Routledge Contemporary China Series, no. 180. Abingdon, Oxon; New York, NY: Routledge, 2018. x, 207 pp. (B&W photos, illustration.) US$150.00, cloth. ISBN 978-1-138-21860-4.
During and after the Cold War, historical studies of the Sino-Soviet alliance in the 1950s were dominated by scholars interested in international relations and elite politics. For them, what leaders said and did to each other was more important than the social response to shifting international and domestic politics. Yan Li’s study of the Sino-Soviet alliance goes beyond the traditional narrative of ups and downs in bilateral relations to analyze the fate of the Russian/Soviet culture in the People’s Republic of China (PRC), which had its own distinct trajectory. The key argument of this book is that Soviet cultural influence “was different from the influence of Soviet political and economic models on China as a whole” (5). The author defines Soviet “culture” broadly, including ideology, architecture, arts, language, literature, etc. This study focuses on Chinese urban society in the 1950s, when educated Chinese citizens came to appreciate Soviet arts, films, and literature—an appreciation that lasted for the rest of their lives, despite the political rift between the two countries from the late 1950s to the late 1980s, when “Soviet” became synonymous with “revisionist.”
China’s Soviet Dream consists of three parts. Part 1 tells the well-known story of the Sino-Soviet alliance as a by-product of Mao Zedong’s policy of “leaning to one side,” when the Chinese Communist Party used the rhetoric of Sino-Soviet “friendship” to spread socialist ideology while using Soviet experience and assistance in building a socialist state. Officially, this “friendship” was a diplomatic and political campaign, designed to replace the capitalist (Western) influence in Chinese society with the socialist (Soviet) one. In practice, as chapters 1 and 2 demonstrate, the process of adopting Soviet ideas and models in education and arts was not straightforward, but rather selective. The task of explaining the benefits of Soviet culture and education required not only indoctrination and training of Communist cadres and educators, but also translating and communicating between two distinct cultures. Despite the fact that before the Cultural Revolution Russian became the dominant foreign language in the PRC, its influence on Chinese language had its limits. In the mid-1950s, during Chinese language reform, the Cyrillic alphabet lost out to the Latin alphabet, which became the basis of the official Chinese phonetic script (75). Since the Sino-Soviet split of the early 1960s widespread enthusiasm for learning Russian was replaced by a more cautious attitude.
Part 2 describes how Soviet architecture and fashion became part of the PRC’s urban culture. While Soviet material help became crucial for the success of China’s first five-year plan (1953–1957), Soviet architectural forms in major Chinese cities became symbols of the Sino-Soviet friendship and of socialist modernity. Grand multi-purpose exhibition halls in Beijing, Shanghai, Wuhan, and Guangzhou showcased Soviet achievements in the economic, social, and cultural spheres. Socialist material culture in the Soviet Union under the leadership of Nikita Khrushchev was celebrated in China in these exhibition halls, in media and movies. Soviet fashion was adopted by Chinese cadres, military, and workers. Soviet dress, with colourful floral patterns popular among urban Chinese women, “signaled China’s moderate fashion advancement and added a colorful accent to the urban landscape” (127). In the 1950s, the urban Chinese population embraced Soviet architecture, fashion, and way of life as a celebration of internationalist spirit and socialist solidarity. When the Sino-Soviet rift and the harsh militarized regime that followed ended the PRC’s “age of openness” in the 1960s, it was easier to get rid of Soviet-style clothing than to erase Stalinist architecture in Chinese cities.
Part 3 analyzes the impact of Soviet literature on Chinese intellectuals and urban society. Chapter 1 argues that the Soviet literature of socialist realism captivated Chinese readers by its grand narratives of war and postwar reconstruction, by creating unforgettable images of heroes and high ideals, and by spreading the notions of “patriotism, collectivism, heroism and idealism” (153). Even more appealing were humanistic themes in Soviet literature, such as love, freedom, and individualism. During the Cultural Revolution, Soviet literature produced during the Khrushchev Thaw (1953–1964) was branded “revisionist” and officially banned in the PRC. However, as chapter 2 argues, translated Soviet novels continued to circulate in internal publications (neibu faxing tushu) for specific groups of readers, such as cadres and specialists, and even survived as a subculture among Chinese intellectuals and educated youth. This chapter reiterates the main idea of the book, that even the most radical policies did not erase Soviet culture in China.
China’s Soviet Dream is an important contribution to the socio-cultural history of the PRC. It skillfully demonstrates the interplay between politics, ideology, and culture in a socialist state. It can be read on several levels: as a discussion of political culture, international socialism, or simply as a tribute to the fast-disappearing generation of Chinese urban citizens who grew up in the 1950s and developed a special relationship with Soviet culture. This book’s multi-disciplinary approach and diverse sources, including Chinese municipal archives, government committees, reports, newspapers, and journals, as well as published personal accounts and oral interviews, make it an interesting read and a must-buy for anyone studying the domestic or international history of the PRC.
Victor Zatsepine
University of Connecticut, Storrs, USA