Hu Anyan was just one of millions of gig workers sweating it out in China’s vast economy. Then he began to keep a journal. He wrote about the exhaustion of round-the-clock work schedules, and the brain fog that settled in after months on the night shift. He wrote about trying to deliver packages to a crane operator who never came down from the sky. He wrote about bringing a kitchen knife to work at a women’s clothing store to defend against an enraged competitor.

Years passed, and Hu kept writing. He wrote during work breaks. He wrote on his phone.  He recorded the gritty details of the jobs that dominated his life, from bike shop clerk to bakery worker to gas station attendant. He wrote about a world where there was zero job security, worker protections were nonexistent, and wages barely covered the basics. Hu kept writing about his jobs, 19 in all, trying to make sense of his own struggles and those of millions of fellow workers who labor at the entry-level jobs that keep China running.

For most people, this might have been good therapy and little else, but Hu brought some gifts to the task—the ability to observe, the need to analyze, the compulsion to tell the truth. He sought out other work by other writers for inspiration: Anton Chekhov, Franz Kafka, J.D. Salinger, David Foster Wallace, Lydia Davis.In 2009, at age 30, he began to move his writing online, and his work diaries went viral in China during the pandemic. As China’s red-hot economy cooled, his stories fueled a debate over the wisdom of working nonstop but never getting ahead. His diaries were published in China, and the book became a bestseller.

Now Hu’s writings have been published in English by Astra House under the understated title I Deliver Parcels in Beijing. Translated by Jack Hargreaves, it’s a compulsively readable book, and its stories of grueling shifts in a Darwinian work environment will feel all too familiar to many Western readers. Hu’s honesty, self-scrutiny, deadpan delivery, and quiet humor lift his memoir into a story with universal appeal.

Now a full-time writer in China, Hu answered questions about the book via email. Translation was provided by Astra House editor Patrizia van Daalen.

Describe the place you grew up in China. Was it in the country or the city? Were you a writer and reader growing up?

I was born in Guangzhou in 1979. It’s a commercially bustling coastal city in southern China. When I was going to school, I mostly loved reading Japanese manga, though I also read some fairy tales and martial arts novels. Before turning 30, I wasn’t particularly fond of reading. At age 24, I joined a manga studio, hoping to pursue a career in comics creation, but eventually abandoned that path. By 2009, at 30, I began seriously trying my hand at writing. Among the writers I know, I count as a relatively late starter.

You worked very long hours in difficult conditions in many of your jobs—12 hours a day, six days a week, in stifling heat, working night shifts, covering long distances to deliver packages. Workers seem to be left to fend for themselves. Are there any regulations that govern worker welfare and safety in China? Does anyone enforce them? 

China has regulations to safeguard workers’ welfare and safety, but they are not comprehensive enough. There are also companies and employers who implement these rules, but not thoroughly enough. Perhaps from the perspective of Western countries, Chinese people seem particularly adept at enduring hardship. But I believe that a person’s capacity for endurance and tolerance is, to some extent, shaped by comparison. Chinese people contrast their relatively improved lives today with the poverty and scarcity of the past, and thus find their current circumstances tolerable. However, if living standards were to decline, Chinese people would also voice dissatisfaction and anger.

You worked an amazing variety of jobs. Which one was the worst? Which one was the best?

I don’t view this issue in terms of “worst” or “best.” There are certain jobs I found particularly difficult to adapt to, or even found I have an aversion to, such as sales representative or salesperson. On the other hand, there are jobs I genuinely enjoyed, like being an apprentice at a bakery or working as a clerk at a bicycle shop.

You gradually realized that you were ill-suited for the work world and withdrew from it for a couple of years. Then reading and writing finally helped you to reengage with the world. What impelled you to begin writing? How did writing help?

I believe it was precisely the setbacks in my career and business ventures that drove me to writing. Had I been a positive, optimistic, outgoing, and proactive person, I might have sought joy and fulfillment elsewhere in life and likely would not have chosen writing. Writing became my spiritual sanctuary. By continually delving into my inner self—reflecting on and processing my life experiences—I found a fulcrum for my existence through creative writing, a process that also took on an aesthetic form. Or, rather, I used it to counteract life’s setbacks and pain.

Your stories about your work life went viral during the pandemic. Why do you think that they become so popular?

It was indeed during the pandemic, in April 2020, that what I posted online garnered significant attention, ultimately leading to the opportunity for publication. However, when I Deliver Parcels in Beijing was published in China in March 2023, the pandemic had receded. I don’t believe the book’s popularity is intrinsically linked to the pandemic. I feel that regardless of Covid-19, Chinese society had already reached a tipping point—shifting from earlier optimism and fervor toward broader societal anxiety about the future and reflection on the past. I happen to write about traumatic experiences, even if not everyone might agree, and the book resonated widely with readers precisely because of this.

What do you tell other writers about trying to balance the need to make a living with the desire to write?

I’m not familiar with the situation in the United States, so I can’t offer any kind of advice. Even for Chinese writers, everyone’s financial circumstances, themes of choice, and resonances vary. I don’t know the resources and opportunities available to them, so there’s no one-size-fits-all advice. However, if this writer were my friend, I’d hope they’d prioritize making a living. Honestly, I'm not the right person to give advice—most Chinese writers are far more resourceful than I am.

What do you hope readers will take away from your stories?

I never harbored any expectations and even resisted this notion. While writing this book, my only aim was to speak truthfully and record facts—not to impart enlightenment to readers. I realized long ago that literature does not provide ready-made answers. It is not a tool for disseminating ideas, viewpoints, or values, but rather a catalyst for readers to rediscover and reexamine their own experiences and views. This is my literary philosophy.

Mary Ann Gwinn is a Pulitzer Prize–winning journalist in Seattle.