long-time friend of mine, and I’m so glad to see her writing
included in this collection. She’s always been an author who writes about love
in such a sly, seductive way, and can always make the reader’s heart flutter.
Ms. Ni, you’ve
written in particular about how difficult it was to get the broad mix of
stories you wanted in this collection. What were the biggest hurdles and
triumphs?
XN: One of the biggest hurdles was getting authors and agents to come
forward with their stories, given horror’s bad press in China. Once I’d
convinced the agents that this contemporary horror anthology was a vanguard that
presented a valuable opportunity, it took them a long time to reach the writers
I wanted. This led to some nail-biting moments as my schedule rolled on. For
the authors I had to reach out to myself, I could stalk them in a friendly way
and hope they wouldn’t think I was a madwoman and just ignore my messages. Luckily, a few of them did not. Once submissions started flooding through, the
other biggest hurdle was trawling through the gore and misogyny to find solid
gems beneath—I could see the exploitative approaches that gave horror a bad
name. And I also had to specifically request works by women to address the
gender imbalance in the pile, and to deal with some male contributors who
demanded certain terms or for the collection to feature their works only. I
could hardly believe it when it started to come together; it felt like a
miracle or the workings of the dark forces, take your pick. One of the triumphs
is all the love I’m already seeing for the stories in this collection.
Ms. Ni, one
problem about writing about “horrible things from China” is that it may add
fuel to the fire of Sinophobia in the west. Was this something you considered
when curating this book?
XN: This was
something I had anticipated, after some Sinophobic readings were somehow made
of the title of the last collection Sinopticon, and the worsening geopolitical
situation around us, the flak from which I myself have not been free at author
events. We picked the title of Sinophagia for its memorability and the creepy
feeling it evokes, in the sense of devouring, but also as an ironic comment on
the fear of Chinese and Asian eating habits that had been rife over the last few
years because of COVID reportage. Unfortunately, we were still unable to
totally avoid Sinophobia from one of our promotional collaborators, who stated
as an “appeal” of the book “the horrors of living in China.” I insisted we
dropped them, though it was incredibly stressful during an important stage of
the book’s journey. It felt even more important to get through these hurdles
and put the proper representation out there for the contributors, myself and my
heritage.
Ms. Chu, your story is about beauty, and violence, and power—themes you return to
repeatedly. What is it about these themes that work so well together?
CX: This piece was
inspired by the classic ghost story from
Pu Songling’s Strange Tales from a Studio, Painted Skin, which terrified
me for most of my childhood, and the original title of the story, 红颜未老, comes from a song that
was written by Chow Yiu Fei for Sandy Lam. A woman waits for her lover, looking
and looking for him, but he’s a bad person. What she’s lost, she takes back for
herself. It seems to be a love song, but it’s not quite. The human heart is a
more complex thing than just love, but all we can see is what’s on the surface.
This question reminded me that after I finished this, I wrote a story series
called This Phantom Life, about a plastic surgeon who helps her
employers change their fates by changing people’s faces. It seems to be a
common theme in my writing, wanting to explore beauty and the violence hidden
behind it, and the way they both affect human relationships.
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| Xueting C. Ni / 倪雪婷 |
The West has such an established idea of China, the
supernatural, and the legacy of Pu Songling, but this collection also features
a lot of modern settings, with very modern characters and mechanics. Are you
actively trying to update the idea of horror in modern China?
HN: I’ve always experimented with combining modern settings
and traditional horror, to create new styles in the narrative. In this way, I
hope to break that rigid Western view and propel Chinese horror towards the
international stage. Confucian ethnics and Daoist principles play an important
role in my stories, and still give cultural depth to modern horror, but the
modern setting enables the reader to feel immersed in the fictional
environment. A modern setting also allows for more innovative constructions, which
I believe allow Chinese horror to be better represented.
What sort of
horror stories do you like personally? What do you read for your own enjoyment?
CX: I love thrillers. I watch
Hitchcock movies, and adaptations of Agatha Christie novels. They give me just
the right level of chills. Horror films are a bit too much for me, so… maybe I
just need a good proportion of beauty within my thrills. I loved Punchdrunk’s
Sleep No More. Aside from those, I like reading Japanese speculative fiction,
especially Eichi and Kotaro Isaka.
