One of the most pleasing trends in the translation of pre-modern Chinese literature over recent years has been the appearance of renditions of a number of lesser-known works, broadening the variety of works available in English far beyond the most famous classics. Adding to this variety is this abridged translation of The Book of Swindles from Christopher Rea and Bruce Rusk, both associate professors of Chinese studies in the University of British Columbia.
The Book of Swindles, first published 400 years ago, in 1617, is a unique collection of tales from an obscure seventeenth-century writer named Zhang Yingyu. As the title suggests, it is a themed work, containing 84 brief tales (44 are translated here) of deception and fraud. Each tale is followed by a comment from Zhang Yingyu which analyses the incident and may suggest possible defensive measures or moral lessons. Some comments express plain admiration for the ingenuity of the criminals. Its original title was A New Book for Foiling Swindles, Based on Worldly Experience, reflecting its claim to serve as a handbook for the unwary: by describing the mind-boggling range of scams and swindles found in Ming China, the reader would not fall victim to them. As the translators have observed, however, the work could serve equally as a manual for crooks to consult before swindling others.
At the time the book was published, a claim of practical and moral purpose, whether such a purpose existed or not, was a virtual necessity for any work liable to be suspected of frivolity. An equally important purpose of the work was as a source of entertainment: the practical cautionary function of lurid episodes such as “A eunuch cooks boys to make a tonic of male essence” and “Eating human foetuses to fake fasting” was hopefully rather limited. The tales are recounted in a style familiar from the Chinese court case fiction tradition, in which the identity of criminals and their victims are made clear at the beginning and the interest of the tale lies in finding out not “who” commits the crime but “how” they commit it. The scenarios and character types found in the tales are also familiar from genres such as vernacular fiction, anecdotes, and literary fiction.
The scams themselves reflect the complex, corrupt, and cut-throat world of late Ming commerce and officialdom, and are as varied as the society that produced them. Together, they form a series of vignettes of everyday life in the late Ming period. Towards the humbler end of the spectrum, a crook stops a peddler taking some piglets to market and asks to see one. He deliberately lets it run off and chases it away; the pedlar also runs after the piglet, leaving the crook free to take another from the cage. Finally, the crook releases the final two piglets so that the pedlar has no time to chase him. A more sophisticated scam requires the collaboration of an unemployed scholar. He writes a letter purporting to be from a famous teacher and delivers it to the family of a scholar who is away in the capital taking the examination. The letter claims that the teacher had a divine dream that can only mean that their son is destined to win the coveted top spot in the examinations next year, but to keep this news secret. Similar letters are delivered to each family in the area with a son taking the examinations. As each family is so delighted to hear the news, they tip the messenger handsomely, leaving the crooks with a healthy profit. Zhang dryly observes that this swindle is so ingenious that if they tried it again the families would still be happy to give out a tip. In the universe constructed by the book, swindlers are omnipresent, permeating all sectors of society. They are very often left anonymous and faceless; they appear as a natural hazard of the late Ming landscape, waiting to trip up the unwary. In a reflection of this, Zhang's commentaries spend more time criticizing the vanity, foolishness, and naivety of the victims than the wrongdoing of the crooks themselves.
The simple plot-driven entertainment value of the tales is readily apparent in this translation, executed in a clear, largely unobtrusive, and colloquial modern style which does much to bring the world of late Ming China towards the contemporary English language reader. It can be difficult to reconcile the often-competing demands of specialist and casual readers, but the translators use their notes to attempt to cater to both. Some explain allusions, place names, and Ming cultural practices relevant to the plots, helping those new to the late Ming context of the tales; others are oriented towards researchers, giving some transparency on translation process and providing background on possible sources that Zhang drew upon. The orientation towards readers not already familiar with the period is particularly welcome, given the appeal of the subject matter and its contemporary echoes in our own age of phishing scams and Nigerian princes.
The Book of Swindles is at once an entertaining and readable introduction to late Ming society, a good resource for further research, and a timely reminder of some of the less savoury connections between the past and our own time.
