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PHILIP HUYSE: Die dreisprachige Inschrift Šabuhrs I. an der Kaba-i

Zardust (ŠKZ). (Corpus Inscriptionum Iranicarum, Pt. III) 2 vols. London:
School of Oriental and African Studies, 1999.

SAMUEL N. C. LIEU

Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies / Volume 65 / Issue 01 / February 2002, pp 140 - 262
DOI: 10.1017/S0041977X02370071, Published online: 03 July 2002

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SAMUEL N. C. LIEU (2002). Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, 65, pp 140-262 doi:10.1017/
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REVIEWS

    

 :
Between Bible and Qur'an: the Children of Israel and the Islamic
self-image.
(Studies in Late Antiquity and Early Islam, 17.) xiii, 318 pp.
Princeton: The Darwin Press, 1999. $29.95.

Rubin tackles the fascinating and crucial issue of the development of the
Islamic self-image and perception of world history in the first few centuries of
Islam. He does so by examining that self-image in relation to monotheistic
groups that preceded Muslims, generally designated as the ‘Children of
Israel’, ‘Jews’, ‘Christians’, ‘those who were before you’, etc. His sources
are extensive and drawn from various types of h1 adı:ths: Sunni and Shii; legal,
exegetical and historiographical; sound (s1ah1 :ıh1 ) and unsound. The isna: ds are
not examined for authenticity, but general regions in which the h1 adı:ths were
first circulated. Although Rubin examines these sources from a literary point
of view and makes no attempt to determine the historicity of the events
described in them, they are placed within the chronology of the development
of the Islamic self-image.
Rubin argues that the history of Muh1 ammad was produced under the
impact of later events, particularly the great conquests outside Arabia, and so
the first stages of development of Islamic historical perception should begin
with the events outside Arabia. Hence, chapters i and ii begin by examining
traditions from the period of the Arab conquest of Syria which reflect the
apologetic needs of the conquerors. Through traditions by Ka"b al-Ah1 ba: r, a
Jewish convert to Islam, an Arab-Jewish messianism is created that provides
divine legitimization for the Islamic conquest. The early Islamic histori-
ographers saw the conquest as fulfilment of a divine promise given in the
Torah and as a renewed version of the Israelite conquest of Canaan. The
messianic theme of the Lost Tribes of Israel, who in these h1 adı:ths fight
alongside Muslims in an eschatological battle for Constantinople, further
demonstrates that Jews and Arabs shared a divine mission to drive out the
Byzantines from the Holy Land. Chapter ii examines h1 adı:ths that demonstrate
reactions against this focus on Syria and the Promised Land at the expense
of Arabia. The Jewish-Arab messianism was redirected so as to elevate the
H1 ija: z to the rank of the Promised Land. This was done, for example, by
making the Ka"ba a destination of pilgrimage for the prophets before
Muh1 ammad and by linking the Lost Tribes to Arabia.
Chapters iii to v explore the more familiar depiction of the Children of
Israel in early Islamic literature. No longer are they righteous believers.
Instead, because of their sinfulness, they are inferior to the righteous Arabs.
Chapter iii shows how various sins of the Children of Israel already delineated
in the Qur'an (such as the unwillingness of the Israelite spies sent by Moses
to fight for the Promised Land) are used to contrast with devout Muslims
who are ready to follow Muh1 ammad into any battle. Similarly, chapter iv
examines traditions about the Children of Israel's refusal to say h1 it1t1a (derived
 141

from the biblical story of shibboleth according to Rubin), which in the Quran
is seen as an act of deliberate disobedience and rejection of God's mercy.
Once again, Muslims (with Muh1 ammad on the way to al-H 1 udaybiyya)
demonstrate their superiority by making the required statement. Chapter v
shows that the Children of Israel have been replaced by Arab believers as
God's chosen people because of the latter's virtues and the former's worship
of the golden calf.
In chapters vi to x yet another stage of development in the Islamic self-
image is highlighted. Now the sins of the Children of Israel are shared by
Muslims. Chapter vi discusses the firaq tradition—that is, Muslims share with
other communities the sin of schism and civil war. Those groups singled out
for these anti-heretical messages include the Khawa: rij, Qadarı:s and Shiis. The
danger to the Islamic self-image is that of assimilation. The parallels include
the number of sects (70 to 72). Chapter vii expands the parallels; disputes
about the Bible and Quran are the origins of division among Jews and
Muslims, respectively. Again the danger is assimilation, since heretics represent
Jewish and Christian models of schism. This danger is more explicitly stated
in the sunna statement examined in Chapter viii. The Prophet states that the
Muslims are destined to follow the evil example of those before them. Sunni
versions of this tradition attack the Shiis or Qadarı:s, while Shii versions
attack Sunnis with this charge. Chapter ix discusses the halaka statement,
which states that the Muslim community will perish. Because they committed
the same sins, they will suffer the same punishments as the communities that
preceded them. The sins include schism and division over the Quran, civil
wars, denying qadar, impertinent inquiries, writing down h1 adı:ths, and so on.
The halaka statement did not usually specify the nature of the shared
punishment. However, in chapter x traditions name the eschatological calamity
as the metamorphosis of Muslim sinners into apes and pigs—a punishment
inflicted on the People of the Book according to Quran 5:60. This punishment
was again directed primarily at heretics.
Rubin has shown that the image of the Children of Israel and the Islamic
self-image each went through three major stages. The former went from being
described as a righteous community to a sinful one; ultimately, they became
the very symbol of deviation. The latter went from being God's new chosen
community, but equal with Jews and Christians, to being superior to them.
However, later divisions restored the equality: Muslims were guilty of the
same sins, and so were to suffer the same punishments. These changes are
parallelled by a shift from the use of the Bible as a source of vocabulary and
ideas to the Quran as the sole source of information.
Rubin has superbly shown the development of the Islamic self-image and
its intimate relation to the depiction of the Children of Israel. He has done
so, however, by selecting traditions and fitting them into his chronology,
which may be problematic. For example, Ka"b al-Ah1 ba: r is the locus of
traditions which appear at different stages of development of the Islamic self-
image. Without dating these traditions in the manner of Schacht, Juynboll,
Schoeler, and others, one cannot be certain that those which speak of the
righteousness of the Children of Israel actually predate those speaking of their
sinfulness. Rubin addresses this issue in detail only in the last two pages of
his conclusion. Instead of relying on dating, ‘one ought to rely on external
considerations that will make sense’. Therefore, he begins with traditions that
contain a ‘massive Biblical presence’. Because Islam was influenced by
Judaism and Christianity and the Quran could become a source only when it
became widely available—which it did not until at least early Umayyad
142 

times—Rubin concludes that ‘it is feasible to assume that Jewish and

Christian models of sacred history preceded Qur'a: nic ones in Islamic
tradition’. It also seems reasonable that the need for legitimization was
replaced by self-satisfaction, which in turn is replaced with disillusionment
and fear of assimilation. While I agree that his external considerations make
sense, others might argue that they do not. Thus, if there is a weakness in
this excellent study, it is that Rubin did not expand on this critical and
tantalizing section of his argument.
 

 . :
Early Shı:"ı: thought: the teachings of Imam Muh1 ammad al-Ba: qir.
xv, 192 pp. London and New York: I. B. Tauris in association with
The Institute of Ismaili Studies, 2000. £25.
This timely study, based on the author's doctoral dissertation, is the first
book-length examination in English of the life and thought of Muh1 ammad
al-Ba: qir, the fifth Imam of the Twelver Shia. It opens with two chapters
offering a useful survey of the major events of early Shii history. Chapter iii
deals with al-Ba: qir's biography, emphasizing his relationship with various Shii
groups such as the Kaysa: niyya, the Ja: ru: diyya or those later known as Ghula: t.
This chapter includes some interesting observations; for example, the author
suggests that the epithet ‘al-Ba: qir’ (short for ba: qir al-"ilm, ‘the one who splits
knowledge open’ or ‘the one who possesses great knowledge’) was already in
use during the Imam's lifetime. She also adduces convincing evidence that, at
least within his own circle, al-Ba: qir was recognized as an Imam while he was
still alive (pp. 44–5). At the end of the chapter Lalani reviews the conflicting
reports about al-Ba: qir's death date (the earliest date cited being 114/732 and
the latest 125/743) and concludes that this remains an open question (p. 57).
To her observations it might be added that according to the renowned Imami
scholar Ibn Ba: bawayh (d. 381/991), al-Ba: qir was poisoned during the brief
reign of Ibra: hı:m b. al-Walı:d (r. 126f./744) (Ibn Ba: bawayh, Risa: la fi 'l-i"tiqa: da: t
(Tehran, 1317/1900), p. 105=A Shı:"ite creed, tr. Asaf A.A. Fyzee (Oxford,
1942), p. 102). A possible explanation for this late death date is that it
originally referred to al-Ba: qir's namesake Muh1 ammad b. "Alı: b. "Abd Alla: h
b. "Abba: s (d. between 124/741f. and 126/743f.) and was then mistakenly
applied to al-Ba: qir.
The next chapter depicts al-Ba: qir's views on the imamate and also deals
more generally with some of the major disagreements on this issue between
Sunnis and Shiis. The author's analysis of these disagreements at times leads
her to lend greater credence to the Shii point of view (as in her discussion of
the Ghadı:r Khumm tradition, pp. 70–73). Chapter v discusses al-Ba: qir's views
on some theological issues, including God's unity, predestination, and the
distinction between :ıma: n (faith) and isla: m. It is followed by a chapter devoted
to al-Ba: qir's position in traditionist circles, both Shii and non-Shii. The
seventh and final chapter comprises al-Ba: qir's contribution to Shii juris-
prudence. Lalani shows that in addition to playing a major role in the growth
of Ima: mı: law, much of Zaydi and Ismaili fiqh also derived from him.
The author is well aware of the problem of telling reliable reports from
unreliable ones (cf. e.g. pp. 27 (‘if these reports are genuine statements of
words spoken about "Alı:’), 40 (‘whether or not the traditions about [al-Ba: qir's]
 143

title are authentic’)). At times she is content with general statements, for
example that while not every legal pronouncement ascribed to al-Ba: qir may
be authentic, it would be wrong to dismiss the entire corpus as fictitious
(p. 117; cf. p. 19). At the end of chapter v she goes further by observing that
even though our information on the Imam's theological ideas derived from
texts compiled long after his death, these texts can be taken to reflect his
views because ‘theological language which is identifiably later than his own is
never attributed to him, nor are theological views that are clearly different
from those of his time’ (p. 95). A more prudent formulation would be that
these texts reflect the views of early Shii circles around al-Ba: qir, even if they
cannot always be shown to have been held by the Imam himself.
The book contains a number of inaccuracies. One is the statement that it
is not usual for al-T1 abarı: (in his Ja: mi" al-baya: n) to express his own views on
the correct interpretation of particular quranic words or passages (p. 63); the
opposite is in fact true. Another is the claim (p. 9) that the Murji'a denied the
duty of commanding right and forbidding wrong; their position on this duty
is not known (cf. Michael Cook, Commanding right and forbidding wrong in
Islamic thought (Cambridge, 2000), p. 308; P. Crone and F. W. Zimmermann,
The epistle of Sa: lim ibn Dhakwa: n (Oxford, 2000), p. 236). The correct death
dates for Abu: 'l-Qa: sim al-Balkhı: and Abu: Nu"aym al-Is1faha: nı: are, respectively,
319/931 and 430/1038 (cf. p. 138 n. 21 and p. 101). Al-T1 abrisı: 's Majma"
al-baya: n is consistently rendered as Majmu: " al-baya: n, while the Banu: Sa: "ida
appear as ‘Banu: Sa"a: da’ (p. 3). There are also quite a few errors of
transliteration. Some passages are not really relevant. It is thus not clear how
the discussion of the term qunu: t (pp. 124–5) or of the views on "is1ma of
al-Qa: d1 :ı al-Nu"ma: n and later Ismaili authors (p. 82) advances our understand-
ing of al-Ba: qir's position on these issues.
There is a good bibliography, though one would have welcomed the
inclusion of al-S1 affa: r al-Qummı: 's Bas1a: 'ir al-daraja: t, the importance of which
is recognized by the author (p. 15). Since most of the manuscripts cited are
also available in print, it would have been helpful to refer to the printed
editions.
Despite these criticisms, the author is to be commended for presenting a
balanced picture of one of the most central figures of early Shiism.
 

 :
Ismaili and other Arabic manuscripts: a descriptive catalogue of
manuscripts in the Library of the Institute of Ismaili Studies.
xviii, 170 pp. London and New York: I. B. Tauris, in association
with The Institute of Ismaili Studies, London, 2000. £39.50.

  and  .  (ed. and trans.):

The advent of the Fatimids: a contemporary Shi"i witness: an edition
and translation of Ibn-al-Haytham's Kita: b al-Muna: z1 ara: t.
(The Institute of Ismaili Studies, Ismaili Texts and Translations
Series, 1.) xiv, 192 pp. (trans.), 134 pp. (text). London and New
York: I. B. Tauris, in association with The Institute of Ismaili
Studies, London, 2000. £29.50.
144 

 :
The Fatimids and their traditions of learning.
(The Institute of Ismaili Studies, Ismaili Heritage Series, 2.) xv,
112 pp. London and New York: I. B. Tauris, in association with The
Institute of Ismaili Studies, London, 1997.
The Institute of Ismaili Studies in London has, over the past decades, set on
foot a programme of publications relating to Ismailism, which bids fair to
rescue Ismailism from the margins of Islamic scholarship to which it has been
consigned by its failure in the Fatimid period to establish a hold over the
mainstream of Islam, whether Sunni or Shiite. It is a programme supported
by a major library, which includes an important manuscript collection. A
two-volume catalogue of this collection was published in 1984 and 1985;
manuscripts subsequently acquired have now been catalogued by Delia
Cortese to the number of 188. Of these, some are copies of the same texts,
but twenty-seven are collections, considerably increasing the actual number of
works. Some are by non-Ismaili authors, but in any case they are for the
most part of T1 ayyibı: Ismaili origin in India, and largely of twentieth-century
date; a few are Syrian Niza: rı:. They point to the much greater quantity of
material which is still not in the public domain; and while there may be few
surprises, suggest what may yet be found. Just as importantly, they point to
the scholarly industry and thus the intellectual history of modern Ismaili
communities prior to or simultaneously with the growth of Ismaili studies in
the Western tradition of scholarship since the 1930s. In that tradition,
Poonawala's Biobibliography of Isma: "ı:lı: literature forms an indispensable work
of reference; and it is good that Cortese has adopted the same approach,
making this catalogue a supplement to his work as well as Gacek's.
Not all surprises depend on fresh discoveries of lost works. In the
Institute's original collection are two copies of the work now edited and
translated by Paul E. Walker and Wilferd Madelung, the Kita: b al-muna: z1 ara: t
or Book of Discussions by Ibn al-Haytham (not to be confused with the
celebrated scientist Ibn al-Haytham in Fatimid Egypt in the following century).
As Walker explains in his acknowledgements, its contents had remained
unsuspected until he took a second look. And indeed it is a fascinating text,
at its historical as well as its face value: for its ba: t1in, as it were, as well as its
z1 a: hir. It is an account of long conversations held by the author with Abu:
"Abd Allah, the Da: "ı: who brought the Fatimid Mahdi to power in Ifrı:qiya,
from his arrival in the royal city of Raqqa: da at the end of March 909 to his
departure for Sijilma: sa on 6 June, and then with his brother and deputy Abu: '
l-"Abba: s until the arrival of the Mahdi himself at the very beginning of 910.
These conversations are primarily theological, concerned with proofs of the
Imamate. They contain, however, Ibn al-Haytham's account of himself to the
Da: "ı: as a Shiite within the H 1 anafite circles of Qayrawa: n. This serves to situate
the discussion in the Ifrı:qiyan context before the narrative turns to stories of
the justice of Abu: 'l-"Abba: s as governor on behalf of his brother, and
concludes with an account of the arrival of the Mahdi and the excellence of
his Qa: d1 :ı, Aflah1 ibn Ha: ru: n. There is no mention at all of the killing of Abu:
"Abd Allah and his brother for treason in 911. Instead, a possible mention of
the rebellion that followed their death becomes a lament for the disasters
from which ‘we’ have now been delivered by ‘the son of the Imam’—a
reference to the great rebellion of Abu: Yazı:d, 945–7, and his defeat by the
new Imam Caliph, Isma: "ı:l al-Mans1u: r. This brings the narrative back to the
 145

