Emily Everett

Burning Language: New And Queer Chinese Voices

Editor’s Note

For the rest of the world, China’s 2008 Summer Olympics—with its $40 billion budget, dramatic “Bird’s Nest” stadium, and the lavish spectacle of its opening ceremony—marked the ascension of a new economic superpower onto the modern stage. Since then, new generations of Chinese youth have grown up into a society constantly rippling with changes, inundated with globalization, technology, and consumerism.

Bird's nest stadium from Beijing Olympics 2008

Beijing, China – The national stadium built for the 2008 Summer Olympics & Paralympics

Today, the West views China with curiosity, suspicion, and a sense of enigma and threat. Chinese literature translated into English is still predominantly written by older authors from the period of World War II, Maoism, and the Cultural Revolution. This leaves the up-and-coming generation of Chinese artists, now dealing with wholly different lifestyles and a wholly new set of concerns, all too often neglected.

In proposing this special folio to The Common, I wanted to showcase perspectives from this younger generation, bringing the breadth and dynamism of their subject matter, style, and voice to an English-reading audience. I also wanted to combat the blind spot in publishing queer voices from China, and several of the pieces selected are from writers writing either explicitly or implicitly from a lens of non-heterosexuality—which is sometimes comparable to Western norms of LGBTQ+ identity and sometimes not.

In the poems, stories, and translations in this folio, we find writing which is interested in the stretchiness and flexibility of language across cultures and tongues. In experimental and hybrid pieces such as The CAO Collective’s “qiào bā ,” Jolie Zhilei Zhou’s “Der Knall,” or Cynthia Chen’s “When the TOEFL robot asked us…,” diasporic poets who have immigrated abroad use imagination and irreverence to push the boundaries of English, which is their second or even third language, resulting in pieces which are delightfully fresh and defamiliarized.

The stories and lyric pieces reveal a generation restless for art, creation, and newness, but mired down also with a deep sense of generational anxiety, pressure, lack of direction, and identity confusion, as in Ruonan Zheng’s essay on her time reporting on the Chinese underground for Vice China, Yun Qin Wang’s poem “the first rain,” Yunhan Fang’s story of a romance between two women in the aftermath of a devastating earthquake, and K-Yu Liu’s story of a dormitory of mentally ill teen girls sent to train at a competitive running facility.

Some of the pieces also deal with the disorientation caused by the super-rapid development of technology and communications, such as Yan An’s cheeky poem “Photo of Free Life in the E-Era.” Meanwhile, Jianan Qian’s short story “The American Scholar” cleverly turns the Western gaze on the “Eastern Other” back on its head by inhabiting the perspective of an American scholar who is shocked by the sex and kink scene in China.

Finally, traditional Chinese artifacts are reinvented and made modern with Shangyang Fang’s translations of Song Dynasty Ci poetry, which experiments, breaks from, and rewrites lines by poets written over a thousand years ago. Li Zhuang molds a story of China’s first and only female emperor, Wu Zetian, into a poetic lesbian fanfiction. And visual artist and writer JinJin Xu showcases an installation and collective poem taken from her research into nüshu (lit: “women’s script”), a writing system only for women denied access to education which has existed for centuries.

I selected the pieces for this folio hoping to break apart some of the preconceived notions Western readers may bring to their view on China. The writers collected here showcase the scrappiness and energy of a younger generation clamoring to be heard. I hope that you enjoy these poems and stories, which are unexpected, sharp, sometimes uncomfortable, and very often tender; above all, they powerfully evoke the restlessness, dreaminess, quickness, and intensity of youth.

—Cleo Qian, guest editor

 


 

This portfolio was edited by Cleo Qian. Cleo Qian is a queer writer and poet who is the author of the award-winning short story collection LET’S GO LET’S GO LET’S GO (Tin House, 2023). She is a 2024 MacDowell Fellow and a 2025 Notre Dame Storozynski Writing Fellow.

