100 books like Policing Shanghai, 1927-1937

Though Foucault’s book appeared at almost the same moment as Ignatieff’s, Foucault painted a far darker image of early penitentiaries. He cast them not as places of reform but as instruments of disciplinary control, rendering inmates docile and amenable to the monastic repression and routine of schools and factories.

Foucault’s book taught me decades ago that history is crafted, not discovered, and that skilled chroniclers can weave very different plotlines from similar facts.

I liked this book despite its phlegmatic style and the politics of its author. I liked it because it spoke across a political divide to identify something seemingly quite simple—that is, the friend/enemy divide—yet once unpacked, it became enormously profound and complex.

In identifying something any concept of the political cannot ignore, it cuts across orthodox political divides and political cultures. Indeed, the very first line on the very first page of the first volume of Mao Zedong’s Selected Works begins with this same question of enemies and friends. I liked Schmitt’s book because it opened up a very different way of thinking about Maoist politics.     

There is something of a maverick lurking in the shadows of this enormously erudite and linguistically brilliant scholar who is widely respected within the China studies field. In writing this particular book, Schoenhals scoured endless Chinese book and junk markets, picking out diaries, files, and details that few before him had thought important enough to gather and examine carefully.

As a result, Schoenhals work breaks new ground without really trying, or without making a theoretical fuss about it. As the father of ‘garbology’ in Chinese studies, he has attracted some criticism, but, as the old saying goes, the proof is in the pudding, and few would doubt that in Schoenhals’s book, the proof is offered in remarkable empirical detail. 

It might seem hard to believe, but scholars of contemporary Chinese studies know quite a bit about Chinese history and Confucian thought but little of the history and thought of Marxism-Leninism. I begin my research from a very different perspective.

I had always thought, perversely as it turned out, that anyone working on a subject related to Chinese communism and its policing methods needed a solid grounding not just in Chinese history and thought but also in Marxism-Leninism. Admittedly, much of the post-Stalin discussion of Marxist law has been stolid, uninteresting, and repetitive, but Pashukanis breaks that mold.

His ideas on the withering away of law as capitalism is eviscerated during socialism breathes new life into Marxist debates about the transition stage, thereby offering new insights into the mass line of Mao.

Having interviewed hundreds of Chinese Canadians, I knew that many of Canada’s earliest Chinese migrants met and gave money to Sun Yat-sen, the father of modern China, though most were less enthusiastic about Chiang Kai-shek. This book presented a complicated narrative of US-Chinese relations from the perspective of the Soong sisters, who straddled the boundaries of west and east and lived in a world where most Chinese were excluded because of their race. Similar to many of the bachelors in my book, the sisters were also influenced by KMT politics and religion. Both the Soong sisters and the bachelors knew that religion trumped race and that Christian identities and faith helped them open doors to dominant society that remained closed to most Chinese of the era. 

There are several true-crime books about foreigners who have been killed whilst residing in China, notably Paul French’s Midnight in Peking (which should be read together with its dismissive detractor, A Death in Peking by Graeme Sheppard). Despite its brevity (only 60 pages), Mara Hvistendahl’s And The City Swallowed Them holds its own in the true-crime genre as a well-researched work of investigative journalism covering the stabbing of a Western female model working in Shanghai in 2008. Hvistendahl’s shocking expose focuses in equal parts on the seedier aspects of modern expat life, China’s marginalized peasant working class, and the country’s opaque justice system.

Emily Hahn, prolific author and New Yorker correspondent whose sojourns in Shanghai (1935-39), Chungking (1939-40), and Hong Kong (1941-43) coincided with the Japanese invasions of these cities, fictionalizes the life of Canadian Lorraine Murray, turned high-class prostitute in Shanghai after living as a foreign geisha in Japan. Hahn was fascinated by sex workers and hung out with them (Hahn and Murray were roommates), but the novel later morphs into the autobiographical as the beautiful Hahn ingratiates herself with Japanese military officials until she’s forced into a Hong Kong internment camp for several years. Hahn is more reporter than novelist, but her flair for detail and eyewitness authenticity brings Shanghai to life in a way the historical novelist cannot. Especially hilarious is Jill’s hotel scene with the British john who thought he was getting a freebie.

Published in 1933 Mao Dun’s Midnight is the Chinese novel that most accurately shows the harsh effects of the freewheeling capitalism that characterised old Shanghai in its international treaty port days. The city’s great wealth is built on low wages, awful conditions, and exploitation. This is Shanghai as a powder keg about to explode.

Shanghai is a city that fascinates and repels both Chinese and foreigners alike. The harsh exploitative past and the contemporary resurgence embrace a sometimes unsettling mix of wealth, style and brutality. The architectural reshaping of the megalopolis of more than 20 million souls reflects this context and no one has captured it better than Greg Girard, a Canadian photojournalist who spent much of his career in Asia. The twilight of eerie neon tones in the smoggy half-demolished city is fertile territory for this image maker chasing the phantoms.

Graham Earnshaw, who has resided in the Middle Kingdom for the past 40+ years (longer than any other living expat here today), has also been casually strolling from Shanghai due west toward Tibet over the past two decades. Fluent in Mandarin, his spontaneous conversations with local peasants he has encountered along the way make The Great Walk a delightfully pleasant and profoundly insightful read. Published in 2010 by a small Hong Kong indie press and tragically overlooked by most Sinophiles, I can’t recommend this enough to anyone seeking an upbeat, unpretentious narrative of a foreigner drifting among the Chinese.