beginning, where Ibn al-Haytham declares that he is writing in response to an

invitation from a superior to recall the past in this way.
That the gist of the account was the proof of the Imamate supplied in the
course of the conversations it records, is apparent from the source of the text.
The Kita: b al-Muna: z1 ara: t has survived, in fact, as a long quotation abstracted
from the Kita: b al-azha: r of the sixteenth-century writer H 1 asan ibn Nu: h1
al-Bharu: chı: (cf. Cortese, p. 9), who included the work for this very reason. It
takes us back to the origins of the dynasty in the messianism of the late ninth
century, which brought the Mahdi to power, but obliged him to justify his
claim to the Imamate and Caliphate; to the representation, in other words, of
God on earth. The obligation, we may think, lay behind the composition of
this work, although not unproblematically. The ‘contemporary Shii witness’
of the subtitle to The advent of the Fatimids turns out to be highly retrospective.
Written in praise of the Da: "ı: and his brother by one of their adherents, thirty-
five years after they had been done to death for denying the Imamate of the
Mahdi, it can hardly have been an innocent contribution to the delicate
subject of the Mahdi's identity, and his resurrection of the Imamate in the
line of "Alı:. For one thing, it is in the first place self-serving, a proof of Ibn
al-Haytham's own credentials. The conversations he reports, in the form of
questions and answers bandied about between himself and his two interloc-
utors, are brilliant displays of scriptural quotation, exegesis and philosophical
analogy, through which the author demonstrates his own knowledge and
expertise, is instructed in the higher lore of the Imamate, and gains acceptance
into the upper echelons of the new regime. How long he stayed there after
the downfall of the brothers is another matter. He may have become a protégé
of the Qa: d1 :ı Aflah1 ibn Ha: ru: n; on his own admission he went as a da: "ı: to
al-Andalus, and subsequently to Ta: hart on the western borders of the Mahdi's
domain, where he seems to have fallen from grace; Halm thinks that he may
have written the biography of the Mahdi. The impression is of one whose
career had been checked by association with Abu: "Abd Allah and his brother,
but who had been called upon at the beginning of a new reign to represent
these unfortunate outcasts in a newly favourable light. The question, of
course, is why.
The answer is perhaps to be found on pp. 55–6 of the text, p. 107 of the
translation, where Ibn al-Haytham is emboldened to ask Abu: "Abd Allah for
the name of the Imam, still secret despite the imminent appearance of the
Mahdi. The Da: "ı:, for once, is hesitant, giving the name of Muh1 ammad ibn
Isma: "ı:l ibn Ja"far. He is aware that it would be a miracle if he were still alive
at the age of around 150, but explains away the prophecy that the Mahdi
would bear the name of the Prophet with the contention that Isma: "ı:l, the son
of Abraham, had taken the place of "Abd Allah as the ultimate rather than
the proximate father of the Messenger of God. For once, again, Ibn
al-Haytham affirms a contrary opinion, that the name of Muh1 ammad ibn
Isma: "ı:l is a cover for another, the one yet to come. This is precisely the
explanation that the Mahdi himself gave for the name of Muh1 ammad ibn
Isma: "ı:l when he himself claimed descent from "Abd Allah, the eldest son of
Ja"far al-S1 a: diq, and by choosing the name "Abd Allah for himself, ensured
that his son Muh1 ammad would indeed bear the familiar name of the Prophet.
Ibn al-Haytham was thus clearly on the right side as far as the dynasty was
concerned, while Abu: "Abd Allah was equally clearly in the wrong. It seems
likely that it was precisely such a disagreement over the identity of the Mahdi
that provoked the killing of the Da: "ı: and his brother, rather than the
146 

evil-minded ambition of Abu: 'l-"Abba: s, to which the Qa: d1 :ı al-Nu"ma: n

attributed the whole unfortunate affair.
The Mahdi's version of his ancestry presumably remained in force down
to the death of his son Muh1 ammad ibn "Abd Allah al-Qa: 'im in 946; down,
therefore, almost to the time of Ibn al-Haytham's writing. But as the
correspondence of the Mahdi shows, the subject remained controversial, to
the extent that from the middle of the century onwards, Muh1 ammad ibn
Isma: "ı:l was admitted into the genealogy of the dynasty as the ancestor of a
line of Imams which had emerged from concealment to establish the Fatimid
dynasty. The invitation to Ibn al-Haytham to rehabilitate Abu: "Abd Allah
and Abu: ' l-"Abba: s would stand close to the beginning of the process by which
the dynasty re-presented itself to the world in the reign of Isma: "ı:l al-Mans1u: r
(whose name in this context seems particularly significant), and especially in
that of his son and successor al-Mu"izz. His work, in other words, belongs
firmly within the great corpus of literature produced on behalf of the dynasty
from the accession of al-Mans1u: r in 946–7 to the death of al-Mu"izz in Egypt
in 975, as a record of the events it relates and it must be read accordingly.
This is not a view which is shared (or at least, it is not apparent) in
Walker's excellent introduction and notes to his excellent edition and
translation, produced, as he says, in close consultation with Professor
Madelung. This is predicated on the opinion that the crucial quarrel over
Muh1 ammad ibn Isma: "ı:l and the identity of the Mahdi had occurred at
Salamiya in Syria in 899, leaving the killing of Abu: "Abd Allah and his
brother to be explained by a variety of considerations at the local level of
revolutionary politics. (For the alternative view presented here, cf. M. Brett,
The rise of the Fatimids (Leiden, 2001); ‘The Mim, the "Ayn, and the making
of Isma"ilism’, BSOAS,  (1994); ‘The realm of the Imam’, BSOAS, 
(1996).) On that basis, it evaluates the contribution of the Muna: z1 ara: t to the
reconstruction of those politics—not, perhaps, quite the revelation claimed in
the Preface. The most interesting disclosure, if Ibn al-Haytham is to be
believed, is his own autobiographical account of a Shiite presence among the
H1 anafı: scholars of Qayrawa: n, who welcomed the revolution and provided it
with key personnel. But for that very reason, his account is partisan as well
as retrospective, making for a difficult text despite its apparent simplicity.
What it does provide is a vignette of the circumstances and an example of the
form in which such knotty matters as the Imamate were debated. Ibn
al-Haytham's account of his exchanges with the two brothers is a careful
composition rather than a verbatim record; nevertheless, as Walker points
out, it exemplifies the question and answer technique familiar from other
sources as a device for attracting and leading the disciple into the heart of the
faith, the knowledge of the Imam. It slips very nicely into the traditions of
Fatimid learning described by Heinz Halm.
The Fatimids and their traditions of learning is a succinct description of a
major subject. This, in the parlance of the dynasty, is the Da"wa, ‘the Calling’,
a term which refers to the mission of the Imamate to the world; the doctrine
of the Imamate; the teaching of the doctrine and recruitment to the cause;
and finally the organization required for this purpose. It covers both the
theory and the practice; and the problem is to distinguish between the two, in
general and at any given time. The theory revolves in the first instance around
the distinction between z1 a: hir and ba: t1in, the patent and the hidden meaning of
God's message, which is broadly apparent in the difference between the
discourse of Abu: "Abd Allah and that of his brother, as described by Ibn
al-Haytham and reported by the Qa: d1 :ı al-Nu"ma: n in his Iftita: h1 . It centres,
 147

however, on the succession to the Imamate in the line of descent from H 1 usayn,
a succession which was hidden from the world from the death of Ja"far
al-S1 a: diq in 765 until the appearance of the Fatimid Mahdi in 910. At his
appearance the Mahdi, the rightful Imam in succession to the Prophet as
supreme authority for the faith, assumed the Caliphate, the government of
the community as exercised by Muh1 ammad and "Alı:. The first Imam to do so
since the death of "Alı: in 661, he had founded a dynasty which was destined,
God willing, to extend its political authority to the entire world. Prior to his
appearance, however, the message of his coming had been spread throughout
the world by missionaries such as the Da: "ı: Abu: "Abd Allah, who subsequently
continued to serve the cause at home, in the lands over which the Imam
Caliph reigned, and abroad, where he was yet to be acknowledged.
The practice is less clear. The history of the mission before the appearance
of the Mahdi is particularly obscure, although Halm takes a confident line on
his ancestors in Syria and their worldwide missionary activity. He is on surer
ground in the Fatimid period itself, when the dynasty and its adherents
provide the information. From this we have a picture of a z1 a: hir or open
doctrine of the Sharı:"a which justifies the rule of the Caliph over the mass of
his Muslim and non-Muslim subjects, and a ba: t1in or secret doctrine reserved
for the Mu"minu: n, the faithful who not only submit to the Law of God, but
believe in the Imam. The one is taught openly, the other only to postulants
and initiates. Once again the starting-point is the mass of literature dating
from the middle of the tenth century, specifically from the pen of the Qa: d1 :ı
al-Nu"ma: n. With the move of the dynasty to Egypt, however, the information
becomes much more sporadic, and although Halm's references confirm the
picture given by al-Nu"ma: n, they span the whole two-hundred years down to
the extinction of the dynasty in 1171. We only glimpse the appearance of a
Chief Da: "ı: alongside the Chief Qa: d1 :ı in the ceremonial round of this highly
ceremonious state in the course of its religious and political vicissitudes. The
position in the provinces of Egypt and Syria is obscure. Abroad, in distant
Khurasan, where the state is not of the faith, and habitually hostile, the late
tenth-century treatise of al-Naysabu: rı: portrays the da: "ı: as the ruler as well as
the teacher of his flock, not only independent of the local authorities, but of
the Imam Caliph except in the last recourse. The way seems prepared for the
appearance, a hundred years later, of H 1 asan-i S1 abba: h1 and his Da"wa Jadı:da,
or new doctrine of the Imamate, on the basis of which he and his Iranian
followers seceded from the Fatimid Da"wa in 1096.
Curiously, it is these schismatics who alone are identified by Halm as heirs
of the Fatimids today. No mention is made of the Yemenis, whose tradition
is in a more direct line of descent from the dynasty, and whose importance is
witnessed by Cortese's catalogue. Yet they provide substantial evidence of the
dealings of the Imamate with its followers at a distance, including one of
Cortese's entries, a letter from al-H 1 a: kim to the Da: "ı: Ha: ru: n ibn Muh1 ammad,
which refers him to the Da"a: 'im al-Isla: m of the Qa: d1 :ı al-Nu"ma: n as the one
and only guide to the Law (Cortese, p. 122). In the second half of the eleventh
century, the letters of al-Mustans1ir document a considerable correspondence
with the S1 ulayh1 ids, who had conquered and now ruled the country in his
name. Halm points instead to a considerable toing-and-froing between Cairo
and Iraq/Iran, though the degree of central direction may be doubtful; Cairo
typically replied to questions rather than dispatched its instructions. In the
eleventh century the most distinguished of the visitors from the East were
the Iranian al-Kirma: nı:, al-Shira: zı: and Na: s1ir-i Khusraw, representing a wave
of Iranian influence in the Da"wa which overshadowed the contribution of
148 

the westerners, the heirs of the Qa: d1 :ı al-Nu"ma: n. Their great contribution was
intellectual, the importation of Neoplatonic cosmology into the doctrine of
the dynasty in such a way as to place the Imam at the centre of all knowledge,
all science: divine and human, physical and metaphysical. It was a major step,
which in principle brought the dynasty in from the messianic periphery from
which the Da"wa had conducted its original campaign, to the forefront of
intellectual inquiry in the Islamic world.
What a pity, therefore, that the last two chapters of The Fatimids and their
traditions of learning, given over to ‘Al-Ha1 kim's "‘House of Knowledge’'’
and ‘Scientific institutions under the Fatimids’, should be largely a tale of
disappointment. The Da: r al-"Ilm or ‘House of Knowledge’ was founded in
1005 as an academic as well as a public library, with qualified staff, for the
study of the whole range of religious, linguistic and natural sciences. It was
associated in its early years with the production of an improved astronomical
table, and with the greater Ibn al-Haytham, Alhazen, celebrated for his work
on optics. But the promise of an intellectual centre for the Islamic world
seems not to have been realized, and terminated in the plunder of its books
in 1068, in the course of the civil war which almost put an end to the dynasty.
Thus ‘Scientific institutions’ is little more than the tale of a repeated but
unsuccessful attempt to build an observatory on the Muqattam hills. But it is
fitting that the chapter, and the book, should close on the theme of a library;
as Halm says, the Da"wa without books was unthinkable. As we see from
Cortese's catalogue, it is the bookish tradition that has survived, and which
is in the process of rejuvenation in the library of the Institute of Ismaili
Studies. Those studies, which have grown enormously in the past decades,
may not only alter our view of the place of the Fatimids in the history of
Islam, but provide a better understanding of the history of Islam itself.
 

 :
Commanding right and forbidding wrong in Islamic thought.
xvii, 702 pp. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000. £54.95.
The quranic precept of ‘Commanding right and forbidding wrong’ (al-amr
bi'l-ma"ru: f wa'l-nahy "an al-munkar) has had a wide-ranging and lasting impact
on Islamic religious, legal and political thought. Its universal ethical appeal
together with its lack of specific focus invited discussion of its practical
significance and efforts to derive concrete norms from it in different spheres
of life. The present study traces the evolution of this impact, in the context of
Quran exegesis, h1 adı:th, early biographical literature and of the major legal,
theological and sectarian school traditions, through the ages to contemporary
treatment. Close attention is paid to reports on cases of actual practice,
although, as the author notes, much less is generally recorded about the
practice than the theory. In the concluding chapters, the perspective is
broadened beyond the frame of Islam in thought-provoking comparative
discussion as to how the issues raised by the precept have been approached
in other religious and cultural traditions. Altogether the book is exemplary
both in the comprehensive and perceptive treatment of its subject and the
meticulous evaluation of the broad range of accessible sources. While it may
be too detailed to be fully read by most students of Islam, it will, no doubt,
become a standard reference work in Islamic studies.
 149

A few of the author's interpretations and conclusions may be questioned.

