By Nicholas Alexander HayesI was listening to a well-known author speak when the subject of Alain Robbe-Grillet came up. The author dismissed Robbe-Grillet by saying something like when you’ve read that work you really feel like you’ve put in some effort. And I find...
By Ho LinIt’s generally acknowledged that the societal experiment that was China’s Cultural Revolution (1966-1976) was an unmitigated disaster, but as is often the case with such tumultuous events, official reckonings and accountings of the damage have been sporadic....
By Ho Lin
In Asia, most cities jolt to life at night, and Singapore is no exception. For one thing, it’s usually too damn hot to do anything during the day, except hit one of the public pools (until the inevitable afternoon thunderstorm hits).
By Ho Lin
Whither the great modern Shanghai novel? Beijing has its writers of the moment with Ma Jian and Wang Shuo, who capture the ferocity and irony that infect China’s capital. Shanghai is a tougher nut to crack: gilded, slippery, more bustling than feral, hopscotching between East and West.
By Ho Lin
“Suddenly the front door swung open, and in walked…” This incomplete sentence, which occurs a third of the way into Arkady and Boris Strugatsky’s delightful Definitely Maybe, is a tease, a taunt, and a mission statement.
By Ho Lin
The word “fuck” is deployed fast and furious by Filiberto García in Rafael Bernal’s The Mongolian Conspiracy — easily hundreds of times — and given that Filiberto is a public dick whose Christian name also means “dick,” this all might seem excessive to certain discerning readers.