The Qinling Mountains are widely regarded as one of the major natural boundaries between China’s North and South. Photo: TUCHONG

The paradigm of literary geography that distinguishes between the North and South of China has been implicitly embedded in the developmental trajectory of Chinese literature from antiquity to the present. It not only reveals the remarkable persistence of literary tradition in China, but also underscores how Chinese literature differs profoundly from Western literature in its aesthetic constitution and value orientation.

Enduring literary dominance of Northern style

This geographical consciousness reflects the strong sense of place in Chinese literature, expressing a deeply rooted emotional bond between the Chinese people and the land itself. It embodies a traditional longing for home and attachment to one’s native soil. Such feelings find their fullest expression in the vast northern landscape; thus, from the classical period to modern times, a Northern aesthetic style rooted in this geographical sensibility has long held a dominant position. Though modern transformations have altered literary concepts to some extent, they have not erased traditional cultural memory or aesthetic belonging. As long as tradition finds renewed reverence in the modern age, the aesthetic memory rooted in this geographical consciousness will continue to traverse modernity and find opportunities for reconstruction.

Throughout the 20th century, writers from both North and South shared the literary stage, rising and falling in turn. Among the modern masters—Lu Xun, Guo Moruo, Mao Dun, Ba Jin, Lao She, and Cao Yu—four hailed from the South. In the 1950s and 1960s, however, Northern writers regained prominence, with figures such as Liang Bin, Liu Qing, Yang Mo, Du Pengcheng, and Qu Bo dominating the literary scene. Northern literature, with its portrayals of rural China and sweeping historical family sagas, continued to define the mainstream through the 1980s, 1990s, and into the early 21st century, setting the high bar of Chinese literature. However, we must also recognize that the Northern style, with its rural writing and grand historical narratives, has now entered its “late period.” This is not merely because the leading figures of that generation have reached old age, but also because the literary form itself has matured and attained near perfection. A new narrative style, with new aesthetic sensibilities, may now be emerging: Could this mark the rise of a “Southern style?”

Rise of ‘new Southern writing’

The “Southern style,” like its Northern counterpart, is a theoretical designation. Yet it is not mere imagination—it is a form of cultural memory, deeply rooted in the collective consciousness of Chinese scholars and literati throughout the ages. It draws sustenance from the tangible mountains, rivers, and terrain of the natural landscape, and finds expression in distinctive languages, customs, and social sensibilities. As a critical category, the distinction between Northern and Southern styles has long been an important concept in classical Chinese poetics. In recent years, the Southern style has reemerged, with the notion of “new Southern writing” becoming a striking initiative. It has the potential to cultivate a more diverse range of creative styles in contemporary Chinese literature and open new directions in literary theory and criticism.

For much of modern history, Chinese literature has been dominated by the Northern aesthetic paradigm. The vast, majestic landscapes of the North—boundless, austere, and powerful—gave rise to a grand aesthetic preference, to historical narratives and family sagas that embodied the hardships and heroism of 20th-century China. The Chinese nation in that century required such a spiritual summons; only through immense suffering could courage and resolve be awakened. In this sense, the grand aesthetic carried historical necessity.

The concept of “new Southern writing,” however, is not merely a reinforcement of regional consciousness in literature; it also seeks to revive the stylistic tradition itself. Today, the South stands not only as the center of both post-industrial and new forms of modernization, but also as the space in which new generations most readily adapt and thrive. Amid the subtropical monsoon winds and waves, could the subtle emotions, intricate inner sensibilities, and finely woven stories of a “new South” truly unfold their boundless richness and vitality? This remains to be seen.

China’s literature deeply shaped by its geographical configuration

In mid-20th-century China, the idea of radical modernity dominated all literary discourse, and universalist paradigms naturally held sway. Not until the late 20th century and the early 21st did discussions of the literary distinction between North and South begin to reemerge, culminating in the brief prominence of what became known as “new Southern writing.” From this trajectory, several key observations can be made.

First, the view that China’s culture and literature are shaped by its geographical configuration has a long lineage. It first emerged in the pre-Qin period, took shape during the Wei, Jin, and Northern and Southern dynasties through to the Tang, and was further systematized in early modern times by Chinese scholars such as Zhang Xiangwen, Liang Qichao, and Liu Shipei.

Second, such a discourse arose in China quite naturally. The Qinling Mountains and the Yangtze River provide an inherent geographical foundation, while its deeper cause lies in the early emergence and dominance of agrarian culture within Chinese civilization. The habit of interpreting national character, cultural style, and literary aesthetics in terms of geography is, at its core, a product of an agrarian worldview. Even today, rural life remains central to the lived experience of many Chinese people. Therefore, literary expressions of homeland, countryside, and geography easily evoke a deep sense of empathy.

Third, many Chinese writers have rural roots, and rural China has long occupied the central position in modern Chinese literature throughout the 20th century. Whenever a work describes rural landscapes and local customs, these elements become its underlying texture. The vast and imposing geography of the North, under the aesthetic consciousness of suffering and heroic will that dominated the 20th century, naturally overshadowed the South. In the 21st century, as modern life diversifies and sensibilities become increasingly individualized, literature, too, is tending toward formal diversity; the rise of the South, therefore, appears inevitable.

Fourth, the notion of a North–South distinction is a deeply rooted and resilient cultural memory in the Chinese tradition. It has established a meaningful category of geographical narrative, forming one of the paradigms of both classical and modern literary theory. As long as it is not repressed by an overwhelmingly universalist discourse, it will continue to exert a constructive influence in both theory and creative practice. From this, one may draw a conclusion: Chinese literature has indeed followed a path distinct from that of the West. From the Renaissance onward, European literature has evolved from the Shakespearean tradition to Romanticism, which is considered to have shaped the entire unfolding of modern European culture.

Fifth, the traditional and mnemonic power of Chinese literature has proven remarkably tenacious—even through the violent upheavals of the 20th century. In the 1990s and subsequent years, Chinese writing in the Chinese language produced remarkably substantial works—almost without exception chronicling the history of rural China. These works absorbed and transformed the achievements of world literature while maintaining a distinctly native Chinese tone. Yet this very accomplishment marks a mature late stage: It now demands renewal and transformation. The vast, soil-bound literature of northern rural China may have fulfilled its millennial mission. The modern transitions of the 20th century attempted to alter it fundamentally. As the “post-50s generation” of writers grows old, a new generation of rural northern authors can no longer recreate the tragic grandeur of the 20th century.

China’s literary landscape is thus poised for change. While it is premature to proclaim the definitive rise of Southern writing, one point is clear: Changes in Chinese literary aesthetics remain grounded in geography. Southern writing, at its core, still carries the primal memory of place. Our hope is that this is marks not an ending but a beginning—a promise of new possibilities. Under the name of Southern geography, literature may open itself to richer and more diverse directions.

In sum, geographical spatiality is a construct of the imagination, yet it also carries the weight of historical accumulation and deep cultural memory. Modernity and contemporaneity have grown alongside it, granting the North–South paradigm its continuing legitimacy. Today, our “contemporary impulse”—whether expressed as new Southern writing or under another name—is a new act of imagination. It is not a departure but a necessary new beginning. The Northern rural tradition has been overwhelmingly dominant because it defined moral purpose, human destiny, and the continuity of tradition. Any new writing will still claim to draw upon China’s geographical configuration. Chinese literature thus retains its intrinsic nature and authenticity: It draws its breath from the soil of agrarian civilization. This is its essence and its fate. It stands only one step away from world literature, yet between them still stretches the vast land of China’s mountains and rivers.

Chen Xiaoming is a professor from the Department of Chinese Language and Literature at Peking University.