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In "The Wallet of Kai Lung," Ernest Bramah masterfully crafts a captivating collection of stories that blend ancient Chinese folklore with a distinctly English sense of humor. The narrative unfolds through the exploits of the clever and witty Kai Lung, a wandering storyteller whose tales are laced with moral lessons and satirical observations on humanity. Bramah's whimsical prose and intricate wordplay invite readers into a vivid world where cleverness triumphs over brute force, reflecting a literary style that marries absurdity with depth, positioning the work within the tradition of the fantastical yet reflective narratives of the early 20th century. Bramah, an English author who was significantly influenced by the literary traditions of Asia, showcases his fascination with Eastern philosophy and culture throughout this work. His experiences as a writer and his broader engagement with Oriental themes during a time when Western fascination with the East was burgeoning allowed him to create a character that navigates cultural nuances with both humor and insight. These influences are palpable in his vivid imagination and his ability to blend narrative forms seamlessly. "The Wallet of Kai Lung" is highly recommended for readers seeking a playful yet insightful exploration of storytelling and morality. Bramah's unique blend of humor and wisdom offers an enriching experience that not only entertains but also provokes reflection on the art of narrative itself. Delve into this enchanting collection to discover the timeless brilliance of Kai Lung's tales. In this enriched edition, we have carefully created added value for your reading experience: - A succinct Introduction situates the work's timeless appeal and themes. - The Synopsis outlines the central plot, highlighting key developments without spoiling critical twists. - A detailed Historical Context immerses you in the era's events and influences that shaped the writing. - A thorough Analysis dissects symbols, motifs, and character arcs to unearth underlying meanings. - Reflection questions prompt you to engage personally with the work's messages, connecting them to modern life. - Hand‐picked Memorable Quotes shine a spotlight on moments of literary brilliance. - Interactive footnotes clarify unusual references, historical allusions, and archaic phrases for an effortless, more informed read.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019
In Ernest Bramah’s The Wallet of Kai Lung, the enduring contest is between brute authority and the nimble art of storytelling, as a wandering fabulist turns wit, patience, and parable into the most persuasive kind of power, outlasting magistrates, merchants, and marauders by proving that a well-shaped tale can loosen bonds, redirect tempers, and recast fate, that moral insight can arrive disguised as amusement, and that, in a world of rituals and penalties, language—courteous, flexible, and resourceful—becomes both shield and instrument, a portable wealth that, unlike coin or office, renews itself every time a listener leans forward and consents to hear, and in the hearing discovers a more capacious way to live.
First published in 1900, The Wallet of Kai Lung is a collection of fantastical tales by the English author Ernest Bramah, the first volume to present his wandering storyteller of the same name. Set in an imagined version of historical China, the book belongs to the tradition of framed and interwoven narratives, blending fable, satire, and light fantasy. It emerges from the cultural climate of turn-of-the-twentieth-century Britain, when exoticized settings and story cycles had a strong appeal for general readers. Bramah’s approach is deliberately literary rather than documentary, using a stylized landscape to stage moral puzzles and comic reversals.
At the center stands Kai Lung, an itinerant raconteur who pays his way—and sometimes secures his safety—by spinning stories whose lessons are as flexible as their listeners require. The episodes are compact, parabolic adventures involving mandarins, scholars, traders, bandits, spirits, and lovers, arranged so each tale illuminates another. The voice is ceremonious and wry, the pacing unhurried, and the mood genial even when stakes are high. Readers encounter a succession of dilemmas resolved not by force but by tact and invention, all conveyed in a prose that savors indirection, decorum, and sly humor, making the reading experience both soothing and sharp.
One of the book’s abiding themes is the supremacy of language over coercion: eloquence as refuge, leverage, and ethics in action. Bramah entertains while examining bureaucracy and social hierarchy, showing how rigid systems can be nudged toward justice by a nimble tongue or an unexpected parable. The stories probe questions of obligation and reward—what is owed to family, ruler, patron, or friend—and they delight in the paradox that prudence and generosity often travel together. Fate appears as a force to be negotiated rather than obeyed, and the clever are invited to consider what they owe those less fortunate.
