Conversation with Bonnie Tsui
Swetha Amit
Bonnie Tsui is a longtime contributor to the New York Times and the author of the new book On Muscle: The Stuff That Moves Us and Why It Matters — a vivid, thought-provoking celebration of musculature and one of the most anticipated books of the year; it is currently being translated into six languages. Her bestselling books include Why We Swim, a New York Times Book Review Editors’ Choice and a Time magazine and NPR Best Book of the Year, and American Chinatown, which won the Asian/Pacific American Award for Literature. Her work has been recognized and supported by Harvard University, the National Press Foundation, the Mesa Refuge, and the Best American Essays series. She lives, swims, and surfs in the San Francisco Bay Area.
Swetha Amit: On Muscle is a comprehensive book about science, your journey, and snippets of interviews from various sources. How did the inspiration for it come about, and how long did it take to assemble?
Bonnie Tsui
Bonnie Tsui: After Why We Swim, my editor and agent—who I should mention are also dear friends and creative partners—and I had a brainstorm of what my next book could be. During our conversation, we discussed the body, its movements, and the essence of the physical being. Then my agent asked me, 'What about muscle?' Suddenly, it struck me how conjuring the word itself is. It's not just the tangible thing that allows us to move; it also holds appeal and significance in our cultural landscape and society. I began reflecting on my upbringing with my dad and realized how quirky and unusual it was. He had been an artist, and a martial artist, dedicated to exercise. I wanted the book to be scientific while also highlighting the cultural and societal importance of muscle. I took a similar approach with my earlier book, Why We Swim. What appealed to me about muscle as subject was its richness and resistance. I could share personal stories about people using their muscles in both literal and metaphorical ways.
SW: I was curious about your writing process. How did you maintain this delicate balance between science, facts, snippets from other people's lives as examples, and your personal narrative?
BT: It was hard. I thought I had it figured out after writing Why We Swim. But I didn't. You have to start all over again. Even though I knew I wanted to include similar elements, it didn't make it any easier to find stories, develop ideas, and determine how they all fit together. Restarting the process was both a pain and a pleasure. You think you know what you want to be doing, and when you find something that leads to unearthing a story, you get fired up. But then you realize it’s going to be different. It's like solving a jigsaw puzzle. There were times I wasn't sure it was all holding together. And then there were wonderful moments when I felt I had enough material to keep the stories together. I could see the gaps and get a glimpse of the finished form, and I knew what I was aiming for. It's a heavy lift—and that feels right.
SW: Your book begins with a memory about your perception of a muscle when you were a child. How do you think your perception of muscle has changed over the years?
BT: I’ve always associated muscle, fitness, and strength training with my dad, but I came to see the value in the life and education he sought to share with us. It wasn't solely about the body but also the artistry that surrounded it. As an artist, he valued the aesthetics of the body and its functionality. Becoming an athlete as a young person, through practicing various sports and disciplines, helped me understand that throughout my life, my body was constantly changing and evolving at every stage. As an adult, you have to figure out practices and disciplines that work for you. I am in the process of figuring it out myself. One of the things I have come to marvel at and appreciate is how elastic and dynamic this constant change is. As I get older, I find that it becomes a way of being. It helps me understand the malleability of my body and adapt to whatever condition I'm in, doing the best I can. Accepting the constant flux and uncertainty in the future is one of my most valuable takeaways.
SW: There's an intriguing point about how much has become virtual. How do you perceive the role of muscle in people's lives?
BT: It's even more critical. One thing that amazed me with the people I profiled for the book was how grounded they were in their bodies and how they spoke about strength and endurance. During the pandemic, when pretty much everything was virtual, there was a lack of tangible connection, making it difficult to see or be in the presence of someone and observe their bodily posture and how much that can tell us about how they are. Since I began writing this book during the pandemic, I have given considerable thought to that aspect. I couldn't see my father, as he was in China, the country that was the first to shut down. I felt this strong desire to be with my father because he is the person in my life who operates in a physical space with people. You don't otherwise exist if you aren't in front of him. Technology has enabled us to stay connected and communicate with others. And yet there are still people like my dad, who is something of a hermit and doesn't exist in the online world.