 

Contents

Fiction
Paper Summer” by Yunhan Fang
My Five-Thousand-Meter Years” by K-Yu Liu
The American Scholar” by Jianan Qian

Poetry Feature I
“Fan Fiction” by Li Zhuang
“When the TOEFL robot asked us to ‘Describe the city you live in,’ the whole room started repeating that question as if casting an aimless spell” by Cynthia Chen
“Photo of Free Life in the E-Era” by Yan An, translated by Chen Du and Xisheng Chen
“Der Knall” by Jolie Zhilei Zhou

Poetry Feature II
“Departure” & “Visiting Lingyan Mountain” by Wu Wenying, translated by Shangyang Fang
“Return to Lin Gao at Night” by Su Shi, translated by Shangyang Fang
“the first rain” by Yun Qin Wang
“qiào bā: Community Poetry in Translation” by The CAO Collective

Nonfiction
Memories of the Rise and Fall of Vice China, 2015-2022” by Ruonan Zheng 

Art
Against This Earth, We Knock by JinJin Xu

 

Burning Language: New And Queer Chinese Voices
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Manuscript Consultations from The Common!

Over the years, many writers have told us they’d like feedback on their works-in-progress. Now, for the first time, we are offering manuscript critiques by one of our editors to the general public! We offered this service as a pilot program for Weekly Writes participants last spring, and it was a huge success. We’re thrilled to open it to all this fall. 

Hand with Red Pen Proofreading a Manuscript Closeup

What you submit:

  •  A prose manuscript of no more than 6,000 words, by October 1
  •  A fee of $275
  •  A short cover letter stating the genre of the piece and what you are hoping to accomplish with this piece of writing (optional)

 

What you receive:

  • A one-page, single-spaced editorial letter from one of The Common’s editors
  • Carefully annotated manuscript
  • Response by November 1

 

Please note:

We are offering this opportunity to 10 writers; slots are filled on a first-come, first-served basis. We are offering consults for prose only at this time (sorry, poets! Hopefully next time!). We are not able to accommodate requests to be read by a particular editor. Consultations are not submissions to the magazine and are not considered for publication in The Common

 

What to do:

  • Sign up at this registration portal and pay the consultation fee
  • Polish your manuscript as much as possible
  • Follow the emailed instructions to submit your prose manuscript by October 1 (please double-check the word count)
  • Distract yourself for a month while we read and comment
  • Watch your inbox for your annotated manuscript and editorial letter

 

We can’t wait to read your work! Since this is brand new, we’re sure you’ll have questions. Please email managing editor Emily Everett at emily@thecommononline.org. 

Manuscript Consultations from The Common!
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Who Wants to Look Like the Frenchman?

By CATHERINE-ESTHER COWIE

 

Mummy dumps a bucket of water over my head. I heard only her footsteps, my back toward the open verandah door, my face toward the sea. My freshly pressed hair shrinks, coils. I can taste the oil sheen as the water rushes down my face. But I had done it, with Grandma’s help. Just for today, I looked like Mummy.  

Who Wants to Look Like the Frenchman?
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Shadow Count

By LAURA MARRIS

Book cover for Laura Marris's The Age of Loneliness
Somewhere in those years of 6 a.m. flights, I developed a recurring dream of a place I knew in the northwesternmost corner of Connecticut, where stone walls snaked among the trees of a forest that had once been farmland. The kind of town where the post office is also home to two chipmunks, one messy and one clean. A place full of wild birds, the flocks of my earliest childhood, vortexes of robins where rural woods broke open into fields. Where I had dug in the streambed and drunk the shimmer of mica with the silt. Where old traces of human mining and clear-cutting had been softened by an enveloping abundance. I felt myself wanting to check on it, wondering how it was doing.

Shadow Count
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Fee-Free Submission Period

Inspired by the mission and role of the town common, an egalitarian gathering place, The Common aims to foster the global exchange of diverse ideas and experiences. As such, we welcome and encourage submissions from writers who are Black, Indigenous, people of color, disabled, LGBTQIA+-identifying, immigrant, international, low-income, and/or otherwise from communities underrepresented in U.S. literary magazines and journals.

