Rouge Street: Three Novellas
An inventor dreams of escaping his drab surroundings in a flying machine. A criminal, trapped beneath a frozen lake, fights a giant fish. A strange girl pledges to ignite a field of sorghum stalks.
All limn the frigid city of Shenyang, China’s northeastern capital, whose life-giving state-owned factories experienced mass closures during China’s transition to a market economy, touching off an array of social ills, from unemployment to suicide. Orbiting Shenyang’s toughest neighborhood, the singular novellas of Rouge Street illuminate not only the hidden pains of the forgotten but also the inspirations and grace they, nevertheless, manage to discover.
Excerpt
Mynah Snooker Hall wasn’t large, just a dozen tables or so, but the lighting was soft and it was pleasantly warm as springtime. There weren’t many people around, and beneath the lights, the neat triangles of balls looked like precious artifacts in some museum display. The boss sat playing mahjong on a stark white Apple iMac. When he saw me come in gawking at everything, he stood up and called out, hey, you looking for someone?
– Li Gang. I’m looking for Li Gang.
– Gang-san?
– Thirty-something, quite skinny, tattoos on his arms.
– That’s Gang-san. He hasn’t been in for a while. You looking for a game? He doesn’t do that any more, though he coaches from time to time.
– I don’t play snooker. I’m looking for my cousin, we have things to talk about.
He pointed at a girl on the nearby couch, and said, you should ask Mireiko. Mireiko, play with this dude for a bit. With that, he sat back down. I thought, who’d have thought, an actual Japanese girl. Mireiko was in her early twenties, and was wearing a dress and silk stockings. She put her bedazzled phone on the edge of the table, fetched a cue from the cabinet, and said, do you have your own? Her voice was pure Shenyang, an even stronger accent than my own. I said, I don’t play, I’m looking for someone called Li Gang. She said, go get one from over there, it’s eighty yuan a frame, we’ll play three frames to start with. I had no choice but to grab a cue. She let me go first, and I fucked it up.
– You need to hold it further back, no point gripping too hard, you could splinter it and the ball wouldn’t go any faster. Let your arm do the moving, your shoulder is an axle.
I tried again, and managed a decent break.
– So you’re not Japanese?
– You’re Japanese. It’s a stage name.
– Li Gang is my cousin. He hasn’t been home for a week. I came from Beijing to look for him. I have to find him quick so I can get back to my job.
– You think Beijing’s so impressive? Who’s family, your cousin or your job? Sink a long pot and I’ll answer your questions.
I kept trying, till I was exhausted and sweating profusely, but couldn’t make the ball go in. She gave me a few more pointers, mostly about where to put my focus—seeing the ball as just a patch of white helped a lot. My glasses kept sliding off my nose, until she took them off me and put them on the bar. Keep going, she said. I finally sank my pot—the ball circled the drain before tumbling in. She said, good, now pay up. I handed her the cash, and she slipped it into one of her stocking tops.
– Your cousin’s sick. This two hundred and forty yuan will buy him medicine. Prozac.
– I want to see him. Where is he?
– Don’t bother. He’s not coming back.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR AND TRANSLATOR
Author: Shuang Xuetao
Shuang Xuetao is one of the most highly celebrated young Chinese writers. Born in 1983 in Shenyang, Shuang has written six volumes of fiction, for which he has won the Blossoms Literary Prize, the Wang Zengqi Short Story Prize, and, most recently, the Blancpain-Imaginist Literary Prize for the best Chinese writer under 45. His short stories and novellas, including Moses on the Plain, have been adapted into major television productions and feature films. Rouge Street is his first book to be translated into English. Shuang lives in Beijing.

Translator: Jeremy Tiang
Jeremy Tiang has translated over twenty books from Chinese, including novels by Shuang Xuetao, Lo Yi-Chin, Yan Ge, Yeng Pway Ngon, Chan Ho-Kei, and Geling Yan. His novel State of Emergency won the 2018 Singapore Literature Prize. He also writes and translates plays. Originally from Singapore, he now lives in New York City.
Short Notes with Jeremy Tiang
What does "Mata Hati | 心眼 | Eye of the Heart | மனக்கண் வழியே" mean to you in writing?
As a translator, much of my work involves situating myself in the brain of an author and seeing the world through their eyes. You could also say I'm seeing through the "eye of their heart."
What does your writing process look like? Do you type or write? Are there multiple drafts, long pauses, or sudden bursts of activity?
I spend a lot of time getting to know the text, attuning myself to the author's voice, and doing background research where necessary. Once I have found my way in, the actual translation is relatively fast.
What does your working space look like?
A desk and office chair before a window; an elevated screen and ergonomic keyboard; a stand for the book I am translating; if I am lucky, a snoozing cat.
Make an elevator pitch for your shortlisted work in 30 words or less.
Three novellas set in Shuang Xuetao's hometown of Shenyang, Liaoning, capturing the desolation that swept the region after the mass lay-offs of the 1990s, shot through with wit, optimism and a touch of magic realism.
Could you share a pivotal moment as you were writing this work?
Shadow Lake is a key location in one of the stories, but I couldn't find it in any map of Shenyang. Finally, I asked Xuetao about it, and he told me he'd made it up -- it was a pond he remembered from his childhood, made enormous. That's when I understood that these stories weren't just an account of the town, but also of his own psychology.
If you could give one advice to yourself when you were writing this book, what would it be?
Sometimes you don't need to understand everything, just go with the vibes.