Li Yunlei: The Possibility and Exploration

 of "New Socialist Literature"

— Reading Liu Jiming's The Human Realm

Contemporary Writer Review, Issue 4, 2017

Part One: The Tradition and Transformation of "Socialist Literature"

In contemporary Chinese literary circles, there exists a remarkably interesting phenomenon: a rupture between creative practice and academic research. On the research side, since the 1990s the most productive body of scholarship has been devoted to left-wing literature and socialist literature. Whether in the works of Hong Zicheng and Cai Xiang or in the explorations of younger scholars, the richness and complexity of left-wing literature have been profoundly illuminated, placing this scholarship at the very forefront of contemporary literary studies — and in doing so, bringing into sharper relief the importance of writers like Zhao Shuli, Liu Qing, and Ding Ling. By contrast, the creative community seems not yet to have emerged from the intellectual atmosphere of the 1980s. In the horizon of "going out to the world," writers may draw on Western authors, on Latin American writers, on Eastern European writers; in telling "Chinese stories," they may draw on the tradition of Dream of the Red Chamber, or of Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio, or of the Classic of Mountains and Seas. Yet the tradition of twentieth-century modern Chinese literature — and in particular its left-wing literary tradition — is treated with studied indifference, even ostentatiously avoided. Have we ever heard anyone declare an intention to inherit the tradition of Lu Xun, of Mao Dun, of Liu Qing? Apparently not. In my view, the primary reason is that the creative community remains immersed in a sensibility that equates beauty with things foreign, and lacks the cultural confidence, the artistic sensibility, and the intellectual capacity to confront history, confront reality, and confront itself.

In this sense, the appearance of Liu Jiming's full-length novel The Human Realm is of considerable significance. The novel's most distinctive feature lies in its exploration of socialism within a new environment, and this encompasses two dimensions: first, Ma La's persistence in and innovation of rural "cooperativization" in the new era; second, Murong Qiu's re-examination and rethinking of socialist ideas at a moment when liberalism is rampant in the intellectual world. These two dimensions are relatively independent yet mutually connected within the novel.

The Ma La of the novel does not subscribe to "cooperativization" from the outset; his thinking has its own twists and turns. In his youth, under the influence of his elder brother Ma Ke and the educated youth Murong Qiu, he possessed an idealist temperament. In the 1980s, he followed his spiritual mentor Lü Yongjia into the waves of commerce, rode the swells and troughs of the marketplace, and ultimately landed in prison. After his release, he reexamined his path in life, returned to Shenhuangzhou, and took up the unfinished work of rural construction that Ma Ke had left behind — building a better home through the cooperative model. In Ma La is concentrated the intellectual journey of a generation. Like most people born in the 1960s, he was shaped by socialism in his youth, turned in adulthood to embrace a philosophy of the strong individual and liberal ideas, but unlike most people, he — after a major setback in life and after painful reflection — rediscovered the faith of his younger years and set about realizing it in the practice of rural reality.

Ma La's exploration is both a search for the values and direction of his own life and a gathering-up of reflections on the future fate of humanity. In Ma La we can clearly discern the shadows of "socialist new persons" like Liang Shengbao and Xiao Changchun — yet the differences are equally clear. Both Ma La and these earlier figures pursue the path of "cooperativization," but Liang Shengbao and his kind were going with the tide in a favorable broader environment, confronting the backward consciousness of "old-style peasants" and animated by an upward-striving optimistic spirit. Ma La is different: he has about him a quality of calm stillness, because he is swimming against the current in his environment and confronting circumstances that are far more complex and difficult — the abandonment of farmland, the outflow of labor, capital going to the countryside, the setback of socialism on a world scale, and so on. Amid all these adverse conditions he holds to his reflections and explorations, holding to the new path of "cooperativization" he has chosen for himself. In him there is something of the heroic, but it is tinged with tragedy. In this sense he also comes close to Sui Baopu in The Ancient Ship — both are brooding, pensive thinkers, both are re-examining twentieth-century China and searching for the future of the countryside. But The Ancient Ship of the 1980s is more intellectually turbid; Sui Baopu's predominant experience is one of contradiction and negation. Thirty years later, Ma La's judgment of history and reality is clearer, his commitment to his chosen path more steadfast and self-assured. A further dimension deserves emphasis: whether we see Ma La as closer to the "socialist new person" or closer to the "brooding thinker," he has his own subjectivity and independence, his own spiritual world and inner aspirations — and this makes him sharply unlike the protagonists of most contemporary fiction, who are mired in material concerns, desire, or the routines of daily life. In Ma La we see a new understanding of the human being, as well as the author's inheritance of literary tradition.

