Viewed from a distance, China appears to be a stable economy growing at a healthy pace. Looking more closely, however, we discover a flawed civilization stalling under the weight of its own culture. What's Wrong with China is a personal book about a great nation at a crossroads.
中國 —— 遠看，似是一個健康成長、穩定的經濟體；近觀，卻發現了
一個停滯在自身文化重壓桎梏之下、具有瑕疵弊端的文明。 《 中國哪裡
不對勁 》一書作者以其親身經歷，講述處在歷史發展十字路口一個偉大
的民族。
What's Wrong with China is the widely anticipated follow-up to Paul Midler's Poorly Made in China, an exposé of China manufacturing practices. Applying a wider lens in this account, he reveals many of the deep problems affecting Chinese society as a whole. Once again, Midler delivers the goods by rejecting commonly held notions, breaking down old myths, and providing fresh explanations of lesser-understood cultural phenomena.
"What's Wrong with China is the most cogent, insightful and penetrating examination I have read on the paradoxes and self-deceptions of Modern China, written by someone who has lived in the country and dealt with it day to day for decades. This book will be hated by the commissars, because it is a triumph of analysis and good sense."
—— PAUL THEROUX an American travel writer and novelist, whose best-known work is The Great Railway Bazaar (1975).
谷歌翻譯：
《中國怎麼了》是保羅·米德勒（Paul Midler）繼“中國製造”（Poorly Made in China）之後一部新書。 從這個角度來看，他揭示了許多影響中國社會的深層次問題。 Midler又一次通過拒絕普遍使用的概念，破除舊的神話，並提供新鮮的解釋文化現象的解釋。
This book is, by far, the most insightful analysis of the Chinese culture that I have ever read. It is well written and well documented. Granted, it mostly looks at “cultural failings” and its analysis clearly comes from a Westerner’s mind. It is one-sided. But that premise is conveyed by the book’s title, so there is no surprise. I particularly liked the quotes from 19th- and early 20th-Century books by the 'China hands' of the day. Very little has changed in the local culture, it seems. They had described it in a clear and direct manner that is seldom found in blogs but rarely in books. One thing is for sure: reading this book will get your thinking juices flowing!
"What's Wrong With China" is not for the faint of heart. Well written, at times humorous, and overall nauseatingly compelling, Paul Midler takes the reader one story at a time through little interactions that add up to one large and fascinating picture. Personally, I have experienced a number of the moments described in this book (and in his other book - "Poorly Made In China") in my business dealings with China and hadn't understood what was happening until reading his books; that's why gas lighting works. Some Americans make it their business to take a defensive posture and defend China by blaming a few rotten eggs while not understanding that the problems faced are endemic to and completely supported by the culture. I have numerous acquaintances from China who loudly proclaim "F*#k China!" and detail exactly the types of situations that Paul Midler has listed to a T. I have both recommended and bought numerous copies of Mr. Midler's other book for colleagues and hopefully after reading this book, hopefully you will too.
Sino-curious readers hungry for fresh perspective on China should read Mr. Midler’s ambitious second book. Yes, he plays the role of critical Westerner, but there is still a great deal of empathy in these pages. The writing refuses to draw attention to itself, making the book a fast-paced read. Tales of modern-day commerce are seamlessly blended with lessons from Chinese history. The author also uses humorous anecdotes to illuminate cultural quirks and to explain head-scratching behaviors. This is a book for people who are doing business in China, but it’s also a good read for others -- including those helping to shape foreign and economic policy. I enjoyed Midler's first book. The second one does not disappoint.
I was intrigued by this book after reading a scathing book review in the South China Morning Post (SCMP). Knowing that the SCMP is now owned by Alibaba founder Jack Ma, I see it as pretty much the mouthpiece of the Chinese government and to be honest, I've never read such a vitriolic book critic, EVER. That piqued my curiosity and I wanted to know what struck their nerves. Google the article, it's quite a hilarious read.
The title of the book is a bit of a misnomer as it was a very balanced view of China and was hardly critical of China or Chinese people. Being of Chinese heritage I did not find anything offensive or out of line. Whether he is right or not, I certainly appreciated his opinion and views of China.
If you do business in China, this is a must read as it explains the mentality of the Chinese people and goes through many scenarios which have gone wrong and explains the Chinese reasoning behind it or what the foreigner could do in response. I have spent over 20 years working and living in Greater China and I still learned a great deal from this book.
I also very much appreciated the different versions of historical events like the Opium Wars.
“你們老外一到中國來，就老是抱怨這污染那污染的，我都不明
白你們想啥呢。擱我看呢，這地界兒，哪兒哪兒聞着都是錢。”
CHAPTER 1 The Pirate Ship 第一章 海盜船
Two weeks before boarding my first flight to Asia, a friend of mymother’s wished me well, letting me know she was jealous.“You’re so lucky,” she told me. “Wish I was going.”
