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georgiewhoissarahdrew's review
5.0
How is it possible to suspend topaz in one cup of the balance and weigh it against amethyst in the other; or who...can compare the tranquillising grace of a maiden with the invigorating pleasure of witnessing a well-contested rat-fight?
Forget the frenetic world of Facebook, the torrent of trivia that is Twitter. This review brings you something different. This review wants you to Relax. This review invites you to kick back, turn off the phone, and enjoy the journey in the company of Ernest Bramah's wonderful Oriental creation - Kai Lung, itinerant story teller, master of Litotes, Euphemism and Understatement, and Apologist Extraordinary for Slow Reading.
In KLGH, Kai Lung, captured by the Shan Tien and "the secretary of his hand, the contemptible Ming-shu", is befriended by the maiden Hwa-mei. Between them, Scheherazade-like, they tell Shan Tien story after story to postpone Kai Lung's execution. But the plot is the merest nothing - it's all about the sly witty stories, and the delightful confection of a totally illusory world.
Ernest Bramah never visited China - in spite of the mock-Oriental language he uses to such effect -
“The full roundness of your illustrious outline is as a display of coloured lights to gladden my commonplace vision.”
or - "May bats defile his Ancestral Tablets and goats propagate within his neglected tomb!" chanted the band in unison. "May the sinews of his hams snap suddenly in moments of achievement!"
or - “Your insight is clear and unbiased,” said the gracious Sovereign. “But however entrancing it is to wander unchecked through a garden of bright images, are we not enticing your mind from another subject of almost equal importance?”
(A line Dorothy Sayers lifts to use in [b:Busman's Honeymoon|116971|Busman's Honeymoon (Lord Peter Wimsey, #13)|Dorothy L. Sayers|https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1431714605s/116971.jpg|2721962], incidentally.)
But it's doubtful whether the China Bramah writes about ever really existed anyway. Cunning beggars, wily maidens, power-crazed mandarins, naive youths: they may appear superficially Chinese, but only to the extent that Gilbert's Gentlemen of Japan in the Mikado are really Japanese. What's actually going on is a delightful satire of late Victorian England, and universal follies.
“Yet,” protested the story-teller hopefully, “it is wisely written: ‘He who never opens his mouth in strife can always close his eyes in peace.’”
“Doubtless,” assented the other. “He can close his eyes assuredly. Whether he will ever again open them is another matter.”
or - It is a mark of insincerity of purpose to spend one's time in looking for the sacred Emperor in the low-class tea-shops.
This is writing that revels in being artificial, in using elaborate politeness and contrived phrases in all circumstances however inappropriate.
“So long as we do not lose sight of the necessity whereby my official position will presently involve me in condemning you to a painful death, and your loyal subjection will necessitate your whole-hearted co-operation in the act, there is no reason why the flower of literary excellence should wither for lack of mutual husbandry,” remarked [Shan Tien] tolerantly.
“Your enlightened patronage is a continual nourishment to the soil of my imagination,” replied the story teller.
This is story telling that demands, and rewards attention. The pay-offs are oblique.
“The person who has performed this slight service is Ting, of the outcast line of Lao,” said the student with an admiring bow.. “Having as yet achieved nothing, the world lies before him.”
“She who speaks is Hoa-mi, her father’s house being Chun,” replied the maiden agreeably. “...[He] possesses a wooden plough, two wheel-barrows, a red bow with threescore arrows, and a rice-field, and is therefore a person of some consequence.”
“True,” agreed Lao Ting, “though perhaps the dignity is less imposing than might be imagined in the eye of one who, by means of successive examinations, may ultimately become the Right hand of the Emperor.”
“Is the contingency an impending one?” inquired Hoa-mi, with polite interest.
“So far,” admitted Lao Ting, “it is more in the nature of a vision. There are, of necessity, many trials, and few can reach the ultimate end. Yet even the Yangtze-kiang has a source.”
I keep KLGH by my bed. It's my go-to book for ingenious stories where every line is a joy and there is something for everyone.