If Ma La's movement toward "cooperativization" is primarily enacted through practical work in the countryside, Murong Qiu's intellectual transformation is achieved primarily within the realm of knowledge — through critique and self-critique. As the daughter of an old family and as a former educated youth, her life experience has its own particular character; after returning to the city, she has spent her career in universities and intellectual circles, moving from student to teacher. Immersed in discussion of the various problems facing the sociology academy, she becomes increasingly aware of the importance of the standpoint and feeling underlying knowledge. As an intellectual, she also confronts a choice: to speak on the side of capital and power, or to speak from the standpoint of the people at the bottom of society. This is not merely a question of morality or conscience but a practical question of survival: the forces of capital and power threaten and seduce, they are enormous in their strength and pervasive in their influence, reaching even into a person's family and deepest "self." In these circumstances, to speak for the people requires not only courage and conscience but stubborn, sustained struggle — requires not only clearing away the relationship between knowledge and capital and power, but intellectual critique and self-critique. This is an arduous process, one that reaches into personal life and the inner world. In the novel, Murong Qiu ultimately chooses, amid complex contradictions, to stand with Ma La — allowing us to see a glimmer of hope within the intellectual world.

Structurally, the novel's first half centers on Ma La and the second half on Murong Qiu. The connection between them is primarily emotional and spiritual. As the lover of Ma Ke — Ma La's elder brother — the educated youth Murong Qiu left a beautiful and deep impression on the young Ma La's heart. Ma Ke's death in the fire while saving collective property burned a long-lasting scar onto both Ma La and Murong Qiu — a shared pain, a secret that is difficult to put into words. Afterward, the two set out on very different paths in life and found themselves in very different domains; yet Ma Ke's death, as a spiritual event, deeply shaped both their visions of the world, enabling them, at a time when neoliberalism is flooding in, to return to their original heart and look again through Ma Ke's eyes — and this is one important reason why they were ultimately able to transcend themselves and transcend their era.

The value of The Human Realm lies not only in its persistence in a socialist orientation, but also in the fact that it fully renders the complexity and difficulty of holding to this kind of reflection and choice in the present context, allowing us to see the continuation and transformation of the "socialist literary tradition" in the present day. From this angle, we can say that Liu Jiming faces a far greater predicament than Liu Qing or Zhao Shuli faced in their day. Yet we can see that in The Human Realm, Liu Jiming, with deep reflection and great courage, holds to the spirit of realism, restores the tradition of the novel as a "form of thought," and reopens the question of the possibility of "socialist literature" today. This places him, like the explorations of Hong Zicheng and Cai Xiang, at the forefront of contemporary intellectual and scholarly life; it also shows us that literature must rethink our history and our reality, and that true artistic creation can only be realized within the most immediate experience of life and of one's era.

Part Two: The Novel as a "Form of Thought"

The appearance of The Human Realm prompts us to rethink the proposition of the novel as a "form of thought." The novel serves many social functions. One is entertainment and diversion — most characteristic of popular fiction, which in today's era of mass culture and surging internet literature is the most prevalent and fastest-growing type in contemporary China, varied in style. A second is the recording function: the writing and preserving of history or reality, recording important events, typical characters, modes of life and feeling in novelistic form — in this sense the writer has been called the "secretary" of the era, through whose pages readers can arrive at a clearer, more vivid, and deeper understanding of history and reality. A third is the intellectual function: the writer not only records events and characters of history or reality, but makes their own response and reflection on the important intellectual questions of an age — and in this sense the novel becomes a "form of thought."

In literary history, the novel as "form of thought" has not only enormously raised the value of the novel as a form, enabling it to participate in the raising and construction of important intellectual questions; the novel's distinctive qualities have also more fully rendered the richness, complexity, and inner contradictions of modern thought, expanding our ways of feeling and understanding the world, allowing us to see the spiritual predicaments of modern people and the directions and efforts of their attempts to break free. In the works of Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Sartre, Camus, and others, we can feel the fascination of the novel as "form of thought."

