2023 in Review: Moving Forward Through Reading, Good Finds, and New Explorations

I’ve always known my interests are broad, but I struggle to sustain depth in anything for very long. Mid-year, trying to push back against this habit of just skimming the surface, I told myself that “only long-form writing counts as real writing.” Looking back, the result surprised me even more: my focus drifted countless times across the year.

Recording it as a warning.

Reading in Review

Douban marked 34 books, and WeChat Reading logged 28 books across 287 hours. Factor in a massive stack of Duku (a Chinese long-form magazine published in book format), a few other physical books, and plenty of titles abandoned halfway through, and the total should clear 50+ books and 300+ hours with room to spare.

Like I’ve said before in 阅读是一种偷懒的行为 (in Chinese), racking up sheer reading volume isn’t something to brag about. But by chance, it accidentally mirrored Shen Congwen’s way of doing things—keeping this review from feeling like a complete blank.

That counts as a good thing.

Point: Shen Congwen

Shen Congwen’s Early Years, Shen Congwen’s Later Years, Congwen’s Autobiography, Border Town

Douban Reading

Shen Congwen can be viewed as an isolated point or as an entire landscape. I’m more interested in him as a single point.

Shen Congwen’s Later Years is brilliant, opening in Beiping in 1948. Intellectuals of his generation faced an immediate question: follow Nanjing or Yan’an? And if they stayed in Beiping, would they have more freedom of expression or less? “Does literature really need to be regulated by ‘traffic lights’?”

Can you imagine a biography that opens right when a person’s life actually begins to unravel? He was the very first person Guo Moruo publicly denounced. He went through ideological rectification. It was the textbook ordeal of a modern Chinese intellectual: forced self-criticism, public humiliation, and the stigmatization of his work. He permanently gave up writing fiction, survived a suicide attempt, and was left dealing with lingering mental illness. During the Cultural Revolution he was banished to a May Seventh Cadre School—old, sickly, living in a ramshackle shack that flooded whenever it rained.

Looking at this broken old man, could you ever guess he was the same figure from those famous anecdotes—the young teacher trembling through his very first lecture, the stubbornly persistent suitor pursuing Zhang Zhaohe, the brilliant young novelist?

Yet even under those conditions, he still kept doing work. He constantly pushed himself: you have to make something. That’s what moved me deeply.

Point: Biography of Chiang Ching-kuo

Douban Reading

My limited grasp of history only knew Chiang Ching-kuo as Chiang Kai-shek’s son, and as the man who led the disastrous, headline-grabbing Gold Yuan currency reform in Shanghai. As the Generalissimo’s eldest son, his life already sounds ripe for dramatic storytelling and sensational lore, but this biography offers so much more.

The son of a Chinese military dictator; stranded in the Soviet Union while his father turned against the revolution; returning home to take on important work; retreating to Taiwan to inherit authoritarian rule; and then, in his final chapter, steering Taiwan toward democratic elections. That was his entire life.

Reading it alongside the current Taiwanese presidential election made it even better.

Point: Maugham

Of Human Bondage, The Razor’s Edge, The Moon and Sixpence, The Summing Up

https://book.douban.com/subject/26803714/

Two main takeaways sum up what Maugham feels like to me:

• His take on personal philosophy: whenever forced to choose between practical reality and ideals, he invariably sides with the ideal.
• His coming-of-age trajectory reads like an old friend. If you grew up as an odd kid, you’ll find an enormous amount of resonance here.

In the final section of The Summing Up, he discusses confronting the problem of “the meaning of life.” To my surprise, I had taken the exact same route: turning to philosophy for answers. From ancient Greece through early modern thought to Kant, he describes confusions uncannily similar to my own. Walking through his account brought me right back to those countless late nights when I was spiraling into anxiety, flipping through existentialist texts just to quiet the noise in my head.

In Of Human Bondage, the loss of his parents, losing faith in God at the very start, repeatedly making choices that weren’t necessarily wise, dealing with circumstances he couldn’t make sense of—that’s what real growing up actually looks like.

On Maugham I only kept one sentence: I love reading his work because of his radical honesty. If that makes him a second-rate writer, then second-rate it is.

Entering Poetry: A Perception of Beauty

https://book.douban.com/subject/35886422/

I used to think literature was essential; over time, I gradually drifted into believing it was useless.