Stylistically, the collection is notable for its elaborate courtesies, balanced clauses, and preference for metaphor over blunt assertion, qualities that lend the tales a ritual grace. The wallet of the title functions as a metaphor for an inexhaustible treasury of narratives: compact, portable, and adaptable to the moment at hand. Bramah favors nested structures—stories within stories—and aphoristic turns that feel like proverbs without claiming the authority of any one tradition. The humor arises from understatement and precision, with extravagant situations handled in cool, formal tones, so that irony does the heavy lifting while the surface remains smooth.
Because the setting is a Western literary imagining of China, contemporary readers may notice period attitudes and stylizations that reflect their time rather than lived realities. The book’s charm lies in its artifice, and it rewards an approach that distinguishes affectionate pastiche from cultural authority. Read with that awareness, the collection becomes a conversation about storytelling across distance: how one culture pictures another, how tone can express respect even when knowledge is partial, and how humor can travel. The imagined landscape serves as a neutral stage on which ethical questions, not ethnography, take precedence.
For readers today, The Wallet of Kai Lung offers a respite from speed and certainty, inviting a slower pleasure in cadence, courtesy, and indirect persuasion. It will appeal to admirers of folktales, fantasy, and the art of the frame narrative, and to anyone curious about how stories operate as social currency. Its episodic design suits brief encounters as well as immersive reading, and its gentle ironies suggest that seriousness need not be solemn. Above all, it affirms the creative resourcefulness of language, leaving us alert to how a well-told tale can clarify motives, soften conflicts, and broaden sympathy.
The Wallet of Kai Lung presents a sequence of tales told by Kai Lung, an itinerant storyteller who wanders an imagined ancient China. He earns hospitality, safety, and small rewards by unrolling his mat and speaking with measured courtesy to mandarins, merchants, brigands, and villagers. Each tale stands alone yet shares a style of ornate phrasing, balanced proverbs, and calm reasoning under pressure. The frame is simple: when circumstance demands, Kai Lung tells a story; when the story ends, he moves on. The collection’s flow proceeds from everyday dilemmas to matters of office, fortune, and fate, gradually broadening its social and moral scope.
Early stories establish the method by which Kai Lung secures a hearing and the type of dilemma that follows. A youth of modest means seeks advancement or a suitable bride, colliding with custom, poverty, and a stern guardian. The turning point comes when a decree, examination, or unexpected accusation threatens his progress. Without revealing resolutions, the episode emphasizes respectful speech, patient resourcefulness, and inventive compromise. The listeners within the frame respond to the tale’s precision and restraint, and the result is that Kai Lung’s authority as a guide to conduct is accepted. The narrative proceeds to a broader arena of officials and petitions.
The next movement explores officialdom and the written word. A conscientious clerk or minor magistrate must reconcile the letter of the law with the realities of human need. Petitions, memorials, and citations are weighed in measured terms, and the risks of a misapplied seal or ill-timed edict are made plain. A formal hearing becomes the turning point, as witnesses and documents circulate. The tale foregrounds procedure, hierarchy, and the power of exact phrasing. Outcomes are not disclosed, but the arc points toward a solution achieved more by clarity and courtesy than by force, highlighting the collection’s recurring preference for persuasion.
Commerce and the shimmer of easy wealth enter in a tale of transmutation, invention, or a tempting scheme. An artisan, trader, or alchemist offers a path from scarcity to abundance, and a hopeful protagonist steps into intricate conditions and costly preparations. The turning point arrives with a public demonstration, an unexpected audit, or a test of authenticity. Without disclosing what follows, the story underscores measured skepticism, the cost of haste, and the distinction between sound craft and illusion. Kai Lung’s audience is invited to consider profit alongside reputation, and the narrative moves from material ambition toward the subtler currencies of trust and speech.
