by Ken Liu
Here, I have to explain to my readers in the West that for a long time, science fiction in China was like subatomic particles or radiation, undetectable to most. A student majoring in literature would find virtually no information concerning sci-fi in textbooks or academic histories of Chinese literature. (To be sure, in histories of Western literature one would occasionally find the names of writers like Margaret Atwood, Kurt Vonnegut, and Thomas Pynchon—but the text would go on to emphasize that these writers only used the techniques of science fiction as a form of “literary experimentation,” as though it would be a terrible thing to sully the august tomes of literary history with the presence of any pure genre writer.)
Within the elegant, highly intellectual, awe-inspiring atmosphere of “serious” academic conferences, it was almost impossible to find a science fiction author or a scholar of sci-fi. It was rare to see sci-fi covered in the mainstream media. If some newspaper or magazine happened to publish a 200-word snippet about sci-fi or if a popular magazine founded by a bestselling YA author published a story by a sci-fi writer, fans celebrated the occasion and rushed to share the news with each other. Even the publisher of Doris Lessing’s Mara and Dann: An Adventure and the writer invited to provide an introduction for the book avoided mentioning the book’s obvious genre classification, fearful of harming sales.
In the face of so much apathy and ignorance from society at large, sci-fi fans in China rallied to Science Fiction World, a magazine dedicated to serving them. Through college fan clubs, Internet forums, and other grassroots activities, fans found each other and banded together, forming a distinctive subculture. Hidden in their refuge, protected by their isolation, they entertained themselves, feeling sorry for those who didn’t understand or experience the sense of wonder in gazing up at the stars.
Once, when speaking to a group of prominent Western authors and scholars who had never heard of Chinese sci-fi, I used the metaphor of a “hidden army.” Forgotten by everyone in the cultural landscape, they lay concealed in silence, alone on the desolate heath. Perhaps someday an opportunity would arise when they would burst into action and change the world, but it was also possible that such an opportunity would never come, and they would fade into oblivion. Future explorers might find the remains of their mysterious, unfinished war engines, but those who had constructed the weapons and practiced with them would be forever forgotten.
However, soon after, the third volume of Liu Cixin’s magnum opus, Death’s End, was published. An unanticipated sea change came over China’s literary scene. The isolation that had kept sci-fi out of view had also acted as a dam storing up the potential for an explosive release. As young Chinese fans grew up and entered society, they persisted in their love of genre literature. Like faithful fans at a concert, they waved their faint glow sticks to support their beloved art. As night fell, thousands of tiny lights danced with more urgency and force, and thousands of lonely voices coalesced into a powerful rhythmic chant. Finally, Liu Cixin, the star of the show, came onto the stage to perform his masterpiece, and the crescendo of wild cheers that greeted him seemed to shake the stars suspended in the sky above.
Society at large was consumed with curiosity. Literary critics, numbed by the clichéd portraits of urban life and listless middle-class affairs that filled “literary fiction,” were surprised to find that fiction written in Chinese was capable of narrating grand space epics and painting magnificent portraits of an imagined future. A fresh literary terrain materialized out of nowhere, waiting to be cultivated by page-plowing scholars and critics.
All of a sudden, literary theory became a hot topic again, and the number of dissertations and papers focused on sci-fi exploded. Established scholars gave lectures on the “meaning of sci-fi,” and even avant-garde artists enthusiastically invited sci-fi writers to collaborate with them to explore the revolutionary ideas made possible by science and the infinite potential of humanity. Agents and producers always on the lookout for the next piece of valuable IP buttonholed every sci-fi writer, demanding to know, “Do you have any stories suitable for screen adaptation?”
Within but a few years, sci-fi authors had turned from invisible and forgotten bookworms to superstars in hot demand. They took off their simple, outdated plaid shirts and became sharp dressers—no, really, some of them could even be glimpsed in the pages of fashion magazines. Everyone acted as if each sci-fi author was a walking mine of brilliant ideas.
The symbols and memes of sci-fi also injected themselves into the popular imagination. Internet CEOs interpreted the “dark forest” of the “Three-Body” series as a metaphor for the ruthless competition in their domain, while a government spokesperson employed the “dark forest” to describe the worst-case scenario for the crisis on the Korean Peninsula. Sci-fi had never touched so many in China. The vice president of China affirmed that sci-fi was a “positive force” for the development and progress of the country, and even declared himself a fan. Everyone agreed that this was the most encouraging, most supportive environment sci-fi had ever experienced in China.