SW: Art was a language that connected you with your father, and now you use a similar language to communicate with your son, which you feel is different. Can you walk us through the differences and describe your experiences with both?
BT: Art was my father's profession, so we were constantly engaged in artistic projects at home. He would assign us tasks to draw and paint various objects, and I always admired his creativity. Looking back, that was an extraordinary way for him to invest his energy in us. My two children love making art; my older son’s main focus now is music, and my younger son remains captivated by all things creative, whether it's making short films, drawing, painting, or experimenting with sculpture. I really love watching him make things, and we have deep discussions about art. His internal motivations drive him. For a long time, my art has been writing. One great pleasure I have found in writing this book has been having the chance to reflect on visual art and connect the lessons I learned, deepening my understanding of the human body. Getting to make art again was a joyful experience and made me feel like a kid again.
SW: You mentioned that what you learned from your father was to lift yourself. How do you lift yourself during challenging times?
BT: When I reflect on the pandemic, those feelings of uncertainty and chaos still linger. It was pretty unsettling, and engaging in a physical practice—whether yoga, running, swimming, or even meditation—could provide some grounding. These physical disciplines serve a purpose that may seem very small. But muscle engages in conversation with the brain and mind. If you neglect your muscles, your brain suffers as a result. Maintaining a regular practice, whatever length of time it may be, is essential. For me, weightlifting has been intriguing. Lifting weights involves gradual, incremental improvements—you can see the progress you're making. It's also grounding because it provides a sense of control. When you commit to a few days a week, you feel different, and you notice the changes. It's a way to check in and ground yourself in the world.
SW: There is considerable societal discussion and nuance surrounding aging bodies. Movies like The Substance have highlighted this. How do you embrace and manage your aging body?
BT: Aging is inevitable. I experience the same feelings and fears that everyone else does. When my body doesn't work the way I want it to, I become vulnerable to everything society says about aging bodies. This past year, older women in Hollywood have been receiving lots of positive attention. That's exciting to me. But Hollywood has its own timeline and pendulum swing regarding aging women. What I appreciate about sports is that they have given me an understanding of my body and how I can function in a way that brings me joy. Society always emphasizes its notions about how a woman should be—a skinny body, pretty, etc. I now see the pendulum swinging back toward muscular bodies, and strong women are being embraced much more. Muscles are now considered a valuable asset for women, as they provide strength and contribute to overall positivity. The messages sports convey are great for society, including men, so that we recognize how awesome and strong women are and can be.
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SW: You discussed the concept of muscle memory extensively. How has it influenced your writing? Are there days when you don't write and find that you can easily resume the process because of muscle memory?
BT: I remember that I used to write mostly on paper, and I loved it. It's different when you write by hand. The pacing of words and thoughts is much slower, which I find compelling. Typing on the keyboard engages various parts of your brain and memory in different ways. I always try to indulge in handwriting when I'm on airplanes or in cafes. Similarly, reading a physical copy of a book is a different experience from reading it on a screen, as you turn the pages. Scrolling while reading an e-book feels different. Writing is a part of me, in a bodily way. I make sure to get my swimming or surfing or weightlifting in before I arrive at my desk. It helps settle my body, and it also generates lots of new thoughts and ideas for me.
SW: Another pertinent line you say is, 'We learn best when we are moving.' What's the best thing you learned while swimming or exercising?
BT: My thoughts differ when I am walking or swimming. When I move my body, I know good things come—whether it's a mood or unique and different ideas. Whenever I start to feel like things are not working in my life, going for a walk eases the burden and the feeling of being stuck. When I'm moving, my brain moves, too, and it clears my head, making the load feel lighter.
SW: Lastly, are there any more books in the pipeline?
BT: Nothing definite yet, but you’ll be hearing from me.