Fortunately, I’ve listened to quite a bit of music over the past couple of years. And music is poetry. Their beauty comes from delivering what they want to express straight to you, unmediated, completely enveloping you. I don’t say it, you don’t ask, but if you quiet down, you hear it all the same.

Entering Poetry (a poetry primer) is a lecture transcript designed to introduce poetry appreciation. Beyond breaking down the mechanics of verse across different chapters, it includes generous analysis of modern poems. The book immersed me in a steady stream of beauty for two solid weeks. Every single day I found myself eagerly waiting for that exact hour just to open it up and take in a few more pages.

Naturally, I rushed out to buy more collections—modern poetry, classical verse—digging into Tang poetry and the backstories of the poets. Sadly, reading poetry requires real cultivation; my journey stalled the moment I reached the final page.

A Brief Account of Qing Merchants in Mongolia: Frontier and Ethnic History

https://book.douban.com/subject/26419408/

As the title suggests, the book is about Qing-era merchants trading in Mongolia. But being contrary, I was drawn to the frontier and ethnic history running through it, which sparked a whole cascade of questions.

Historical consciousness is the product of conditioning. As a member of the Han majority, my assumptions about what constitutes a shared national community might be completely wrong.

How did peripheral peoples actually form their sense of identity with the empire? Why did Outer Mongolia break away while Inner Mongolia remained? Why have Tibet and Xinjiang been persistent fault lines? What roles did different factions play when the Qing dynasty collapsed?

Only by understanding the specific historical realities can you begin to make sense of the present in any concrete way.

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Good Things

Subscription of the Year: Duku

Duku is a Chinese long-form magazine published as a book series, six volumes a year. The content centers on personal non-fiction memoirs, historical accounts, and even primers explaining AI and blockchain.

Six issues a year wasn’t nearly enough, so I hopped onto Duozhuayu (a Chinese second-hand bookstore app) and started snapping up back issues for about 10 RMB each.

Why buy it in the first place?

People often say we’re living through an information explosion, where the one thing we never run short of is content. But the other side of the information age is that content is becoming hopelessly homogenized, and fewer and fewer people have any ability left to discern quality.

I can’t stand opening a WeChat public-account article or a video that uses roughly the same form, the same logic, and roughly the same takes. I can’t even get through them; it genuinely turns my stomach.

Right down to the memes and the punchlines.

Duku is a safehouse. It quietly and consistently puts out writing of decent quality—human, substantive, and indifferent to chasing hot topics. It isn’t a heavy read, either: pieces run anywhere from a few thousand to tens of thousands of words—just right when you don’t want to crack open a massive tome but still need something solid to read.

I have a small shoulder bag—really compact. Whenever I head out, I pack my phone and slip in an issue of Duku. Once I’m drained from mindlessly scrolling on my phone, it’s an easy palate cleanser.

Reading Tools: WeChat Reading & Dedao E-Reader

First, WeChat Reading.

Actually, skip it. 19 RMB for unlimited reading (even cheaper during Double 11), supports EPUB imports, built-in translation, and syncs across phone, Mac/PC, web, and e-ink reader. That’s all you really need.

Toward the end of 2022, I couldn’t resist picking up the Dedao F7 e-reader (an e-ink device from the Chinese knowledge platform Dedao). Having bought gadgets in the past only to watch them collect dust, I felt pretty uneasy about it. Turns out, I’ve already logged 200 hours on it.

I have an iPad mini that used to be my main device before the e-reader arrived. For desk use, the iPad mini is hard to beat: screen size is spot on, page turns are instant, and you can plug in an external keyboard to write. But step away from the desk, and it suddenly feels a bit too heavy and too big. You can’t comfortably hold it one-handed; you have to cup it with both hands, and slipping it into a pocket or bag to take outside is clunky.

Those are precisely the moments where the e-reader shines.

My go-to routines: lounging on the sofa at home, or reading in bed. I stuck a little socket grip on the back so I can hold it firmly with one hand. Kill the overhead lights, click on the desk lamp, throw on some music—pure comfort.

Or on the go, on the subway: quick to pull out, downloads books offline, and syncs your reading progress the second you’re back on Wi-Fi.

