On Chinese author Hai Ya's Hugo Award-winning novelette "The Space-Time Painter" (Part 3 of 3)
"Science fiction is the literature of dreams, and dreams always say something about the dreamer, the dream interpreter, as well as the audience." - Ken Liu
Previously…
The first post of this review of Chinese author Hai Ya’s “The Space-Time Painter” proposed to refocus readers’ attention to the story itself, rather than the controversial circumstances in which it received the 2023 Hugo Award for Best Novelette. That post also provided a summary of the story based on an English translation produced by the reviewer, which cannot be published without the author’s permission, for obvious readers. Part 2 of the review discussed the story’s historical and cultural context in order to analyse its meaning and significance.
This post, the third and final of the series, provides an assessment of the story’s quality of writing, while touching on the present and future of reading Chinese science fiction.
Assessing the Quality of Writing
Having now gained an understanding of the stories behind the story “The Space-Time Painter”, how can one assess its quality as a literary work? Below, this review attempts an evaluation from three perspectives.
To begin with, the story is collected in the ninth volume of the “Galaxy's Edge” series published by New Star Press in Beijing. According to its website, New Star Press was established in 1989 as a publisher of government white papers for external audiences. That is to say, its products were not initially designed for the domestic market. Then, in 2004, the publisher started promoting its books to both domestic and foreign markets.
According to its promotional description, the “Galaxy's Edge” is “a series of science fiction stories specially designed for young sci-fi fans and their fast-paced urban lifestyle”, “produced as small-format books designed for ease of reading and carrying”, and “gathering outstanding sci-fi works from China and overseas to integrate distant universe and brilliant starlight into every reader's life”. Published in April 2022, the ninth volume in the series lists “The Space-Time Painter” as the title story. The other short stories collected in the volume are:
Canadian author Robert J. Sawyer's “Star Light, Star Bright”,
American author Gardner Dozois's “The Peacemaker”,
Japan-based Chinese author Chen Qiucha's “A Literary Portrait of Heinrich Böll”,
Chinese American author Laurie Tom's “The Wings The Lungs, The Engine the Heart”,
American author Jean Rabe's “Auriga's Streetcar”,
Chinese author Liu Yanzeng's “Yang Feng Presents: The God Tree of Bambi Village”, and
American author James Patrick Kelly's “Think Like a Dinosaur”.
As a stand-alone story, “The Space-Time Painter” in its last pages introduces a brand new character called Hu Yan, a friend and self-educated historian “who had previously helped Zhou solve the 'Chain Guillotine' case and was subsequently employed by a relevant government agency”. Hu becomes involved in investigating the case of the ghostly shadow at the Palace Museum after Zhou's incident and resulting coma. More importantly, he is responsible for Zhou's leaving the police force and joining that agency at the end of the story.
In the story, the government agency is simply referred to as AIB. There are speculations that AIB may stand for “Abnormality Investigation Bureau” and that it draws inspiration from “The X-Files” or the “Men in Black”, but these have not been disputed or confirmed by the author.
Meanwhile, the “chain guillotine” was traditionally described as a bell-shaped metal weapon attached to a long chain and equipped with sharp blades around its edges. It was supposedly designed to be thrown over an enemy's head from some distance away in order to decapitate them. Hence the use of the weapon's name in the story may create an impression that the “Chain Guillotine” case was both mysterious and macabre.
Hu's sudden appearance as a brand new character and the seemingly abrupt ending of the story may seem confusing to readers. Is there, or will there be, a prequel and/or a sequel? What is the “Chain Guillotine” case all about? The lack of answers in “The Space-Time Painter” may disappoint those readers desiring a self-sustained story.
On the other hand, it may be argued that information about the “Chain Guillotine” case hints at Hu's and therefore AIB’s unusual background. The Chinese term used to describe Hu is yesheng or “wild-born”, which indicates he is a self-taught scholar rather than academically trained and/or affiliated. More importantly, the new character's appearance in the story serves two purposes – as a premise for Zhou's transition from “within the system” to the “outside/wilderness” after a near-death experience, and as a hint at his newly-acquired ability to foresee the future after his encounter with Zhao. Indeed, at the end of the story, Zhou is able to foresee his transfer from the police force to AIB before the news is conveyed to him by his superior. He also foresees the arrival of Hu before the “lumpy ball of a man” finally shows himself.