The prosperous and substantial find contentment in hearing of the unassuming virtues and frugal lives of the poor and unsuccessful. Those of humble origin, especially tea-house maidens and the like, are only really at home among stories of the exalted and quick-moving, the profusion of their robes, the magnificence of their palaces, and the general high-minded depravity of their lives.
Forget the frenetic world of Facebook, the torrent of trivia that is Twitter. This review brings you something different. This review wants you to Relax. This review invites you to kick back, turn off the phone, and enjoy the journey in the company of Ernest Bramah's wonderful Oriental creation - Kai Lung, itinerant story teller, master of Litotes, Euphemism and Understatement, and Apologist Extraordinary for Slow Reading.
In KLGH, Kai Lung, captured by the Shan Tien and "the secretary of his hand, the contemptible Ming-shu", is befriended by the maiden Hwa-mei. Between them, Scheherazade-like, they tell Shan Tien story after story to postpone Kai Lung's execution. But the plot is the merest nothing - it's all about the sly witty stories, and the delightful confection of a totally illusory world.
Ernest Bramah never visited China - in spite of the mock-Oriental language he uses to such effect -
“The full roundness of your illustrious outline is as a display of coloured lights to gladden my commonplace vision.”
or - "May bats defile his Ancestral Tablets and goats propagate within his neglected tomb!" chanted the band in unison. "May the sinews of his hams snap suddenly in moments of achievement!"
or - “Your insight is clear and unbiased,” said the gracious Sovereign. “But however entrancing it is to wander unchecked through a garden of bright images, are we not enticing your mind from another subject of almost equal importance?”
(A line Dorothy Sayers lifts to use in [b:Busman's Honeymoon|116971|Busman's Honeymoon (Lord Peter Wimsey, #13)|Dorothy L. Sayers|https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1431714605s/116971.jpg|2721962], incidentally.)
But it's doubtful whether the China Bramah writes about ever really existed anyway. Cunning beggars, wily maidens, power-crazed mandarins, naive youths: they may appear superficially Chinese, but only to the extent that Gilbert's Gentlemen of Japan in the Mikado are really Japanese. What's actually going on is a delightful satire of late Victorian England, and universal follies.
“Yet,” protested the story-teller hopefully, “it is wisely written: ‘He who never opens his mouth in strife can always close his eyes in peace.’”
“Doubtless,” assented the other. “He can close his eyes assuredly. Whether he will ever again open them is another matter.”
or - It is a mark of insincerity of purpose to spend one's time in looking for the sacred Emperor in the low-class tea-shops.
This is writing that revels in being artificial, in using elaborate politeness and contrived phrases in all circumstances however inappropriate.
“So long as we do not lose sight of the necessity whereby my official position will presently involve me in condemning you to a painful death, and your loyal subjection will necessitate your whole-hearted co-operation in the act, there is no reason why the flower of literary excellence should wither for lack of mutual husbandry,” remarked [Shan Tien] tolerantly.
“Your enlightened patronage is a continual nourishment to the soil of my imagination,” replied the story teller.
This is story telling that demands, and rewards attention. The pay-offs are oblique.
“The person who has performed this slight service is Ting, of the outcast line of Lao,” said the student with an admiring bow.. “Having as yet achieved nothing, the world lies before him.”
“She who speaks is Hoa-mi, her father’s house being Chun,” replied the maiden agreeably. “...[He] possesses a wooden plough, two wheel-barrows, a red bow with threescore arrows, and a rice-field, and is therefore a person of some consequence.”
“True,” agreed Lao Ting, “though perhaps the dignity is less imposing than might be imagined in the eye of one who, by means of successive examinations, may ultimately become the Right hand of the Emperor.”
“Is the contingency an impending one?” inquired Hoa-mi, with polite interest.
“So far,” admitted Lao Ting, “it is more in the nature of a vision. There are, of necessity, many trials, and few can reach the ultimate end. Yet even the Yangtze-kiang has a source.”
I keep KLGH by my bed. It's my go-to book for ingenious stories where every line is a joy and there is something for everyone.
