So, long-winded story time: My best friend is a girl we'll call "Mari." One day, in her early twenties, Mari went on an island vacation, and there she fell in love.
Let's call him "Henry." I was happy Mari was in love; she'd had her heart broken in her teens and I thought it was high time she had a new relationship. For Henry, she was willing to sacrifice. For him she left her job, her family, her country. They shared his apartment; they got a dog; she found a new job and learned his language. They looked perfect together - he tall, handsome, and charming, she sweet, beautiful, and graceful. They went out a lot. He held her hand, he stroked her hair. She clung to his warmth. Their smiling, kissy-face photos flooded my Facebook.
A year later, I got the first call: a devastated Mari, sobbing as she told me what Henry had done. "Is it serious?" I asked. "Should you... leave him?" No, she said. They would work it out.
Over the next two years I would get similar calls from Mari, but it wasn't until they finally broke up (a.k.a. he dumped her for someone else) that she revealed the full extent of the emotional - and on a few occasions, physical - abuse she'd experienced.
I was floored. I was angry. After picturing ways of torturing Henry until he rued the day he was born, I asked Mari what we who have never experienced abuse simply cannot understand: "Why?" Why, if he was such a vicious bastard and it'd been going on so long, why had she stayed? Why had she kept such rot in her life? Why, if she couldn't change him, hadn't she changed what she did have power over - her proximity to him? Mari started crying, and stammered something about love and confusion and cultural differences and trying too hard to compromise.
It's been more than two years since their breakup, and I can't say Mari has healed. She still has nightmares about Henry, and trouble trusting her instincts when it comes to men, especially men from Henry's background. As her best friend, I feel a crushing guilt; I feel like I failed her, that I should have seen how bad it was. Again and again, when I see her struggling, I keep asking myself: "Why?"
All this is to explain why I couldn't stop reading Susan Blumberg-Kason's absorbing memoir about her own disastrous cross-cultural relationship. In a way, I wasn't reading about Susan; I was reading about Mari, finally allowed into the narrative that Mari wouldn't or couldn't explain to me. Like Mari, Susan was young and relatively inexperienced when she met her future husband Cai while studying in Hong Kong. She fell in love and committed to him very quickly, and tried her best to be a good wife to him - a good wife on his terms, that is. To be a good wife, she put up with a lot of crap - Cai choosing to watch porn on their wedding night; Cai's temper and silent treatments; Cai's strange friendship with "Japanese Father," a man he seemed to love and respect more than he loved and respected her; Cai giving her an STD and denying he'd cheated; Cai abandoning her for hours in a NYC cafe while he watched a peep show; Cai calling her dirty and forcibly dragging her into the shower; Cai sitting on his ass complaining about how hard life was while Susan struggled to feed a family of five (including Cai's parents). Susan refused to complain or to blame. He was from a different culture; she had to make allowances for his behavior.
If you've never experienced abuse, you'll probably be frustrated and even angry at Susan, wanting to shout "Leave him, dammit!" at every turn. You'll want to ask her where her self-respect is, shake her for staying in a sorry situation. I was frustrated yet I couldn't stop reading, because Susan writes in such a clear, honest way that builds anticipation - we know from her bio that she is happily remarried, so I was desperate to reach her happy ending - and doesn't try to hide her naiveté at the time. Actually, her matter-of-fact tone at times even feels like a challenge to the reader: This was me back then, she seems to say. I make no apologies. You can judge me, but this was my life. That I truly respect her for.
In the end, the lesson of Susan's story is not "don't fall in love at first sight" or "don't marry someone from another culture" - she is not as simplistic or unfair as that. There are plenty of quick marriages and cross-cultural relationships that work out, including those of Susan's own friends. Instead, this is a memoir about loving yourself, and not putting up with someone else's demons when they turn on you. It's about not excusing all bad behaviors as "cultural differences." Some of their struggles are clearly cultural - Cai wanting to send their son to live in China with his parents; Cai's mother butting in with her ideas about postpartum recovery and childrearing. Being ethnically Chinese, those conflicts didn't shock or outrage me at all. But things like the porn, the STD, the threat of physical violence - there is such a thing as universal decency, and he fails. In the end though, Cai matters little. He is who he is, a product of a certain time and place and dynamic, and she cannot change him. What she can change is her situation. Instead of a life of tension and bitterness, she finds the courage to seek support from others (her mother, especially) and happiness for herself and her son.
There are some "unfortunates" in this book, which I don't fault the author for. Unfortunately, some people might read it as "against Chinese men," presenting Chinese men in a negative light. I think people who read it that way already hold their own prejudices. There are other Chinese men presented positively, including Susan's lovely father-in-law at the time, and in the end, Susan's choices are for the well-being of the Chinese male who matters most to her - her son Jake, who carries his father's surname. Susan was a Mandarin-speaker and China hand before she married Cai, and she continues to bring Chinese culture into her son's life.
I think a lot of the time, people currently in or who had cross-cultural relationships are so afraid to write about the bad stuff that does happen because we are - taught? conditioned? encouraged? - to believe that love overcomes everything, that every cross-cultural pairing should be a happily ever after - and if it's not, to just sweep it under the rug. I dislike that extreme. I think there are some cases where love doesn't mean anything in a bad situation, and it shouldn't be seen as defeat or failure or dismissal of that other culture for having the resolve to get out. Through her blog, which details her continuing love affair with the East, she shows that you can continue appreciating a culture without having to stay married to it.
And thank you, Susan, for giving me a glimpse into Mari's life. She's shown interest in reading it. I hope your happy ending helps her believe she'll find her own.