Furthermore, considering the historical and cultural context of “The Space-Time Painter” as previously discussed, one question inevitably arises regarding whether those readers unfamiliar with Chinese history, culture and arts are able to appreciate the story's meaning and significance. The answer may be observed via a close examination of the story.
In “The Space-Time Painter”, the author deliberately omits the names of the three major characters, referring to Emperor Huizong as the “Emperor” and Cai Jing as the “Grand Chancellor”. With the surname of Wang Ximeng changed to “Zhao”, the name “Zhao Ximeng” is not revealed until near the end of the story. Even so, sufficient information is provided in the story for those readers already familiar with Chinese history to immediately identify them. Indeed, although the title of the major painting is concealed, those readers already familiar with Chinese culture and art can instantly recognise it as “A Thousand Miles of Rivers and Mountains”, Wang's only surviving work. Meanwhile, the only specifics provided regarding the story's historical background are the Khitans, the Jurchens, and the Jingkang Incident, also known as the “Humiliation of Jingkang”, in 1127.
The key phrase here is “already familiar”. With that said, if we accept the story as an attempt to illustrate how individuals – and especially artists – are often the helpless products and victims of their times, then the lack of specific details about the story's historical and cultural background does not seem to have hindered the storytelling process. Similar to the renowned Doctor Who episode “Vincent and the Doctor” (2010, Season 5, Episode 8), “The Space-Time Painter” uses the time travel plot device to probe an artist's creative process and his inner struggles. Furthermore, having witnessed “the numerous hardships of the people”, Zhao is determined to “use art as a tool to be mindful of the world and to inform his fellow citizens of the kingdom's affairs”. Later, he even attempts a “deadly remonstration through his art”, but to no avail. These are but some of the universal themes to be appreciated by readers, whether or not they are already familiar with Chinese history, culture and arts.
Finally, in terms of writing, there is existing criticism that describes “The Space-Time Painter” as being similar to “web fiction”, with the common yet misguided perception that web fiction is of inferior quality because it is not published in print. Indeed, a close examination of the story reveals its first half as relatively light reading, as it mainly describes the actions, thoughts and emotions of various secondary characters. Even in a later section where Zhou becomes “possessed” by the ghostly shadow and starts seeing people and objects as being two-dimensional, colourless and transparent, the description is brief, vague and generic, which leads to the impression that there is much more “telling” than “showing”. Further missing are details of the “higher dimension” and how Zhao and Zhou are able to travel there.
It is evident that “The Space-Time Painter” is not a work of “hard sci-fi” that is commonly characterised by concerns for scientific accuracy and logic. Instead, it may be considered as a fantasy using the time travel plot device. The author relies on the “common knowledge” of Chinese history and culture as a tool for world-building, and concentrates more on developing the characters than illustrating their settings. As a result, there is very little world-building in the story. Readers are expected to “naturally” understand what the setting is supposed to look like, whether it is a palace, a hospital, an underground warehouse, or an office at the Palace Museum's Centre for Conservation. They are also expected to “naturally” comprehend the process in which Zhou transitions from being unconscious in a coma to becoming conscious of his own existence in the higher dimension where Zhao awaits. Only the short paragraph below serves as an explanation:
In the midst of endless chaos, a majestic and splendid landscape painting gradually unscrolled. The wandering strains of consciousness abruptly jolted, making an effort to join each other before scattering away... As the distant scroll slowly dissipated, he became increasingly aware of himself. Though still lacking strength and unsure where he was, at least he was no longer helplessly muddleheaded and trapped in another consciousness.
The lack of scientific and logical details in what is produced and promoted as a work of science fiction appears to be a major contributing factor to the story's apparent failure to attract hardcore sci-fi fans. With that said, “The Space-Time Painter” is not merely a “time travel” or chuanyue story in its usual sense. Indeed, popular Chinese chuanyue fiction in print and digital formats often features a character from a certain space and time physically travelling to a new reality or transmigrating into a local resident's body. Particularly in those cases where a contemporary character travels to a space and time in the past, much attention is drawn to how the character proceeds to change certain aspects of that reality using their existing knowledge of it, with little or no emphasis on how the character's action may influence the development of their own space and time.