Still, mere novelty wears out quickly, and it’s impossible to predict whether the hidden army, once revealed, can really become a force to be reckoned with and sustain the wave of cultural enthusiasm for sci-fi. Readers expecting more of The Three-Body Problem, or even The Four-Body Problem and The Five-Body Problem, would no doubt be disappointed. No one could (or should) replicate Liu Cixin. Today, although he hasn’t published a new novel since Death’s End, “Da Liu” remains peerless in China (some have estimated that yearly sales of his books exceed the sum of the yearly sales of all other science fiction books combined). After Chinese authors managed to bring home Hugo rockets two years in a row, what else can they do to keep the attention of mainstream society? If the ambitious sci-fi films currently in production don’t achieve commercial success—remember, Chinese audiences have been trained to have very picky tastes by a steady diet of big-budget Hollywood sci-fi blockbusters—how much longer will the financiers remain excited?
I imagine the answers to many of these questions will reveal themselves shortly. Most of the sci-fi authors I know are not concerned about them because they have day jobs—engineer, reporter, university instructor, science researcher, judge, entrepreneur, and so on. Even if the current wave of enthusiasm burns out and sci-fi once again retreats from the view of most people—I’m reminded of little Pluto, which was unknown until 1930, and which then enjoyed a brief few decades of attention before scientists mercilessly ejected it from the ranks of the planets—sci-fi authors will simply shrug and return to their hidden base, away from the bright and fickle beam of public attention, and continue to let their imaginations roam.
As for myself, I’m glad that I got to witness this wave of interest and so many fantastic happenings. Let me tell you a bit more about that arthouse director I mentioned at the beginning. At the time of his speech, I asked him why it was that Chinese films rarely showed the future. He answered perfunctorily that “exploration of history and the present already encompasses within it anticipation for the future.” At that moment, he probably wouldn’t have believed that in a few years he would make a film about the year 2025. When that film was released, some in the media praised the director for “opening a new path for expressing realism through the experimental techniques of science fiction.” I knew then that my long-held dream had been fulfilled: when I talk about sci-fi with others, none of us need feel embarrassed anymore.
We hope you enjoyed this book.
About Ken Liu
The Dandelion Dynasty
Also by Ken Liu
Copyright Acknowledgments
An Invitation from the Publisher
About Ken Liu
KEN LIU is the winner of the Nebula, Hugo, Locus, World Fantasy, Sidewise, and Science Fiction & Fantasy Translation Awards. He is the author of The Grace of Kings and The Wall of Storms, in his epic series The Dandelion Dynasty. He is also the translator of Liu Cixin’s Hu
go-winning and Nebula-nominated The Three-Body Problem and the trilogy’s Locus-winning conclusion, Death’s End.
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First published in the United States of America in 2019 by Tor Books, a registered trademark of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC
First published in the United Kingdom in 2019 by Head of Zeus Ltd
Copyright © 2019 by Ken Liu
The moral right of Ken Liu to be identified as the author of this work has bee asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction and non fiction. All characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
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ISBN (HB): 9781788548106
ISBN (XTPB): 9781788548113
ISBN (E): 9781788548090
Images: Shutterstock.com
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Stories:
“Goodnight, Melancholy” («晚安，忧郁») by Xia Jia (夏笳), translated by Ken Liu. First Chinese publication: Science Fiction World («科幻世界»), June 2015; first English publication: Clarkesworld, March 2017. English text © 2017 Xia Jia and Ken Liu.
“Moonlight” («月夜») by Liu Cixin (刘慈欣), translated by Ken Liu. First Chinese publication: Life («生活»), February 2009; first English publication in this volume. English text © 2017 Liu Cixin and Ken Liu. Used with permission from FT Culture (Beijing) Co., Ltd.
“Broken Stars” («碎星星») by Tang Fei (糖匪), translated by Ken Liu. First Chinese publication: ZUI Found («文艺风赏»), September 2016; first English publication: SQ Mag, January 2016. English text © 2016 Tang Fei and Ken Liu.