In contemporary China, writers genuinely possessed of intellectual capacity are few, and Liu Jiming is one of them. Over many years, he has not only expressed through fiction his observations and reflections on contemporary society, but has written a large body of essays on thought and culture; the journal Tianxia [All Under Heaven] that he founded is itself a journal of intellectual culture. In his cultural and intellectual essays, Liu Jiming's range is broad and his thinking acute. What he concerns himself with includes both practical and theoretical questions, both Chinese experience and global problems — or rather, he has a sensitivity and self-awareness with respect to contemporary Chinese problems, and is also clearly conscious of the context in which those problems are being discussed. On this basis he has gradually formed his own problematic, his own methods of thinking, and his own discursive standpoint: rethinking the socialist experience within the context of globalization, and placing emphasis on the particularity and significance of the Chinese path. In this sense he is different from liberal intellectuals, and different from writers who simply critique or celebrate the system; he is someone who, after experiencing the twists of history and the upheaval of circumstances, has come to appreciate anew the force of left-wing thought and the value of the socialist experience.

Unlike his intellectual essays, where he expresses his views directly, in The Human Realm Liu Jiming places intellectual expression within a narrative and intellectual structure, within the shaping of characters and the arrangement of plot. The author is not merely expressing his own viewpoint, but placing his viewpoint within a dialogic and contestatory horizon — fully displaying the overall tendency and the different internal dimensions of the thought through the contradictions and conflicts between different positions, viewpoints, and perspectives, and through the protagonist's self-contradictions and the process of his thought's formation. This mode of writing not only allows us to see the richness of thought; it is also related to the distinctive nature of the novel as a form — in a novel, the reader may be less concerned with the expression of a particular viewpoint than with its inner contradictions and complications, and their effect on story and character.

In the novels of Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, we do not fully understand those parts concerning the Russian Orthodox tradition and the thought and reality of nineteenth-century Russia — yet when these ideas are combined with the protagonists' fates and their inner contradictions, they take on a compelling fascination. It is precisely through these characters and their intellectual debates that we enter the depths of nineteenth-century Russia and of human thought, searching amid layer upon layer of contradiction for the way forward for humanity.

On this point, the traditional left-wing and socialist literary tradition also has its historical experiences and lessons, which must be sorted through and thought about in historical and theoretical terms. In the 1920s through 1940s, Chinese left-wing literature was full of critical vitality; yet after entering the period of "literature of the people," the situation underwent complex changes. On one hand, "critical orientation" was transformed into "constructive orientation"; on the other hand, intellectual contradictions were transformed into concrete line struggles — as in the central conflicts of A History of Entrepreneurship and A Bright Sunny Sky — which to a certain degree actually weakened the complexity and importance of thought itself. One can see that the victories achieved by the protagonists of those novels come relatively easily, deriving primarily from the author's own identification with the essential nature of history and its direction of development. But precisely because these victories come too easily — without engaging deeper contradictions in life and thought — their authority was itself too easily overturned once circumstances had changed.

In socialist aesthetic theory, "truthfulness" and "tendentiousness" form an important pair of categories. In the creative practice of the Seventeen Years period, however, emphasis on "tendentiousness" sometimes led to the neglect or even cancellation of "truthfulness" — and this is the root cause of the formulaic and conceptual tendencies in the literature of that period. Yet the other side of the problem is this: without "tendentiousness," without an overall understanding of and identification with the direction of historical development, our literature easily falls into a naturalistic quagmire of "truthfulness" — infinitely magnifying the value of life and its details at this particular moment, without being able to think about and grasp historical truth in its totality. Since the 1990s, writers' enthusiasm for rendering everyday life, private life, and even bodily desire — their extreme emphasis on technical "detail" — has been entirely a consequence of losing a broader horizon.

The Human Realm, appearing in a new cultural context, restores a broad intellectual horizon, restores the function of literature as a "form of thought," and restores the important value of literature as a mode of intellectual debate. In literary history, literature's contribution to social progress through the raising and discussion of important intellectual questions — through the debate, contention, and argument among different intellectual and artistic schools — was once one of literature's most important social functions, and was the reason literature commanded attention and respect in the public sphere. But in China, once mass culture arose, this important function of literature fell into decay. The Human Realm allows us to see the passion and courage of a writer intervening in intellectual debate — a debate that exists both within the text and between the text and the contemporary cultural context.

