Chinese characters, Mandarin, and sinology—these are what fueled foreign translators’ imagination of the Chinese-­speaking world, and of Taiwan in particular, at the start of their careers.

At home in Taiwan

Ian Rowen moved to Taiwan in 2022 to take up an academic appointment, having taught at Nanyang Technological University in Singapore. He is now an associate professor in the Department of Taiwan Culture, Languages, and Literature at National Taiwan Normal University. Although this is his first teaching post at a Taiwanese university, he had previously worked as a postdoctoral researcher in the Institute of Ethnology, Academia Sinica, and as a Taipei Times journalist. He even translated the subtitles for the Taiwanese director Zero Chou’s films Splendid Float (2004) and Spider Lilies (2007)—jobs that launched his career as a translator. His various stints in Taiwan added up to more than ten years. This time his return to the island felt natural; he tells us that he plans to settle here.

Rowen traces his connection with Taiwan to his second year as an undergraduate in the United States. It was then that the disadvantages of being monolingual dawned on him. Because he liked Hong Kong films, Daoist philo­sophy, and the ancient Chinese Book of Changes (Yijing), he thought of learning Chinese and applied to study in Hong Kong as an exchange student. This was in the year 2000; Hong Kong society was fraught with tension in the wake of the handover to the PRC in 1997. Amid this somber mood, Rowen felt an extraordinary sense of warmth in the presence of Taiwanese teachers, friends and neighbors. The experience touched him deeply.

At that time, Rowen had no knowledge of Taiwan, except for a superficial impression that many things in the shops were “made in Taiwan.” After graduating in the US, he spent the summer touring China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan, and in Taiwan he felt very relaxed and comfortable, so he moved here and enrolled in the International Chinese Language Program at National Taiwan University.

What Rowen calls “Taiwanese hospitality” is perhaps synonymous with the oft-repeated dictum that “what is most beautiful about Taiwan is its people.” German translator Thilo Diefenbach, who won the French–Taiwanese Cultural Foundation Award in 2023 for his translation work, would agree.

Diefenbach holds a doctorate in sinology from the University of Cologne. He used to specialize in Chinese studies, even venturing into Classical Chinese themes for his postdoctoral project. Although he later became a civil servant, he remained passionate about sinology. Diefenbach first visited Taiwan in 2009 to look for new research topics. That was before the widespread rise of social ­media. Much to his surprise, he was nonetheless able to make many new acquaintances through the kind introductions of writers, scholars, and publishers, some of whom were very generous with their time.

Diefenbach was also fascinated by bookshops in Taiwan, which offered access not only to Chinese-language publications from all over the world but also to books in foreign languages. Research resources were extremely easy to come by. Already well versed in Mandarin, Diefenbach found Taiwan’s free and open society—as well as the friendliness of the people—ineffably congenial. “That’s why I fell in love with Taiwan straight away,” he says with a smile.

Ian Rowen comes from the United States but has lived in East Asia for a long time. He has spent some ten years in Taiwan and is savvy about all things Taiwanese.

German translator Thilo Diefenbach has edited two anthologies of Taiwanese literature: Kriegsrecht: Neue Literatur aus Taiwan (2017) and Zwischen Himmel und Meer (2022).

To bring Taiwanese literature to the wider world, we have to rely on translators who have an intimate knowledge of Taiwan.

International spotlight

Rowen and Diefenbach were among the very few trail­blazers at a time when many people across the world couldn’t even distinguish between Taiwan and Thailand. In recent years, however, drastic shifts in global geopolitics have changed the situation. Covid-19 marked a clear watershed. Since the end of the pandemic, the international community has become considerably more eager to learn about Taiwan.

The National Museum of Taiwan Literature is profoundly aware of this new wave of interest in Taiwan. Located in Tainan, the NMTL is devoted to the promotion of literature. Its director, Nikky Lin, tells us that because literature and other publications are important channels through which the wider world gets to know Taiwan, “in the past two or three years, there has been a significant increase in the number of foreign universities, libraries, publishers, and diplomatic missions in Taiwan approaching us to seek collaboration.”

When you visit the NMTL, don’t forget to explore the basement library, where you’ll discover many shelves of foreign-language titles among the vast collection of books. These are translations of Taiwanese literary works published in various countries.

