Introduction

American Iraq War veteran Ellie Cooper is down and out in Beijing when a chance encounter with a Uighur--a member of a Chinese Muslim minority--at the home of her sort-of boyfriend Lao Zhang turns her life upside down. Lao Zhang disappears, and suddenly multiple security organizations are hounding her for information. They say the Uighur is a terrorist. Ellie doesn?t know what's going on, but she must decide whom to trust among the artists, dealers, collectors, and operatives claiming to be on her side?in particular, a mysterious organization operating within a popular online role-playing game. As she tries to elude her pursuers, she's haunted by memories of Iraq. Is what she did and saw there at the root of the mess she's in now?

Lisa Brackmann has worked as a motion picture executive and an issues researcher in a presidential campaign. A southern California native, she's lived and traveled extensively in China. She lives in Venice, California.

"A terrifying odyssey in present-day China . . . with the protagonist pursued by the Chinese and American governments alike in a global panorama. A totally captivating page-turner with vivid, first-hand details and nuanced multi-cultural facets."--Qiu Xiaolong, author of The Mao Case

"Lisa Brackmann's Rock Paper Tiger is a compelling debut that takes you deep into the dangerous, complicated heart of modern China, with a tough and appealing heroine in Ellie."--Jeff Abbott, author of Trust Me

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Excerpt

Chapter One:

I ’m living in this dump in Haidian Qu, close to Wudaokou, on the twenty-first floor of a decaying high-rise. The grounds are bare; the trees have died; the rubber tiles on the walkways, in their garish pink and yellow, are cracked and curling. The lights have been out in the lobby since I moved in; they never finished the interior walls in the foyers outside the elevator, and the windows are boarded up, so every time I step outside the apartment door I’m in a weird twilight world of bare cement and blue fluorescent light.

The worst thing about the foyer is that I might run into Mrs.

Hua, who lives next door with her fat spoiled-brat kid. She hates

that I’m crashing here, thinks I’m some slutty American who is

corrupting China’s morals. She’s always muttering under her

breath, threatening to report me to the Public Security Bureau

for all kinds of made-up shit. It’s not like I ever did anything

to her, and it’s not like I’m doing anything wrong, but the last

thing I need is the PSB on my ass.

I’ve got enough problems.

Outside, the afternoon sun filters through a yellow haze. My

leg hurts, but I should walk, I tell myself. Get some PT in. The

deal I make with myself is, if it gets too bad, I’ll take a Percocet; but I only have about a dozen left, so it has to be really bad

before I can take one. Today the pain is just a dull throb, like a

toothache in my thigh.

I pass the gas tanks off Chengfu Road, these four-story-high

giant globes, and I think: one of these days, some guy will get

pissed off at his girlfriend, light a couple sticks of dynamite

underneath them (since they don’t have many guns here, the truly

pissed-off tend to vent with explosives and rat poison), a few city

blocks and a couple thousand people will get incinerated, and

everyone will shrug—oh, well, too bad, but this is China, and shit

happens. Department store roofs collapse; chemicals poison rivers;

miners suffocate in illegal mines. I walk down this one block

nearly every day on my way to work, and there are five sex businesses

practically next door to each other, “teahouses” and “foot

massage parlors,” with girls from the countryside sitting on pink

leatherette couches, waiting for some horny migrant worker to

come in with enough renminbi to fuck his brains out for a while

and forget about the shack he’s living in and the family he’s left

behind and the shitty wages he’s earning. Hey, why not?

I still like it here, overall.

I guess.

I’m just in this bad mood lately.

So I call Lao Zhang. That’s what I do these days when I’m

feeling sorry for myself.

“Wei?” Lao Zhang has a growly voice, like he’s talking himself

out of a grunt half the time.

“It’s me. Yili.”

That’s my Chinese name, Yili. It means “progressive ideas” or

something. Mainly it sounds kind of like Ellie.

“Yili, ni hao.”

He sounds distracted, which isn’t like him. He’s probably

working; he almost always is. He’s been painting a lot lately. Before that, he mostly did performance pieces, stuff like stripping

naked and painting himself red on top of the Drum Tower or

steering a reed boat down the Yangtze with a life-size statue of

Karl Marx in the prow.

But usually when I call, he sounds like he’s glad to hear my

voice, no matter what he’s doing. Which is one of the reasons I

call him when I’m having a bad day.

“Okay, I guess,” I answer. “I’m not working. Thought I’d see

what you were up to.”

