From Current Digest of the Chinese Press, April 7, 2026. Complete text:
EXPERT OPINION
Editors’ Note. – Xiaolu Ma is an Associate Professor in the Division of Humanities at the Hong Kong University of Science and Technology, where she has taught since 2018 after completing her Ph.D. in Comparative Literature at Harvard University. She previously served as Assistant Professor of Chinese and East Asian Studies at Kalamazoo College in the US and holds dual B.A. degrees in Russian Language and Literature and Economics, as well as an M.A. in Comparative and World Literature, all from Peking University. Her research focuses on transculturation and world literature, with particular attention to Sino-Russian and Sino-Japanese literary exchanges, and extends to translation theory, popular culture, cinema, affect theory, spatial narrative, and life writing.
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Q. – Across your work on Sino-Russian and Sino-Japanese literary encounters, what do you see as the key mechanisms through which literary ideas and aesthetic forms travel across cultural and linguistic boundaries?
A. – I have been engaged in exploring Sino-Russian and Sino-Japanese literary encounters for many years, and what continues to captivate me about this research is the challenge of identifying a single mechanism—or even several key mechanisms—that can adequately explain these complex interactions. Each historical period brings its own focus, and different communities have their unique concerns. As I expand my research scope, I am gradually venturing into multimedia cases and exploring works that involve multiple languages. I prefer not to adhere to established patterns or retrace familiar paths; instead, I remain open to the surprises that new projects may bring. This is why each case study requires a significant amount of preparation, as there is so much to learn. I find great joy in probing into unknown territories.
What I am certain of is that cultural encounters are constantly occurring all around us. As long as two cultures are not completely isolated, they have likely interacted in various manners throughout history – sometimes in unexpected ways and often through one or multiple intermediaries. A culture is shaped through countless such encounters over time, and it continues to evolve due to the interactions happening every day. As comparatists, our role is to identify these moments and share with others the excitement that arises from these cultural exchanges.
Q. – Your research highlights the role of Japan as an intermediary in the transmission of Russian literature to China. How does this triangular relationship reshape our understanding of early modern Chinese literary transformations?
A. – It’s widely accepted that Russian and Soviet culture significantly influenced the Chinese imagination of revolution and literature. While English scholarship on this topic may be limited, Chinese scholars have produced a wealth of books on Sino-Russian literary exchange, reflecting a strong enthusiasm for this cultural connection. However, most narratives tend to focus on the bilateral relationship, paying less attention to how the Chinese first encountered Russian literature and culture, especially given the shortage of language specialists in China at that time.
My research builds on existing scholarship but delves into how the presence of mediators transformed this transculturation. A key example I often mention is Lu Xun’s creation of “Diary of a Madman,” which was inspired by Gogol’s story of the same name. Interestingly, Lu Xun read Gogol’s work in Japanese, and many crucial elements in his final piece, such as the themes of cannibalism and persecution complex, can be traced back to discussions in Japan during his time. This transformation serves as a perfect illustration of Russo-Japanese-Sino relay transculturation.
In my monograph, Transpatial Modernity, I revisit historical contexts to explore why Japan emerged as such an important cultural conduit and what unique functions it served. My research reveals how Japanese contributions shaped the Chinese understanding of Russian emotions, revolutionary fervor, humanism, and language modernization. It’s worth noting that, due to historical Sino-Japanese cultural entanglements, Chinese traditions sometimes found their way back through Japan, disguised as Russian culture.
While my book emphasizes the significance of Japanese as a crucial mediator, I also want to highlight the importance of other languages, such as English and German, which deserve further exploration in future projects.
Q. – “Diary of a Madman” has been read through many lenses. What new insights emerged when you approached it as an “object in between” (zhongjianwu) situated within longer histories of transmission, reinterpretation, and global circulation?
A. – Lu Xun’s “Diary of a Madman” and its connection to Gogol’s work of the same name was one of my first case studies on Sino-Russian cultural exchange. To be honest, I was initially disappointed when I compared the two stories directly, as they are so drastically different. However, what makes this transcultural narrative fascinating is that Japan served as an intermediary. Moreover, as a continuation of cultural legacy, Lu Xun’s work inspired authors from diverse backgrounds to craft their own stories about madmen or cannibalism. These writers hailed from the Sinophone world, Japan, and India, adapting the narratives to fit their own geographical contexts and historical circumstances. This is why I invoke the concept of zhongjianwu, which Lu Xun himself found compelling. In literature, we can observe themes and stories evolving over time, and “Diary of a Madman” is a prime example of this phenomenon. It encourages authors across different languages to create their own unique narratives.
Q. – Your book Transpatial Modernity explores multidirectional cultural flows rather than linear influences. What conceptual or methodological tools do you find most effective for tracing these complex literary itineraries?
A. – I believe that studying translation is one of the most effective ways to trace cultural flows. But one of the toughest parts of translation study is figuring out the sources. For a long time, the publishing industry has not done a great job of preserving the real production process. Sometimes, translators present their translations as original works, and other times, writers create pseudo-translations to attract a larger audience. This issue gets even trickier when people weave what they’ve read into their own essays without revealing the original contributors or references. So, I often find myself playing detective, tracing potential sources in hopes of getting closer to the truth.
This research journey is full of surprises. For instance, I once found a citation from a French writer in a Chinese essay that actually came from a Japanese translation of a Russian article. Because of my research experience, I don’t set a rigid framework at the beginning of my projects. I want to keep my vision open and not let existing theories limit me. The reality is always more complex than we can imagine, and what we perceive is just a small part of it.