Several names emerge from this massive sea of books, catching our eyes again and again: senior literary stars Pai Hsien-yung (Kenneth Pai) and Li Ang; younger established authors Wu Ming-yi, Chi Ta-wei, Lanboan Xiaman (Syaman Rapongan) and Kaori Lai; and then Kevin Chen, who rose to fame only a few years ago. These writers, from different generations and grappling with different topics in different styles, have all helped shape overseas readers’ perceptions of Taiwan.

In terms of subject matter, gender is a popular theme among Taiwanese writers of all ages. This shared commitment reflects Taiwan’s persistent struggles for gender equality over the decades, as well as our being the first Asian country to ­legalize same-sex marriage. Noriko Shirouzu, professor emerita at Yokohama National University, is known in Taiwan for having translated Gan Yao-ming’s novels into Japanese. A veteran scholar of feminist and LGBT issues, she observes that Taiwanese literature abounds with works that give pride of place to women and queer subjects. Prominent examples include Pai Hsien-yung’s Crystal Boys (1983) and Taipei People (1971), Li Ang’s The Butcher’s Wife (1983), Qiu Miaojin’s Notes of a Crocodile (1994), Chi Ta-wei’s Membrane (1996), and Kevin Chen’s The Good People Upstairs (2022). The richness of these texts is exactly what inspired Shirouzu to plunge herself into Taiwanese literature.

If we look at the achievements of individual writers, Li Ang—known for her bold choice of topics and punchy, elaborate style—is one of the first Taiwanese writers to attain international fame. Her novel The Butcher’s Wife sold some 50,000 copies in Germany alone. But younger writers are also becoming forces to be reckoned with. Nearly 30 overseas editions of Wu Ming-yi’s novels have been published in more than ten languages, including The Land of Little Rain (2019), The Stolen ­Bicycle (2015), The Man with the Compound Eyes (2011), The Magician on the Skywalk (2011), and Routes in the Dream (2007).

The National Museum of Taiwan Literature (NTML) seeks to facilitate the introduction of Taiwanese literary works to other countries. This photo shows Japanese anthologies of Taiwanese short stories and novellas.

NTML director Nikky Lin works hard to expand the global reach of Taiwanese literature.

Global appeal

In other countries, Taiwanese books usually appeal only to a niche market. But Wu Ming-yi’s novels have broken the mold.

To understand Wu’s global renown, we interview Gwennaël Gaffric, an associate professor in Chinese studies at Jean Moulin Lyon 3 University. Gaffric was the first translator to introduce Wu to international readers. Like a scout discovering new talent, he encountered Wu’s works during a research trip to Taiwan as a PhD student. So entranced was he by Wu’s Routes in the Dream that he began to try his hand at translating it even before considering publication.

Wu’s novels, Gaffric tells us, feel different from “traditional” Taiwanese fiction. He explains that Wu is categorized under “Neo-Localism” or “Post-Localism” in Taiwanese literary history. Wu often weaves together history, the natural environment, and magic in a poetic style. His works are immensely readable, breaking away from the somberness, sobriety, or even tragicality often found in post-1945 Taiwanese fiction. “If Haruki Murakami breathed an entirely new spirit into postwar Japanese literature that was able to arouse readers’ curiosity, Wu has done the same,” Gaffric concludes.

Another reason why Wu’s novels have proved so popular is that they often tackle universal issues which permeate ethnic and national boundaries. The Man with the Compound Eyes, for example, engages with the problem of marine debris, Routes in the Dream probes into the imperative of environmental protection, The Magician on the Skywalk explores the theme of childhood, and Wu’s latest work, The Sea Breeze Club (2023), offers insights into environmental justice. These books speak to foreign readers from very different cultures.

Czech translator Pavlína Krámská has co-edited a collection of Taiwanese short stories: Vzpomínky a sny na obratníku Raka (“Memories and Dreams on the Tropic of Cancer,” 2021).

French translator Gwennaël Gaffric has co-edited Formosana: Histoires de démocratie à Taiwan (2021).

