Shanghai Scrap

What is an English-language China novel? I suspect that, for many people, the idea conjures up the classics of early and mid-twentieth century expatriate fiction: The Sun Also Rises. Burmese Days. Tropic of Cancer. And yet, for reasons that aren’t entirely clear to me, thirty years worth of expatriate writers and journalists in China have largely failed to conjure up anything similar in stature – or sales.

Now, I suppose, one might suggest then, that it’s just a matter of waiting, and that sooner or later someone is going to write that literary China novel. Or, alternatively, one might take a step back and take note of the fact that the novel, in spirit and form, has long thrived in “genres” that out-sell, by orders of magnitude, works considered more literary in nature. Of course, sales aren’t everything, but they do mean one thing: readers. And so it’s worth noting that, while there has been a relative paucity of English language literary fiction about contemporary China over the last two decades, there has not been a similar paucity of English-language genre fiction inspired by, set in, or touched by contemporary China. Which means that, among English-language readers of fiction, China belongs to the genres.

And that brings me to Marjorie M. Liu, a New York Times best-selling author of genre fiction who – if not the best-selling English-language author currently working in China on a regular basis, must surely be the most prolific. Case in point: here’s how Marjorie responded, via email, when I asked how many books she’d written in the last 12 months, and how many were written in China:

Books and anthologies finished and started:

4 novels
2 novellas
7 comic book scripts

I’m pretty sure that’s it. Two or three of those novels were worked on while in China, two or three comic book scripts, and one novella. I’ve been busy, man.

Strictly speaking, Marjorie, a writer of considerable talent and imagination, writes genre fiction – though, recently, her work straddles several genres at once, including fantasy, romance, paranormal romance, and urban fantasy (I freely admit that I don’t always understand the distinctions!). The aforementioned comic book scripts are written for Marvel’s NYX series, an off-shoot of the X-Men franchise (and she’s written one of the X-Men novels, too), and everything else (book list, here) is written for the biggest imprints in the business – imprints that aren’t ordinarily associated with “China books.”

In the interview which follows, Marjorie makes it clear that she’s not writing “China novels.” At the same time, though, she is happy to note that many – if not most? – of her books have varying degrees of China content, ranging from entire set-ups and narrative lines, to simple details about clothing and accents. On a deeper level, she admits to being inspired by Chinese literature (among many other sources of inspiration), and – in the case of her most recently published novel, The Iron Hunt – by a quote from Lu Xun.

That’s no accident: one side of Marjorie’s family is Chinese, she studied Asian languages and cultures in college, and she’s spent significant amounts of her life in China, traveling and working, including a stint at the US Embassy when she was a law student (and yes, she left the law to write novels). An American citizen, she currently resides in the smalltown Midwest, but she travels to China several times per year for extended stays.

That she isn’t better known in China – at least, among its expatriates (journalists, included) – is partly a function of the fact that she’s awfully busy while she’s here. Still, she’s no recluse, and over the last year or so I’ve had the chance to get to know her in Shanghai. Out of respect for her privacy, I’ll merely say that – in a town full of needlessly cut-throat writers and journalists – she’s that rare exception, both sincere and kind. Equally important, she has a refined expertise in Batman, Transformers, Battlestar Gallactica, 80s power ballads, and – I hope I’m not giving away too much here – she likes to write at Starbucks. I’ll leave the other details to Marjorie’s blog.

In fact, I’ll leave the rest to Marjorie. What follows is an emailed interview conducted this past week while Marjorie was between Shanghai and Hong Kong.

Scrap: By definition, you are a Chinese-American author, and yet your career hasn’t followed the path (cross-cultural literary fiction, say) that many people expect an author of your background to take (to become a capital-C Chinese American Author). I wonder if you’ve ever felt pressure – from audiences, publishers, editors – to bend toward or against expectations.

Marjorie: I always find it amusing that I’m perceived so differently than I see myself. In other words, I feel like…just me. Not a product of race or culture. I’m just a girl who likes to tell stories.

Having said that, I never felt pressure from anyone to bend to or against expectation. Of course, that might be due to the fact that I’ve got a hard head, and I’ve never cared much for what people expect of me. I have high expectations for myself — but they are >my< expectations, and I don’t count on anyone else to tell me what I should, or should not do. Especially when it comes to determining the path of my life, or my likes and dislikes.

I enjoy some literary fiction. I’ve read the capital-A Chinese American authors — from Maxine Hong Kingston to Amy Tan — and I like their books. I do. But that’s not what sweeps me away, or keeps me entertained on cold winter nights when all I want to do is go on an adventure. I want to be entertained, and that’s why I pay good money for a book. I’ve met too many authors and readers who are ashamed of their reading habits. Genre fiction — any kind of commercial fiction — is often devalued, as are its creators. And I think that is so foolish, and so very ignorant. If you lack such confidence that you must put down a particular kind of storytelling in order to boost your sense of intellectual superiority, then you are sad, indeed.

I do think it’s interesting, though, that Asian writers are so underrepresented in genre fiction. Actually, fiction in general. And of those who write outside the literary genre, I can’t hardly think of any who use their real name (one New York Times bestselling Chinese-American author admitted publicly that she used a different name because she thought it would hurt her sales). Here, too, is a true story: Someone outside of the publishing industry once told me that I should use a pseudonym because readers of mass-market fiction wouldn’t pick up a book written by someone with a Chinese last name. Which made me dig in my heels and refuse to ever write under anything but my real name.

Frankly, I think such fears belittle the intelligence of readers, who care more about a good story than the race of the person writing it.

Scrap: You’ve told me that you find China to be a productive place for your work. At the same time, though, you’ve told me that change of scenery makes a difference in your work, no matter where it is. Do you think, though, that there’s something about China that inspires you differently than, say, Vancouver?