Travel brings peril and a change of listeners, as a meeting with outlaws or a border captain sets the stage for bargaining through words. A captive or guest must satisfy a chieftain’s challenge and abide by a code that prizes composure. The turning point is often a contest of questions, a riddle posed beneath blades, or a task defined by ceremony rather than violence. The tale refrains from revealing outcomes, yet it stresses the reciprocal obligations that even brigands observe. Kai Lung’s manner proves that survival can hinge on the cadence of a sentence, preparing the ground for stories of loyalty, honor, and restraint.
A quieter tale returns to matters of the heart and household. Two people suited in character are separated by rank, debt, or a guardian’s calculation. Poetry, tokens, and discreet intermediaries carry hope from threshold to threshold. The turning point is a public test of taste or learning, where a misplaced verse or a hastily chosen gift might undo months of patience. Without stating the result, the narrative presents filial duty and constancy as necessary companions to desire. The attention shifts from wealth to reputation, showing how social harmony depends on timing, tone, and the willingness to accept measured delay.
Supernatural elements appear with the decorum of the setting: an ancestor’s shade, a fox spirit, or an auspicious sign invites negotiation. Aid is offered under precise conditions; warnings accompany favors. The turning point is a breach of a minor vow or a misunderstood omen that forces a reckoning. Outcomes remain unstated, but the tale draws attention to the balance between seen and unseen obligations. Kai Lung’s narration keeps marvels within the bounds of conduct, using wonders to test honesty and restraint. The collection thus widens its moral horizon while maintaining its emphasis on proportional response and careful speech.
Tales set near court or examination halls address advancement and risk within complex systems. An official, scholar, or inventor navigates scrutiny, factions, and the emperor’s shifting attention. The turning point comes as a petition is read aloud, a device is demonstrated, or a principle is publicly questioned. No final decisions are disclosed, yet the emphasis falls on how precise language, deference, and timing channel ambition without inviting ruin. These stories satirize bureaucracy while recognizing its forms, and they return repeatedly to the idea that a well-ordered sentence can accomplish what rank alone cannot. The narrative prepares to close by circling back to the storyteller.
The collection concludes by reaffirming the purpose of the frame itself. Kai Lung’s listeners have been guides, judges, captors, and hosts; each tale has served as payment, defense, or counsel. Without exposing final twists, the closing movement emphasizes that fortune is variable, conduct is observable, and persuasion is a skill that travels. The wallet in the title signals a store of narratives ready for any occasion, and the book’s message is clear: courtesy, patience, and flexible wit can moderate adversity. When the mat is rolled, Kai Lung departs, leaving a pattern of examples rather than verdicts, and a path for reflection.
Ernest Bramah sets The Wallet of Kai Lung in a stylized, composite vision of premodern imperial China rather than in a single verifiable dynasty. Its world is one of walled prefectural towns, yamen courts, landlord compounds, guild markets, and caravan roads threading river valleys and mountain passes. The social order assumes a Confucian hierarchy of officials, elders, merchants, artisans, and peasants, with ritual propriety shaping public life. Time is cyclical and moral, not chronological, favoring parables over dated chronicles. This invented antiquity fuses recognizable elements from the Tang, Song, Ming, and Qing eras—magistrates, exam laureates, penal practices, and clan obligations—into a coherent backdrop for an itinerant storyteller whose eloquence negotiates power and peril.
A central historical institution reflected throughout is the imperial civil service examination. Established in early form under the Sui (581–618) and regularized in the Tang (618–907), it expanded dramatically in the Song (960–1279) and matured through the Ming (1368–1644) and Qing (1644–1912) until its abolition in 1905. Degrees such as xiucai, juren, and jinshi were earned in grueling triennial sittings at county, provincial, and metropolitan levels held in guarded compounds. The exam’s eight-legged essay format and literary classicism shaped official rhetoric and public careers. Bramah’s scholar-officials, literary strategists, and ceremonious disputations mirror that examination culture, while Kai Lung’s verbal prowess parodies a system where words could make or unmake fortunes.