“Ah. The usual,” he says.

“Want some company?”

Lao Zhang hesitates.

It’s a little weird. I can’t think of a time when I’ve called that

he hasn’t invited me over. Even times when I don’t want to leave

my apartment, when I just want to hear a friendly voice, he’ll

always try and talk me into coming out; and sometimes when I

won’t, he’ll show up at my door a couple hours later with takeout

and cold Yanjing beer. He’s that kind of person. He works

hard, but he likes hanging out too, as long as you don’t mind

him working part of the time. And I don’t. A lot of times I’ll sit

on the sagging couch in his studio while he paints, listening to

my iPhone, drinking beer, surfing on his computer. I like watching

him paint too, the way he moves, relaxed but in control. It

feels comfortable, him painting, me sitting there.

“Sure,” he finally says. “Why don’t you come over?”

“You sure you’re not too busy?”

“No, come over. There’s a performance tonight at the Warehouse.

Should be fun. Call me when you’re close.”

Maybe I shouldn’t go, I think, as I swipe my yikatong card at

the Wudaokou light rail station. Maybe he’s seeing somebody

else. It’s not like we’re a couple. Even if it feels like we are one

sometimes. view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

From the publisher:

1. Central to Rock Paper Tiger is the concept of the Surveillance State, in which one’s
every move is observed. In what ways does Ellie believe she is being watched? To what
extent are these beliefs rational? What are the different forms that surveillance takes?
What are the similarities and differences between the Chinese and Western surveillance
states?
2. Throughout the novel, flashbacks are used to show Ellie’s past. How does Ellie’s
backstory illuminate what she’s going through in the present? How does her past
influence her decisions?
3. What impact does Ellie’s economic situation have on the story? How does this affect
her decision making? Similarly, how do the economic situations of Ellie’s mother and
Trey affect their decisions?
4. The American Suits who are after Ellie don’t work for the government but for a private
company that may be a front for government intelligence. The Chinese Suits who detain
her in Taiyuan take her to a “Black Jail,” an unofficial facility. Private contractors were
also involved in the interrogations Ellie witnessed in Iraq. What is the significance of this
blurring of lines between government and private authorities? What effect might this
blurring have on civil rights and civil society?
5. The China portrayed in Rock Paper Tiger contains many of the trappings of modern
Western capitalist democracies—shopping malls, fast food chains, consumer goods—and
yet political freedom is strictly regulated. What does this suggest about the relationship
between modern capitalism and democracy?
6. The chain restaurant concept was created in America to allow travelers to visit a place
that would be familiar no matter where they went. Ellie initially was happier in China
because it was so different from what she knew in the States and Iraq, yet she seeks out
things that are culturally familiar, such as Starbucks, whenever she is particularly
stressed. What does this suggest about Ellie’s psychological state?
7. What is the role of artists and art in a society where political freedom is limited? How
does Lao Zhang fit into an art scene where so many Chinese artists have found wealth
and popularity? What does art mean for “common” people like Ellie, who readily admits
that she doesn’t quite “get” the art that she sees?
8. Ellie’s odyssey through China takes her to many tourist destinations, including the
Great Wall and the fictionalized Daoist mountain, Changqing Shan. How does selling a
cultural or historical experience change it? How does this relate to the treatment of art
and artists in the novel?
9. Part of Ellie and Trey’s relationship is based on their religious faith. Trey keeps his
faith; Ellie loses hers. Why did two people with similar beliefs and wartime experiences
come to such different conclusions? How do you think Trey reconciled his faith with his
wartime actions? How did Ellie’s questioning of her old beliefs affect her decision
making?
10. The Great Community within the online game is a nod to Qing Dynasty reformer
Kang Youwei (for more information, visit http://www.lisabrackmann.com/books/rockpaper-
tiger), whose “Great Community” was a utopian one world state characterized by
sweeping egalitarianism and the elimination of class distinctions and private property.
What do you see as the ideals behind the novel’s “Great Community”? How do Lao
Zhang’s ideas about community differ from Harrison Wang’s?
11. Online games and communities are extremely popular in both the United States and
China. Why have virtual communities become so attractive to so many people? What
does this say about the nature of real-life communities today? What are the limitations of
virtual communities? Does Ellie find a “home” online, or is this an escape from the “real”
world?

Weblinks

»	Publisher's Book Info
»	Author Lisa Brackmann's web site
»	Read Chapter One
»	Reviews

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