The Blue-Eyed Shan by Stephen Becker

First published in 1982; published digitally by Open Road Media on January 12, 2016

The Blue-Eyed Shan is the last and most pessimistic novel in Stephen Becker's Far East Trilogy, and for that reason it is probably the most realistic. It embodies the “anything that can go wrong, will” philosophy, telling a story in which neither good intentions nor bad intentions have any bearing on the outcome, which seems fated and beyond the control of all earthy intentions.

Greenwood is a Harvard-educated American who has yellow hair and blue eyes, but he speaks Shan and has a daughter in Pawlu. Greenwood was trained as an anthropologist, chasing old bones in Burma, where he happily lived as a Shan before the war. Learning that the Japanese had invaded Burma and attacked America, Greenwood decided to join the American army and fight for his homeland. And that he did, sort of, without leaving Burma.

Greenwood’s army tale is told as a backstory. As a reader would expect of Stephen Becker, it is an amusing backstory that establishes Greenwood’s character, warts and all. In the present, as the novel starts, Greenwood is back in Burma at the request of Yang, the Chinese general he befriended during the war.

Meanwhile, about a hundred soldiers in the Chinese army, the remnants of a much larger force, are on their way to Pawlu, under the command of General Yang. One of the soldiers, Colonel Olevskoy, is Russian. He would prefer to be going to Hanoi, where people speak French and drink decent wine, but Yang has a plan and a couple of mysterious chests. What sort of treasure might they contain?

The Shan in Pawlu are guided by the Sawbwa, who is disappointed that they must kill so many bandits to protect their village.On the other hand, he doesn’t so much mind killing the Wild Wa, because they would gladly kill the Shan if they had the numbers to do it. The Sawbwa would like the Shan to follow the teachings of Buddha, but he has an obligation to keep his people safe. He delegates that task to Naung, the First Rifle, who sees killing bandits as a way to maintain Pawlu’s supply of ammunition — while adding whatever weapons the bandits might be carrying to their stockpile.

The plot eventually brings together Greenwood, General Yang, Colonel Olevskoy, the Shan of Pawlu, and the Wild Wu. It is something of a nightmare for everyone. The ending is a true surprise, but not one that will appeal to fans of the happily ever after.

The anthropologist in Greenwood can’t resist discussing the cultural differences of various tribes. He searches for wisdom and imparts some of it to the reader, to the extent that differing values tell us what is common about the human condition. There are other bits of wisdom laced throughout the novel, and the characters are finely drawn, but the story isn’t as substantial (or as fun) as the first two novels in the trilogy. It’s certainly worth reading for the sense it creates of postwar Burma and for Becker’s remarkable prose, but it doesn’t quite stand up to The Chinese Bandit or The Last Mandarin.

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The Far East Trilogy by Stephen Becker

Published by Open Road Media on October 25, 2016

The literary adventure novel is something of a rarity. Treasure Island, Robinson Crusoe, and The Three Musketeers are still popular, although more commonly found in dumbed-down children’s versions. Modern writers with literary aspirations seem to prefer thrillers or horror novels or war stories to get the blood racing, although Carol Birch’s Jamrach's Menagerie proves that writers in the current century can still turn out an adventure masterpiece.

A master of the literary adventure novel in the second half of the last century was Stephen Becker. The three novels in the Far East Trilogy do not share common characters, but they are each set in roughly the same post-World War II time frame, and they all feature an adventurous American making his way in an ancient culture that he respects and admires — even when, as is inevitably the case, someone is trying to kill him.

The Chinese Bandit (1975) features Jake Dodd, who distinguished himself fighting the Japanese but ends his military career in 1947 after punching a general. He begins a dangerous journey from Peking to Turkestan, often accompanied by roving Chinese bandits. Like the other novels in the trilogy, unusual friendships play a strong role, illustrating the point that friendship does not depend on similar cultures or ideologies. It also illustrates the point (made repeatedly in the trilogy), that it is better to forgive your enemies than to hate them forever.

The Last Mandarin (1979) is the best of the trilogy and one of the finest adventure novels I’ve read. The protagonist is an American named Burnham who retires from the military and undertakes a secret mission to find a Japanese war criminal who was a central figure in the Rape of Nanking. The Japanese warrior is believed to be hiding in Peking, a place that Burnham cherishes. The novel is a perfect blend of humor and drama and humanity as Burnham confronts a moral dilemma while deciding upon the kind of life he wants to live.

The Blue-Eyed Shan (1982) is more pessimistic than the other two. Its protagonist is an anthropologist named Greenwood who lived in Burma among the Shan until he joined the war effort to defeat the Japanese. He returns to the daughter he left behind on an archeological mission at the request of a Chinese general he befriended during the war. The novel’s ending is bleak despite the humor that seasons the story, but as is true of all Becker’s work, the novel is beautifully written. The wonderfully detailed atmosphere and the mix of characters, including a Russian, the Chinese general, and a mixture of Burmese tribal members, are perfectly constructed.