“Submarines” («潜艇») by Han Song (韩松), translated by Ken Liu. First Chinese publication: Southern People Weekly («南方人物周刊»), November 17, 2014; first English publication in this volume. English text © 2017 Han Song and Ken Liu.
“Salinger and the Koreans” («塞林格与朝鲜人») by Han Song (韩松), translated by Ken Liu. First Chinese and English publication: «故事新编» / Tales of Our Time, 2016. English text © 2016 The Solomon R. Guggenheim Foundation, New York.
“Under a Dangling Sky” («倒悬的天空») by Cheng Jingbo (程婧波), translated by Ken Liu. First Chinese publication: Science Fiction World («科幻世界»), December 2004; first English publication in this volume. English text © 2017 Cheng Jingbo and Ken Liu.
“What Has Passed Shall in Kinder Light Appear” by Baoshu (宝树), translated by Ken Liu. No Chinese publication; first English publication: The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, March–April 2015. English text © 2015 Baoshu and Ken Liu.
“The New Year Train” («过年回家») by Hao Jingfang (郝景芳), translated by Ken Liu. First Chinese publication: ELLE China, January 2017; first English publication in this volume. English text © 2017 Hao Jingfang and Ken Liu.
“The Robot Who Liked to Tell Tall Tales” («爱吹牛的机器人») by Fei Dao (飞氘), translated by Ken Liu. First Chinese publication: ZUI Found («文艺风赏»), November 2014; first English publication: Clarkesworld, April 2017. English text © 2017 Fei Dao and Ken Liu.
“The Snow of Jinyang” («晋阳三尺雪») by Zhang Ran (张冉), translated by Carmen Yiling Yan and Ken Liu. First Chinese publication: New Science Fiction («新科幻»), January 2014; first English publication: Clarkesworld, June 2016. English text © 2016 Zhang Ran, Carmen Yiling Yan, and Ken Liu.
“The Restaurant at the End of the Universe: Laba Porridge” («宇宙尽头的餐馆腊八粥») by Anna Wu (吴霜), translated by Carmen Yiling Yan and Ken Liu. First Chinese publication in ZUI Novel («最小说»), May 2014; first English publication: Galaxy’s Edge, May 2015. English text © 2015 Anna Wu, Carmen Yiling Yan, and Ken Liu.
“The First Emperor’s Games” («秦始皇的假期») by Ma Boyong (马伯庸), translated by Ken Liu. First Chinese publication: Play («家用电脑与游戏»), June 2010; first English publication in this volume. English text © 2017 Ma Boyong and Ken Liu.
“Reflection” («倒影») by Gu Shi (顾适), translated by Ken Liu. First Chinese publication: Super Nice Magazine («超好看»), July 2013; first English publication in this volume. English text © 2017 Gu Shi and Ken Liu.
“The Brain Box” («脑匣») by Regina Kanyu Wang (王侃瑜), translated by Ken Liu. No Chinese publication; first English publication in this volume. English text © 2017 Regina Kanyu Wang and Ken Liu.
“Coming of the Light” («开光») by Chen Qiufan (陈楸帆), translated by Ken Liu. First Chinese publication: Offline•Hacker («离线•黑客»), January 2015; first English publication: Clarkesworld, March 2015. English text © 2015 Chen Qiufan and Ken Liu.
“A History of Future Illnesses” («未来病史») by Chen Qiufan (陈楸帆), translated by Ken Liu. First Chinese publication: ZUI Found («文艺风赏»), April–December 2012; first English publication: Pathlight, No. 2 2016. English text © 2016 Chen Qiufan and Ken Liu.
Essays:
“A Brief Introduction to Chinese Science Fiction and Fandom” by Regina Kanyu Wang, originally published in Mithila Review, November 2016. English text © 2016 Regina Kanyu Wang.
“A New Continent for China Scholars: Chinese Science Fiction Studies” by Mingwei Song. Not previously published. English text © 2017 Mingwei Song.
“Science Fiction: Embarrassing No More” («科幻：一种被治愈的尴尬症») by Fei Dao (飞氘), translated by Ken Liu. No Chinese publication; first English publication in this volume. English text © 2017 Fei Dao and Ken Liu.