Challenges and advantages

It seems only natural that exceptionally fine writers like Li Ang and Wu Ming-yi should sooner or later dazzle international book markets. But if we are to present the full scope and complexity of Taiwanese culture to global audiences, we have to depend on government resources, visionary schemes such as the NMTL’s plans to facilitate the translation of Taiwanese literature, and the help of translators who have a sympathetic understanding of Taiwan.

Taiwan is not a superpower familiar to everyone in the world, and our complicated history and ethnic composition make our literature particularly hard to access for non-specialist readers overseas. As a result, conscientious translators often have to take pains to write explanatory notes that offer contextual information. Gaffric, who travels to different places to promote Taiwanese literature, acknowledges that he often finds himself spending a lot of time explaining contexts before he can delve into the literary texts themselves.

Nevertheless, these inveterate difficulties also hint at Taiwan’s unique character. The late Japanese translator Kentaro Amano (1971–2018) shed light on this paradox. An active promoter of Taiwanese literature, he wrote a short article entitled “The Mystery of Taiwanese Literature,” which includes this passage: “In Taiwanese literature (be it fiction or prose) we see an example of concise, elegant Chinese writing. With hindsight, we find that postwar political repression has led Taiwanese writers to polish and refine the structural and technical aspects of their work. Underlying their writings, however, is their yearning for self-­identity. With a history conditioned by shifting international forces, with a language determined by exogenous regimes, and with a culture delimited by power politics, the stories that emerge from these milieux are startlingly powerful.”

Noriko Shirouzu has translated Gan Yao-ming’s Killing Ghosts (2009) into Japanese. The novel is particularly demanding for translators because it is peppered with Taiwanese, Hakka, and Atayal expressions.

Unwavering devotion

Ian Rowen says that in Taiwan one does not ­encounter the mentality of a global superpower, but rather toleration and broad-mindedness at every turn; and even though the Taiwanese have had to confront the incursions of foreign cultures, their own cultural sphere is nevertheless more open and colorful as a result. Taiwanese literature gives voice to a rich variety of pressing issues. Most scholars and translators would agree that many of these topics have something to offer to the wider world, especially those that mirror the trajectory of Taiwanese politics and history (democracy, the February 28 Incident, martial law, the White Terror, and transitional justice) and those that encapsulate intellectual trends in modern Taiwanese society (queerness, LBGT themes, indigenous peoples, gender equality, and feminism).

Targeting these motifs, the NMTL has facilitated the publication of numerous collections of Taiwanese literature in translation, such as Formosana: Histoires de démocratie à Taiwan (“Formosana: Stories of Democracy in Taiwan,” 2021, edited by Gwennaël Gaffric) and Queer Taiwanese Literature: A Reader (2021, edited by Howard Chiang). Complementary to these books are Thilo Diefenbach’s anthologies Kriegsrecht: Neue Literatur aus Taiwan (“Martial Law: New Literature from Taiwan,” 2017) and Zwischen Himmel und Meer (“Between Heaven and Sea,” 2022).

As a “Taiwan superfan,” Diefenbach stopped calling himself a “sinologist” long ago, introducing himself instead as a “Taiwan scholar.” He devotes his spare time to studying and translating Taiwanese literature. His Zwischen Himmel und Meer brings together not only modern literary texts but also indigenous mythologies that circulate in oral tradition, and poetry written in Classical Chinese. This wide-ranging anthology demonstrates the meticulousness and critical acumen of an ambitious historian, anticipating Diefenbach’s plan to write a history of Taiwanese literature.

Taiwan is fortunate to have these diligent and self-­effacing friends from overseas. One wonders why they chose to translate and promote Taiwanese literature in the first place. Diefenbach’s words offer some clues: “I think my translations and research have a certain literary value, but their value also goes beyond literature itself. Taiwan is a free, democratic country that deserves protection. Through these books I wish to stand with Taiwan and to help German readers better understand Taiwan’s situation.”

Just as anthropologists gradually become “indigenized” during their field research, so these translators, thanks to their prolonged immersion in literary texts, have also developed sympathetic ties with Taiwan. Far from being detached observers, they have become insiders who are able to represent Taiwan and give expression to its culture. Their unwavering devotion to translating Taiwanese literature is deeply inspiring.

Wu Ming-yi is internationally famous. Many of his works have been published in Japan.