A friend called me from Beijing recently to ask advice about her novel. She had played a prominent part in the avant-garde art movement associated with the protests at Tiananmen in 1989, and had achieved notoriety in both art and life. Fifteen years on, she wanted to give her own account of events, choosing the form of a roman-à-clef that would be published first in English. But now the Hong Kong agent helping to prepare her text wanted changes to enhance its appeal to foreign publishers. The agent wanted to tart it up, and my friend was unhappy.

Few books from China reach the international market unmediated. The patient curiosity required for writing that does not match existing tastes or confirm prejudices is hard to come by in an English-speaking world that has too much to read already. As a result, what passes for Chinese writing outside the country is rather thin, and Chinese authors who deal seriously with their culture are known only to specialists.