 Publisher :
Published Date : 1968
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Please go to Paul Theroux.com's new site, Paul TherouxFree Computer Help Forum “The entry of the
Asiatic as labourer, trader, and capitalist into competition in
industry and enterprise not only with, but in, the Western world is a
new fact of first importance?”
Winston Churchill, 1908
The setting is the ramshackle
capital of a mythical East African country; the unlikely hero a gentle
Chinese Catholic grocer named Sam Fong, who immigrated to his new home
long before Chinese Communism and Chairman Mao were thought worth much
notice. Innocent of politics, oblivious to the confusion and chaos
besetting this recently independent nation, Fong has been reduced to
scraping a miserable living from a meagerly stocked store which offers
to his African customers such items as skin lightener, Uncle Pompey’s
Gripe Water and cans of Spam. A meek man to his business associates,
Fong is an Oriental tyrant in the home, given to beating his
compliant, gently astute wife, Soo, who in spite of it all, does what
she can to help her beleaguered husband.
In a world where communication is
at a minimum and where “survival of the fittest” is the rule, Fong
bears the consequences of having been shoved to the bottom of the
social totem pole. The Indians, from India, who are hated by the local
African population, outfox Fong in business dealings and show a shrewd
understanding of the black market. One of these, the wily Fakhru,
fleeces Fong so adroitly that the bewildered Chinese believes himself
in his deceiver’s debt and lives content with the improbable dream of
one day being made rich by the wreck of the milk train from Nairobi.
In the meantime, he is set upon by
two agents from the American government, intent on bringing “the good
simple American Way of Life” to Africa. Bert G. Newt, Jr., and Mel
Francey (“Jeepers creepers, try to forget that we’re American”), who
make up the American team, compensate for their lack of diplomatic
acumen with patriotic fervor, and wage a splendidly miscalculated
campaign to put an end to Fong’s nonexistent Communist sympathies.
“You’re jes yaller,” say the Americans and, at the other end of the
political spectrum a real Chinese Communist, Mr. Chen, berates the
guiltless grocer for failing to advance the Maoist cause: “You, Fong,
are a running dog.”
Virtue is rewarded in the end, but
not before the author has created a lovable non-hero and underscored
brilliantly the foibles of a topsy-turvy world in which only the
innocent loser can possibly win. |