Marjorie: Books are very much a product of where you are — and how you are — and if you are deep in the present when creating (organically, shooting sentences from the hip) then you’ll never tell the same story twice. And if there were two of me, trying to write the same book in different places — one in Vancouver, the other in China — I can guarantee a different outcome, even if the building blocks are similar.

I think every city has its own spirit and personality that reflects upon you — as a person, a writer, or explorer — especially if you’re doing more than just sitting up in your hotel room like Rapunzel in her tower. And as with people, sometimes an individual jives better with one place over another. As you mentioned Vancouver, let me focus on that city for a moment (though my thoughts on this matter would apply to any place you named). I love Vancouver. My grandparents immigrated there from Asia. Made their fortunes and a better life for themselves in that city. The diversity, the art scene — the beauty and balance of architecture and nature — makes it one of the most perfect places in the world to live. Yet, what’s perfect for one person isn’t necessarily perfect for another — and as much as I praise and adore Vancouver, its flavor doesn’t stir my creative juices in the same way that, for example, China does.

If you were to assign a personality to a city, then (to me) Vancouver is that yuppie outdoors type that wears a lot of fleece and neutral earthy colors — that person who spends hours trying to look natural — but who, even when communing with nature, has to stay connected with a Blackberry stuffed in their thick woolen socks. Or maybe that’s Seattle I’m talking about.

Shanghai (and Beijing, to some extent), on the other hand, is that crazy Great Aunt who likes to run around in her bra and undies and flirt with the UPS man. Anything goes here. You can be yourself, in all your quirky charm. The rest of China has that same wild energy; a sense of unabashed possibility and individualism that is addictive to be around. So yes, I’m inspired differently in China. My brain fires on all cylinders when I’m in this country; and the words flow and flow. How that affects the storytelling itself, though, is hard to say — though it undoubtedly does influence what I write, if only because I think so clearly here. Cities in Asia never sleep. Hong Kong, Taipei, Shanghai, Beijing – these are places where you could take a walk at three in the morning and find a grandmother rocking a baby to sleep while gossiping with her neighbors; or open restaurants full of young people; or any myriad story-in-action. It’s like breathing inspiration.

Scrap: Along the same lines, and keeping in mind that – for many – Shanghai = Blade Runner, is there something about this city that drives your work in different ways?

Marjorie: Personally, I find that Hong Kong fits my Blade Runner vision better than Shanghai, though that may be because I was just there and I’m still feeling the electronic glow that city gives off. When I was at the Peak, gazing down at the modern work-of-art that is Hong Kong at night, I fell in love (all over again) with the twenty-first century.

As for story-telling, though, let me say first that writing fiction (again, in my case) is a very organic, unplanned process. I shoot from the hip. I roll into the story, and my unconscious provides the rest. Sometimes this works well. Sometimes not. But that’s my process. Because of that, though, I believe I am an easy victim to cues around me — where I am, what’s going on in my life, and so on. Everything, onward from the moment of your birth — to who you are now — fills the well of your personal mythology, which influences artistic expression — usually in unexpected ways.

So, because of that, I think the energy of any city (or town, village, island) is potent and powerful stuff (for good or ill). And when I say energy, I mean the energy of the people who make up that city. Call me kooky, but I believe that the thoughts of a population (its motivation, aspirations, dreams) create the soul of a place, and if you live where the majority of the people are hopeless and angry, that will infect the atmosphere in a way that seeps into your artistic process. Shanghai and Beijing, fortunately, are quite upbeat. People are working hard for a better future. People can taste a better life. And that hunger, that vulnerability, and that drive to succeed, is a potent energy to feed from. Keeps a person fresh, sharp. You have to stay on your toes. Every day something changes.

Scrap: I’ve read two of your books, so I may be off-base in this observation, but I did notice that you sprinkle the books with Chinese references. The Vancouver passages in “Soul Song” come to mind. Is that a conscious effort on your part? Or is it something that just flows kind of naturally from you and your experiences.

Marjorie: It’s a natural process. I don’t have an agenda. I’ve lived my life, and sometimes as I write there comes a moment in the story where it feels right to mention something of Asia (whether in place or culture).

Scrap: How long were you with the Embassy in Beijing?

Marjorie: The summer of 2002. I was still in law school at the University of Wisconsin, and received the opportunity to work at the FAS branch (Foreign Agriculture Service) in Beijing. I think I learned more in those three months than I did over my entire three year legal education. Certainly, it was an eye-opening experience regarding the politics of agriculture and trade between China and the United States (not to mention, the rest of the world — whose interests often conflicted with ours). My mentor, Ralph Gifford, allowed me every chance to learn and get my hands into the mechanics of international negotiation and law-making, especially with issues involving genetically modified crops. It was huge fun (but I love that stuff, anyway). As an aside, by then 911 had happened, and the atmosphere around the Embassy and the silk market — the security measures taken — were intense. The flavor of the market and the area had completely changed, compared to just a year before.

Scrap: Now, I think I know the answer to this question, at least in part, but I’ll ask it anyway: do you have any plans to set one of your novels or stories in China? How receptive is your audience – and the American urban fantasy, and romance audience – to a Chinese setting?

Marjorie: Actually, I’ve already set quite a few novels in Asia. The beginning of my first book, Tiger Eye, takes place in Beijing. Another romance novel, The Red Heart of Jade, is set solely in Taiwan, Hong Kong, and China. Eye of Heaven (a paranormal thriller involving a lion tamer and a electrokinetic secret agent) runs through and around Indonesia. My novella, Six, is set in Shanghai. And the characters of my upcoming urban fantasy, Darkness Calls, will also make an appearance in China.

My readers are the best. They don’t care where the story is set, as long as it’s good!

[Photo courtesy of Marjorie M. Liu.]