Sometimes I get overwhelmed by the many ways culture evolves in different contexts, and I have to remind myself that there’s only so much complexity one article, chapter, or book can handle. In my final writing, I aim to present a coherent story with clear threads to follow, while also conveying the complexity of the larger picture that can’t be fully captured in a single work. I hope my research is just the starting point, and that readers will find the topic intriguing enough to explore further.
Q. – As translation plays a crucial role in cross-cultural literary transmission, how do you view the question of accuracy or faithfulness in translation as a medium of cultural communication? More specifically, in your view, how does ideology influence translation—both in terms of how a particular work is translated and in terms of which works are chosen for translation in the first place?
A. – For a long time, people judged translations mainly on accuracy and faithfulness. But once we get past just understanding the basics, translating becomes about more than just getting the words right. It often reflects feelings or political views. Ideology is definitely a factor in why and how something is translated, but it’s not the only one. What’s clear is that translators might not always prioritize being faithful to the original language or culture. Because of this, translation studies have shifted focus from just accuracy and faithfulness to viewing translation as a cultural phenomenon.
Personally, I find translations that stray from the original to be the most fascinating. It’s through these deviations that we can uncover cultural differences. A big part of my work is identifying these differences and understanding why they happen. This is especially interesting in relay translation, where I look at when changes occur and what influences them. My observations help me grasp the global exchanges happening between multiple cultures.
Q. – In your studies of revolutionary romanticism, how did foreign literary models interact with local intellectual and political conditions to produce a distinct Chinese variant of this aesthetic?
A. – When I was in primary school, I was taught to use the term “revolutionary romanticism” to describe the spirit of Red Army soldiers who sacrificed themselves for noble causes. These sacrifices included acts like using one’s body to block an embrasure or lying still until burned to death. I even participated in storytelling contests focused on these revolutionary tales. I was always struck by the powerful emotions evoked by revolutionary romanticism and how effectively these feelings motivated individuals to make such bloody sacrifices. Their actions only seemed reasonable when viewed alongside Soviet novels that also glorified such sacrifices. As I delved deeper, I discovered that these stories inspired feelings of the sublime. I recall that one of the criteria for success in our storytelling was whether we could move the audience to tears. My personal experience reflects the memories of many generations of Chinese who grew up under this cultural influence. While few people may be able to provide a clear definition of revolutionary romanticism, almost everyone remembers the revolutionary stories. Interestingly, Soviet revolutionary tales often contained many Orthodox Christian elements that were not easily recognizable to Chinese readers. Yet, the transplantation of these stories was surprisingly successful.
Q. – Your article on Mo Yan and Yan Lianke examines how contemporary writers reinterpret revolutionary romanticism. What do their works reveal about the afterlives of this tradition in the post-Mao era?
A. – Mo Yan and Yan Lianke’s stories titled “Revolutionary Romanticism” significantly diverge from the glorious revolutionary tales we grew up with. By incorporating moments of grotesque or provocative parody, these two writers invite us to reflect on the type of literature that shaped our childhood as Chinese readers. Having both spent many years in the Chinese army, they undoubtedly encountered more of this type, yet they were given the opportunity to publish something different, challenging the established discourse and the aesthetic norms defined during the Mao era. However, I hesitate to use the term “afterlife” in this context, as revolutionary stories still feature prominently in primary school textbooks, and Chinese children are still encouraged to read what people refer to as “red classics.”
Q. – In your work on Russian nihilism’s influence on Chinese popular literature, you discuss the relay of “revolutionary sentiment.” How do emotions or affective structures help explain the movement and adaptation of literary forms across borders?
A. – In other contexts, nihilism might be regarded as an ideology rooted in profound philosophical thought. However, during the period I study—the early 20th century—nihilism has not been adequately analyzed within the Chinese context. Its essence was captured by the image of Russian nihilists, primarily radical figures who emerged in the 1860s and 1870s, culminating in the assassination of their Tsar in 1881. Their stories were celebrated in Chinese newspapers, and Chinese writers even crafted their own narratives about these individuals. These stories were not merely meant to entertain ordinary readers; journalists and writers aimed to ignite a revolutionary spirit, encouraging readers to engage in a Chinese revolution. Given the context of the Qing government’s overthrow, the social impact of these revolutionary tales was significant. In contrast, profound philosophical discussions proved less effective in stimulating revolutionary fervor. What these nihilistic stories conveyed was a “revolutionary sentiment” that defied any rational or logical explanation.
Q. – Looking ahead, what emerging sources, archives, or research questions do you believe will be important for advancing the study of transnational literary exchange in modern East Asian literature?
A. – Even though my language combination usually keeps the northern region at the center of my research, moving to Hong Kong has given me fresh insights. Over the past 10 years, I’ve taught students from all sorts of backgrounds, including Singapore, the Philippines, Malaysia and India. Their final projects, where they dive into literature from their own regions, have really opened my eyes.
One of my current projects looks at the life stories of Russian immigrants. While I still focus on northern connections and the idea of Eurasia, the journeys of some Russian immigrants who ended up in South America have inspired me to broaden my perspective beyond East Asia.
I believe that we need to look beyond traditional regional studies when analyzing modern East Asian literature, which has developed through interactions with both the global north and south. Going forward, I’m eager to explore the world beyond what I already know and stay open to new ideas. I truly believe that this kind of active engagement is crucial for the future of East Asian studies.