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370 pages, paperback
First published January 1, 2009
Note, I'm stingy with stars.
I liked it.
I enjoy looking up new and vaguely familiar words. Linda Jaivin's novel, A Most Immoral Woman, provided a feast: a fug of wood, long past the climacteric, chatoyant eyes, soap and carbolic, voluble service for the poor, miscegenation, recovered her natural ebullience, enceintes, celerity, hustling rickshas, broughams, and drays, with a trilby, parquet, eiderdown, escritoire, hock with their fish, was in a choler, gangs of tatterdemalions, gored skirt, busk, magnificently buxom and callipygian form, thickets of swag, salt-bush and mallee, V-shaped stomacher, and panniers, cotillions and lawn parties, godowns hove into view, blancmange, orchitis, and worse. Thirty examples should suffice.What attracted me to the novel in the first place was the old China connection. That Jaivin was a C-E translator, iow, someone who might actually know something about the Chinese language, meant I had to check it out. When I discovered the erotica connection...Ah, icing on the cake. Old China and sex, irresistible.
It was interesting how much, or how little, really, Jaivin embedded Chinese expressions in her text, and I couldn't help but feel ashamed at how heavy-handed and unnecessary my own approach had been. Good lesson there. I was also impressed how good a job she did inventing authentic sounding names. Or, so I thought. 'Lionel James', for example, was reminiscent of James Legge (1815-1897) and Lionel Giles (1875-1958). The former was a great translator of the Chinese classics, the latter a translator of Sunzi's Art of War, and the Analects of Confucius, and son of the Herbert Giles, of Wade-Giles Romanization system fame. (Hmm, I have Herbert's famous dictionary within arm's reach at my desk.) In addition to well-chosen English names, Jaivin's transcription of Chinese names instantly brought to mind old Manchu and early Republican China. So I was disappointed when I found out in the penultimate chapter, a sort of colophon, that Lionel James was an actual person. I didn't want to be reminded so concretely of the history after having given the author kudos throughout for doing such a convincing job of mixing and matching English names, and subtly distorting Chinese names to reflect dialect or old spellings (e.g., HaiMun for the ship's name), all in the service of conjuring China at the end of the 19th century. I would have preferred she cut the last chapter, or reduce it to a footnote.
The writing was a pleasure to read. If it had been more finely balanced with a better (psychological) plot, and the last chapter cut, mellowed by a sip or two of Bourbon, I'd given it four stars. Excellent writing, sentence by sentence, paragraph by paragraph, but the story stayed pretty much on an even keel, neither rising high nor sinking deep. Although I often found myself smiling at his naivete, I didn't feel Morrison suffer because of it. Although I found myself saying, Yes, yes, that's how it is! when seeing Miss Perkin's choose repeated re-entry into the realm of the senses, at some point, I would have liked to watch her wrestle with a big contradiction or two. In both characters, the surface was well represented, but the depths remained unplumbed. Perhaps I ask too much, old age and all, with a heart that's black and a skin that thick. 心黑皮厚.
Went on to read Eat Me.