Reading Note: René Leys

Reading notes--René Leys: I took a flyer on René Leys because I wanted to fill in a piece of the puzzle over Imperial China and its encounter with the West; also because of a warm recommendation from Ian Buruma, who did not just fall off the turnip truck. In the end, I guess I’d have to concede that it was worth the effort, but I’d have to say also that it is one of the most irritating books I’ve read since I don’t know when.

The pitch-line is easily stated: bewildered westerner tries to fathom the mysteries of the Imperial City. His prism is the equally unfathomable René. The author (Victor Segalen) summarizes:

A young Belgian, son of a Belgian grocer (but of a pure-French mother—his insistence on this point is absolute) arrives in China before the age of puberty. He learns a language, known to be a difficult one. He finds his way into the Palace, known to be hermetically sealed. He becomes the chief of a secret organization, the friend of the Regent, the lover of the Dowager, and the only European adviser to the Empire of the “Son of Heaven” in the most critical moment of its entire existence since the first enthronement. (186)

“On the other hand,” Segalen continues, “his gifts:”

A peculiar aptitude for learning any language composed of imitated sounds, and for taking up any idea that is thrust upon or suggested to him … A fervency, an impulsiveness, a certain adolescent beauty, an obvious attractiveness to—and attraction for—women… (id.)

The reader will recognize that there is enough here for a ripping yarn, and Segalen shows good basic skills at manipulating narrative (though heaven knows how he would function without the exclamation point). The reader will also surmise that we are the emotional level of, shall we say, an X-rated episode of TinTin or Little Orphan Annie.

Buruma in his introduction makes a persuasive case for the book as a cultural artifact. Segalen was born in 1878; he spent time in China beginning in 1909 (the book is set in 1911, not incidentally overlapping the outbreak of the “accidental revolution” that brought an end to the Qing dynasty). He also spent time in Tahiti—an experience which, Buruma declares, “made him aware of the destruction of indigenous cultures by European colonialism.” (viii) Buruma says that Segalen was categorized as a colonial writer, like Pierre Loti. … What made Segalan different,” he continues,

Was his attempt to express the point of view of the colonized. He loathed the effect of missionaries and colonial administrators on non-Western cultures. He hated anything that flattened diversity. (viii)

I’d say that’s a fair cop: it appears true that he tries to retain the “otherness” of the other, and not just to project himself the way Loti would. But the whole point of the book is that Segalen doesn’t know very much about the Imperial City (in particular—nor, for aught it appears, about China in general). So what we are left with is a different sort of projection, but a projection nonetheless—how else would you treat the work of a writer who would imagine that the Imperial police could fall into the hands of an 18-year-old Belgian grocer’s son?

Fn: Fairness requires me to add that J. A. Cunningham, in a separate translator’s introduction, declares that Leys is no less than a fictional account of a real person—one Maurice Roy, whom Segalen is said to have known and employed as a tutor. I’ve got no basis for doubting that there was a Maurice Roy, or that Segalen knew him and (thought he) understood him. But Segalen’s imagined narrator himself cautions that he is an untrustworthy source; I am inclined to take him at his work.

Quotations from: Victor Segalen, René Leys (NYRB ed. 2003).