Equally salient is the magistracy and the penal-administrative order codified in the Great Qing Code, first promulgated in 1646 and revised thereafter. The county magistrate, styled the father-mother official, presided over a yamen staffed by clerks and runners who managed filings, arrests, and punishments such as the cangue and bamboo beating. Legal reasoning combined statute, precedent, and ritual propriety; confession remained central to resolution. Bramah’s scenes of arraignment, gift-laden petitioning, and face-saving judgments echo late imperial procedural reality, from the yamen’s architecture and gate rituals to the performative language of indictments. The book renders the law’s theatricality and its dependence on literate mediation as a field in which a quick tongue may outpace a heavy hand.
Banditry and secret-society unrest form another historical substrate. The White Lotus Rebellion (1794–1804) in the Hubei–Sichuan–Shaanxi borderlands and the Nian movement (c. 1851–1868) in the Huai River region exposed the limits of county-level control and the prevalence of sworn brotherhoods, itinerant storytellers, and protective associations. Triad networks bridged commerce and resistance, while local militias rose to defend market towns and lineage estates. Bramah’s recurring outlaws, oath-bound companions, and ambiguous patrons reflect this world where legitimate and illegitimate authority coexisted and reputations traveled on the spoken word. The stories’ reliance on clever negotiation rather than open force mirrors strategies of survival in districts where the state’s reach was intermittent.
The Taiping Rebellion (1850–1864), led by Hong Xiuquan and styling itself the Heavenly Kingdom of Great Peace, seized Nanjing in 1853 and devastated the Yangtze heartland before suppression by provincial armies under Zeng Guofan and Li Hongzhang, aided by foreign officers such as Charles Gordon. With estimates of 20 to 30 million dead, it reordered elite power, empowered local gentry militias, and cemented a pragmatic, decentralized restoration. The trauma imprinted administrative caution and moralizing discourse in Qing governance. Bramah’s depictions of precarious order, moral casuistry, and opportunistic officialdom can be read against that legacy, transmitted to English readers through missionary memoirs and sinological histories that framed imperial China as both ceremonious and crisis-prone.
Foreign-imposed treaty-port structures after the Opium Wars reshaped China’s legal and commercial landscape. The First Opium War (1839–1842) led to the Treaty of Nanjing and the cession of Hong Kong; the Second (1856–1860) resulted in the Treaties of Tianjin and Beijing, opening additional ports, legalizing residence, and granting extraterritoriality. The Imperial Maritime Customs, headed by Sir Robert Hart from 1863 to 1911, standardized tariffs and statistics. Shanghai, Tianjin, and others became hubs where guilds, compradors, and consular courts intersected. Though Bramah largely excludes Europeans onstage, his emphasis on merchants, contracts, and procedural traps resonates with the treaty era’s hybrid jurisdictions and the fascination of his British audience with a highly regulated, rhetorically saturated commercial world.
Late Qing reform and xenophobic backlash formed the immediate background to publication. The Hundred Days’ Reform of 1898, driven by Emperor Guangxu with advisers Kang Youwei and Liang Qichao, sought institutional overhaul before Empress Dowager Cixi’s coup halted it on 21 September 1898. The Boxer Uprising (1899–1901), beginning in Shandong, culminated in the Beijing legation siege and the Eight-Nation Alliance’s intervention; the Boxer Protocol of 1901 imposed heavy indemnities and garrisons. The Sino-Japanese War (1894–1895) and the Treaty of Shimonoseki had already exposed Qing vulnerability, ceding Taiwan and conceding Korea’s independence. Bramah’s 1900 volume channels this contested moment: its wry fatalism about reform, ceremonious surface over brittle power, and reliance on persuasive speech reflect a polity negotiating humiliation and change.
By cloaking critique in parable, the book interrogates arbitrary authority, the commodification of justice, and the tyranny of credentialed eloquence. Magistrates are shown as guardians of order whose judgments pivot on form, face, and gifts, exposing class asymmetries embedded in the examination-bureaucratic nexus. Litigants survive by narrative agility rather than by rights, indicting a system where law serves status. The stories also gesture toward the late nineteenth-century crisis: the costs of defensive traditionalism, the fragility of public trust, and the opportunism bred by fiscal exactions and war indemnities. For Bramah’s contemporaries, this stylized China doubled as a mirror for British bureaucratic complacencies and imperial self-justifications, refracting social and political anxieties of the age.