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3.9 AVERAGE
3.9 AVERAGE
adventurous
dark
funny
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Plot
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
adventurous
challenging
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Complicated
adventurous
emotional
funny
hopeful
lighthearted
sad
medium-paced
adventurous
funny
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Plot
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
adventurous
challenging
funny
mysterious
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Two things you notice about this novel are: first, you get four volumes totalling over 2100 pages in a slip case; second, each volume is perfectly sized for a laptop case or pocket or handbag. So, the formatting would have been perfect if I had still been commuting. As it was, I read all four volumes during the Co-vid lock down and semi-lock down, and had a wonderful sense of escapism, as I spent several weeks in 12th century China.
Older readers might remember the TV series The Water Margin, which feels as if it was shot soon after Outlaws of the Marsh was written in the 14th century. The book is far longer and more complicated than the series, although this edition might still not give you the full monty. In the introduction, a professor of Chinese literature, Shi Changyu, explains that the novel exists in several different versions, varying between 70 and 124 chapters. This edition has 100 chapters, which might be a good compromise. At the end the translator, Sidney Shapiro, explains how he put this edition together, selecting bits from the short and long editions, and excluding some ridiculous poems that give away the plot. Shapiro himself was an American who lived in China for many years, married a Chinese woman and became a Chinese citizen in 1963, just in time for the Cultural Revolution. I wonder what Mao thought of this novel. The translation itself was made in the 1970s, and gives us a lively, colloquial read which “zips along” – just like a recent Booker Prize judge said novels ought to do. The text itself is an odd mixture of American and British grammar and spelling, with lots of typos, but that don’t detract from the enjoyment of the read.
So, what’s it all about? The novel was written in the 14th century and is based on real events that occurred in the 12th century. In some ways it’s a kind of Robin Hood story. 108 men and women (if memory serves, 105 men and three women) are obliged, through a combination of injustice and misfortune, to betake themselves to Liangshan Marsh where they join a growing robber band that robs the rich and either gives to the poor or leaves the poor alone. The 108 chieftains (there are thousands of foot soldiers in the band) are all distinct characters, and along with their given name, they each have a moniker that reflects some feature of their history, physique or chosen weaponry. For instance, one of the female chieftains is called Ten Feet of Steel because she wields two swords, both five feet long, to deadly effect.
The first couple of volumes tell the story of each of the chieftains and how they came to join the robber band. They spend a lot of time consuming vast quantities of wine (presumably rice wine) and meat in taverns that seem to be strewn around the countryside. It’s so easy to walk into a tavern and demand a bowl of wine and a platter of meat, but do you always know what you’re getting? There are a lot of rascally inn-keepers who drug their guests and then take them to an abattoir round the back of the tavern where they chop them up and cook them in pies which they serve the next set of guests. No food safety standards in 12th century China.
Eventually the emperor realises that the bandits are a potential force for good and after a couple of attempts to offer them an amnesty are thwarted by evil, envious officials, they go mainstream and are used to fight against neighbouring kingdoms. Warning: there is a lot of violence throughout the novel, but it often feels like cartoon violence. Lots of heads are chopped off and bodies salami-sliced, but there is little graphic description and most of the victims are nasty people who deserve a bit of rough justice. There is enough moral philosophy around to raise this novel above a mere adventure yarn, with frequent references to Buddhism, Taoism, filial piety and the sanctity of friendship and oaths. Another warning, which is stated in the introduction, is that women do not get a good press here. Apart from the female chieftains (and they’re not really central characters) most of the female characters are grasping wives who cheat on their husbands, bawds who facilitate adultery or ale-wives who drug their guests and bake them in pies.
I won’t spoil the ending. Suffice to say that years pass, the heroes age and you have a growing sense that the good times will come to an end. You might think that after 2000 pages you’d be glad to reach the end, but in fact you do feel a sense of loss when you finally reach it.
Older readers might remember the TV series The Water Margin, which feels as if it was shot soon after Outlaws of the Marsh was written in the 14th century. The book is far longer and more complicated than the series, although this edition might still not give you the full monty. In the introduction, a professor of Chinese literature, Shi Changyu, explains that the novel exists in several different versions, varying between 70 and 124 chapters. This edition has 100 chapters, which might be a good compromise. At the end the translator, Sidney Shapiro, explains how he put this edition together, selecting bits from the short and long editions, and excluding some ridiculous poems that give away the plot. Shapiro himself was an American who lived in China for many years, married a Chinese woman and became a Chinese citizen in 1963, just in time for the Cultural Revolution. I wonder what Mao thought of this novel. The translation itself was made in the 1970s, and gives us a lively, colloquial read which “zips along” – just like a recent Booker Prize judge said novels ought to do. The text itself is an odd mixture of American and British grammar and spelling, with lots of typos, but that don’t detract from the enjoyment of the read.