“The Space-Time Painter” can be distinguished from such popular chuanyue fiction for two reasons. Firstly, in the story, the author cleverly turns “sleepwalking” into “spirit walking” that allows Zhao to travel through space and time. Initially he can only observe those affairs taking place in the forthcoming decades and centuries, but later, having abandoned his body, he is able to freely “glimpse the happenings in the millenniums to come”. More importantly, Zhao is clearly aware of the limited usefulness of time travel, particularly when it involves travelling to the future.
He rarely tried to leap through time, mainly because it was of no benefits to his work. But the more important reason was that any attempt to detect the Heaven's intentions for the future would surely influence what was being done at the present. In addition to the added concerns over the potential gains and losses, there was no doubt that time could administer micro-adjustments to the changes that one would hope to make. Like flipping a pebble into water where the resulting ripples would sooner or later disappear, the efforts was ultimately futile and hardly worth making.
Interestingly, in the story, when Zhao is challenged by Zhou about the viability of predicting the future, he cites Fermat's Principle of Least Time as an explanation.
“You mean, even when a light ray bends as it passes from one medium to another, its path from one point to another point will still cover the smallest distance possible?” Zhou seemed to have detected a certain clue, but it was too unfathomable yet to be confirmed.
“Come on, open your mind a bit. You've seen enough bizarre things already,” the ghostly shadow laughed.
“You mean, before the light ray's departure, it's already predicted the results of its future, and then it takes its action?”
“That's right.”
This explanation is justified in the story by Zhao's ability to foresee the end of the Northern Song Dynasty and then to take relevant actions in his attempt to avoid it. Fully aware that he would fail with deadly consequences, his determination to still give it a try is another universal theme that is often explored in literary works. Yet, unlike the protagonists in many other Chinese and Western science fiction stories featuring time travel (with the Time Traveller in H.G. Wells’s The Time Machine coming to mind), Zhao fails to “reverse the Heaven's Mandate” and doesn't try to predict and interfere with the future again. Having entered the higher dimension after his death, he continues to observe the three-dimensional world but rarely projects his image into it. He is “omniscient and omnipotent” where he is, but does not become a “megalomaniac” after “a thousand years of solitude” (with the 10th Doctor in the 2009 episode “The Water of Mars” coming to mind).
Finally, another noteworthy sub-plot in the story is to awaken a patient from their coma by using electronic signals to stimulate their brain. Specifically, Zhou is connected “with a newly developed electroencephalographical system, which can convert simple images and sounds to electronic signals and project them directly onto his visual and auditory nerves”. More importantly:
“As this brand new way of rousing patients is much more direct and intense than conventional methods, the kind of information used is also unique. It needs to be something that Zhou is interested in but not overly familiar with, so that it can optimally unlock his brain's potential to muster his sleeping consciousness, which will in turn contributes to his eventual awakening.”
Whether this is fantasy or science is beyond the point, as the sub-plot serves the purpose of allowing Zhao to use his painting preserved at the Palace Museum as an anchor to project his image into the three-dimensional world and make contact with Zhou. Once contact is made and connection established, Zhao is further capable of immersing Zhou in a “mighty river” that is nearly a thousand years of Zhao's memory so that the turmoils of his youth can be observed. It is certainly an unusual type of immersive experience illustrated in the story.
The Present and Future of Reading Chinese Science Fiction
Ultimately, “The Space-Time Painter” reads more like fantasy than science fiction. Indeed, the Chinese characters for science fiction, ke huan, can be literally translated as “science” and “fantasy”. Whether the English term “science fiction” should be interpreted as “scientific fantasy” or “science-based fantasy” remains to be decided by individual Chinese authors themselves.
With that said, some may suggest the story can be seen as a representative work of the so-called “Chinese-style science fiction”. The origin of the term can be traced back to 2012, when that year's World Science Fiction Convention took place in Chicago. Throughout the event's more than 70 years of history, it was the first time a delegation from China was present. That year further marked the first time a China-born science fiction author was recognised in the West, with Ken Liu's “The Paper Menagerie” winning the “Best Short Story” title in both Hugo and Nebula Awards. The fact that E. Lily Yu as an American author of Chinese descent was also nominated for a major Hugo Award in that year was seen as proof of a “Great Nation Rising in the World of Science Fiction” as declared by a member of the Chinese delegation at the 2012 WorldCon.
