Gatekeeping and Barriers to Cultural Representation

Most of my writing regards the cultures of China, or its perception in the west. In order to actually have it be widely read, and engaging, I tend to steer clear of any polemics or drama. This may make my work seem light and carefree, but the bubbling frustrations that I face as a writer do rise up, and it’s much better that I address this in my writing, rather than cutting bloody swathes through the next industry event.

The whole reason for my chosen field was that, when I reached adulthood in the early 2000s, nobody wanted to know about China, in any way other than a great ancient civilisation, a problematic modern bureau-state, or the factory floor of the world. I set about changing that. I seemed to be a rare beast, as a Chinese immigrant with a degree in the Humanities. And finding myself free of the yoke my family friends were under to present as good integrated members of middleclass society (perhaps I would have gone down that route if I were also getting financial support from investment banker money), I was able to explore China’s pop cultural output in my chosen field.

I began with essays on the internet, and talks at fan-run anime conventions, before translating a historical fantasy manhua, and being paid in non-existent shares from an Asian-American publisher. Looking for more outlets, I quickly realised I wasn’t welcome in the U.K. translation circles, where most people in the field were white, to whom my culture was a hobby. It didn’t matter that I could more than prove the quality of my English, that I speak like a Radio Four anchor, and I understood the host culture in ways that they never could. I hadn’t graduated from a select subset of archaic translation schools. The publishing industry also rejected me, from a series of editorial roles because “well, English wasn’t your first language, was it?”.

For fifteen years, I worked in print production, where anyone who could manage a project, and tell red from green was welcome. I spent my evenings, weekends, bank holidays and commutes, taking whatever translation and interpreting jobs I could, whilst continuing to write about Chinese cultures (still taking these to conventions, to wildly variable audiences). Finally, in the late 2010s, I broke through the barriers to publish my first book of non-fiction, followed by my first anthology, which I translated and edited, excelling in those roles I was apparently deemed unfit for by the gatekeepers.

It’s a twisted measure of success when the people on the other side of those gates, are coming to me asking for those channels I have carved out, to be handed over on a plate. A sense of entitlement that is mind-boggling for BAME authors like me. I have to be polite, and measure my responses, though what I really want to say is, “how about doing the work yourself? If you care about the subject so much, and can’t accept someone else might be better placed to do it, why don’t you subject yourself to the investigations and trials and sneering, or does that seem too hard for you?”

I quickly realised that the path of a pioneer, which I’d never set out to be, but found myself fulfilling, is beset with barriers that must be pushed through, again and again, until they become laughable, and you smile encouragingly while those people who did their best to hold you back, sweep up the few remaining sticks and take credit for their inclusivity. There were cultural as well as industry hurdles I had to overcome. The disrepute of horror literature in China, the overlooking for female writers in genres such as science fiction and Wuxia, the inertia to move beyond from the one big name, whitesplaining and the Western Gaze. Whilst I would rather not have had the stress and anxiety of dealing with each of these, they do, when all is said and done, inform future approaches and strengthen one’s resolve.

One place I didn’t expect the barriers to come from, was publishers of Chinese fiction on both sides of the pond, who turned their noses up when I spoke to them about brilliant web novelists whose genre fiction would absolutely engage Western readers. Years later, with the growing popularity of C-Dramas adapted from these novels, when China’s authoritative literary figures are finally seeing what I have been seeing, and are officially putting their weight behind these authors telling the stories of martial souls and female coroners, I find myself discretely being barred from press photoshoots and direct contact with these writers. I’m told that they would rather have me talking about science fiction and ‘suspense’ writing, even though I have never accepted being pigeonholed, and have curated web fiction for both of my collections, translated more and written many pieces, including academic papers, on this movement.

This recent occurrence brought me back to an earlier instance of gatekeeping by Chinese academia (whether intentional or not), which may have contributed to the lack of association with my work and web fiction in China. In 2020, I wrote an essay for a collection of translated science fiction and fantasy, based on my research on the literary revolution led by contemporary Chinese online publishing in China. One year after the publication of this essay, Seven Seas acquired their first Chinese web novel for English publication. This collection had a few non-fiction pieces, the contributors for those and myself were told that we would not be included in the Chinese edition, because “they already know about it”. Yet even Chinese publishers I met at the London Book Fair this year, were surprised that I read web novels.

Whilst many social media environments have become welcoming spaces for people to express their pain, I have chosen to centre my output on those works of literature or cultural innovations I’m translating or writing about, rather than capitalise on my sufferings, but perhaps it’s time to remind people that my work isn’t a breeze, and even behind the light and  humorous pieces is blood, sweat and tears.

Needless to say, having the gates raised in front of those writers that I helped to bring to the forefront of the public consciousness, academic attention and the radars of authoritative literary organisations, is a heady mix of emotions. Whilst the angel in me is ecstatic that these works are being recognised, that the Chinese creativity that I have championed is seeing a wider audience, the very human side finds galling, to see people who actively berated my efforts painting me out of the “discovery” of this talent. Especially when there is so much incredible creativity in the arts coming out of China right now, and literally thousands of web novels being publishing every day, more than enough for everyone to profit, progress and win acclaim for, and all the more if we worked together.

Rant over. Mask back on. Sword sheathed. For now.


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