Interview with Mark Salzman

By Allyce Bess

Mark Salzman defies categorization. A man of many interests, he has written fiction and non-fiction about topics from American suburbia to Chinese martial arts.

Salzman came to U.C. Berkeley's graduate school of journalism September 21, 2000, when he performed Bach's third cello suite and, between movements, discussed his latest novel, Lying Awake (Knopf, Sept. 2000), about the spiritual illumination of a Carmelite nun in Los Angeles.

"Salzman is not only a quester," said Dean Orville Schell, who invited Salzman to the school. "He is a modern Renaissance man who is a good journalist, writer, musician, and most fundamentally, someone who is interested in the broader questions of the mysteriousness of being human."

Shortly before his performance, Asia Colloquium student Allyce Bess interviewed Salzman about his experiences in China and his first book Iron and Silk (Vintage Books, 1987), a series of beautifully written, often humorous vignettes about Salzman's experience as a young English teacher in China.

Salzman later starred in the film version of Iron and Silk. Filming was completed the very night of the Tiannemen Square massacre.

Q: How did you first become interested in China?
A: It's really embarrassing. The older I get the more I wish I could change it. When I was 13 I saw my first Kung Fu movie on TV. At first I thought it was silly. But what finally attracted me to Kung Fu was the fact that the character in the Kung Fu movie was small. I was a year younger than all of my classmates, so I was physically the smallest boy in my class. I was always wishing I could compete with the other boys in a physical way. What I liked about this character was that although he looked harmless, he could stand up for himself. What I liked even more was how calm he seemed. I was very insecure at that age, so I said, "Whatever this guy's got, I want it."

I thought if I learned the martial arts, it would transform me into this confident, at-one-with-the-universe kind of guy. I had also thought it would make me datable. Whenever I had asked girls out on dates, they would say "You're like a little brother to me." But after a few years of learning martial arts and throwing kicks and meditating, girls only said, "You're like a weird little brother to me." So it didn't really work out the way I planned. But I fell in love with the martial arts.

I had a few teachers in high school who convinced me to learn the culture and history and language of China as well. One was getting his master's degree in Chinese history, so I took the course along with him That's actually how I became acquainted with Orville Schell's work. As a freshman in high school, I felt so mature and mysterious reading all those adult books. Calligraphy, history, language, culture, it all turned me on. Part of it was that I had no competition because nobody else in my high school was interested in China. Here I was the only guy, so I was on top.

Q: In many reviews I've read of Iron and Silk, including several by Chinese readers, a common
commendation is that you got at the essence of what it means to be Chinese. Do you agree? As an outsider, how were you able to do that?
A: I disagree. I don't think I got at the essence of what it means to be Chinese. I think I got at the essence of what it means to be an American living in China. So I think there is something authentic which people responded to. But there is no substitute for really being Chinese.

During the time I lived there, it was the richest experience of my life, but I always felt out of place. I was so homesick I used to check off the dates I was there on my calendar at least four times a day. I yearned so badly for conversation where I didn't have to explain everything and add footnotes to every experience.

I think that by describing my own yearning and the difference between my ideals and the reality, I wrote a book people could relate to. Most people can relate to a fish-out-of-water story.

Q: What was it like to write the screenplay for Iron and Silk and to play yourself in the film? Were you happy with the results? Would you do it again?
A: Everybody warned me. They said "Filmmaking is a disaster. You're a writer, you should stay out of it." But how could I resist? I got invited to write a script and play myself in a movie. I'm a ham, an extrovert, I thought it'd be fun.

What I learned is that screenwriting is an art. I'm not good at it. Acting is an art. I'm not good at it. When you're a writer, you become accustomed to having a certain amount of control. You get fixated on something and you go off in your own corner. You don't want someone standing over your shoulder. Well, filmmaking is collaborative. The director, the hairstylist, the actors -they're all arguing all the time. To make a film, you've got to be talented at human engagement and you have to see through all the arguing to the final result.

I still can't watch the movie. I wince. I love all the other characters, but I see me and I just think, "Oh this is going to haunt me." But it was a good learning experience. Unlike my other friends who think if they could just be in screenplays they could make a lot of money, I've had my immunization shot. When my wife and I go to film parties, and people talk about their new $10 million houses and meeting Tom Cruise, I don't feel envy because I know filmmaking is not for me.

Q: Your last night shooting the film version of Iron and Silk was June 3, 1989, the night of the brutal crackdown on demonstrators in Tiananmen Square. What was that experience like?
A: We were shooting south of Beijing, so the mood there was quite different. Everyday we saw demonstrators and soldiers and trucks, but the mood there was light. There was not the expectation that it would get ugly. Maybe we were blind to it.

We finished our filming and went back to Hong Kong. We were having the celebratory party there when all of a sudden the atmosphere in the restaurant changed. Everyone was listening to the radio. The newscast was in Cantonese, so it took awhile to understand that something dreadful was happening.

I went through anger, horror and disappointment that China had taken such a drastic step backward. So many of my Chinese friends had been so excited about this era, this new freedom of ideas. We all felt sick about it.

Q: Would you call yourself a journalist or a novelist? How would you define yourself?
A: I use the word writer. I'm just a person who, when they get interested in things, it's like an itch they've got to scratch.

Writing is a great way to explore what you think about things. I learn who I am through writing. I used to think it was the other way around. You are somebody, you have ideas and you write them down. But that's not the case. I consider myself a curious person, and writing is a great medium for finding things out. It's a great excuse to learn things.

It's also a great way to meet people. And it's amazing how many people want to talk about what they do. Like all these cloistered nuns. People told me I'd never be able to talk to cloistered nuns because they take a vow of silence. Ha! They're dying to talk! As soon as they find out you're not writing some stupid book about sex behind the walls, they're really excited. People right away tend to kind of like you because you're giving them an opportunity to talk about what they do.

Q: What advice would you give to a reporter interested in going to China?
A: Try to get involved in at least one Chinese activity where you can't be the expert. When you get to China, you're suddenly the expert on all things foreign. Everybody wants to learn all about America from you. It's too easy to enjoy that position because nobody contradicts you. But if you get involved in something where you're the dummy, then you can take advantage of the experience of being there. It's also exhausting because you're always doing things wrong and feeling like all the social skills you've built up don't apply.

The main thing is to prepare for the doldrums. No one prepared me for that. People said, "This is such an exciting opportunity! China is just opening! It's gonna be rice paddies! It's gonna be temples!" But after a few months there, I hit a wall. I felt like I was in Detroit. It was just the feeling of being in a depressing, industrializing place. It was an exercise in patience, because I wondered, "Is this the China I was so interested in?" Sometimes I felt I wasn't learning anything I wouldn't be learning reading The New York Times at home. So the patience to stick it out is crucial.

Q: How did your experience in China change you?
A: I think more than anything else it made me realize what my Western identity was. I grew up wishing for many years that I could change myself, that I could become someone who was universal, that I could incorporate Asian culture and Asian philosophy into my own life to become a better person.

But when my teacher Pan did martial arts, he had total confidence, he was free. It was like seeing a bird fly. When I did it, it seemed put on, artificial. He said "Your problem is that you're trying to be me." You've got to be comfortable being you. The whole experience being in China was like that for me.

Learning about another culture doesn't mean you have to reject your own. It allows you to see yourself from another perspective, see your good side and your bad side and appreciate what you have.