He describes Ah1 mad b. H 1 anbal, on the basis of his pronouncements concerning
the precept, as a pious quietist who ‘stood for unhesitating obedience to the
ruler’, while keeping his distance from government. ‘He was ready to render
unto Caesar the things which were Caesar's; beyond that, what he asked most
of all was to be left alone’ (p. 113). Ibn H 1 anbal's quietism, according to
Cook's interpretation, contrasted sharply with the militant activism that
characterized much of later H 1 anbalism. The activist moralist Ibn Taymiyya,
‘in condemning the quietist variety of moralism, ... was dissociating himself
from something perilously close to the attitude of the founder of the school’
(p. 157). In thus presenting Ibn H 1 anbal as a withdrawn quietist on the basis
of his stand on cases of morality, Cook plays down counter-evidence and
ignores the distinct strain of zealotry in his religious make-up which expressed
itself in his obsessive pursuit of ‘innovations’ in matters of dogma and belief.
The comparison of his attitude to government with the Christian ‘giving
Caesar his due’ is quite out of place in an Islamic context where the caliph is
the head of Islam whose foremost duty is to promote and defend the orthodox
faith, not a remote emperor to whom one pays tax while considering him
irrelevant to the spiritual Kingdom of God. Ibn H 1 anbal never had any doubt
that the caliph should do everything in his power to suppress heresy and that
the faithful should aid him in this. His predicament was that the caliphs
during the mih1 na rather espoused what he viewed as heresy. His religious
attitude thus was not so remote from later H 1 anbalite militancy as Cook
suggests. It is true that he would hardly have approved the rabble rousing
activity of al-Barbaha: rı: and his like. Yet he would certainly have appreciated
the successful efforts of the later H 1 anbalites of Baghdad to press the caliphs
to adopt the Qa: diriyya creed in pursuit of their own mih1 na against heretics.
Difficult to understand is Cook's judgement that the charges of anthropo-
morphism levelled by most Sunnis against the early H 1 anbalites were unfounded
allegation and calumny, a calumny which the prominent H 1 anbalite theologian
Ibn al-Jawzı: upheld against his own school (p. 142). H. Laoust and others
have argued that the polemical name mushabbiha should not be applied to
the early H 1 anbalites since it was resented and thrown back at their opponents
by them. The term anthropomorphism, however, is primarily descriptive, and
it cannot be denied that the Quran and h1 adı:th contain anthropomorphic
expressions whose literal acceptance, whether accompanied by the famous
formula of bi-la: kayf or not, inevitably entails an anthropomorphic concept
of God. That Ibn H 1 anbal and his early school, with the exception of Ibn
al-Jawzı:, were the main advocates of the literal acceptance of these
anthropomorphisms has been reaffirmed by D. Gimaret in his recent study of
the treatment of the anthropomorphisms in h1 adı:th in early Islamic theology
(Dieu à l'image de l'homme, Paris, 1997, p. 2). Ibn al-Jawzı: should be
commended for his honesty in this respect, not charged with calumniating his
own school.
Dealing with the Ismaili attitude to the precept, Cook refers to the creed
Ta: j al-"aqa: 'id of the Yemenite T1 ayyibı: da"ı: mut1laq Muh1 ammad b. "Alı: b.
al-Walı:d, who states that the duty of forbidding wrong is to be performed by
al-"ulama: ' du: na ghayrihim. Cook interprets this as meaning ‘the scholars, to
the exclusion of others’ and comments that ‘we have here an unabashed
assertion of clerical authority scarcely paralleled elsewhere’ (p. 304, see also
p. 472). In support of this interpretation he quotes W. Ivanow's comment on
the statement that it was ‘intended to uphold the interests of the priestly
class’. This interpretation is, however, hardly tenable in view of Ibn al-Walı:d's
150 

later statement that ‘the believer’ (mu'min) is obligated (quoted by Cook in

n. 341). Ismailis did not recognize a class of ‘ulama: ’ distinct from ignorant
laymen as it existed in Sunnism and Twelver Shiism. There was a teaching
hierarchy, but if Ibn al-Walı:d had intended to restrict the duty to its higher
ranks, he would no doubt have spoken of h1 udu: d or du"a: t. The mu'min in Ibn
al-Walı:d's usage was the initiated Ismaili, who was by definition "a: lim, in
contrast to the uninitiated Muslim, who was ignorant in religion. Ibn
al-Walı:d's statement is thus merely a parallel to the common doctrine that
only those who know the religious law must practise the precept.
P. 21, n. 21: The interpretation of ‘Banu: Ha: shim’ in the exegesis
transmitted by al-Kalbı: as the Abbasids is anachronistic. In early Islam Banu:
Ha: shim meant the whole clan of Muh1 ammad, including T1 a: libids, Abbasids
and others. Pp. 204–5: Abu: 'l-H 1 usayn al-Bas1rı: should not be viewed as a
member of the school of "Abd al-Jabba: r, even though he was a pupil of his.
He was recognized as the founder of a separate school by the Mu"tazila as
well as their opponents. His Tas1affuh1 al-adilla cannot be the source of Ibn
al-Mala: h1 imı: 's treatment of al-amr bi'l-ma"ru: f (as suggested on p. 218) since it
was left incomplete by the author and did not reach the topic.
. 

 :
Muslime und Franken: ethnische, soziale und religiöse Gruppen im
Kita: b al-i"tiba: r des Usa: ma ibn Munqid2 .
(Islamkundliche Untersuchungen, 230.) 189 pp. Berlin: Klaus
Schwarz Verlag, 2000.
The Kita: b al-i"tiba: r by Usa: ma b. Munqidh is the principal Arabic narrative
source on the Crusades during the first half of the twelfth century. It has
therefore been subject to a number of studies, such as those by Hartwig
Derenbourg (1889), André Miquel (1983) and Robert Irwin (1998). Schauer's
study sets out to explore this source from a new angle: Usa: ma's description
of the various ethnic, social and religious groups. The aim of the study is thus
to question the assumption of a dichotomous confrontation between two
cultures during the Crusades (‘Muslim vs. Franks’). To this end the author
analyses the representation of all groups which appear in the Kita: b al-i"tiba: r,
in order to set Usa: ma's descriptions of the Latin Christians in the wider
textual context. At the same time he strives to question traditional perceptions
of Usa: ma's text as either an expression of unproblematic Frankish-Muslim
co-existence or as the story of a hero in the fight against foreign invaders.
Schauer's main conclusion is that Usa: ma based his evaluation of groups
and individuals primarily on their social status. Considerations of ethnic
origin played a secondary role to the question of whether an individual
conformed to the social duties and obligations bound to his social position.
The few instances where the question of religious background played a role
are negligible, as they were mainly a product of the need to conform to the
developing idea of jiha: d during the middle of the twelfth century.
In chapters ii and iii Schauer discusses Usa: ma's life and his Kita: b al-i"tiba: r.
It is questionable whether such a large part of the study had to be devoted to
this subject considering the significant number of existing studies. It is mainly
his argument concerning the lack of importance accorded to religion in
Usa: ma's writings, that is relevant in this section for the study as a whole.
 151

Usa: ma rarely cursed the Franks, and when he did so the curses were employed
in an arbitrary way. Schauer infers from this pattern that their use was a
result of later influences (pp. 52ff.) and not the result of his own perception
of the social world. Consequently, he discards these curses as irrelevant
insertions, which were made merely to conform to the idea of jiha: d, which
had become hegemonic when Usa: ma ‘wrote’ his text. Two later authors who
described the Frankish-Muslim encounter within this firmly established jiha: d
discourse are Ibn Wa: s1il (d. 697/1298) in his Mufarrij al-kuru: b and Abu: Sha: ma
(d. 665/1267) in his Kita: b al-rawd1 atayn. According to Schauer's argument one
would have expected them to curse the Franks in more regular and less
arbitrary ways. However, both texts display a similarly arbitrary pattern,
hardly different from the one observed with Usa: ma. The degree to which the
importance of religious components in the perception of the social world of
medieval authors can be evaluated by their use of curses is therefore
questionable. As it stands religious factors are rather downplayed.
Chapter iv researches extensively the use of the different social, religious
and ethnic terms. Chapter v concludes the study with a reflection on ‘Limits
and possibilities of Christian-Muslim coexistence according to the Kita: b
al-i"tiba: r’. The ‘limits’ were set on the cultural level by disdain for the Franks,
which Usa: ma regularly expressed. The ‘possibilities’, on the other hand,
pertain to the fact that a large number of social similarities existed, which led
to regular contact between the two sides. M. Köhler in his Allianzen und
Verträge (1987) and other authors have drawn similar conclusions. The present
study's core chapter iv and concluding chapter v are thus an illustration, by
taking a specific text, of the existing secondary literature in the field. Schauer
has certainly rendered a valuable service as he has successfully exemplified a
number of relevant issues (diplomatic relations (pp. 107–16), prisoners and
hostages (pp. 116–21) and shared court culture (pp. 150–54)) in the discussion
of one of the central Arabic sources for the early Crusade period.
However, throughout the study one misses a discussion of central terms.
Considering the significant development of scholarly work on the question of
identities, and specifically national/racial/ethnic identities, one would have
expected a short statement of how the author understands a term such as
ethnicity. The only explicit reference is on p. 122 where it is stated that ‘the
ethnic term in Usa: ma ibn Munqidh's Kita: b al-i"tiba: r is not meant in a
"‘national’' or "‘racist’' sense, but rather in a "‘cultural’'.' At the same time
the author assumes that the ‘Greeks’ (seemingly adherents to the Greek
Orthodox creed) are a ‘nation’ (p. 86) and that ethnicity is linked to a
‘Volkszugehörigkeit’ (p. 86). This rather bewildering absence of a clear
framework gives the impression that the author bases his study on an
assumption of fixed and essential identities. For example, after equating
language and ethnicity (p. 62) he states: ‘Usa: ma was not able to resist
influences of the Turkish language’. The reader wonders here whether the
assumption of such watertight ethnic categories and a resistance to ‘influences’
can be made so easily. A study, which at the present date sets out to explore
ethnic and other layers of identity, should at least reflect on the possible
fluidity of identity markers and how these are constructed in a given social
and discursive environment. For instance, medieval Arabic authors often
referred to the Bedouins as ‘Arabs’, and described them in rather unfavourable
terms. Here, the question arises as to how these authors understood their own
‘Arabness’ in contrast to the nomadic populations on the one hand and other
settled populations, which are described as non-Arabs on the other hand.
Schauer's study does not in this regard follow, regrettably, the shift in the
152 

study of Arab/Islamic history during the last two decades, which has been to
consider more seriously developments in neighbouring fields. In the present
work such developments are ignored for the benefit of a reference system
based entirely on studies which have been published in the field during the
last century. With regard to questions such as ethnicity his study serves mainly
as a starting point for future research, which will explore the question with
greater reference to recent discussions of how identities were constructed,
sustained and debated. Nevertheless, the question posed in his study and the
way in which it is approached—in the scope of the author's framework—are
a valuable contribution.
 

 :
The rise of the Fatimids: the world of the Mediterranean and the
Middle East in the fourth century of the Hijra, tenth century ..
(The Medieval Mediterranean Peoples, Economies and Cultures,
400–1453, vol. 30.) xi, 497 pp. Leiden: Brill, 2001.
There has been an upsurge of interest in Fatimid studies during the last couple
of decades as witnessed by the writings of Th. Bianquis, H. Halm, Y. Lev,
W. Madelung, A. Fu'a: d Sayyid and P. E. Walker as well as the publications
sponsored by The Institute of Ismaili Studies, London. A major international
conference on the Fatimids was also held in 1998 in Paris (M. Barrucand,
(ed.), L'Égypte fatimide, son art et son histoire, Paris, 1999). Brett's book is
the latest addition to this impressive corpus.
The Ismaili da"wa of the 3rd/9th century which summoned Muslims
everywhere to allegiance to the Ismaili Imam spread rapidly from the central
Islamic lands to Central Asia and to North Africa; and its success culminated
in the establishment of the Fatimid dawla or state in 297/909 in Ifrı:qiya. "Abd
Alla: h al-Mahdı:, who had led the Ismaili movement as an Imam, now began
to reign, as the first Fatimid caliph, over a state which soon grew into a major
Mediterranean empire. The Fatimids, whose dynasty was eventually uprooted
in Egypt in 567/1171, did not abandon their da"wa organization on assuming
power as they entertained universalist claims. In fact, they gradually intensified
their da"wa activities, especially after transferring the seat of their state to
Cairo in 362/973, and attained lasting success outside the Fatimid dawla,
notably in Yaman, Persia and Central Asia, where Ismailism survived the
collapse of the Fatimid state and dynasty in its Musta"lı:-T1 ayyibı: and
Niza: rı: forms.
The book under review focuses on the first century of Fatimid rule during
the 4th/10th century, effectively ending with the reign of al-"Azı:z
(365–386/975–996), and aims to contextualize Fatimid history within the
broader context of the Mediterranean and Muslim worlds, investigating the
subject matter historiographically, doctrinally, politically and geographically
(p. ix). In his introductory chapter (pp. 1–26), after reviewing the modern
progress in the field and citing the shortcomings of approaches adopted by
other scholars, the author emphasizes the need for reinterpreting Fatimid
history. As a result, he sets himself the task of investigating Fatimid history
in terms of its political and religious dimensions—since the Fatimids were at
 153

once Imams and caliphs who simultaneously headed the Ismaili da"wa and
the Fatimid—as well as the broader contexts and complexities within which
the Fatimid caliph–Imams operated. The main body of Brett's book is
comprised of three parts, entitled respectively, ‘The Fatimid revolution’
(pp. 27–132), ‘North Africa and the Mediterranean’ (pp. 133–266) and
‘Egypt and the East’ (pp. 267–434).
In part 1, the author discusses the pre-Fatimid phase of Ismaili history
and the issues related to the "Alid genealogy of the Fatimids; he also presents
a detailed description of the da: "ı: Abu: "Abd Alla: h al-Shı:"ı: 's activities among
the Berbers of North Africa and his success in preparing the ground for the
establishment of the Fatimid state. This is perhaps the most controversial part
of the book under review. The author here takes issue with the Stern–Madelung
version of the early Ismaili da"wa, which has been substantiated by a wealth
of Ismaili and non-Ismaili sources and has found wide currency among
modern scholars of Ismaili studies. However, the author not only omits to
propose a convincing alternative version of the pre-Fatimid history of the
Ismailis, but his own arguments do not amount to a refutation of the
Stern–Madelung version. In fact, in this part and elsewhere in the book, the
author's discussion of the Ismailis and the Qarmat1:ıs, both often referred to
indistinguishably as the ‘Seveners’, and the relations between the Qarmat1:ıs
and the Fatimids seem to be somewhat muddled. In this context, one should
mention the movement organized by Zikrawayh and his sons which eventually
acquired Qarmat1:ı characteristics. It should also be added that the Qarmat1:ıs
do not seem to have ever recognized the Fatimids as their Imams, as suggested
inconsistently by Brett (pp. 203, 204, 295, 328, 365–6); the Qarmat1:ıs continued
to await the reappearance of their Mahdi.
The author has used an impressive array of primary and secondary sources
and his book draws on his earlier writings on North African history and the
region's trade relations and production structure. These, together with the
Fatimid dynasty's relations with the Byzantines, the Umayyads of Cordova,
the Abbasids and a number of regional rulers, are among this book's most
important contributions. Indeed, Brett's treatment of the Fatimids as caliphs
is more comprehensive than their portrayal as Ismaili Imams. In other words,
this book is extremely informative in terms of the socio-economic and political
history of the Fatimids, while its discussion of Ismaili religious institutions
and teachings is at times problematic, reflecting the author's new interpretations
based on particular readings of the sources which also permit alternative
interpretations (e.g. pp. 120–27). He also offers a number of complex
hypotheses without providing sufficient evidence. The author broadly categor-
izes Ismaili theology and esoteric teachings (h1 ikma) as the ‘doctrine of the
imam’, which reflects a rather limited perception of a more elaborate, multi-
faceted field of intellectual enquiry with its cosmological and salvational
doctrines. On the other hand, he shows a masterful command of the socio-
economic and political dimensions of Fatimid history, particularly as this
history unfolded in North Africa and in its broader Mediterranean context.
The book under review also contains an excellent bibliography together with
six maps and a number of indices. Despite some of its questionable doctrinal
interpretations and unclear treatment of the complex issues of the Ismaili
da"wa, Brett's The rise of the Fatimids does represent a major contribution to
Fatimid studies as a contextualized political history of the Fatimid state in
the course of its first century.
 