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The Last Mandarin by Stephen Becker

First published in 1979; published digitally by Open Road Media on January 12, 2016

Stephen Becker combined the elegant prose of a literary author with the storytelling of a genre master. Nowhere are those gifts more evident than in the novels that comprise the Far East Trilogy. The Last Mandarin is the second novel in that series. It is a wonderful collision of east and west, showcasing cultural differences and universal verities. An adventure story told with literary flair, The Last Mandarin mixes humor and drama, romance and war, honorable rogues and disreputable heroes.

In 1949, the Nationalists are fighting the Communists and the poor are dying on the streets of Peking. Burnham, retired from the American military, is hired to bring death to a Japanese war criminal named Kanamori Shoichi. But the true nature of his mission is concealed, even from him.

Burnham encountered Kanamori during the Rape of Nanking in 1937. His memories give him a personal stake in his mission. His quest takes him all around Peking, to beggars and bars, to the police and gangsters, to prostitutes and pillars of Chinese society. Given a choice, Burnham prefers prostitutes and ricksha drivers to the more hypocritical members of society. A thread of decency runs through all of Becker’s novels, and Burnham, while far from perfect, is a decent man.

Mixed in with Burnham’s pursuit are flashback chapters that explain Kanamori’s role in the Japanese military, both as a warrior and then as Japan’s emissary to the Chinese drug trade. I can’t say that Kanamori is a sympathetic character (at least initially), but Becker makes it possible to understand how Kanamori perceived his life and the lives of those who surrounded him. Enjoying the benefits of corruption while the war is going tolerably well for the Japanese, Kanamori fancies himself the last mandarin, but we know that the war did not end well for his side. Kanamori is a complex figure, torn between two countries and a betrayer of both, soulless yet plagued by demons.

The dialog in The Last Mandarin is rich with metaphor and misdirection. “Probably there are more ways not to answer a question in Chinese than in any other tongue” and Burnham employs them all. The dialog is also rich with humor (“I am always thirsty after being beaten about the head”). Becker pays tribute to the elegance of Chinese language and to China’s remarkable history, culture, and artistic achievements, but never turns a blind eye to the corruption and political unrest that has for so long troubled the nation. The novel’s atmosphere is utterly convincing.

Some images in The Last Mandarin, particularly Becker’s description of the atrocities committed by the Japanese in Nanking, are disturbing, although the images are less disturbing than the reality they describe. Some erotic images, particularly Becker’s description of a night that Burnham spends with a prostitute, will only be offensive to those who are offended by joy and love.

All good novels pose a moral dilemma. Burnham’s is what to do with Kanamori if he finds him. The choice is not as easy or obvious as it first appears. Letting go of a painful past is never easy but sometimes necessary, and justice can take many forms. The great lesson of The Last Mandarin is this: You never know what benefit might come from making a new friend of an old enemy.

Like many fine novels, The Last Mandarin includes a love story. It is romantic because it eschews all pretense of romance. In Burnham’s world, love is what we salvage from horror. In the end, the best we can hope for is to “find our lovers, bake our bread and watch the sunset in peace.” And the best thing we can do for the world is to help make love possible.

The Last Mandarin is a masterful mix of adventure, humor, drama, tragedy, philosophy, history, romance, and atmosphere. Stephen Becker is one of America’s great uncelebrated novelists and The Last Mandarin is a prime example of how much fun readers can have if they take the time to find his work.

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The Chinese Bandit by Stephen Becker

First published in 1975; published by Open Road Media on January 12, 2016

The Chinese Bandit is a classic adventure story. The title is misleading because many of the characters are bandits at heart. Traders and military officers are as likely to engage in a form of banditry as actual bandits -- which makes the bandits, in an odd way, more honest than the traders and officers. The title ironically refers to Jake Dodds, who isn’t Chinese and is no more of a bandit than most of the other characters.

The Chinese Bandit begins in the summer of 1947. As a Marine with twelve years of service, including a Purple Heart that he earned in Japan, Dodds has a mixed military record. Alcohol, brawling, and petty theft impaired his opportunity for career advancement, not that he particularly wanted to rise in the ranks. But now he’s in China, the war is over, and he’s made some money by arranging for Chinese buyers to steal supplies from a military truck. His colonel wants him to reenlist but that option becomes less attractive after Jake punches a general. Thus does Jake begin a new career, most of which is devoted to the avoidance of death.

