When Han Zhang joined Riverhead Books as an editor-at-large in January 2023, she came with a mandate to find, acquire, and publish two to three books per year by the most exciting voices in contemporary Chinese fiction. We talked with Zhang, who is also on staff at the New Yorker, about her first foray into publishing, the obstacles faced by Chinese-language writers, and the first title on her inaugural list.
How did your role at Riverhead come about?
I was approached by Riverhead’s deputy publisher, Jynne Dilling, who had read my writing on Chinese literary works and figures in the New Yorker, the New York Times, and other places. Jynne spoke of a lacuna of fresh translated Chinese titles, and we immediately connected on that point. In subsequent conversations, Jynne and Riverhead’s publisher, Geoff Kloske, explained their wish to not only discover new voices and points of views, but also build an ecosystem in which writers can connect with numerous American readers and be supported to build a successful body of work over time. This felt like a career plot twist I wouldn't have dreamed up, but the vision resonated with me, and I could see myself playing a role in it.
Has there been any learning curve coming from journalism into publishing?
There certainly has been. As a journalist, I have been interpreting, appreciating, and critiquing books. Since becoming a book editor, I’ve been crossing to the other side to help shape how such objects of imagination are made. In this mode, I’ve been learning not only the technical aspects of an industry—from title information sheets to the partners out there that can support a book throughout its gestation—but also how to shepherd ideas and manuscripts to become more realized versions of themselves.
How will you be seeking out Chinese-language books to acquire and publish?
I’m talking to a wide range of people: agents, scouts, editors, writers, translators, and other well-read human beings! I also keep an eye out for recommendations on WeChat, Douban, and other Chinese platforms. In general, I like to get a good sense of how a book speaks to its critics and fans. When I come across an author or book that interests me, I always read the Chinese original text.
One of my recent acquisitions is a Malaysian novel by King Ban Hui, which I first spotted while having lunch with the translator and playwright Jeremy Tiang, who was reading it for pleasure. I was captivated by the dreamy cover and wanted to know more about the book. Later, I read the manuscript and connected with the translator and novelist Y.Z. Chin, who has been a fan of King Ban Hui since her teenage years and is keen to translate his work into English. After we reached a deal, Y.Z. told me that this marks the first time one of the Big Five publishing houses has bought a Chinese-language book from Malaysia.
Your first acquisition for Riverhead is out in August. What can you share about the book?
Zhang Yueran's Women, Seated, translated by Tiang, is born of an earlier novella by Yueran. I enjoyed the story in its shorter form so much that I got in touch with Yueran, who was excited about the possibilities of a reincarnation and got to work. It tells a story about power, gender, and class through the perspective of a nanny as she witnesses the sudden downfall of the high Chinese official whose family she serves. It’s a prime example of the kind of highly contemporary, emotionally engaging, and mind-changing storytelling this market hasn’t seen so far.
What are some of the obstacles to bringing Chinese fiction to U.S. readers?
Writers around the world working in Chinese enjoy the gift of an incredibly rich lexicon and literary heritage, but they also face a wide range of obstacles. In mainland China, and increasingly in Hong Kong, authors grapple with the challenge of searching for their creative voices under the country’s censorship apparatus, where some of their peers are subjected to blacklisting, police questioning, or even detention. In such countries as Malaysia and the U.S, ethnic Chinese are the minority, and writers are more likely to make a successful career by choosing English when it's an option. In Taiwan and Singapore, most writers working in Chinese struggle to reach a large market.
All together, this has meant that most Chinese language writers rarely have access to the kind of channels, networks, platforms, and resources to publish, promote, and defend their work that are common for English-language authors. I think U.S. readers will be excited to discover these voices and stories.