154 

. .  :
Of dishes and discourse; classical Arabic literary representations of
food.
Richmond, Surrey: Curzon, 2000.
‘A more or less thematically arranged compilation of bits of prose and poetry,
with or without commentary or connecting text between the quotations: in
short a kind of literary banquet.’ This description of classical Arabic adab
anthologies provided by van Gelder (p. 39) could be said to apply to some
extent also well to this publication—a modern ‘literary banquet’ couched in
the mould of, and with ingredients and recipes derived from, the rich larders
of Arabian adab. True to the tradition, the author is reluctant to impose
himself and lets his sources speak instead. The ‘connecting text between the
quotations’, while illuminating and admirably erudite, remains purposefully
(and refreshingly) aloof from the ‘contemporary jargon and ideas’ (p. 5) of
modern literary criticism which figure only as the butt of occasional satirical
asides. The lone concession is the adoption by van Gelder of Bakhtin's term
‘polyphony’ (a texture of different though related parts) which he proceeds
to contrasts with cacophony, the simultaneous sounding of the disparate and
discordant (p. 105).
Charting the multifarious interface of dishes and discourse over more than
a millennium of texts certainly yields much polyphony, spiced up with
welcome interludes of cacophony (and cacophagy, see p. 80!). Indeed, the
subject is replete with themes ranging from ‘utmost luxury and delight to
utter filth and loathing’ (p. 108), all served up with that unique blend of
humour and learning which readers of van Gelder's work have come to
expect. A brief introductory chapter sets the scene, followed by two chapters
contrasting the status of food in the pre-Islamic Bedouin ethos (‘honour
versus shame’) and the newly urbanized ideology of Islam (‘piety versus sin’).
While Bedouin fare is simple and sometimes derided for its lack of
sophistication by later, shu"u: bi authors (they eat lizards and insects!), the
desert Arabs pride themselves on lavish, selfless hospitality which poetry is
there to recount and thus immortalize. The texts from the early Islamic
period, while not averse to the joys of the palate, paint a different picture.
There is much warning against overindulgence in good food, and simplicity
and restraint are recommended. In the Epistles of the Pure Brethren, for
instance, the appeal of food descriptions ‘is exploited as an educational tool,
while at the same time food is depreciated’ (p. 38).
Chapter iv examines the theme of eating and food as it appears in classical
Arabic Belles-Lettres from 800 to 1500 .. It begins with a survey of chapters
on food in a wide range of adab anthologies from Ibn Qutayba (d. 889) to
al-Ibshı:hı: (d. 1446). This is followed by a section on food in narrative and
poetry which, as the author points out, discusses ‘the closest possible
connections between food and text’. The central nexus is perhaps the word
adab itself, with its double meaning of good manners and erudition which are
most effectively combined at the dinner table. Much humour is generated by
narratives where the salutary balance between manners, literacy and gastronomy
is upset by the behaviour of one of the protagonists, the locus classicus being
the maqa: ma of the Mad1 :ıra by al-Hamadha: nı: (d. 1008) which, as van Gelder
observes, can be said to revolve around a pun exploited later in an ‘absurd
fancy’ by al-Ma‘arri ( ). The key infringement in this maqa: ma, ‘the substitution
of words for food’ (p. 51) is shown to be recurrent theme also in a number of
 155

other works, whereupon the discussion moves to a different type of interface

between eating and writing: poetry inspired by food and food inspired, or
prompted by, poetry. Of particular note here are not only the ecphrastic
epigrams, riddle-like metaphorical descriptions of dishes both elaborate and
humble, but the versified cooking recipes which appear in Ibn al-Warra: q's
renowned Kita: b al-T1 abı:kh (tenth century), a cookery book in which poetry
functions perhaps as ‘the equivalent of the luscious colour photographs’ of
modern counterparts (p. 63). Several poems of this type are translated and
discussed, followed by examples of food descriptions in prose, some highly
literary and elaborate and composed for a variety of aims. The section concludes
with a brief survey of food-related themes in popular story telling with examples
from al-Tanu: khı: and the Thousand and One Nights. The third and final section
of Chapter iv delves into an altogether different realm, the picaresque story of
Abu "l-Qa: sim by al-Azdi (eleventh century) who emerges as the supreme anti-
hero of classical Arabic literature; alimentary topoi abound to excess,
outrageously fused with excremental ones which later van Gelder shows to
have been favoured also by an earlier, no less daring, versifier.
Chapter v on ‘food for satire and parody’ is the crowning glory of this
small study. It begins with a survey of the bizarre eating habits seemingly
entertained by the addressees of early hija: ' poetry and goes on to introduce,
inter alia, a number of late Egyptian authors such as Ibn Sudun (d. 1464),
al-Hajja: r (fifteenth century), al-Shirbı:nı: (d. 1687) al-Anbu: t1:ı (d. 1758) whose
works abound with a distinctly Egyptian type of satire and sense of the absurd.
Food plays an important role in all of them, whether it be Ibn Sudu: n's mock
doxologies, al-Shirbı:nı: 's stunning ridicule of Egyptian peasant fare or al-Anbuti's
culinary recasting of Ibn Ma: lik's versified grammar. Van Gelder's treatment
shows that these authors, despite being outside the received canon of classical
Arabic literature, are an integral and significant part of the tradition and
deserve rather more attention than they have hitherto received. In discussing
their works van Gelder is at pains to counter common stances of contemporary
criticism by arguing (convincingly) that parody, however sharp, need not
necessarily be subversive (p. 94) and that the fashionable search for sexual
innuendoes in literary imagery may, in certain forms of Arabic literature, be
quite misleading (p. 92). The latter issue is taken up in greater detail in the first
section of the final chapter which dwells upon linkages between food and sex
in Arabic poetic imagery and food descriptions. The book concludes with
additional, but somewhat less prolific sections on food and eating in the
literature of dream interpretation, and on food metaphors in the language and
terminology of classical Arabic literary criticism.
Van Gelder's adab-like compilation about adab has the merit of its
forebears in being both highly entertaining and instructive, and thus of benefit
to both specialists and general readers interested in the history and literary
portrayal of food. It is a rich mine of information and constitutes, behind an
appearance of light-heartedness and ease, an academic tour-de-force.
 

 :
Gott ist schön. Das ästhetische Erleben des Koran.
546 pp. Munich: C. H. Beck, 2nd edition, 2000. €24.90.
Some months ago, when I was waiting at Cairo Airport for my flight to
Europe, I found myself sitting beside a middle-aged Egyptian businessman,
156 

dressed in an elegant suit and carrying a small briefcase. After some minutes
he took a small Quran out of his pocket and began very melodically reciting
some verses in a low voice. When he had finished, he quite naturally devoted
the rest of the waiting period to his statistical tables and business documents
as he had been doing before. In this moment of individual piety, once again
one of the most striking characteristics of the Islamic culture could be felt:
the immediate and daily importance of the holy scripture—even in comparat-
ively unholy surroundings—and the fact that singing or reciting the verses
musically is regarded as a matter of course. Thus religious experience in Islam
has an aesthetic dimension that is moreover not restricted to ritual prayer,
but also to be observed in the most profane situations, when listening to a
Quran cassette in a taxi or waiting at the airport. Nevertheless, this part of
Islam is rarely noticed outside the Muslim world, sometimes even deliberately
ignored, even in scholarly circles. The Muslim concept of the i"ja: z (the
inimitability of quranic speech) or the conviction that the Quran cannot
(according to some even must not) be translated are perceived only from a
legal point of view and sometimes taken as proof for an alleged Islamic
fanaticism. It is precisely this contradiction which forms the starting point
of the highly readable book under review, Gott ist schön (‘God is beautiful.
The aesthetic experience of the Quran’). Its author, Navid Kermani, a free-
lance writer and researcher who has recently published a book on the con-
temporary situation in Iran, had submitted this book in 1997 as his Ph.D.
dissertation at the University of Bonn under the expert guidance of Profes-
sor Stefan Wild. In 2000, he was awarded the Ernst-Bloch award for his
thesis.
Gott ist schön is divided into six long parts, each of which endeavours to
address the central topic from a different angle. The introductory chapter
(‘The first listeners’, pp. 15–93) concentrates on early Islamic history and on
the traditions of its revelation. From the very beginning, the language of the
Quran and its recitation were considered to be an essential element of the
salvation history and could not be separated from its contents. Many a
conversion to Islam—the most well-known being that of "Umar—is said to
have taken place mostly, if not solely because of the aesthetic fascination that
cast its spell over the hearer of the verses. Kermani here draws heavily on the
concept of the ‘cultural memory’ that was formulated by Jan Assmann (cf.
the latter's ground-breaking book Das kulturelle Gedächtnis: Schrift, Erinnerung
und politische Identität in frühen Hochkulturen, Munich, 1992). He thereby
avoids the tricky question of the authenticity of those early reports, many of
which were invented or at least embellished in later times. In spite of this they
(according to Kermani) are valuable sources, because they are remembered
collectively and are given a kind of authenticity of their own by this cultural
memory. It is without doubt justified and useful to apply this idea to Islamic
history, but Kermani sometimes tends to quote his sources somewhat too
indiscriminately and without taking sufficient account of when they were
written. Thus—to give just one example—Muh1 ammad Rashı:d Rid1 a: , Ibn
Kathı:r, Mah1 mu: d Ra: mya: r, Ibn Hisha: m, S1 a: diq al-Ra: fi"ı:, al-Ja: h1 iz1 and
Muh1 ammad Abu: Zahra are cited within some pages (54 sqq.) as witnesses for
the same case, in the same context. True, they all handed down the cultural
memory and became themselves part of it, but this eclecticism seems to me
an oversimplification that implicitly neglects the developments and differences
within this cultural memory over the centuries.
The second chapter (‘The text’, pp. 94–170) looks into the question of
 157

whether the text of the Quran itself favours an aesthetic interpretation.

Without rashly calling the language of the revelation poetic or even equating
the Quran with poetry, Kermani rightly states that it is the reader who makes
it poetic by reading or reciting it. The decisive precondition for this is what
he calls the ‘poeticity’ of the Quran (pp. 98sqq.). Part of this poeticity is the
openness of much of its meaning which may render the understanding of the
text arduous, but at the same time it paves the way for its aesthetic
interpretation (pp. 121sqq.). In the West, however, the ambiguity of quranic
language was only rarely appreciated as a necessary theological consequence
that leaves the revelation open, and was instead rejected and criticized as
being defective or outright wrong. Therefore, the (predominantly Arab)
Muslim conviction of the untranslatability of the Quran could only be
perceived as being motivated by dogmatic rigidity, while it should—following
Kermani's argumentation—be seen more as the result of a certain experience
of reception: the Quran cannot be translated not because the theologians
forbade it, but because the poeticity and ambiguity of the text make it
impossible.
Chapter three (‘The sound’, pp. 171–232) investigates the oral character
of the Quran. In spite of being collected and written down early on, ‘the
Qur'a: n is, according to its own concept, the liturgical recitation of God's
direct speech’ (p. 172) and deserves to be regarded as a musical score. Hence
the significance of correct recitation (tajwı:d), the rules of which are stipulated
in every detail and mark the transition from speech to music. Kermani even
goes so far as to speak of the ‘recipient turning instinctively towards a voiced
and singing performance’ and of the impossibility of simply reading the
Quran (p. 189)—which is in a way corroborated by the businessman at Cairo
Airport. The theological level of this idea of the ‘orality of the scripture’ is
the constant remembrance of the initial event of the Islamic salvation history,
namely the act of sending down (tanzı:l) the Quran. The significance of the
recitation of the Quran is thus directly linked to the Muslim concept of
revelation (pp. 212sqq.).
At the centre of the fourth chapter (‘The miracle’, pp. 233–314)
stands the genesis and development of the i"ja: z theory. In great detail
Kermani follows the teachings of "Abd al-Qa: hir al-Jurja: nı: (d. 1078) about
the composition of the Quran (pp. 253–84) and confirms that he was well
ahead of his time in that he anticipated many findings of later semiotics and
literary theory. Once more, Kermani comes to the conclusion that the i"ja: z
is less a religious dogma than an expression of the aesthetic reception of
the Quran.
Chapter five (‘The prophet among the poets’, pp. 315–64) returns to the
difficult relationship between the Quran and poetry, this time illustrated by
the person of Muh1 ammad. Kermani draws interesting parallels between the
Islamic prophetology and the Western, especially German, philosophical
theory of the genius (‘Genieästhetik’) of the eighteenth and nineteenth
centuries (pp. 319sqq.). Both ideas can be traced back to the ancient model
of Plato's theory of enthusiasm which defines the artist as a relative of the
prophet, both being inspired messengers of divine words (p. 336). Again, this
does not mean an identity of prophet and poet, as the poetic word in the
Islamic context remained ambivalent, but it should be, Kermani maintains,
reason enough to see not only the legal, but also the artistic and aesthetic
dimensions of Islam.
The sixth and final chapter (‘The listening of the Sufis’, pp. 365–425) is
158 

devoted to the mystical experience of the Quran. Those qatla: l-Qur'a: n who
heard certain verses of the Quran and were killed on the spot, died not just
from horror with regard to the final judgement. Rather, they seemed to have
felt a strange mixture of lust and dismay, which is also an expression of an
ecstatic aesthetic fascination. Kermani concludes by drawing an analogy with
extreme immersion in music as illustrated by Schopenhauer's and Adorno's
views on music and art.
Having finished reading the book, the reader is left with ambivalent
thoughts. On the one hand, Kermani's approach and his intention to
(re-)discover the aesthetic dimension of Islam cannot be described as anything
less than inspired, astute, at times even ingenious. He manages thoroughly to
correct the one-sided image of Islam in the West that centres almost exclusively
on its legal and dogmatic aspects and totally eclipses its aesthetic values.
Moreover, he points out the arrogance of the Islamic fundamentalists and
their self-appointed monopolization of the interpretation of the Quran that is
by no means justified by the traditional concept of the openness of the holy
scripture. It is not by chance that he often refers to Nas1r H 1 a: mid Abu: Zayd,
whose exegesis he knows very well, having written his M.A. thesis on it. On
the other hand, however, he sometimes tends to overshoot the mark and to
ignore in his turn aspects other than the aesthetic. Concepts like i"ja: z and the
untranslatability of the Quran may very well be interpreted as having been
motivated by aesthetic reasons in addition to the dogmatic and theological
aspects, but the latter should not simply be ignored. Therefore, Kermani
sometimes exaggerates his criticism of Western orientalists and their alleged
total ignorance of, even hostility towards, the nature of poetic speech or art
in general. Of course, Rudi Paret's German translation of the Quran is not
elegant, let alone beautiful; he was not Rückert—but never intended to be.
The aesthetic interpretation of Islam is without doubt a most valuable addition
to the existing image, but hardly suitable to replace it in toto.
Another shortcoming of the book is the author's habit of writing
redundantly. Many a topic is dealt with in more than one chapter, with only
minor differences, and the sub-headings (which do not turn up in the table of
contents) are not always a reliable guide: e.g. nobody would think to look up
the problem of the (un)translatability of the Quran treated under ‘idea and
structure’ (p. 149) or the author's (brilliant) remarks on the genesis of the
quranic text and its variations in the chapter about the sound, under ‘The
text as a musical score’ (p. 197). This redundancy and the abundant direct
quotations even of remote secondary literature on philosophy and literary
theory, not all of which really seem to be necessary (Thomas Mann, Karl
Kraus, Pablo Neruda, Octavio Paz, Umberto Eco and many others), all this
results in an essayistic style—admittedly well written—that sometimes makes
it hard work to follow the author's argumentation. The book could have been
abridged by around 200 pages without losing any of its substance. Some of
the points Kermani critically observes in al-Jurja: nı: 's work (‘indeed a certain
lack of planning with regard to the sequence of his topics’, p. 277) ironically
also apply to his own book.
Nevertheless, Gott ist schön is one of the most important publications on
the Quran in recent years. It is full of inspiration and insight, even when one
disagrees with the author. It is to be highly recommended, although not just
because it is provocative; an English translation is an absolute must.

 
 159

  (ed.):

Persian painting: from the Mongols to the Qajars: studies in honour of
Basil W. Robinson.
(Pembroke Persian Papers, 3.) xx, 331 pp. London and New York:
I. B. Tauris in association with The Centre of Middle Eastern
Studies, University of Cambridge, 2000.