In an effort to remove barriers to access, The Common will open for fee-free submissions for two weeks, from June 17–July 1. Outside of that time, submitters with any financial hardship can contact us at info@thecommononline.org for a fee waiver.

Fee-Free Submission Period
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The Marker

By JIM WEBER

Dispatch crackles over the cruiser’s radio: brushfire on Ranch Road 580.

Frank lights a cigarette, takes a deep pull. His shift over, he listens, unobligated, as Latimer asks dispatch to confirm the fire’s location.

He stares through the windshield at his house, a squat brick ranch. Scuffed exterior and summer-fried lawn identical to the others on the block. The front window drapes are pulled back, giving the house a grin, like an old friend commiserating: Seven years left on your note, Frank. Three years short of retirement. Tough math.

I’ll sell the place when I retire, Frank thinks, not for the first time. Move to Kerrville, or Boerne, or Bandera. Find a part-time security job to help make ends meet. Latimer talks up New Mexico. Strikes Frank as too far from central Texas, too far from the remains of the life he and Lizzie shared before she passed.

Drapes back means his daughter Caitlyn is up and getting ready for work. Two weeks before she’s off to college in Austin. Who knows if she comes back? Live your entire life in a place, can come to hate it.

The Marker
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Celebrate Issue 26 at Skylight Books in Los Angeles!

Skylight Books
Thursday, January 25, 7pm
1818 North Vermont Ave., Los Angeles, CA
Free and open to the public
 

With so many California contributors to our Issue 26 farmworker portfolio, we had to have a West Coast celebration! Join The Common for a celebration of writing and art from the seasonal, migrant, and immigrant farmworkers who power California’s vast food and agriculture systems.
  

headshots of guest authors 

Come celebrate with us at LA’s renowned Skylight Books for a reading and conversation about place, immigration, writing, justice, farmwork, and family with contributors from California. All are part of our portfolio of writing and art from twenty-seven contributors with family roots in farmwork. It was co-edited by Miguel M. Morales.

Essayist Amanda Mei Kim writes about the ways that collective power, racism, and nature weave through the lives of rural Californians of color, through the lens of her experience growing up on her family’s tenant farm just outside LA.

Poets Allison Adelle Hedge Coke, Aideed Medina, and Oswaldo Vargas write about the struggle and the beauty of work in the fields and on farms. Their work highlights the nuance and diversity of that experience—queer discovery, activism and protest, shared labor and community.

Artist Narsiso Martinez creates moving portraits and scenes of farmworkers in the fields, painted on flattened cardboard produce boxes discarded from grocery stores. This work is drawn from the nine seasons he worked in the fields of Eastern Washington state, to fund his undergraduate and graduate studies. Narsiso writes, “When I nest images of farmworkers amidst the colorful brand names and illustrations of agricultural corporations, I hope to help the viewer make a connection, or a disconnection rather, and start creating consciousness about the people that farm their food.”

The event will include brief readings by each writer, a short presentation of Narsiso’s artwork, and then a moderated conversation and Q&A. It will be hosted by the magazine’s managing editor Emily Everett. Wine and drinks available!

 


 

Allison Adelle Hedge Coke came of age working in fields, factories, and waters. A labor and environmental poet, Hedge Coke was a sharecropper by the time she was mid-teens and continued manual labor until nearing thirty years of age, when disabilities precluded continuation. Following former fieldworker retraining in Santa Paula and Ventura, California, in the mid-1980s, she began teaching and is now Distinguished Professor and Mellon Dean’s Professor at UC Riverside. She is the author/editor of eighteen books, including Look at This Blue (National Book Award finalist), Burn, Streaming, Blood Run, Off-Season City Pipe, Dog Road Woman, The Year of the Rat, Effigies I, II, & III, Ahani, and Sing.

