The Last Days of Old Beijing: Life in the Vanishing Backstreets of a City Transformed

Building construction in Shanghai takes place at such a breakneck pace that the city’s maps need to be rewritten every two weeks.

When Zhang Beihai entered the home of the meteorite collector, situated in a courtyard house in the depths of a hutong alleyway, he noticed that the old, dimly lit home was like a miniature geological museum. Each of its four walls was lined with glass cases in which professional lights shone on rock after unremarkable rock.

That night, as I lay in bed listening to the gunshots and the Rebels’ loudspeakers blaring out bloodcurdling diatribes, I reached a turning point. I had always been told, and had believed, that I was living in a paradise on earth, socialist China, whereas the capitalist world was hell. Now I asked myself: If this is paradise, what then is hell? I d

“What kind of sculpture is this?” Within this group of struggling arms, Luo Ji felt a chill, even though he was still sweating from the run. At the sculpture’s edge, he saw a solemn obelisk, on which was carved a line of large golden characters: MAKE TIME FOR CIVILIZATION, FOR CIVILIZATION WON’T MAKE TIME. “The Great Ravine Memorial,” Shi Qiang sai

Rich and poor alike flocked to the city with their dreams and desires, only to instantly forget who they were and what they wanted as they tumbled into a vortex of affluence and commotion that churned 365 days a year.