This collection of twenty-one essays by a cadre of international scholars is a

long-awaited and well-deserved tribute to B. W. Robinson, a figure who
looms large in the study of the Islamic arts of the book and of Persian
painting in particular. The carefully edited essays have copious illustrations—
many of which are in colour, are provided with useful appendices (including
transcribed written sources), and contain much information that is new.
Indices of proper names and subjects provide essential reference tools. The
accessibility of the writing and the volume's rich illustrations will make it
appealing to a wide readership.
The scope of the essays complements Robinson's interests as a scholar—
the Persian painting tradition from the advent of the Mongols to the modern
period in Iran and Central Asia—with some forays beyond those geographic
and linguistic parameters into the Ottoman world. The methods of research
employed in the essays are also in line with Robinson's scholarship: a
taxonomy of styles and schools prevails, as does an interest in things
biographical, studies focused on artistic personalities (e.g. the essays of Diba,
Ivanov, Skelton, Bailey, Swietochowski and Welch). Hence, most of the
volume's contributors pay tribute to Robinson by reproducing his method
and interests, the cumulative results of which are addressed directly by
Assadullah Souren Melikian-Chirvani who observes, somewhat laconically,
‘The truth is that the study of Persian manuscripts is still in its infancy. An
admirable recording enterprise has been started by scholars such as Basil
Robinson whose catalogues of several British libraries will remain for decades
invaluable tools for any researcher. The stage is set for the next development’
(p. 169). In his foreword to the volume, Robert Hillenbrand comments on
Robinson's emphasis on provenance and attribution, noting that he ‘laid a
solid foundation for scholars who have tried many other kinds of approaches
to the material’ (p. ix). This is certainly true. Robinson moved well beyond
the scholarship of a preceding generation, as well as some of his close peers,
for example Ivan Stchoukine, to set new standards for manuscript study.
Close analysis of numerous manuscripts in public and private collections
allowed Robinson to refine knowledge about fifteenth-century Persian painting
in particular (his passion for this period resulted in a book in 1991), while at
the same time bringing new materials to the light of day. His long essay,
‘Survey of Persian painting’, published in 1982 in Art et societé dans le monde
Iranien, remains indispensable reading—as do many of his studies—and
defines a canon of manuscripts for this historical period. Normally one would
have expected a complete list of Robinson's publications—to help readers
understand the nature and scope of his contribution—but perhaps this element
of the Germanic Festschrift is now dispensable? In this instance, Hillenbrand
accounts for its absence by noting the imminent publication of Robinson's
collected scholarship.
While some scholars have used the Festschrift as an opportunity to extend
previous research of familiar paintings and illustrated manuscripts, others
160 

used it as a way to branch out into new terrain. Of particular note are the
essays centred on single manuscripts (Cagman, Grube, Hillenbrand, Melikian-
Chirvani, Simpson, Soucek), a methodological emphasis espoused by Melikian-
Chirvani (p. 169). Three of these authors focus on extremely significant but
understudied manuscripts: Grube examines Ibrahim Sultan's ‘Anthology of
prose texts’, for too long neglected in the Suleymaniye Library's underworked
corpus of illustrated manuscripts (his essay is to be read in conjunction with
Sims's thought provoking study of Ibrahim Sultan's ‘library’ of books).
Simpson completes the Herculean task of reconstructing the Inju-period
Sha: hna: ma of 1341; and Soucek analyses the Ann Arbor Sha: hna: ma as a visual
link in the stylistic line between Jala: yirid-Tı:mu: rid painting and late fifteenth-
century Shiraz painting. Each article contains detailed information about the
manuscript under study and its ramifications for various facets of manuscript
history. Cagman's essay on the physically and visually overwhelming Ottoman-
period Quran copied by Ah1 mad Qarah1 is1a: rı: and now in the Topkapi Palace
Library, is similar in its persistent focus on book archaeology and description.
When Cagman emerges at the end of the essay, she is able to refine debates
about the Quran's genesis and production. Melikian-Chirvani takes an
innovative approach to manuscript study simply by his very choice of book—
an anthology. Such literary compilations are largely understudied because
they do not conform to the text-and-image patterns that play out in the great
majority of court-sponsored books. In his analysis of text and image, he
stages a compelling interpretation of the paintings as allegories of contempor-
ary life. Also interpretive in vein is Hillenbrand's essay on the 1307 manuscript
9 tha: r al-ba: qiya. It begins with an ingenious proposition—
of al-Bı:ru: nı: 's Al-A
why was a manuscript written in 1000 illustrated in 1307? To bolster his
argument, Hillenbrand adduces numerous historical factors to explain the
Ilkha: nid-period interest in Bı:ru: nı: 's work, and at the same time identifies a
real conundrum, that the ecumenicism implicit in the text is opposed by a
directed cycle of images.
Although limitations prevent the mention of every contribution, some of
the more thematically directed essays are of special note. Adamova focuses
on the evidence of seals and attributory inscriptions added to single sheet
drawings and paintings during the reign of Sha: h "Abba: s. The essay represents
an important contribution to the study of the album in the late sixteenth
century, although her focus is on the refinements that written or stamped
notation can make to the chronology of an artist's oeuvre. Brend's contribution
is one of the more conceptually oriented essays, a detailed survey of the roles
performed by marginal imagery in the fifteenth-century manuscript and full
of insightful formal observations. Canby's essay hones in on the materials
and instruments used in the practice of late Safavid drawing, and is especially
valuable as a close analysis of graphic mark.
Although most essays give priority to questions of patronage and
attribution/provenance, and tend to stay close to a deeply traditional
scholarship, there are frequent signs that a profoundly object-based inquiry
can lead to new and different kinds of thinking about Persian painting, even
if the questions do not yet fully benefit from a wider awareness of studies in
the discipline of the history of art. In closing, one last point needs to be made.
It is clear that the Festschrift was a project several years in the making, with
1995 the latest dated reference to publications in the notes. The project to
honour B. W. Robinson started several years earlier. Unfortunately, these
many years of planning—editing a volume is never an easy task—resulted in
a certain unevenness of its contributions, with some of them now a little out
 161

of date in their scholarly apparatus. Although the book's intellectual impact

would have been greater if it had appeared in print in the mid-1990s, this still
does not detract from the deeply personal research and ideas of its
contributors. In short, the volume is essential reading.
 

   (tr.), .   (ed.):

The history of the Seljuq Turks: from the Ja: mı:" al-Tawa: rı:kh, an
1 ahı:r al-Dı:n Nı:sha: pu: rı:.
Ilkhanid adaptation of the Salju: q-na: ma of Z
xiv, 189 pp. Richmond: Curzon, 2001. £45.
Wheeler Thackston's translation of volume one of the Ja: mı:" al-Tawa: rı:kh
having appeared in 1998 and 1999, the major work of Rashı:d al-Dı:n is now
accessible to an English-reading audience. The second volume of the Ja: mı:"
al-Tawa: rı:kh is concerned with the histories of earlier rulers of Iran and the
remaining peoples and dynasties of the known world. A French translation of
the section on the History of the Franks (tr. Karl Jahn, Leiden, 1951) and an
English paraphrase of the section on the History of India (The Hague, 1965)
have appeared, and it is a credit to Curzon Press' Studies in the History of
Iran and Turkey series that they have now brought out a translation of Rashı:d
al-Dı:n's History of the Seljuqs. This very welcome translation should encourage
interest in the other, if possibly less important, works of the statesman and
historian, Rashı:d al-Dı:n Fad1 lalla: h Hamada: nı:.
It is generally accepted that Rashı:d al-Dı:n and his team here owe much
to the Salju: q-na: ma of Z1 ahı:r al-Dı:n Nı:sha: pu: rı:. Divergent views have been
expressed about the true nature of this work and the editor of the work under
review, C. E. Bosworth, explains the main theories relating to the question of
the Salju: q-na: ma. There has also been uncertainty over the extent to which
Rashı:d al-Dı:n's compilers preserved the originals and used other sources.
Work leading towards a critical edition of Nı:sha: pu: rı: 's original text, extant as
the Royal Asiatic Society's MS Persian 22b, is currently being undertaken by
A. H. Morton, according to whom a substantial part of the Ja: mı:" al-Tawa: rı:kh
text is derived from other and even Arabic sources. K. A. Luther (d. 1996)
who completed his translation of Ahmed Ates1's edition (Ankara, 1960) in
1971 was aware of the problems surrounding the authorship of the text but
he did not address them in a wholly satisfactory manner in his introduction,
a criticism which can be levelled in turn at Bosworth himself in his own preface.
Nı:sha: pu: rı: 's original work certainly became a major source for subsequent
chronicles of this period and such histories as Ra: wandı: 's Ra: h1 at al-s1udu: r,
Mustawfı: 's Ta: rı:kh-i Guzı:da, the so-called Risa: la-i Juwaynı:, the Zubdat
al-tawa: rı:kh of Rashı:d al-Dı:n's contemporary, Abu: 'l-Qa: sim Ka: sha: nı:, and
Afd1 al al-Dı:n Kirma: nı:, to name just a few, all rely on it for much of their
material.
Z1 ahı:r al-Dı:n Nı:sha: pu: rı: wrote his history of the Seljuqs early in the reign
of T1 oghril III b. Arslan (1176–94), the ruler of Iraq, by which time the Great
Seljuq sultans were great in name only. A tutor to Mas"u: d and Arslan,
presumably but not certainly the sultans, Nı:sha: pu: rı: hoped through writing
his chronicle to curry favour with T1 oghril and restore his faded fortunes.
Luther argues, not altogether convincingly, that in many ways, in the tradition
162 

of Persian ‘men of the pen’, he was writing a ‘mirror for princes' and trying
to rekindle the teachings of Niz1 a: m al-Mulk in his royal audience. In Luther's
view, he was a Persian traditionalist still coming to terms with Turkish
ascendancy, with Iran under the rule of Turan. The power of the sultans had
by this stage passed to their mamluks and atabegs, men, in the conservative
view of Nı:sha: pu: rı:, unworthy to rule given their status as slaves or sons of
slaves. Even the Ghaznavids had been dismissed since, their ‘king is the son
of a slave’ with ‘no great lineage’ and one whose ‘kingdom will not remain
with him’. (p. 33). Nı:sha: pu: rı: believed in the divine right of kings and he
wished that his king should reclaim his birthright from the mamluks and
atabegs. Abu: H 1 amı:d Muh1 ammad b. Ibra: hı:m, the continuator of his history
until T1 oghril's death in 1194, suggests that this was indeed the aim of the
young sultan. ‘The Sultan wanted to bring the affairs of the realm back to
the principles of the past, as the rule of the sultans had been’ (p. 156). The
book was to be ‘a book of counsel and a kind of political tract for royalty,
as well as a source of historical information’ (p. 12).
The text itself is short, clear and chronological. It does not differentiate
between the eastern and western branches of the Seljuqs. However, its precise
and simple content is sometimes obscured by a translation which unfortunately
reflects too perfectly the imprecision of the original Persian. This is particularly
noticeable in the confusing use of unattributable pronouns which can render
some passages incomprehensible. Though Bosworth has corrected some of the
‘infelicities of translation’ others remain. Thus we have Sultan Barkyaruq
‘wearing only an undershirt like water on your hand’ (p. 71). The existence
of other peculiarities such as ‘that’ followed by direct speech contained in
quotation marks (pp. 117, 131, etc.) suggest that maybe Luther had not fully
prepared the translation for publication.
The book opens with a brief account of the ancestry of the Seljuqs and
then their migration from Turkestan into Transoxiana for reasons not fully
supported elsewhere. The description of the family's early prosperity and
strength also appears at variance with other sources (see C. E. Bosworth, The
Ghaznavids, 1963). God's humbling of the Ghaznavids for their sins and the
Seljuqs' subsequent elevation is followed by accounts of the early sultans,
anecdotal and historical, as well as comment on the rewards of justice and
the losses incurred through heresy. Chapters are devoted to the reigns of the
individual sultans, mixing historical records with anecdotal illustrations of
inescapable divine will, with Alp Arslan whose ‘arrows never went astray’
(p. 47) failing to ward off his assassin's fatal blow (p. 54), and Niz1 a: m al-Mulk
and Malik Sha: h whose pen-box and crown were bound together and were
twins, dying within a month of each other (p. 62), a coincidence inspiring the
comment, ‘See the power of God! Behold the weakness of the Sultan!’ (p. 62).
Accounts of the struggles against the evil and insidious power of the Assassins
occur frequently. However, in the later chapters dealing with the Iraqi sultans
and their viziers, a time and place closer to home, the accounts deal more
with the actions and movements of the main players rather than reporting
anecdotal incidents.
Luther's translation will be welcome to both students of Rashı:d al-Dı:n
and students of medieval Persian history. Though not the original Salju: q-
na: ma, it still succeeds in opening up a major source of Seljuq history to a
wider audience and provides life and colour to a period previously hidden for
many behind secondary sources.
 
 163

  and  :

Colloquial Turkish: the complete course for beginners.
(Colloquial Series.) viii, 339 pp. (book and two cassettes). London
and New York: Routledge, 2001. £23.61.
The book under review comprises fifteen lessons, with the main grammatical
points introduced through dialogues. Grammar is explained under sections
labelled ‘Language points’ which are followed by exercises. There is a key to
all the exercises at the end of the book, as well as a Turkish–English and
English–Turkish glossary and a useful summary of the main grammatical
points for quick reference. There are also two cassettes accompanying the book.
The authors state in the introduction that the book is organized mainly
around the dialogues. This is a good approach, especially as the book sets
out to teach colloquial Turkish. However, there are some problems here: as
the authors want to tackle certain grammatical structures, these are worked
into the dialogues with the result that some parts of the dialogues sit uneasily
and come across as contrived. This, to a limited extent, is unavoidable in
language teaching manuals. What is avoidable however, are translation and
grammatical mistakes. Unfortunately there are quite a number of such errors
in the dialogues, reading texts and sample sentences. Here are just a few of
them: the email message on p. 222: Kesin iyi bir zamanın vardır. This is
translated on p. 295 as: ‘I'm sure (literally: it is sure) you're having a good
time’. No one whose first language is Turkish would say iyi bir zamanın
vardır; the natural way to speak of having a good time in Turkish is iyi vakit
geçirmek or eğlenmek. One is led to infer that the Turkish passage has been
translated from English into Turkish (and not very competently), rather than
its being originally a piece of Turkish writing. This view is confirmed with
further examples from the same passage: Sana birşey sormak istiyorum is
translated as ‘I want to ask you something’. The translation would be correct
if it were a sentence in isolation, but in this context it is not: ‘ask’ in English
can mean to ask or to make a request, such as asking a favour. Turkish,
however, has different words for ‘to ask a question’ and ‘to request’. If the
passage had originally been written in Turkish, one would have expected to
read Senden bir ricam var or Senden birşey rica edebilir miyim? Another
possibility would have been Senden birşey istiyorum, but sormak is only used
for asking a question.
Later in the same passage there is a reference to milli kütüphane, which is
given in the translation of the passage as ‘public library’. The Turkish should
be halk kütüphanesi. Milli Kütüphane means the National Library. The
difference between a halk kütüphanesi and a milli kütüphane is as important in
Turkey as it is in Britain. Another example from the same passage (and there
are still a few more) is the sentence Umarım müzikallerin birine gitmemelisin!
‘I hope you don't have to go to one of those musicals!’. The English by itself
is fine with a touch of sarcasm thrown in, but again it is not what the Turkish
says. In fact the Turkish does not say a great deal because in Turkish you
cannot use both umarım and gitmemelisin in the same sentence. Umarım
means ‘I hope’, and gitmemelisin is ‘you must not go’ or ‘you should not
go’. You cannot say you hope something will not happen at the same time as
saying that it must not/it should not happen. The correct form should be
Umarım müzikallerin birine gitmek zorunda kalmazsın or perhaps gitmen
gerekmez/gitmen lazım gelmez. Layık on page 52 is given for ‘laicist’ or
‘secular’, when the word should be laik. Layık means ‘worthy’ or ‘suitable’.
164 