HN: I
personally enjoy stories that combine psychological horror with supernatural
elements, especially works that delve into the weaknesses of human nature and
social problems. I tend to read Western horror, like the Cthulhu mythos, and
Stephen King, but I also like to read Chinese tales of the strange, such as Pu
Songling’s Strange Tales, Ji Yun’s Notes from Yuwei Cottage, China’s County
Records, and also works like Investiture of the Gods, from which I can absorb
traditional horror elements that feed my creative writing.
XN: Interesting what Xidao says
about beauty and thrills. That’s how I found Immortal Beauty; whilst there’s
certainly a sense of horror to the story, I also loved translating the beauty
of the embedded cultural elements. I grew up with Chinese tales of the
supernatural, and classic European gothic literature such as Dumas, Radcliffe
and Wilkie Collins, so shapeshifting demons in caves and trapped but spirited
female heroines will always have a special place on my shelves. Jump scares
can be overwhelming for me, and creepy tales I find far more impactful than
slashers and gore. And I think tales like that, Susan Hill and Shirley Jackson’s
works, always stay with you long after you finish the story. Hammer village
horrors and films like Get Out are also a favourite, along with China’s urban
legends. I agree with Hong Niangzi about needing to return to those Strange
Tales too. In my research, not just for this book but my lectures and talks,
I’m always surprised by how creepy they still are, even by today’s standards.
What is the one
question you’ve never been asked in an interview that you wish someone would?
HN: I’ve been hoping that someone would ask me, “What first
motivated you to write horror?” so I could reveal my inner motivations as an
author and my passion for horror literature. In fact, what originally motivated
me was wanting to bring those fireside tales, that I had heard as a child, to
the world. Ancient stories passed down for centuries, stories that gave me
insomnia, and the sense of dread that inspired in me, as well as the insight
into the shining qualities in human nature. Through the external shell of
horror, I hope to lay bare the complexities of human nature and dark side of
society, and rouse more readers to contemplate their own destinies.
CX: I'm so delighted we’ve got the
chance to introduce readers in the West to China’s dark suspense and this sort
of dark history. So thank you, Xueting and Solaris. But, at the same time, whilst we've had many great
works of horror and suspense come from the
West, including film, television, novels, and games, there has been a section
of those stories dealing with “the mysterious world of the East” as alienating
and fearful, because of the cultural differences and barriers between them. We
hope that Sinophagia will interest more readers in Chinese culture, bring people
closer to each other, and encourage more excellent publishers to participate in
projects like this and bring Chinese thrillers to life in different languages.
What else are you
currently working on? Where can we see more of your work once we’ve finished Sinophagia?
CX: I’m continuing to write my fantasy works,
set in the floating continent of Jiuzhou. Skylight and Cloud Shadows is the
story of an avian man helping his friend take revenge and infiltrate the inner
cadre of a league of assassins. I’m also working on a sequel to This Phantom
Life: The Legend of The Cherished Night, which is the story
of a young boy who learns incantations and spells as he roams the world. When I
started the series, my own son Maike was ten, the same as the protagonist. But
now he’s 15, and my character has aged far slower, so I feel I’ll have to pick
up the pace. I hope I can finish these, and maybe they’ll be published in
English. I’d love you all to read them.
XN: I’m working on a nonfiction book on the
culture of wuxia fiction, a horror lecture and a few SFF translation projects. My
translation of Whale Ocean, which is a scifi by Nanpai Sanshu (also featured in Sinophagia) will be published in
Strange Horizons’ Samovar. So lots of exciting things to come,
and I’m still regularly turning out articles on my site, but yes, next
projects already lining up and ready to go…
HN: At the moment, I’m planning the next novel in the Seven
Colour Horror series, and expanding it into a grander fictional universe. The
next one I’m writing will be associated with the colour yellow. To me, it has
always represented sadness, nostalgia, and the past, so within these
tonalities, I want to write a story about the past, that is full of sadness and
longing, to commemorate my late grandmother. I hope that she’s doing very well
in another world, and occasionally thinks of me. After Sinophagia, readers can
continue to find my new works on my personal website, social media platforms
and major internet publishing platforms. I’m also planning to introduce more
translated works in English, so that more international readers could get to
know my work.
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| Chinese inkwash painting by Qi Qing, inspired by Immortal Beauty, by Chu Xidao |
Sinophagia
is now available as paperback, ebook and audiobook.
Joseph
Brant is a writer and editor who has worked on everything from esoteric
mythology and pop culture to stories about dolls, monsters, and gender norms.
He’s run Goth Nights in Beijing and has over 200 plush bats. Find him on Bluesky as @Macula.bsky.social.