She had never been to the Far East but was enamored by its ideas
and traditions, especially medicine.
“Just think about it,” she said. “They’ve been practicing medicine
for thousands of years. They know all kinds of things we don’t.”
It was an unintended send-off as I found her words echoing back
to me two weeks later in Taipei. I had been invited to join a group of
office workers on a day trip their company had planned, and on the
return—at the drop-off point—I managed to get my hand smashed in
the door of their van.
“Duibuqi!” cried the woman who injured me.
I was frozen in pain. A colleague offered that she had something.
“Chinese medicine,” she said enthusiastically, before bolting.
A glass jar was presented, upon which were some handwritten
Chinese characters. The lid was removed, revealing a dark, viscous
liniment. And as it was applied to my hand, I held out hope.
Three women stood around me now, concentrating fully on my
paw and taking turns offering commentary.
“That’s better,” one assured.
“Much better,” another confirmed.
While everyone stood around waiting for something to happen,
my hand continued to throb and a strange thought entered my head:
Was this Chinese traditional medicine? Was this how these people thought the
human body worked? Broken bones healed in a jiffy with a magic salve?
I was in my twenties then and somewhat embarrassed to have
such rude thoughts. But the scene struck me as comical, and I had to
suppress the urge to laugh. Thanking everyone for an otherwise lovely
afternoon, I lied and told them I was feeling better. I then made my
way to an area hospital, where I received a set of X-rays for the hand,
which luckily had not suffered any fractures.
It was a strange beginning to a career in Asia, and perhaps an
unproductive one. Westerners in it for the long haul were supposed
to arrive mesmerized—enchanted at least—and that condition was
meant to carry them through the several years it took to pick up the
language. The bloom would come off the rose eventually, but it was
meant to do so only after a fair amount of time had passed.
The effect of having my bubble burst almost upon arrival put me
in an odd disposition: Chinoiserie and other Orientalia now struck
me as daffy. I had little interest in studying anything Chinese in the
traditional sense, and along with that ennui went any intention of
taking my time in this part of the world seriously.
Thankfully I was young—this was twenty-five years ago—and
I didn’t need much of an excuse to stick around. A reliable old motorcycle,
a rooftop apartment in the mountains outside of the city, an
assortment of colorful characters for friends, and the odd job would
suffice. I spent no time on language training and managed to pick up a
fair amount of Mandarin in spite of myself. Wrapping up three years in
Taiwan, I returned to the United States and entered a graduate school
program that began by sending me to Beijing for the summer.
And that was how I wound up in my first proper Chinese language
course with a woman named Miss Zhang.
In our first one-on-one session, Miss Zhang tossed me what
she must have thought was a softball question: “Why are you still
in China?” She was taking the American government’s dubious
view (it was Beijing’s as well) that the years I lived in Taiwan
should be clocked as time spent in the People’s Republic of China,
and she asked because few nonnatives ever returned after a stint.
Although foreigners were arriving in significant numbers, when they
finally went home, they rarely boomeranged back.
Why had I returned?
In making my way to graduate school—it was a business program
with an international component—I had to explain in an application
why I had wanted to study such things as discounted cash flow and
conjoint analysis. On this other motivation, I was drawing somewhat
of a blank.
On the surface, Miss Zhang appeared a serious woman. She
considered me for the briefest moment and then broke the silence
between us by saying, “You know what you should tell people when
they ask you that question?” Then she giggled. “You should tell
them, ‘Wo shangle zeichuan.’ I’m on the pirate ship.”
It was a twist on an old idiom, one that suggested it is easier to
jump on a tiger’s back than to dismount. I got the reference but wondered:
Was the ship meant to be China? Who were the pirates? In the back
of my mind, a light bulb went off, one that would take me years to
identify. Only later would I conclude that Miss Zhang had picked up
on something—that I was lost—and what she ultimately offered me
was not a conversation starter but a hint of where I ought to be looking
for inspiration.
Not long after graduating from the University of Pennsylvania,
I moved to Guangzhou, a sprawling metropolis located two hours
north of Hong Kong, and from there I began a career representing
American companies that had manufacturing interests in the region.
The work put me in contact with Chinese factory bosses who were
indeed pirate-like in their approach to commerce. And I appreciated
that they shared a similar brand of humor to Miss Zhang’s.
In the middle of the boom in export manufacturing, I found
myself riding a train in Guangdong, seated facing two questionablelooking
characters who were dressed head-to-toe in black. My
reputation as a fixer was established by this time, and they easily
appeared to be the sort who traded merchandise for a living.
Almost as soon as we pulled out of the station, the man seated by
the window began eyeballing me, so I thought I would break the ice.