With a little help from his Chinese friends, Jake leaves Peking. He hopes to make it to Turkestan, “where peaches, plums and melons grew, and men had four wives, and a foreigner could grow rich in gold and silver and mountain furs.” For the first leg of the journey, however, he must work as a camel-puller on a dangerous trek to Mongolia. Through unhappy circumstances, he later finds himself traveling with a roving group of bandits, conquering each day as it comes.

The literary themes of conflict -- man against man, against nature, and against himself -- weave together as Jake struggles with bandits, with the barren lands, and with his conscience. Low-key humor is infused in the story, partially in the form of Dodds’ irreverence, partially due to Stephen Becker’s dry wit. I particularly enjoyed the English translations of the characters’ creative Chinese cursing (favorites include “Dogs defile your great-grandmothers, all four of the chicken-defiling bags of dung” and “Bugger your mother and your father and all ancestors to the original generation of maggots”).

Yet there are also some poignant moments, revealing human behavior in the stark way that is common to westerns. Another section of the novel celebrates the joy of life, joy that can be found (or might best be found) in the most unexpected places. Friends can also be found in strange places and under odd circumstances, particularly if one is able to forgive old enemies. In fact, the story is one of personal transformation for Jake, as he discovers who he is and who he can become. But the will to change is one thing; the ability to overcome destiny is quite another.

In short, The Chinese Bandit is a rousing adventure story with depth, humor, and strong characters who engage in moral struggles. Becker is one of the underappreciated authors of the second half of the twentieth century. Works like The Chinese Bandit and A Covenant with Death allow Becker’s humility, honesty, and humanity to shine from his grave.

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A Covenant with Death by Stephen Becker

First published in 1964; published by Open Road Media on January 12, 2016

A Covenant with Death stands as one of the finest fictional explorations of the nature of justice in the history of American literature. It is a passionate story of justice gone wrong, a reminder of the consequences that follow when people are too eager (as they often are) to sit in judgment.

The covenant in the title is that between government and the governed. The governed consent to be bound by the law; the government agrees to impose the law justly. A Covenant with Death is the story of a judge who must decide how to act when the covenant is broken by both the government and the governed.

Louise Talbot was murdered in Soledad City in 1923. Forty years later, Old Judge Lewis, who was then Young Judge Lewis, provides the voice that explains the events that followed her death. Ben Lewis is an entertaining narrator who peppers the story with recollections of the town’s hypocrisies, conflicts, and idiosyncrasies. Lewis has an insightful mother of Mexican heritage and employs a Native American clerk, none of which seems to trouble town residents as much as it does outsiders, particularly outsiders who want to enforce Prohibition, an effort that Judge Lewis does his best to thwart.

Louise’s husband Bryan is indicted for her murder on scant but scandalous evidence. Without wasting time, Stephen Becker moves the novel to Bryan Talbot’s trial. “All the normal hostilities of an American town” come to a halt as town residents focus their hostility on Talbot. He is the common enemy who brings solidarity to the town and makes everyone feel virtuous by comparison.

Theatrics are often my favorite part of a courtroom drama, and Talbot’s defense attorney, a sly man named Parmalee, is a master showman. But trial scenes appear only in the novel’s first half, surrounded by Lewis’ attempts to understand his feelings for a woman named Rosemary and for another named Rafaela. Since his feelings are dominated by lust, they are not difficult to understand, but whether they might also involve love, or why they do not, and whether Lewis is careless with the affections of both women, are more perplexing questions.

The last half of the novel, the half that gives the novel its heart, begins in the aftermath of the trial. It begins with a shock, followed by another. If forces young Judge Lewis to make the most difficult decision of his career, a decision for which the law provides no clear guidance. He must look elsewhere to make a decision, beginning with himself, because “if you have to judge, judge yourself first.”

A Covenant with Death might be described as a parable of judging. What does it mean to sit in judgment of another person? How does a judge do that? How can the law and justice be balanced when they are not entirely aligned? Many novels have tried to answer those questions, but few have done so as successfully as A Covenant with Death.

Elegant prose makes A Covenant with Death stand out in the crowded world of courtroom thrillers. Lewis describes Soledad City, a southwestern town of “oily modernity” with a “gritty past,” in sufficient detail to give it life. His running commentary on “human foolishness” is amusing; his condemnation of people who do not have “the heart to walk naked on a sunny day” is wise; and his humane understanding of the difference between law and justice is inspiring.

Lewis is a good man who recognizes his faults and understands the need for humility. He is a good man whose behavior is not always exemplary but he knows that and struggles to be a better man. He knows that the law is made by full bellies, but that the world is crowded with empty bellies, “each with its pair of beseeching hands and pleading eyes.” If real judges all shared the humane values and deep understanding of the human condition that drive the fictional Judge Lewis, our judicial system would more consistently serve the needs of the governed.

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