Review of Kowloon Tong by Paul Theroux

In my 20s and 30s, as I traveled to different places in the world, a minor inspiration was Paul Theroux. I read his slapdash travelogues with an eye to the experiences he had—China, Australia, and other such places. But as with a lot of travel writing of such length, Theroux inevitably reverted to dialogue and embellishment—a style which enhances readability but likewise creates degrees of doubt regarding the actuality of his journeys. It wasn't until later I started reading Theroux's fiction. And what I find is a more confident voice, one more subtly lays bare the psyches of its main characters. The latest peeled mind I discovered is Kowloon Tong (1997).

Kowloon Tong is a few months in the life of Neville (aka Bunt) Mullard. The son of a textile factory owner in Hong Kong, he inherits the business after his father passes away. Though in his forties, Muller is still a child in many ways. Unmarried, he lives with, and obeys, his mother. His life is as routine as can be, seeking pleasures without responsibilities in this city's “chicken houses”, daily following a schedule like a schoolboy. But change is looming. After 100 years, Britain is about to give up control of Hong Kong and hand the peninsula back to Chinese. Existentially stuck in the middle between China and England, Mullard finds himself facing uncomfortable but necessary decisions as the handover draws nigh.

As seems Theroux's knack, Kowloon Tong is yet another novel in which the writer gets deep inside his main character's head through actions more than words. A real human created in the process, the reader feels a spectrum of emotions for Mullard—pity, frustration, disgust, and ultimately understanding. Theroux's talent is that he predominantly shows rather than tells this depth. Behavior louder than words, there is little stream-of-consciousness and more observation and conveyance. In doing so, Mullard becomes flawed clay, like all of us, in the reader's mind.

Having lived in China, I can voice an observance of my own, namely, that Therogx captures much of what I also observed of middle-aged British men living in the country, for example, an extreme reluctance to learn the language, and a loose skepticism of the culture. Many (not all) I knew were apart, despite being present in the country to perform a job or role. Mullard is precisely this. Part of the old British Guard in Hong Kong, he still lawn bowls, eats pickle sandwiches, and goes to the gentleman's club after work. And his social circle, what little there is, is almost entirely non-Chinese.

Thematically, there is the potential to read something larger, grander into Mullard's life—a symbol of British indolence at the end of the 20th century. Moreover, there may be something political to read into the handover of Hong Kong. But I don't think Theroux intended either, at least as the primary thrust. Kowloon Tong is a significantly more intimate novel. There are only a handful of characters, and the setting, apart from pushing change upon Mullard, doesn't fall directly under the microscope. Mullard's mother, for example, is a particularly nasty bit of work in her anti-Chinese mindset. But ultimately, she feels primarily representative of the Freudian issues Mullard experiences every day.

In the end, Kowloon Tong is yet another brilliant character study from Theroux. The reader turns the last page with the weight of Mullard still hovering in unpleasant, empathetic fashion. He is one of us, with all our faults, and yet distinctly Mullard, a man who is trying within his own world to get by as limited as his tool set can sometimes be. The setting of the novel, while ostensibly Hong Kong, is in fact the four characters who spend the most time under the spotlight. Their interaction and relations form the sway and bend of the book's environs, and Theroux renders them in full 3D. For readers who enjoy unique, effective character portraits, this is absolutely worth a read.