These and similar mistranslations make one think that either the authors
had some problems in translating certain words or expressions, or that the
informants on whom the authors relied did not have Turkish as their first
language. It is also possible that the informants normally operate in a different
language or learned another language alongside Turkish at a young age, and
that certain linguistic systems of that language are imposed on their Turkish.
It is inevitable that there will be some minor errors in such an involved book,
but in the case of Colloquial Turkish there are too many of them. In a
language teaching book, authors have to be particularly sensitive about
mistakes, because one may end up teaching incorrect things to students. It is
a pity that the very hard and arduous work which clearly went into the
preparation of this course has been marred by such shortcomings.
There are also some factual errors in the short passages on the history of
the Turks and on Atatürk. Süleyman the Magnificent is not called Muhteşem
Sultan Süleyman in Turkish, but rather Kanuni Sultan Süleyman, and on p. 52
the authors' excessive use of capital letters in the sentence seems to bestow a
new epithet on Atatürk: ‘Mustafa Kemal became Turkey's national superhero,
as he was the Conqueror of the Greeks’. Referring to him earlier as ‘paşa
"‘general’' Mustafa Kemal’ is misleading to students of the language, as it
gives the incorrect word order for the title Mustafa Kemal Paşa. This passage
is in fact so superficial, muddled and misleading that it would have been far
better to give the readers the titles of a few reference books on Turkish history
and leave them to learn their history of the Republic correctly from
these sources.
There are far too many typos, e.g. undotted ‘ı’ given as dotted, umlauts
missing, c and s given without the cedilla when there should be one. It is
difficult to produce a book or even a review without any such errors, but in
Colloquial Turkish they abound, which means the student can learn words
with the wrong spelling and also the wrong pronunciation. This is especially
important in Turkish, as words are pronounced as they are written.
The authors say that the main focus of this course is on the colloquial
spoken language. It is probably with this in mind that they use forms like
Hadi be! and Dur be! which are glossed as ‘Come on!’ and ‘Hold on!’. In
fact what is implied with this usage is normally much stronger, the implication
being that the person at whom these expressions are directed is being told off
for doing or not doing whatever the situation requires. Children would be
rebuked if they used be. Similarly one of the early dialogues (Lesson 4,
Dialogue 1) contains Gözlerin görmüyor mu? ‘Are you blind?’ (the usual form
is in fact in the singular; Gözün görmüyor mu?). Whilst it is useful for students
to learn to recognize such expressions, they should not be presented as
ordinary colloquial remarks. It should be explained that using such expressions
can cause offence, or worse. One can only wonder what reaction the student
would receive if s/he decides to practise the expression boktan herif o given in
Dialogue 2 in Lesson 9.
The grammatical explanations given in ‘Language points’ are often long,
repetitious and sometimes unnecessarily complicated, e.g. the sequence -ları/-
leri- on p. 166. These could be presented in a more systematic way with less
description, but more examples. Rather than elucidate the grammatical
complexities of Turkish, the authors seem almost determined sometimes to
obfuscate, and this can be discouraging.
Some related grammatical topics are discussed at different places in the
book, rather than following on more closely, which would have resulted in
less repetition and a more logical progression. A case in point are the genitive
 165

and possessive constructions, which are discussed at various places through

the book. These are linked to what the authors call ‘complex postpositional
constructions’ (not a helpful term for students wishing to learn a foreign
language) which are introduced at the very end of the book (p. 246). These
are a very useful set of words for generating sentences, and are essential
vocabulary: introducing alt, üst, arka, ön, iç, dış ‘under, above, behind, front,
inside, outside’ etc. earlier would have ensured the structuring of forms like
masanın altında, resmin üstünde, kapının arkasında (under the table, over the
picture, behind the door), which are genetive-possessive structures. This would
have enabled students to practise these structures with all the appropriate case
endings which together form one of the most complicated features of Turkish;
it also means that at the very end of the book you are expected to translate
such simple sentences as ‘She's in the house’, ‘What's behind this wall?’,
‘Your pen has fallen under the table’, etc. While it is always helpful to have
revision of earlier simple grammatical items, these are not given here for
revision but for first-time practice. At this stage of a language course, one
would expect to be given involved, complex sentences and reading passages
to translate. The student will not feel challenged. This is a pity, because there
is a wealth of information that needs to be digested and activated.
With good editing to eliminate literals, translation and language errors
and to bring clarity to the grammatical explanations and rearrange the topics
in a way that will be more helpful to students, this book can make a valuable
contribution to the teaching of Turkish, so that the hard work of the authors
can claim the praise which it would then deserve.
 

  (ed.   and  ):

Studies in the linguistic structure of Classical Arabic.
(Studies in Semitic Language and Linguistics, XXXI.) ix, 275 pp.
Leiden: Brill, 2001. $85.
Although this book is basically a collection of articles which have been
previously published in outlets such as BSOAS, JSS, JSAI, JAOS, Lingua,
ZAL, etc., editors Kees Versteegh and Leah Kinberg have wisely seen fit to
include the author's never-before published ‘Treatise on the pronunciation of
the d1 a: d’ (pp. 197–267). The volume is certainly a fitting tribute to the
late Israeli linguist, Naphtali Kinberg, who at the time of his death in 1997 at
the age of 49 was working on the aforementioned fascinating topic in historical
phonetics. Versteegh's informative preface summarizes Kinberg's productive
career in the United States and in Israel (pp. vii–ix). Let me state at the outset
that this genre of making available outstanding scholarship in one convenient
place is an appealing feature of the multi-faceted Brill series, Studies in Semitic
Languages and Linguistics, edited by T. Muraoka and Kees Versteegh, of
which this is volume 31.
Kinberg's previously published articles deal mainly with syntactic topics.
They include the (1980, JSS) study of ain/aan law, considered by the writer to
be a shortened form of ainna lmuxaffafah, the (1981–82, JSAI) work on laain
phrases in Early Literary Arabic, and the (1998, JAOS) work on la-qad+prefix
tense verb. In one of the reprinted essays, ‘Causal and adversative meanings
of the particle la: kin in Arabic’ (pp. 103–11), which originally appeared in
JAOS (107, 1987: 61–5), it remains unclear why A. Barthélemy was wrong in
166 

proposing two etymologies for la: kin ‘but’, one of which is cognate with
Hebrew la: xe: n ‘therefore’ (p. 110). It seems to me that most of the evidence
cited still supports Barthélemy's theory.
The following remarks focus on phonetic matters, i.e., the aforementioned
final unpublished piece on the d1 a: d, and the author's ‘The concepts of elevation
and depression in Medieval Arabic phonetic theory’ (1987, ZAL) (pp. 183–96).
One of the most pleasing aspects of the article on medieval phonetic
theory is the accurate translation and interpretation of numerous difficult
passages by the medieval Arab grammarians, such as Sı:bawayhi, Ibn
al-Anba: rı:, Al-Suyu: t1:ı, Ibn Jinnı: and Al-Zamakhsharı:. In a quoted passage
from the latter's Kita: b al-Mufas1s1al (p. 189), mut1baq may be translated
throughout as ‘emphatic’ rather than ‘covered’, since ait1ba: q is one of the
terms used for emphasis or velarization-pharyngalization. I believe the author
is absolutely right in his comparison of the classification of Hebrew vowels
into ro: m ‘elevation’ and mat1t1a: ‘depression’ as a result of the influence of the
Arabic raf" ‘elevation’ and xafd1 ‘depression’ (p. 195). However, it may be
going a bit too far to explain the supralinear dot in Arabic xa: ' and ]ayn and
the lack in h1 a: ' and "ayn as a manifestation of this phenomenon (ibid.).
The translation of "Ali b. Sulayma: n al-Mans1u: rı: 's (d. 1722 ..) Risa: la fı:
kayfiyyat an-nut1q bid1 d1 a: d is accurate and stylistically pleasing, as one may
easily compare the printed Arabic original, which is happily made available
(pp. 231–67). The translation is based on manuscripts from the Hans Daiber
collection, now owned by The Institute of Oriental Culture, University of
Tokyo, as well as on a photocopy of an original in the Ghazi Husrav-Bey
Library in Sarajevo (see p. 199 for all the pertinent details). Versteegh, who
wrote in his introduction to Kinberg's edition, commentary, and translation,
defends Jean Cantineau's lateral(ized) theory on the original pronunciation of
this phoneme—long considered a marker of the uniqueness of Arabic (p. 197),
which is also, in all probability, the theory advocated by Al-Mans1u: rı: (see
pp. 198–9). In this connection, witness the reference to Arabic as lu]at ud1 d1 a: d
‘the language of the da: d’, and the d1 , not coincidentally in my view, also
occurs in another well-known designation for the Arabic language, viz., lu]atu
mud1 ar ‘the language of Mudar’. Versteegh has also invested considerable
time studying what we may learn from Arabic loanwords in other languages
and the pronunciation of the da: d (see his ‘Loanwords from Arabic and the
merger of d1 /d’, IOS 19 (1999: 273–86)). I believe he is right in his analysis
about the original pronunciation of the t1, which is based on the description
given by Sı:bawayhi in his Kita: b, viz., that it was d1 , which was not directly
opposed to any other phoneme (p. 198). It is interesting to note Sı:bawayhi's
mention of an allophone of the d1 a: d as d1 a: d d1 a"ı:fa; however, further research is
needed before we can ascertain the phonetic nature of this allophone. I doubt
Al-Nassir's theory, viz., that ‘it is realised somewhat like ð1 ’ will hold up
under close scrutiny (ibid., quoted from A. A. Al-Nassir, Sibawayhi the
phonologist: a critical study of the phonetic and phonological theory of Sibawayhi
as presented in his treatise Al-Kita: b, London: Kegan Paul International, 1993).
The volume contains a few typographical and other errors, chief of which
are the following. The cited essay by A. F. L. Beeston appeared in the journal
Language, not language (p. 100); mitna: ‘we died’ is incorrect for mutna: (p. 123);
and a referenced article by Dominique Caubet appeared (and not ‘to appear’)
in Alan S. Kaye, ed., Semitic studies in honor of Wolf Leslau on the occasion of
his eighty-fifth birthday, Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1991 (p. 181).
 . 
 167

 . :
Small nations and great powers: a study of ethnopolitical conflict in
the Caucasus.
480 pp. Richmond: Curzon Caucasus World, 2001. £50.

The book under review covers a wide range of issues pertaining to the conflicts
in the Caucasus. Starting with a general survey of the Caucasus with its multi-
ethnic and religious settings, the author proceeds to an evaluation of the
Imperial Russian and Soviet legacy and of the nature and roots of the
Caucasian conflicts. The following chapters are devoted to concrete cases: the
Armenian–Azerbaijani war over Nagorno-Karabakh, the wars of Georgia
with South Ossetia and Abkhazia, and Russia's war with Chechnya. The
author also discusses the conflict between the Ingush and Ossetians and the
potential conflict situations in Daghestan (in particular, the problem of the
divided Lezghi nation). Considerable attention is given to the great powers'
policy towards the Caucasian region: Turkey, Iran, Russia, and the United
States. The final chapter discusses the Caucasus from a Eurasian geopolitical
perspective.
The time when analysts regarded the conflicts in the Caucasus as clashes
of civilizations, with religious differences being given a prominent role, already
belongs to history. The author criticizes this approach, proposing a more
realistic definition applicable to all conflicts in the Caucasus: ‘The conflicts
are primarily political conflicts over territory and ownership thereof. Naturally,
the conflicts are all due to the process of politicizing ethnicity’ (p. 18). ‘In a
sense, the main determinant of the conflicts is a security dilemma based on
fear; or one could say, on the development of nationalisms mirroring each
other, fuelling and directed against each other, and scarcely able to develop
without each other’ (pp. 55–6). One could continue the analogy by pointing,
in particular, to mirroring separatisms of Georgians and Azeris seeking
secession from the Soviet Union as opposed to Abkhazians, South Ossetians
and Karabakh Armenians seeking separation from, respectively, Georgia and
Azerbaijan.
The book contains many precise and insightful observations, for instance
the author's remark that ‘the primary reason for the increasingly conflictual
attitude of minorities in the late 1980s was not discrimination but the
strengthening of group identity’ (p. 51). The post-Soviet minorities' rejection
of the notion of ‘autonomy’ is explained by the purely decorative nature of
this term in the Soviet totalitarian ‘federal’ structure. The minorities seek
secession or confederal solutions as ‘the only safe perceived way for national
survival and development’ (p. 46). Equally justified are a positive evaluation
of the role of the Confederation of the Peoples of the Caucasus and a negative
assessment of the great powers' rivalry over the Caucasus, which, ‘has delayed
rather than hastened the resolutions of these conflicts’. Moreover, ‘all four
interested states are pursuing their own interests in the region rather than
working impartially and unselfishly for the resolution of the conflicts’ (p. 54).
The descriptions of concrete cases vary in their scope and depth. Thus,
the discussion of the Azeri-Armenian conflict over Nagorno-Karabakh, based
on balanced use of relevant sources and personal interviews, is probably
among the best chapters in the book. The author emphasizes that, unlike
other Caucasian wars, this conflict is the only inter-state one. Though its
resolution is not impossible, it will remain a very difficult task for the
168 

international community and will continue to destabilize the region for a long
time to come.
The chapter on Georgia/Abkhazia/South Ossetia, by contrast, gives the
impression of being a more arbitrary compilation of facts. Russia's deportation
of Abkhazians to Ottoman Turkey is explained by the Abkhazians' closeness
to Circassians (p. 146), not, as it were, by a series of anti-Russian rebellions,
after which the Abkhazians were labelled as a ‘guilty population’. Georgian
was never a second language for Abkhazians (as claimed on p. 146): at the
time the Abkhazian Principality was incorporated into Russia (in 1810), the
majority of Abkhazians were monolingual, only some southern Abkhazians
having knowledge of Mingrelian. On p. 178 the author asserts that in 1979
Armenians outnumbered Abkhazians in Abkhazia, this in stark contradiction
to the census data provided on p. 156! Few will believe Cornell's assertion
that the Georgian ‘guerrillas’ operate in Abkhazia ‘outside the control of the
state’ (p. 186) in contrast to the assessment of Amnesty International. Given
that the number of Abkhaz troops over the whole war period (1992–3) is
estimated at roughly 5,000, some 70 to 80 per cent of them being ethnic
Abkhazians, the information about the arrival in Abkhazia of 2,000 troops
from Transdnestria will only bewilder any expert observer.
Speaking of proposals on political solutions, the author dismisses the idea
of a ‘common state’ as a Russian ploy and regards instead the asymmetric
federation (whatever this may mean), proposed by Shevardnadze, as ‘the
right model for the future of the Georgian state’ (p. 196). The problem is
that the three Caucasian de facto states (Abkhazia, South Ossetia and
Karabakh), which managed to defend themselves militarily and survive
economic blockades, will not be easily persuaded to give up their independence
in exchange for vague promises of even the ‘highest level of autonomy’ and
to return to the control of the very same governments which waged full-scale
wars against them. The tentative conclusion will be that these de facto states
will continue to exist for a considerable period of time, even without
recognition de jure (cf. analogues such as Taiwan and Northern Cyprus),
which renders the insistence on ‘asymmetric federation’ remote from
political reality.
The war in Chechnya, the most destructive and tragic conflict on the
territory of the former USSR, is also the best documented of all Caucasian
wars. The author follows the conflict from its inception through to its tragic
outcomes. The sad conclusion is that ‘Chechnya had lost the peace when it,
not unpredictably, failed to create a functional society and state’ (p. 250).
Interestingly, the terms ‘separatism’ and ‘secessionism’, abundantly used
when referring to former autonomies within Georgia and Azerbaijan, disappear
altogether in the discourse over Chechnya, the Chechen war being portrayed
primarily in terms of the Russian ‘invasion’ and the Chechen struggle for the
‘ideals of independence’. Since the wars over Karabakh, South Ossetia and
Abkhazia did not differ substantially in character from that of Chechnya, all
being wars for national liberation, the only discernible difference is Chechnya's
anti-Russian stance; one wonders whether this factor can explain the author's
obviously more benevolent attitude towards the Chechen cause.
The final chapter discusses the Caucasus as a security complex and
examines the appearance of the two ‘Caucasian strategic alignments’, namely
a west-east axis, including the USA, Turkey, Georgia, Azerbaijan plus
Uzbekistan, and a north-south axis, involving Russia, Armenia and Iran. The
author emphasizes that the geo-strategic importance of the Caucasus has so
far been a complicating rather than a facilitating factor. Though regional
 169

integration could bring great benefits to the population of Caucasian states,

the deep mistrust and unresolved political-territorial problems, exacerbated
by the issue of refugees, are obstacles along the way of peace and integration,
the achievement of which, as the author predicts, will not be easy. Despite
some imbalances and inaccuracies (not to mention quite a few typos), on the
whole Cornell's book presents a useful source for Western readers’ knowledge
about the Caucasus and its present political problems.
 . 