By mid-February 2014, when the term “Chinese-style Science Fiction” was coined by the Chinese newspaper Spring City Evening News, the English edition of Liu Cixin's The Three-Body Problem was nearing the end of its publishing process; Ted Chiang's “Story of Your Life” was about to be adapted into the film Arrival; and, thanks to excellent English translation provided by Ken Liu, a series of emerging and established Chinese science fiction authors had already been introduced to English readers. In its celebration of these achievements, the Spring City Evening News gathered the names of various China-born authors and overseas-born authors of Chinese descent under the term “Chinese-style science fiction” because “together, these names bring for us a kind of science fiction belonging to the Chinese people”. Specifically,
This kind of science fiction is characterised by its display of prominent Chinese features. Whether it is the characters Han Xin and Su Qi in Qian Lifang's The Will of Heaven and Mandate of Heaven, respectively, or the background of the start of Liu Cixin's The Three-Body Problem, they are all influenced and inspired by Chinese history and culture. Even Chinese-American author Ken Liu has perfectly merged science fiction and Chinese culture in his “The Paper Menagerie”. It can be said that, different from their Western counterparts, the way of thinking in works of science fiction by Chinese authors and overseas-born authors of Chinese descent is Chinese. The great Chinese culture has marked their writings with a vivid brand that is distinct from Western science fiction.
To lump together China-born authors and overseas-born authors of Chinese descent under the same “Chinese” category is highly inappropriate, not to mention dangerous, as it risks pigeon-holing, simplifying and stereotyping these authors only on the basis of their ethnicity. Fortunately, both Ken Liu and Chinese science fiction author Xia Jia have argued against the careless and ruthless use of the term “Chinese” while reading and critiquing works of science fiction by Chinese authors and overseas-born authors of Chinese descent. In his “China Dreams: Contemporary Chinese Science Fiction”, Liu asserts: “Any broad literary classification tied to a culture – especially a culture as in flux and contested as China's – encompasses all the complexities and contradictions in that culture. Attempts to provide neat answers [to the ill defined question of ‘how is Chinese science fiction different from science fiction written in English’] will only result in broad generalisations that are of little value or stereotypes that reaffirm existing prejudices.”
Meanwhile, in her “What Makes Chinese Science Fiction Chinese?”, Xia admits that there are “aspects of commonality” among the work of contemporary Chinese science fiction writers: “Our stories are written primarily for a Chinese audience. The problems we care about and ponder are the problems facing all of us sharing this plot of land.” But she immediately adds: “These problems, in turn, are connected in a thousand complicated ways with the collective fate of all of humanity.” Citing the work of a series of contemporary Chinese science fiction authors, she affirms the point that “Chinese science fiction consists of stories that are not just about China”.
In light of these insights, to assess “The Space-Time Painter” and other forthcoming works of Chinese science fiction on the basis of whether or not these stories are “influenced and inspired by Chinese history and culture”, have “perfectly merged science fiction and Chinese culture”, or are marked by “the grand Chinese culture” with “a vivid brand that is distinct from Western science fiction” – to do so will be underestimating and even denying those universal themes well illustrated in these stories. Instead, by reading them as stories that are “not just about China”, readers can better appreciate Liu's suggestion that “when reading Chinese science fiction through translation, the reader must constantly keep in mind the multiple layers of interpretation that are at play”.
As someone who loves Wang Ximeng's incredible scroll A Thousand Miles of Rivers and Mountains, it was great reading this view of Hai Ya's novelette. It sounds interesting and I'd love to read it, but lacking a translation I'll make do with your perspective. It's interesting to compare it to certain Dr Who episodes - personally - I loved the Vincent episode! Interesting too how the Chinese word for 'sleep-walking' is literally 'dispersed soul syndrome'! How words are formed give us a good indication of how cultural concepts are formed and maintained. It's also interesting about the sleepwalking storyline, as Thousand Miles was said to look uncannily like Wudangshan, even though the 17-year-old painter had never been there!