If you’re looking to buy an e-reader, keep an eye on these:

• PPI and refresh rate: baseline fundamentals; the higher, the better. Pay special attention to page turns and highlighting, which are notoriously awful on most models.
• Physical page-turn buttons: given how e-ink screens refresh, repeatedly tapping the glass doesn’t feel great.
• Size and weight: aim for something you can hold in one hand. Any larger and portability goes out the window. For a weight reference, the Dedao F7 is on the heavy side: holding it for ten minutes is fine, but anything past that leaves your wrist aching.

Oh, and if you don’t read much to begin with, save your money. It’ll almost certainly gather dust.

A New Obsession: The Body

I got thoroughly swept along by a few pieces of media in a row.

First came running. Mid-year, I read Haruki Murakami’s What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. To keep the physical stamina required of a professional novelist, he chose to run 10 km every day, rain or shine. The book chronicles his marathon training, full marathons, and triathlons; every piece is extremely motivating.

Around the same time, I watched the anime Run with the Wind. Whenever that opening theme kicks in, you feel like you’re airborne.

Sadly, I’m a slacker at heart: after a brief high from running, I collapsed right back onto the couch.

Next was basketball: the Slam Dunk movie, along with catching up on the earlier anime series. The fiery intensity of basketball genuinely moved me for the first time, though I know the sport probably isn’t for me…

Finally, Creation of the Gods. I loved the movie so much that, with way too much time on my hands, I went and watched the Creation of the Gods boot camp variety show, which documented the actors’ training.

To channel the raw spirit of ancient Shang dynasty warriors, the actors brought into camp went through intense physical and cultural conditioning: posture, muscle building, horsemanship, martial arts, and combat. I watched from episode one when they first entered camp right through to the final casting decisions. Seeing the physical transformation in those people firsthand was incredible.

What showed through in the end was poise, physical grace, and real confidence. Those happen to be the exact things I lack—sluggish, listless, perpetually looking down at my feet.

That’s my wish for 2024, too.

Gaming: Zelda, Breath of the Wild & Tears of the Kingdom

After several months away, I picked up the Switch again. I had already finished the main storyline in Tears of the Kingdom, pulled the Master Sword, and was just one memory short of finishing the Dragon’s Tears questline. I liked the story, though it ultimately can’t escape the classic save-the-princess trope. I figured I’d track down that last tear first.

I headed to the Temple of Time to find the final Dragon’s Tear, triggering the closing cutscene. Opening Link’s eyes, a great Light Dragon stretched across the sky before soaring off, leaving behind a small pool formed from the tear, surrounded by Silent Princess flowers.

I stood there frozen for a long time, watching the sun sink below the horizon.

Hoping to get the full picture, right before Tears of the Kingdom came out, I bought a Switch along with a cartridge of Breath of the Wild. That game gave me the pure joy of playing, along with countless moments where NPCs and narrative beats hit hard.

Riding a horse for the first time; playing cat-and-mouse with Guardians while scrambling to the top of a tower; meeting Revali and Mipha in the memory sequences; the resilient princess; taking on a Lynel for the first time. Breath of the Wild carries an air of freedom wrapped in solitude, true to its name.

I grumbled that Tears of the Kingdom gave you abilities that were too overpowered, throwing so many options at you that it left me feeling a bit lost. But I vividly remember the Wind Temple quest: leaping upward step by step from the ground into the sky, cutting through the storm, and launching onto the flying ark. It had the exact same romantic, breathtaking magic as Sheeta flying into the storm clouds only for the tempest to break and reveal Laputa: Castle in the Sky.

As an aside, I noticed so many parallels between Hayao Miyazaki’s films and the Zelda games: Laputa’s floating island and the stormwind ark; spirits soaking in baths to restore stamina / hot springs on Death Mountain healing hearts; the Laputian ancient robots and the Sheikah Guardians… Such clever homages.

A great game, just like a great movie, book, journey, or album, broadens what living feels like. If the vast majority of people consider something brilliant, chances are it won’t disappoint. Zelda only reinforced that rule of thumb for me.

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On 2024

I started drafting a list back in December, thinking I’d write something up. Predictably, it’s already the latter half of January. This isn’t the kind of article structure I like—it turned into another itemized laundry list.

So for 2024, here’s hoping the next year in review turns out a little better.