Within the text, Ma La's exploration of "cooperativization" in the new historical period constitutes both a historical debate and a contemporary one, bearing on the question of what road China's countryside — and China as a whole — should take. Cooperativization was one of the most important questions confronting China's countryside in the twentieth century: around it, not only were there divisions of opinion in the 1950s, but those divisions have continued into the new era and into the new century today. The difference is that in the 1950s, commitment to the "cooperativization path" was the mainstream of public discourse and thought — classics like Three Mile Bay, Great Changes in a Mountain Village, and A History of Entrepreneurship were all born in that environment — while since the 1980s, critical reflection on the "cooperativization path" has become the mainstream. This is connected both to the adjustment of actual policy and to the mainstream tendencies of the literary and academic worlds. From the late 1990s, as the "three rural problems" became more prominent, discussion of China's rural problems in the sociology community became more vigorous, with many sharply opposed viewpoints; within this discussion, understanding of and attitude toward "cooperativization" has been one of the focal points of debate. In The Human Realm, Liu Jiming places Ma La within an exploration of the new type of farmers' professional cooperative, connecting this to Murong Qiu's academic reflection on neoliberalism, and responding in a complex and inclusive spirit to the various dimensions — historical and contemporary, theoretical and practical — involved in "cooperativization," while gradually making his own standpoint clear in the course of the writing. In Liu Jiming's portrayal of Ma La and Murong Qiu, we can see this implied attitude.

At the same time, outside the text, The Human Realm forms a relationship of intellectual debate and tension with the current mainstream of the literary and academic worlds. In the context of "pure literature" that has taken shape since the new era, and in the entertainment atmosphere of mass culture since the 1990s, The Human Realm — not only discussing important intellectual and social questions but also exploring the "cooperativization" path and the new possibilities of socialism — can be called a transgression against certain established aesthetic principles and "collective unconscious." But from another angle, Liu Jiming's pioneering quality lies precisely here: he has reactivated the tradition of socialist literature in a new context, and restored the force of the novel as a form of thought.

Part Three: "The Chinese Story" and New Realism

In terms of creative method, the most striking feature of The Human Realm is its inheritance of the realist literary tradition. Here we need to reconsider realism.

Now that we are living in the twenty-first century, when we reflect on twentieth-century literature from a global perspective, we find that it is not as vast, rich, and far-ranging as nineteenth-century literature. The dominant lineage of modernism and postmodernism, with its focus on technique, interiority, and innovation, caused literature to lose its broad horizon and artistic ambition, becoming progressively more refined, trivial, and mediocre. If we set aside the pursuit of novelty and strangeness, and measure literary works by a different standard — whether they depict or reveal the richness of human life and the inner world; whether they create new typical characters for new human experience; whether they have had an important influence on the human spirit in the course of history — then we can see that twentieth-century literature falls far short of nineteenth-century literature in achievement, and that even within twentieth-century literature, modernism and postmodernism are inferior to realism. This is true on a global scale, and it is equally true in China.

"Realism" is a rich theoretical system with a complex and varied history. To speak of realism today requires confronting both theoretical-historical questions and practical ones. Historically, nineteenth-century critical realism was one of the peaks of realism; one could say that twentieth-century European-American modernism and Soviet-Chinese "socialist realism" were both efforts to transcend critical realism — the former driving its explorations into the spiritual and inner dimensions of humanity, the latter attempting to reconstruct the relationship between realism and life from a constructive rather than a critical angle. "Socialist realism" suffered from the formulaic and conceptual tendencies generated by its dogmatization, and ran into difficulties in its concrete practice; both China's "realism — the broad road" and the Western "boundless realism" represented theoretical efforts to correct or expand it. In the 1980s, new artistic currents flooded in, and realism was for a time regarded as a backward and outmoded creative method; modernism from the West gave rise to Chinese "avant-garde literature," which became the dominant literary current of the period.

Yet looking back thirty years later, we can see that the avant-garde literature that was so dazzling at the time is rarely read today, while the realist works that were considered "backward" can still move today's readers — An Ordinary World being the prime example. This allows us not only to reflect critically on the aesthetic norms established since the 1980s, but to see the enormous vitality of realism. And the appearance of The Human Realm once again demonstrates realism's inner creative energy.