 :
The Circassians: a handbook.
(Peoples of the Caucasus.) 384 pp. Richmond: Curzon Caucasus
World, 2001.
This is the first modern account of the Circassians, once the largest North
Caucasian people, whose ancestry lies lost in the mists of time and whose
territory presently makes up part of the Russian Federation. The Circassians
were known to Europe and the East in the past principally because of the
beauty of their women (‘a fair Circassian’) and the legendary bravery of their
men. The Circassian Mamluks had a lasting and significant impact on Egypt's
history. But since the brutal decimation of Circassia by Imperial Russia and
the forced emigration of the majority of its population to the Ottoman
Empire, this nation has been mostly forgotten and neglected. One of the few
works on the Circassians which appeared in the twentieth century is Aytek
Namitok's Origines des Circassiens, (Paris, 1939). The book under review, by
Amjad Jaimoukha, fills a substantial gap in Western readers' knowledge of
this Caucasian nation.
The book encompasses nearly all aspects of Circassian history and life
(people and land; history; politics and current affairs; the diaspora; economy;
religion and beliefs; social structure; folklore; arts, crafts and architecture;
music and dance; language and linguistic policy; literature; theatre, media and
film). The useful appendices include Circassian proverbs and sayings,
chronology, the Circassian pantheon and caste system, latinized Kabardian
alphabet, extensive bibliography and index.
In the nineteenth century the territory of Circassia became a bone of
contention between its two rival neighbours, Turkey and Russia. Eventually
Turkey ceded Circassia, which it possessed only nominally, to Russia, thus
presenting the latter with the uneasy task of conquering the Circassian
territory. This period is among the most tragic chapters in the history of the
Circassians; many were exterminated or forced to flee their homeland. The
author justly mentions yet another aspect of that sad situation—the
uncompromising and disastrous decisions taken by Circassian leaders, who
preferred to lead their people to wholesale emigration, thus effectively giving
up their homeland. If it were not for the ethnic cleansing of the indigenous
population of the Western Caucasus (Circassians, Ubykhs, Abkhazians) in
the nineteenth century, the recent history of this region, and indeed of the
entire Caucasus, would have been quite different from what it is today.
There are still many gaps in our knowledge of Circassian history, even of
the relatively recent Soviet period, such as the Baksan revolt of 1928 (p. 80).
No less revealing is the fresh look at the question of Kabarda's ‘voluntary’
incorporation into the Russian Empire which, as the author argues, became
170 

possible only after a series of military campaigns against the Kabardians.

‘When General Yermolov, military commander of the southern Tsarist forces,
arrived on the scene in 1816, Kabarda was on her knees. Four decades of
open conflict had demoralized the people and left the land in ruins. The
Kabardians suffered heavy losses’ (p. 63).
There is a chapter devoted to Circassian communities in the diaspora,
which are undergoing some revival owing to the resumption of contacts with
their ethnic kin in the Caucasus and the increase in literacy and Circassian
self-identity. The process of assimilation is nevertheless taking its toll, the
majority of young Circassians in the diaspora being unable to speak their
ancestral language. Their proficiency in the official languages (mostly Arabic
or Turkish) does, of course, considerably enhance their career opportunities,
and with no education in the native tongue (with some exceptions in Israel
and Jordan), it is difficult to be optimistic about the future of the Circassian
language in the diaspora.
The Abkhaz-Georgian war of 1992–93, which revived in the minds of
many Circassians the dark days of their own history of suppression and
foreign domination, played a crucial role in the re-emergence of Circassian
identity, both in the Caucasus and especially in the diaspora. A considerable
number of Circassians, Abazas and Chechens came to the rescue of their
kindred Abkhazians and fought alongside Abkhaz forces. For the first time
since the days of their struggle with Tsarist Russia, all the North Caucasian
communities were united in a common cause, now around the Abkhaz issue,
which ‘allowed them for the first time to assume a strong political stance’
(p. 105). The new leaders, who emerged on the wave of the support campaign
during the Abkhazian war, reached a level of popularity exceeding that of the
old Soviet apparatchiks, and their growing influence ‘at times threatened to
sweep the local authorities out of power’. But the Chechen scenario was not
repeated in the Circassian republics. Despite their popularity, the new leaders
were not experienced politicians, and as the old élites had reluctantly decided
to support the pro-Abkhazian movement, such manoeuvrings helped them to
retain and even consolidate their grip on power.
The Circassian language and oral literature, in particular the monumental
Nart epics, received some attention from Western scholars, especially in the
shape of the distinguished Georges Dumézil. The Nart sagas are ‘the most
essential ingredient of Circassian culture’, comparable in importance to what
Greek mythology is to Western civilization. A lesser known cultural
phenomenon is the sophisticated Circassian chivalrous code of behaviour
‘Adyghe Xabze’. Circassian literature written in the Cyrillic script flourished
in Soviet times, though it had to comply with the official Soviet ideology and
refrain from touching on forbidden themes. After the collapse of Communism,
previously ‘closed’ topics came to the fore and could be discussed openly.
Yet, a less positive consequence of the new freedom was the fact that the cosy
collaboration of the Soviet State with the writers came to an end, and the
subsidy system was scrapped: ‘Market forces became important factors in
shaping the literary life’ (p. 282). The number of publications in Circassian
in the post-Soviet period has consequently dropped dramatically.
In an appendix to the book the author presents his own proposal for a
latinized Kabardian alphabet. The need for such an alphabet, which would
arguably better serve the cultural needs of Circassians both in the Caucasus
and in the diaspora, is indeed pressing, but the objective difficulty is the huge
Circassian consonantal inventory. No less of a tremendous task is to convince
Circassian societies at large, in particular the writers, of the necessity to
 171

change the current writing systems based on Cyrillic, in spite of a real danger
of interrupting the literary tradition.
New perspectives for Circassians, as well as for other small Caucasian
nations, are being opened up with the spread of the Internet. Jaimoukha's
successful activity in creating a Circassian website, which contains an
impressive bibliography on Circassia and the Caucasus in general, is a graphic
example of the new possibilities for the spread of information on the
Circassians and for day-to-day communication between the Caucasian and
diaspora communities.
In general, the book presents reliable, detailed and up-to-date information
on the Circassian nation which will undoubtedly be welcomed by a very broad
readership, including of course the numerous Caucasian diaspora communities.
 . 

 :
Sasanian society. I. Warriors II. Scribes III. Dehqa: ns.
(Ehsan Yarshater Distinguished Lectures in Iranian Studies No. 1.)
v, 71 pp. New York: Bibliotheca Persica Press (Distributed by
Eisenbrauns), 2000.
Sasanian society is the global title of the three articles mentioned in the
subtitle, which resulted from the late and sorely missed Professor Tafazzoli's
Ehsan Yarshater Distinguished Lectures. Unfortunately the author himself
could not prepare his lectures for the press. D. N. MacKenzie has done him
this last service, and R. P. Mottahedeh has seen to the booklet's publication
on behalf of the Center for Middle Eastern Studies of Harvard University as
the first volume of the Yarshater Lectures Series.
The three parts of the book are: (1) Warriors, (2) Scribes and secretaries,
and (3) Dehqa: ns. No general description of Sasanian society is given, and
even the representation of these social and functional groups and classes is
incomplete. One understands, however, the author's choice: had he included
the Zoroastrian priesthood, the wealth of source material would have been
overwhelming. Had he written about craftsmen, merchants and peasants, he
would have had to make do with sparse testimonies.
Even so, a remarkable methodological gap between the first article and
the two following cannot be overlooked. Tafazzoli describes in the chapter
‘Warriors’ (not aristocracy!) what can be said about the structure and
components of the late Sasanian military organization: army, military posts,
divisions of the army, ranks, war (i.e. terms for fighting and combat). Much
of what is presented in this part of the book has also been said by others (e.g.
about the colour of the warriors' clothes, p. 1). So this chapter is largely a
reliable description of the state of the art, especially in matters of terminology.
But I regard the two following parts ‘Scribes and secretaries’ and ‘Dehqa: ns’
as the highlight of the book; the author displays his impressive command of
all the relevant Middle Persian, New Persian and Arabic sources on
Sasanian history.
Tafazzoli not only describes the contribution of these groups to the social
system of Sasanian and post-Sasanian Iran, he also succeeds in identifying the
names and determining the functions of their prominent representatives. It is
no exaggeration to say that his book is an important contribution to a future
prosopography of Iran in the first millennium ..
172 

To edit another scholar's Nachlass is of course a risky task. As a rule one

does not know what the author himself had intended to add to, to change in
or to cancel from his draft text. In the present case the most obvious problem
is the absence of much of the secondary literature which often conceals the
fact that the author repeats or confirms what has already become communis
opinio in Iranological studies. There can be no doubt that Tafazzoli himself
would have referred to, e.g. A. V. Rossi, ‘Perception et symbologie des
couleurs dans le monde iranien et d'Asie Centrale’, in La Persia et l'Asia
Centrale da Alessandro al X secolo, Rome, 1996, p. 91 (ad p. 1 the colour of
the warriors' cloths), C. A. Inostrancev, ‘The Sasanian military theory’,
JCOI 7, 1926, 7–52 (ad pp. 1–17 Warriors), B. Utas, ‘Jang u a: štı: : War and
Peace in Iran’, in: Kalya: n1 amitra: ra: gan1 am, ed. E. Kahrs, Oslo, 1986, 287–302
(ad pp. 16–17 War), and G. Widengren, Der Feudalismus im alten Iran,
Cologne and Opladen 1969, 27–32 (ad p. 51 girdle as the insignia of nobility
in ancient Iran).
Another problem is that it sometimes remains unclear whether passages
of the text belong to the author or to the editor(s). Are the parts in square
brackets on p. 11 which go against Szemerényi (the unquoted source is Iranica
V, Acta Iranica 5, Tehran-Liège, Leiden, 1975, 366–75) an addition by the
author himself or by somebody else?
Some brief remarks: p. 5: MP. whwyrd, so far translated as ‘confused’, is
in my view rather ‘weakened’, which makes excellent sense in the
present context.
p. 7: on the twin term asp ud mard cf. also Man. 'sp u myrd and Avestan and
Indo-European patterns (W. Sundermann, BTT 4, Berlin 1973, p. 84 with n. 1).
p. 11: For the dizbed Tı:r Mihr cf. Man. Parth. Tı:r Mihr ša: h (Sundermann,
BTT 11, Berlin 1981, p. 104 with n. 1)? Cf. that the ruler of Samarkand and
a ruler of Sistan were called both ‘king’ or ‘lord’ and ‘dehqa: n’ (p. 47).
p. 11: Read: the Greek form (not: from).
p. 11: For hazbed read harzbed.
p. 14 n. 86: Tafazzoli emends Arab. 'lbyrw'n to *Behruwa: n. I think Bayruwa: n
is not impossible, cf. From Hecataeus to Al-H̆uwa: rizmı:, ed. J. Harmatta,
Budapest 1984, p. 306, n. 15.
p. 17: zambag ‘battle’ is exclusively Parthian. Its MP equivalent is ardı:g.
p. 21: MP 'ršt't, not 'š't.
p. 22: Parth. p]ty, not p]y.
p. 31: h1 štr instead of h1 str.
pp. 32–3: To speak of a special kind of script for the accountants of the royal
stables, the fire temples and judicial matters is certainly misleading.
p. 33: As for the ‘man worthy of the confidence of the people of the region’
(Arab. amı:n ahl al-balad), tentatively translated by Tafazzoli as MP awestwa: r
‘reliable’, I wonder whether here the driyo: ša: n ja: daggo: w ‘the advocate of the
poor’ is meant, cf. J. de Menasce, ‘Le protecteur des pauvres dans l'Iran
Sassanide’, in: Mélanges Henri Massé, Tehran 1963, 282–7.
p. 34: Interesting information about how Mani employed and gave work to a
team of scribes may be expected from the edition of the Dublin Kephalaia
(see W. P. Funk, ‘The reconstruction of the Manichaean Kephalaia’, in
Emerging from darkness. Studies in the recovery of Manichaean sources, ed.
P. Mirecki and J. BeDuhn, Leiden e.a. 1997, p. 158, on 333).
p. 34: n. 98: read 'rd'w'n p'k'n.
p. 38: I think that the ‘q’ in the word dehqa: n still needs explanation. If it is
the Arabicized form of a Persian dehga: n, then the simplest option would be
the rendering of Persian g by q (cf. A. Siddiqi, Studien über die persischen
 173

Fremdwörter im klassischen Arabisch, Göttingen, 1919, 73–4, where some of

the developments of k>q are in fact g>q). Note that Tafazzoli's explanation
in the present publication differs slightly from that given in Encyclopædia
Iranica , p. 223.
p. 39: read: the same author.
p. 47: concerning the continuation of the name of king De: wa: štič I think that
the name is derived from a common Sogdian appelative ‘demoniac’ (an
apotropaeic name?). In my view the separation of both words as proposed in
I. Gershevitch, A grammar of Manichean Sogdian, Oxford, 1954, §1277, is
artificial.
p. 57: Ma'mu: n.
These remarks are not intended to detract from the great informative
merit and the high scholarly standard of Professor Tafazzoli's work, which
might unfortunately be his last publication.
 

  :

The Manichaean body in discipline and ritual.
xvii, 354 pp. Baltimore and London: The Johns Hopkins University
Press, 2000. £33.
In this well-presented book the author wishes to ‘"‘save’' the Manichaeans
for history by recovering how they proposed to save themselves’ (p. x) and
concentrates in this on the central activity of the Manichaean Elects; the use
of their own bodies as a ritual place fit to release the light trapped in the food
they consume and so conduct this light upwards to the light-paradise which
they also wish to reach upon death.
The book contains a preface, seven chapters, a table of textual references,
fifty-eight pages of endnotes, a bibliography and a selective index of ancient
and modern authorities, texts quoted and topics covered. Six pages of black-
and-white plates and some tables accompany the text. The seven chapters
comprise an introduction, principally on methodology, five chapters on
Manichaean teachings and practice (ii. Disciplinary regimens; iii. Disciplinary
rationales; iv. Alimentary rites; v. Alimentary rationales; and vi. The liberation
of the embodied self) and a final chapter vii, ‘Ein Etwas am Leibe’ that picks
up the discussion from the introductory chapter.
In each chapter the Manichaean sources are surveyed in the order of
Central, Western and Eastern sources with a summary of each source group
and a comprehensive résumé at the end of each section. BeDuhn points out
that the otherwise so valuable Central sources (Arabic and Syriac) are
remarkably silent on the subject of his book. The Western sources include the
genuine Manichaean Coptic texts and the Latin sources, which are in the
main preserved or interwoven with Augustine of Hippo's often caustic
comments on them. This combination of two very divergent sources causes
difficulties and, naturally, the unavoidable use of Augustine sometimes brings
the author close to what he claims to want to avoid, i.e. seeing Manichaeism
through the eyes of its detractors. The Eastern sources comprise Middle
Iranian (Middle Persian, Parthian, Sogdian), Turkish and Chinese in the main;
on pp. 203–4 one of the most isolated sources, the sole Manichaean text in
Bactrian, M1224 (the ‘Bactrian Fragment’) is given great prominence and a
translation is offered, although the publication from which this is supposedly
174 

taken (according to p. 275) contains neither the full original text nor a
complete translation of it. The translation seems to have been taken from the
unpublished hand-out presented by Gershevitch at the Second European
Seminar on Central Asian Studies, 7–10 April 1987, in SOAS, London. The
Sogdian, Turkish and Chinese texts are often demonstrably based in the main
on Middle Persian and Parthian texts (some of which are known) but must
be quoted because of their better state of preservation. Nevertheless it seems
that significant Iranian texts should have been given more prominence. A case
in point is the Parthian ‘Sermon about the Light Nous’, §15 of Sundermann's
edition which provides a close equivalent to the Coptic source quoted on
p. 100, showing how consistently preserved certain Manichaean precepts were.
On the question of the presence of the Manichaean Hearers at the sacred
meal, BeDuhn refers to the Parthian text M177, which he interprets as giving
a clear indication that the Hearers left the room after presenting the food but
before the Elects (in this case Mani) started the sacred meal (p. 137 ‘the
Auditors depart, prior to the "‘food hour’'; they are not present at the time
the Elect makes his or her prayer’). This may have been the procedure, but
the text does not prove it, since it says: ‘And (at) the meal time, when (kd)
the beneficent one in prayer pleaded for that youth; then ('dy'n) he bowed
three times’. The text seems to contain a break but the point is that Mani's
disciples (z'dg'n ‘sons’) then ask him why he bowed, i.e. they were able to
observe Mani at least, though it is not clear if the disciples were Elects or
Auditors. A pictorial analysis (on pp. 156–7) of miniatures in some fragments
from Turfan is used to support the importance of the ritual meal but cannot
clarify this question.
At various points BeDuhn quotes a mainly Foucaultian theoretical
framework that stresses the channels of power in a community and the
individual's relationship to these. He stresses the sparse nature of the sources
on the question of the individual's role in the community, but then replaces
any detailed discussion of facts with further quotes from his theoretical
mentors which can only serve to state expectations rather than present facts
that support them, plausible though the resulting picture of a re-formed
individual within public view is. I wonder if there is any anecdotal information
available from adjacent sources. Of relevance may also be the apparent lack
of evidence for vows taken by a Manichaean; if each Manichaean had nothing
other than his personal commitment to guide him, this would explain the
constant reiteration of the Manichaean's purpose in the texts. On the other
hand, it is not surprising that societies that placed greater emphasis on family
bonds nurtured and maintained religious groups that remodelled the individual
entirely according to the needs and aims of the community.
At various points, particularly in the introduction and in the last chapter,
BeDuhn advocates a ‘speech acts’ approach to Manichaean ritual and hymnal
texts. The language of these texts creates its own reality. Nevertheless, BeDuhn
is happy to leave it at generalizations; he does not show us how these texts
work. These texts are also relevant to the question of the relationship of the
individual Manichaean and the community. The ‘we’ perspective in
Manichaean hymns is central; the verbal strategies in hymns and in particular
the use of personal pronouns should be a fruitful ground for study in this
question.
The central theme of the book is the ritualization of eating and, in
particular, the new orientation of the body to perform the task. Manichaean
Elects are so re-made as Manichaeans that they simply live Manichaeism.
This radical and surely very strenuous form of religious life is not asceticism
 175