So, what’s it all about? The novel was written in the 14th century and is based on real events that occurred in the 12th century. In some ways it’s a kind of Robin Hood story. 108 men and women (if memory serves, 105 men and three women) are obliged, through a combination of injustice and misfortune, to betake themselves to Liangshan Marsh where they join a growing robber band that robs the rich and either gives to the poor or leaves the poor alone. The 108 chieftains (there are thousands of foot soldiers in the band) are all distinct characters, and along with their given name, they each have a moniker that reflects some feature of their history, physique or chosen weaponry. For instance, one of the female chieftains is called Ten Feet of Steel because she wields two swords, both five feet long, to deadly effect.
The first couple of volumes tell the story of each of the chieftains and how they came to join the robber band. They spend a lot of time consuming vast quantities of wine (presumably rice wine) and meat in taverns that seem to be strewn around the countryside. It’s so easy to walk into a tavern and demand a bowl of wine and a platter of meat, but do you always know what you’re getting? There are a lot of rascally inn-keepers who drug their guests and then take them to an abattoir round the back of the tavern where they chop them up and cook them in pies which they serve the next set of guests. No food safety standards in 12th century China.
Eventually the emperor realises that the bandits are a potential force for good and after a couple of attempts to offer them an amnesty are thwarted by evil, envious officials, they go mainstream and are used to fight against neighbouring kingdoms. Warning: there is a lot of violence throughout the novel, but it often feels like cartoon violence. Lots of heads are chopped off and bodies salami-sliced, but there is little graphic description and most of the victims are nasty people who deserve a bit of rough justice. There is enough moral philosophy around to raise this novel above a mere adventure yarn, with frequent references to Buddhism, Taoism, filial piety and the sanctity of friendship and oaths. Another warning, which is stated in the introduction, is that women do not get a good press here. Apart from the female chieftains (and they’re not really central characters) most of the female characters are grasping wives who cheat on their husbands, bawds who facilitate adultery or ale-wives who drug their guests and bake them in pies.
I won’t spoil the ending. Suffice to say that years pass, the heroes age and you have a growing sense that the good times will come to an end. You might think that after 2000 pages you’d be glad to reach the end, but in fact you do feel a sense of loss when you finally reach it.
I really enjoyed this. I also have a taste for absurd epics, if you don't then this might not be for you.
My second foray into the Four Chinese Classics. Even though I loved Three Kingdoms I loved this one even more for its bizarre superhuman action and vulgarity. There’s a character nicknamed “Stinking Dickhead,” need I say more?
It is not often that I get to read something that is 700 years old. Through seven centuries, 7,000 miles, three editors, and two translators, 'The Water Margin' arrived in my lap as an altered experience, but hopefully close enough to what the Chinese have been enjoying for all these years.
'The Water Margin' or 'Shuihu Zhuan' is unlike anything I've ever read in that there are so many characters interacting with each other and shifts in point of view, it is downright difficult to even follow the story being told. Slowly, as the novel goes on, the disparate characters begin uniting under the central protag, Song Jiang, and the various plots coalesce.
The sense of morality is baffling as the noblest of characters often murder women, children, wives and entire families for reasons that couldn't be justified in any century. The bandits believe they are Heaven's Agents with the purpose of correcting the corrupt nature of the Song Dynasty's flawed bureaucracy. The bandits of Liangshan Marsh are not the first or last to believe they have a Divine Mandate, but this idea is dangerous and leads to the exact situations in which Song Jiang finds himself murdering women and children. How far can one go before they recognize they are doing more evil than the good they are striving for.
The lesson I draw from this is not to emulate Song Jiang, or to put any one person on a pedestal as being a Hero. Every great villain starts out as an idealistic hero. Ideals don't belong to any single person, and even their original mouthpiece will someday falter.
'The Water Margin' or 'Shuihu Zhuan' is unlike anything I've ever read in that there are so many characters interacting with each other and shifts in point of view, it is downright difficult to even follow the story being told. Slowly, as the novel goes on, the disparate characters begin uniting under the central protag, Song Jiang, and the various plots coalesce.
The sense of morality is baffling as the noblest of characters often murder women, children, wives and entire families for reasons that couldn't be justified in any century. The bandits believe they are Heaven's Agents with the purpose of correcting the corrupt nature of the Song Dynasty's flawed bureaucracy. The bandits of Liangshan Marsh are not the first or last to believe they have a Divine Mandate, but this idea is dangerous and leads to the exact situations in which Song Jiang finds himself murdering women and children. How far can one go before they recognize they are doing more evil than the good they are striving for.
The lesson I draw from this is not to emulate Song Jiang, or to put any one person on a pedestal as being a Hero. Every great villain starts out as an idealistic hero. Ideals don't belong to any single person, and even their original mouthpiece will someday falter.