The prosperous and substantial find contentment in hearing of the unassuming virtues and frugal lives of the poor and unsuccessful. Those of humble origin, especially tea-house maidens and the like, are only really at home among stories of the exalted and quick-moving, the profusion of their robes, the magnificence of their palaces, and the general high-minded depravity of their lives.
lucyb's review
4.0
I found this book absolutely delightful. I was nervous about Orientalism, but didn't find, in the event, that Bramah exoticized his setting conspicuously, and insofar as Chinese culture was invoked or mentioned, it was not treated as primitive or comic. Although the diction is modeled on translations of Chinese folktales, the rollicking romance is positively Wodehousian, and the mores and social debates satirized are very clearly those of interwar Britain, where Bramah was writing. The result I found irresistibly charming.
gengelcox's review
4.0
I tried to write my comments on Ernest Bramah’s Kai Lung’s Golden Hours, which I just finished, in the same style:
But you can only do this so long before you get frustrated, which is why you have to admire Bramah, because he could maintain this oblique and ornate style throughout and still manage to tell a compelling and, more than often, extremely humorous story.
The titular character, Kai Lung, is a storyteller who runs afoul of the local authorities, in particular a rather nasty advisor. The problem is that Kai has set his eyes on a most beautiful young woman who is also highly desired by the advisor, and the mandarin in charge is quite corrupt. The one saving grace for Kai Lung is that the mandarin also likes a good story. Like Scherazade, Kai Lung is therefore in the positive of entertaining for his life, and that he is able to accomplish this is not due to the fragment of 1001 stories available to him, but also the help of his beloved (a fairly strong female character given the situation and the date this was written, 1922).
Not everyone will care for this book, because a style as circular and dense as this doesn’t lead itself to the short-attention-span-generation (only [a:James Branch Cabell|92665|James Branch Cabell|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1207156655p2/92665.jpg] has a more elaborate, yet beautiful, prose form in fantasy). I don’t know what it was about the 1920s that enabled the creation of such great comedy (Bramah, Cabell, [a:P.G. Wodehouse|7963|P.G. Wodehouse|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1198684105p2/7963.jpg] [who first became popular as a novelist in the 1920s], [a:Thorne Smith|171139|Thorne Smith|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1358230465p2/171139.jpg]). Maybe it was the post-War jubilation, the underground of prohibition, or the pre-Depression stockmarket? Not ours to wonder why, but just to enjoy and laugh.
In the opinion of this lowly reader, the esteemed author before our unworthy eyes has created a gem of the highest quality, polished by fine craft.
But you can only do this so long before you get frustrated, which is why you have to admire Bramah, because he could maintain this oblique and ornate style throughout and still manage to tell a compelling and, more than often, extremely humorous story.
The titular character, Kai Lung, is a storyteller who runs afoul of the local authorities, in particular a rather nasty advisor. The problem is that Kai has set his eyes on a most beautiful young woman who is also highly desired by the advisor, and the mandarin in charge is quite corrupt. The one saving grace for Kai Lung is that the mandarin also likes a good story. Like Scherazade, Kai Lung is therefore in the positive of entertaining for his life, and that he is able to accomplish this is not due to the fragment of 1001 stories available to him, but also the help of his beloved (a fairly strong female character given the situation and the date this was written, 1922).
Not everyone will care for this book, because a style as circular and dense as this doesn’t lead itself to the short-attention-span-generation (only [a:James Branch Cabell|92665|James Branch Cabell|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1207156655p2/92665.jpg] has a more elaborate, yet beautiful, prose form in fantasy). I don’t know what it was about the 1920s that enabled the creation of such great comedy (Bramah, Cabell, [a:P.G. Wodehouse|7963|P.G. Wodehouse|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1198684105p2/7963.jpg] [who first became popular as a novelist in the 1920s], [a:Thorne Smith|171139|Thorne Smith|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1358230465p2/171139.jpg]). Maybe it was the post-War jubilation, the underground of prohibition, or the pre-Depression stockmarket? Not ours to wonder why, but just to enjoy and laugh.
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