Narsiso Martinez (b. 1977, Oaxaca, Mexico) came to the United States when he was 20 years old. He attended Evans Community Adult School and completed high school in 2006 at the age of 29. He earned an Associate of Arts degree from Los Angeles City College, and a BFA and MFA from California State University Long Beach, where he was awarded the prestigious Dedalus Foundation MFA Fellowship in Painting and Sculpture. Drawn from his own experience as a farmworker, Martinez’s work focuses on the people performing the labors necessary to fill produce sections and restaurant kitchens around the country. His portraits of farmworkers are painted, drawn, and expressed in sculpture on discarded produce boxes collected from grocery stores. His work has been exhibited both locally and internationally. His work is in the collections of the Hammer Museum, Amon Carter Museum of American Art, MOLAA, University of Arizona Museum of Art, Long Beach Museum of Art, Crocker Art Museum, Jordan Schnitzer Museum of Art at the University of Oregon, and the Santa Barbara Museum of Art. Martinez was awarded the Frieze Impact Award in 2023. Martinez lives and works in Long Beach, CA.

Aideed Medina is a Pushcart Prize-nominated poet, spoken word artist, and playwright, and daughter of Miguel and Lupita Medina of Salinas, California, and the United Farm Workers movement. She is the author of 31 Hummingbird and a forthcoming full-length poetry collection, Segmented Bodies, from Prickly Pear Press.

Amanda Mei Kim writes about the ways that collective power, racism, and nature weave through the lives of rural Californians of color. Her writing has appeared in The Common, The New York Times, PANK, LitHub, Brick, Tayo, Eastwind Magazine, DiscoverNikkei, and Nonwhite and Woman. Poems are forthcoming in an anthology from Haymarket Press. She is a member of this year’s Changemaker Authors Cohort and a de Groot Writer of Note. She is a former Steinbeck Fellow and California Arts Council Fellow. Amanda is the founder and lead researcher for Kanshahistory.org, which publishes the property transfer records of Japanese Americans who had their farms taken during World War II. Her professional work focuses on agriculture, equity, and ethnic media. She is also a creative strategist for Hmong American farmers who are being persecuted by their local government. Amanda is writing a memoir-in-essays that uses her family’s 125-year history as agricultural workers to show how people of color created a more just and sustainable food system. More at www.amandameikim.com.

Oswaldo Vargas is a 2021 Undocupoets Fellowship recipient. He has been anthologized in Nepantla: An Anthology Dedicated to Queer Poets of Color and published in Narrative Magazine and Academy of American Poets’ “Poem-A-Day,” among other publications. He lives and dreams in Sacramento, California, for now.

Celebrate Issue 26 at Skylight Books in Los Angeles!
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The Ghost of Jack Radovich 

By TERESA B. WILSON-GUNN

Author's parents in a group photo from a Filipino immigrant labor camp

Photo from a labor camp for Filipino farmworkers. The author’s parents are in the center, holding her older brothers.

 
Mama saw her boss, Jack Radovich, standing in her row during a sweltering San Joaquin afternoon. She was picking table grapes alone when he suddenly appeared, several yards away, gazing off in the direction of the blue-gray Sierra mountains. She assumed he was surveying his vineyards, visiting his farmworkers like he aways did. He was a hardworking landowner, who usually let his young sons build and deliver the packing boxes with a beat-up, sunburnt pickup truck. The kind of boss who always seemed to know when the grape packers needed more boxes. He didn’t call out or turn toward her, but she hurried his way, eager to be the first one from her team to claim the boxes. Daddy was her foreman.

The Ghost of Jack Radovich 
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Double Infinity

By MARIA TERRONE

On 88th, the street where I lived as a girl when an hour could seem an eternity, it would be years before I met the young man who pointed out that those numbers, turned on their sides, had a special meaning. What meaning? I wondered and pondered the two unbroken loops pinched at their centers, forever returning to themselves like a pair of ice skaters tracing figure eights into a state of bliss. I wondered if he thought that love is infinite, that our souls will live forever, that sky even on crystalline days moves into unseeable endless space. I was thinking that the iris of his hazel eyes pulled me into a place where I could feel lost or float before thought was possible, as if in vitro. I no longer live on 88th Street, having left double infinity in its impossible realm. Because infinity cannot be multiplied or divided—infinity just is. Still, I was grateful that I didn’t live on Main Street or Elm, and the young man I married found meaning on that finite block in Queens where he found me.

Double Infinity
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