In postmodernist theory, the dissolution of "grand narrative" once exercised considerable influence on Chinese literature — behind avant-garde fiction, new realism, and new historicism alike lurks the shadow of this current. From where we stand today, what this current dissolved was the concern with the laws and driving forces of historical development, redirecting literary attention toward the depiction of individual desire, mood, and daily-life states. In the historical circumstances of the new era, this had its element of justification — but for us now, the problem has shifted to another register: can contemporary people deeply immersed in individual desire, mood, and daily-life states reach the developmental currents of larger history? Can they give a clear account of where they came from and where they are going? In this sense, thinking about and grasping history from a macroscopic angle has become a genuine necessity.

One of the inner meanings of the "telling the Chinese story" that we advocate is precisely this: to attend to individual life experience from the macroscopic perspective of China, to combine individual stories with the Chinese story, to rebuild a new kind of "grand narrative," and to think about and grasp the fate of the individual and the fate of China as a whole. In this regard, contemporary writers need to start from their individual life experience and reach out to feel the pulse of history and the age. In this dimension, The Human Realm penetrates deep into the spirit of the age through the realist brush, and in its response to and reflection on the age's major questions, shows us one way of telling the Chinese story.

Ma La, Murong Qiu, and indeed Lü Yongjia, He Wei, Gu Chaoyang, Lulu, Kuang Xibei, and the other characters in the novel are all individual "persons" — yet their interweaving stories allow us to see the face of an era. The author has not fallen into the fragmentary narration of modernism and postmodernism; through the realist mode he has fashioned a series of character portraits and, in an overall sense, expressed his own reflections on and attitude toward the questions of the age. In this sense, what The Human Realm tells is precisely "the Chinese story." It also allows us to see the new development of realism in the contemporary moment, and its capacity to rescue literature from modernism and postmodernism.

If we probe still further, we find that the realism of The Human Realm is neither critical realism nor socialist realism; it is neither a realism centered on the individual, nor a realism that wholly adopts the standpoint of the people. The realism of The Human Realm is suffused with a romantic spirit; the windmill, the kiwifruit orchard, the hedgehogs all carry symbolic resonance and poetic atmosphere. The protagonists the author depicts are intellectuals or "peasant-thinkers"; what the author focuses on is the process by which they gradually free themselves from money, power, and received knowledge systems, and approach the standpoint of the people. In this process they need not only to overcome the manifold external obstacles, but also to overcome their own elite consciousness and habitual modes of thought. This is a long road — and we can see that even at the novel's close, the process has not been completed; it has barely begun:

"Murong Qiu was filled with a deep agitation. But it was precisely this agitation that reawakened the long-dormant impulse in her heart: she could not go on staying in that 'academic circle' with its odor of decay. A thought suddenly struck her: next semester she would take her graduate students to Yanhe, to Shenhuangzhou, back to that village where she had once lived and labored — to conduct a genuine fieldwork investigation."

What the author presents here is not a conclusion, but an open-ended future.

Or we might say: the realism of The Human Realm is a new realism — a realism with ideals, with a future, with poetic atmosphere.

Part Four: The Possibility of "New Socialist Literature"

Liu Jiming's exploration in The Human Realm allows us to see the possibility of "new socialist literature." Here, we refer to the Chinese literature of the 1940s through the 1970s as traditional socialist literature, and to literature produced since the new century that carries socialist intellectual elements or tendencies within the new context as "new socialist literature." In contemporary China, there are not many writers or works that can be considered "new socialist literature" — but the birth of such literature in contemporary China has its inevitability and its distinctive character.

Since the beginning of the new era, the intellectual and academic mainstream in China has adopted toward traditional socialist literature primarily a posture of skepticism, critique, and critical reflection. But since the 1990s, as China has been increasingly incorporated into the global capitalist system, and as internal disparities in wealth, between urban and rural areas, and between regions have widened, more and more intellectuals have come to recognize anew the value of socialist thought. In the literary research world, the left-wing and socialist literary tradition has received renewed scholarly attention; in the creative domain, new artistic currents such as "grassroots literature" have surged forward. Looking back at "grassroots literature," we can find that among its representative writers, the fiction of Cao Zhenglu and Liu Jiming carries to varying degrees a socialist intellectual orientation. In Cao Zhenglu's works — That Place, Neon, Asking the Vast Sky — and in Liu Jiming's Tea Egg, Between Us, Husband and Wife, and others, the authors are not merely attending to the grassroots; they are connecting to the socialist intellectual and cultural tradition, exploring the way out of social problems from the standpoint of the people at the bottom.

In The Human Realm, Liu Jiming's reflections and explorations of socialist literature in the contemporary context are expressed with the greatest concentration and clarity; we can regard him as the pioneer of "new socialist literature." Comparing traditional socialist literature with "new socialist literature," we can see that the two occupy different historical environments and cultural contexts. Traditional socialist literature was born in a socialist state during the Cold War; in the course of its development, it combined a spontaneous people's standpoint with regulation by the mainstream ideology, and was also constrained in creative method by aesthetic principles such as socialist realism. "New socialist literature" is different: after the collapse of the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe in the early 1990s, the traditional socialist bloc led by the Soviet Union disintegrated, the so-called free world won without a fight, the Cold War ended, and history moved toward its termination — this was liberalism's account of history. But contrary to their expectations, China — persisting in the path of socialism with Chinese characteristics — rapidly rose; and with the attacks of September 11, 2001, and the financial crisis of 2008, capitalist countries in Europe and America also encountered their own crises. At this moment, rethinking capitalism and its world system became an important question for the scholarly community.

In China too: in the clamor for "farewell to revolution" in the 1980s, the Chinese scholarly mainstream had largely treated the experience, thought, and history of socialism as a negative asset; but from the mid-1990s onward, an increasing number of scholars came to recognize the need to re-examine and affirm the socialist experience and the path China had traveled. Although in the overall intellectual landscape of globalization, marketization, and privatization such voices were relatively faint, they allowed us to see new hope and new strength.

In this historical and cultural context, what "new socialist literature" shares with traditional socialist literature is its commitment to the people's standpoint and the socialist ideal. But its differences are as follows: (1) "New socialist literature" is literature that persists in exploring socialism in a new historical period — or more precisely, at a time when socialism is at a low ebb on the world stage. (2) "New socialist literature" does not originate from the advocacy of a mainstream ideology, but is a spontaneous, self-conscious creative tendency of writers and intellectuals. (3) "New socialist literature" has no particular creative method prescribed for it, but needs to draw lessons from and critically reflect on the theory and practice of traditional socialist literature and arts from both positive and negative angles.

On the other hand, we can also see that, relative to classic works like Three Mile Bay, A History of Entrepreneurship, and A Bright Sunny Sky, the "cooperative" in The Human Realm does not directly equate to the socialist path, and the protagonist Ma La differs considerably from "socialist new persons" like Liang Shengbao and Xiao Changchun. But if we incorporate the historical and literary experience since the beginning of the new era, we can see that the author is precisely retelling and re-examining the possibilities of socialism in a new context. And here it is possible to open up a new intellectual and cultural space: within the lineage of traditional socialist literature, "new socialist literature" can attempt richer and more pluralistic modes of inheritance, accommodating more complex and subtle experiences of life and of the age.

Of course, "new socialist literature" is only a tentative designation; it has not yet become in China an intellectual and artistic current with any real momentum. But the creative practice of Liu Jiming and Cao Zhenglu, and the appearance of The Human Realm, allow us to see the possibility of "new socialist literature." The development of any nation's literature must be built on a profound understanding of its own history and culture. The socialist practice of twentieth-century China not only completely transformed China's destiny but transformed the configuration of the entire world. The Chinese revolution can be called one of the great miracles of human history; China's reform and opening-up can equally be called one of the great miracles of human history. Only by deeply understanding socialism and its development in China can we more deeply understand our own history, and more deeply understand ourselves. In this sense, "new socialist literature" can only be written by Chinese writers, and will constitute the distinctive quality of Chinese literature.

After The Human Realm, we hope to see more "new socialist literature" appear. We also believe that "new socialist literature" will necessarily bring more vitality and energy to Chinese literature — allowing us to transcend the cultural atmosphere and configuration of consumerism, to see the footsteps of humanity exploring a way forward amid hardship and difficulty, and to see the light of reason and of ideals gleaming in the future.

(Source: Contemporary Writer Review, Issue 4, 2017)