in the sense of flight from the world because the Elects use their bodies to
liberate the light trapped in the material world, i.e. they are very much
interested in a ritualized contact with the world to this purpose. They keep
this contact with the help of the Hearers who deflect from them the harm
involved in the procurement of food and, in return, partake of the salutary
powers of intercession possessed by the Elect.
BeDuhn positions this view of Manichaeism as a departure from a series
of misunderstandings about the nature of Manichaeism that have dominated
studies on this religion. He proposes an entirely ritualized view of Manichaeism
and sees gnosis as playing only a minor role. He sees his study as an attempt
to see Manichaeism as it was; ‘we moderns’, a returning phrase of his, should
not pervert Manichaeism because this puts us ‘in danger of losing’ it.
In the impressive amount of material quoted in the book the author
admirably surmounts the difficulties faced by any student of Manichaeism to
transcend the piecemeal nature of the various sources in order to arrive at a
coherent and consistent portrayal of what they actually mean. The frequent
repetition and, sometimes, the piecemeal development of the argument in this
repetition or even in the endnotes accompanying them is inevitable.
There are a number of small but irritating inaccuracies in the Iranian
words quoted. Middle Persian and Parthian ma: nista: n ‘monastery’ (from the
verb ma: n- ‘to dwell’) is consistently and falsely transcribed with -ı:-; pa: d
(p. 133) is pad, the enclitic -m'n (p. 110) is ‘us’, not ‘me’; the quote on p. 137
(repeated on p. 150) should be pd ... p'd qft 'hynd (lit. ‘they fell at the feet of
...’). Words from the Middle Iranian languages are quoted mostly in
transliteration but those from the other languages in transcription; uniformity
in this and consistent indication of the language being quoted would have
made for better reading.
This should not detract from the value the book has as a significant study
on the rationale of Manichaeism.
 -

 :
Die dreisprachige Inschrift Ša: buhrs I. an der Ka"ba-i Zardusť (ŠKZ).
(Corpus Inscriptionum Iranicarum, Pt. III) 2 vols. London: School
of Oriental and African Studies, 1999.
The trilingual inscription of Shapur I at Naqš-i Rustam was first discovered
in 1939 by archaeologists excavating under the aegis of the Oriental Institute
of Chicago University. Inscribed on two sides of the tower complex known
as the Ka"ba-i Zardušt, the inscription gives a schematic account in Middle
Persian, Parthian and Greek of Shapur's victorious wars against the Romans
and of his administrative and religious policies at home. The text was later
(1943) given its now more familiar title of Res Gestae Divi Saporis by the
great historian of the Hellenistic and Roman East, Michael Rostovtzeff, on
grounds of its similarity in grandiloquence and boastfulness with the well-
known auto-obituary of Caesar Augustus in Ancyra. The outbreak of the
Second World War meant that few scholars were available to utilize this
major new historical source fully. An important article on the place-names in
particular, however, was published by Professor W. B. Henning in this Bulletin
(BSOS , 1939, 823–49) but the text did not become the subject of a major
study in English until 1953 when Martin Sprengling published Third Century
176 

Iran. Sapor and Kartir (Chicago)—a work which was not properly typeset
and which enjoyed very limited circulation. Far more influential is the almost
contemporaneous monograph by E. Honigmann and A. Maricq (Recherches
sur les Res Gestae Divi Saporis, Brussels, 1953) and five years later Maricq
himself published an editio major of the Greek text in the form of a journal
article (Syria 34, 1958, 288–96). A detailed study of the historical information
on the Romano-Persian wars given by the inscription was published by
E. Kettenhofen (Die römisch-persischen Kriege des 3. Jarhunderts n. Chr.,
Wiesbaden, 1982. ). The ŠKZ (as the inscription is more properly known) was
studied along with several other early Sasanian royal inscriptions by M. Back
in his substantial monograph (Die sasanidischen Staatsinschriften, Leiden,
1978). However, as all major Iranian inscriptions have been or are being
(re-)edited and (re-)published in the established series the Corpus Inscriptionum
Iranicarum, the Corpus edition of this important inscription which carries
with it the quasi-status of being the definitive edition (at least for one if not
several generations of scholars) has been eagerly awaited.
The handsomely produced volumes under review constitute the most
substantial and thorough effort to present this important trilingual inscription
to a wide scholarly community as the text is of importance to both scholars
of Iranology and of Roman history. Volume I contains the trilingual text laid
out in three columns. This highly desirable layout, which is essential for the
comparative study of all three versions of this text, is possible because
although the format of this two-volume edition is A4 in concert with the
other volumes of the Corpus Inscriptionum Iranicarum series, both volumes
are bound on the short side which means that one needs to work on a very
large desk if one wishes to consult both volumes at once. The format will also
cause problems with library shelving as the spines of the volumes are unlikely
to be made visible to the reader. One wonders if there are grounds here for
the two volumes to be cased with the title clearly inscribed on the spine of
the long-side of the case. The texts of the Middle Iranian versions are given
in standard transcription and all three versions are accompanied by separate
German translations. A standard set of paragraph numbers replaces the
traditional division by line-numbering. This may cause some problems to
students familiar only with the Greek version which is usually cited by line-
numbers. However, the uniform paragraph-numbering will make the comparat-
ive study of the three versions of the text very much easier. The volume
contains detailed glossaries to all three versions and includes much valuable
information on historical geography. The very full introduction includes an
important discussion on the history of the discovery of the inscription and
the way in which the text and its various versions were composed.
The second volume contains the philological and historical commentary
to the text. The editor's thorough knowledge of Greek epigraphy and of
Roman history makes his commentary a major contribution to the history of
the period. As one would expect a lengthy discussion is devoted to the
problematic section at the end of the account of the Second Campaign which
mentions the capture of Dura Europos and of other cities of the Middle
Euphrates after Shapur's great victory at Barbalissos which is much further
up-river. The date of the capture of Dura as indicated by coins found on the
bodies of the besieged Roman troops could not be earlier than 256/7 but the
main campaign which climaxed with the capture of Antioch took place almost
three years earlier. The existence of a Roman military document dated to 254
and the presence of Sasanian (?) graffiti on the dipinti of the famous synagogue
at Dura both suggest an initial Roman attempt to hold the city and its brief
 177

occupation by the Sassanians before the final onslaught which is so well

reconstructed by the recent archaelogical work of Pierre Leriche. It is not
impossible to postulate that Dura was a later conquest because it was
by-passed in the initial stages of the campaign but the isolated Roman
garrison withdrew after 254 and the city was briefly occupied by Sasanian
forces. The city was then re-occupied by fresh Roman troops from the
Danubian frontier brought to the region by Valerian. The elaborate defences
were the work of these battle-hardened professionals who were determined to
make Dura a strong-point. This meant that Shapur had no choice but to
‘take out’ the cities on the Middle Euphrates as far up-river as Circesium—
future site of a major Roman fortress under Diocletian—to remove this threat
to his flanks three years after his initial success and as he was preparing to
face the Valerian's counter-attack. Huyse's commentary is supplemented by a
number of appendices. That on the origin of the author/translator of the
Greek version is particularly valuable and Huyse's conclusion that he was a
Greek from Seleucia is entirely convincing. The second volume contains
photographs of squeezes of all the lettered panels of the inscription and the
standard of reproduction is extremely high.
This excellent edition of one of the most famous early Sasanian royal
inscriptions is likely to remain standard for some time to come. The prohibitive
cost of the two volumes, however, may mean that many scholars, especially
Roman historians, will continue to cite the inscriptions from the edition of
the Greek version by Maricq.
 . . 

 :
Ugaritische Grammatik.
(Alter Orient und Altes Testament, 273.) xxii, 1056 pp. Münster:
Ugarit-Verlag, 2000.
By any standards this book is the most complete reference grammar of
Ugaritic to date. The description of the Ugaritic writing system, phonology,
morphology, and syntax occupies no fewer than nine hundred densely printed
pages. The other hundred or so pages contain eight indexes, abbreviations
and a bibliography. But its most useful feature are the copious, and often
exhaustive, citations of relevant occurrences of the forms or constructions.
The following general observations will focus on the qualitative progress this
grammar has made when compared with its predecessors.
A grammar of a language such as Ugaritic, preserved almost exclusively
in consonantal writing, will primarily aim to reconstruct forms and describe
their use in actual texts. The limited and sometimes damaged records make it
difficult to arrive at generalizations. In such cases, these efforts will at best
produce hypothetical forms whose value will remain somewhat provisional.
The grammarian may instead choose to leave moot points open, perhaps
adding brief comparative notes here and there. Unlike Gordon's now classic
Ugariitc grammar, which follows the latter method, the work under review
has gone far in exploiting available resources, and the results are generally good.
A case in point is the description of the verbal system. Those who grew
up with Gordon's grammar will recall that finer points concerning the time
178 

reference of yqtl and qtl, together with their aspectual and modal nuances,
have been deliberately left open. Learners are supposed to familiarize
themselves with the complexities of the use of the forms in the texts. Two
other manuals, one by Segert and the other by Sivan, start where Gordon left
off. Segert's teaching grammar presents the Ugaritic verbal system somewhat
rigidly from an aspectual point of view. Consequently it cannot give a
satisfactory account of the preterital use of yqtl. Sivan, using Rainey's view
of Northwest Semitic prefix conjugation, does not suffer from this drawback,
though neither does his grammar really offer a fuller picture of the Ugaritic
verbal system. In this respect Tropper's grammar is superior to its predecessors.
Its theoretical basis is also more accountable. Tense is here viewed as a
category that has something to do with the relation between the moment of
utterance and the event or situation described; hence anterior, simultaneous,
or posterior to the utterance. Aspect, on the other hand, is about the way the
state of affairs is presented, namely as a finished product (perfective), or as a
process that is still ongoing (imperfective). Starting with these notions Tropper
proceeds to describe the use of the ‘shorter preformative conjugation yaqtul’,
the ‘longer preformative conjugation yaqtulu’, and qatala: the shorter form
yaqtul expresses a perfective action that takes place before the utterance,
hence the preterite, whereas the longer form yaqtulu indicates an ongoing
situation that may take place before, after, or simultaneously with the moment
of utterance. The form qatala cuts across all three time references, but it is,
according to Tropper, basically perfective. This general description of the use
of qatala, yaqtul and yaqtulu has the advantage of being more comprehensive
and clearer than other grammars. It is true that those who have worked
through Ugaritic texts are not completely unfamiliar with this understanding,
nevertheless it is only fair to say that this is the first grammar of Ugaritic to
offer a more economical description of the complicated tense-aspect system
regardless of whether or not one agrees with Tropper's interpretation of
individual examples.
The modal system is treated in a separate chapter, perhaps for ease of
consultation. Thus while the indicative mood is found with all three forms
above ( yaqtulu, yaqtul, qatala), the volitive mood is represented by the
imperative, the jussive (whose form is identical with yaqtul) and qatala. The
modal use of the longer form yaqtulu is dealt with only in passing (pp. 734–5,
under the heading of modal nuances like must, may and can). The modal use
of the infinitive is discussed in an earlier chapter detailing with the narrative
and imperatival uses of the infinitive (pp. 491–3). Had he thought of drawing
more fully on recent studies of modality, Tropper could have gone a step
further in describing the Ugaritic modal system. In this grammar, as in
traditional grammars, modality is almost exclusively described in terms of
wish and command, thus deontic modality. Forms with energic ending -n are
discussed in terms of their emphatic and affirmative values. As a matter of
fact, these forms could have been more broadly presented in terms of the
whole range of epistemic modality where the speaker expresses some belief,
judgement, doubt, or conviction about the possibility or the necessity of the
truth of the statement. This will help explain the large number of cases in
which forms with the energic ending -n do not seem to bear emphasis.
An extremely useful part of this grammar is the long chapter on particles
(pp. 737–836). The detailed and exhaustive description has substantially
superseded previous treatments given in manuals and special studies in both
extent and clarity. Besides the staple material like adverbs, prepositions,
conjunctions, emphatic particles, and particles of existence, the treatment also
 179

includes various enclitic particles other than the well-known enclitic -m,
namely -n, -y, -k, -t, which are left virtually unexplained in other manuals.
Tropper's analysis has also improved upon the most complete, if not always
lucid, treatment of these particles by K. Aartun (AOAT 21/1–2, 1974). One of
the improvements is the interpretation that -y represents a particle marking a
direct speech rather than an emphatic particle. Probably because of the
scarcity of the data, the discussions on enclitic -k and -t are less enlightening.
Even if one is not convinced by everything that this grammar says about the
individual enclitic particles, the material and the discussion merit serious
consideration.
Students of Ugaritic and Semitic languages in general will certainly be
indebted to this reference grammar for a long time to come.
 

 :
War, politics and society in Afghanistan, 1978–1992.
xiv, 320 pp. London: Hurst & Company, 2000. £45.
Antonio Giustozzi's fascinating book focuses on Afghanistan under the
communist government of the PDPA (People's Democratic Party of
Afghanistan), which ruled the country from the coup of April 1978 until the
fall of President Najibullah in April 1992. In addition to numerous academic
works, the descriptions and analyses are based on secret Soviet reports which
have recently become available, radio broadcasts, and interviews with different
actors. Using these new sources, the author is able to offer an original
perspective to this important period of contemporary Afghan history and to
integrate the social, political and military aspects of the pro-Soviet regime.
The book is divided into four parts enriched by appendices (statistical
tables, maps and graphs) and a wide bibliography. Part 1 deals with the limits
of ‘sovietization’. Aware of the weakness of the state in the provinces, the
Soviet leadership wanted to move step-by-step to rebuild the state apparatus
and to widen the political base of the regime. This was no longer a workable
programme after Amin's bloody dictatorship and the generalized armed
uprising (1979). After analysing the reforms the communists had tried to
implement, Antonio Giustozzi addresses government policy: consolidation of
the party base, organization of propaganda, compromises with some local
powers. The majority of PDPA members were young, secular intellectuals
from Kabul. The party failed to extend its support in the countryside and
was unable to prevent the explosion of tensions between urban and rural
populations, as well as between secular and religious educated people. Land
reform, introduced to help the peasantry, was not understood by its
beneficiaries and remained largely ineffective. The same pattern of failure may
be seen for the female emancipation and literacy campaigns.
Part 2 tackles the efforts made by the Communist Government to
reorganize the regular armed forces. The author emphasizes the lack of
strength of the Afghan army at the beginning of the war and its incapacity to
conduct counter-guerrilla activities. The internal rivalries between the two
communist factions (Khalq and Parcham), the various purges, low morale,
180 

bad relations between officers and soldiers, and the very high desertion rate
are all factors which explain this ineffectiveness. Another strategy the
government implemented was to reinforce the troops of the Ministry of the
Interior (sarandoy), which received the important strategic tasks of protecting
the economic assets and fighting at village level. At the end of the 1980s, their
role began to decline. In spite of new recruitment measures based on economic
incentives (from 1985), the regular armed forces never reached their planned
full strength. The improvement of the Afghan army was never achieved and
its military activities remained highly ineffective.
The second half of the book is possibly even more interesting than the
first. Here Giustozzi analyses the causes of the failure of national reconciliation
and the role of the different militias and their complex relationships with the
resistance.
In Part 3, the author explains the ‘pacification policy’. Acknowledging
the limits of their earlier approach, Soviet advisers and Afghan leaders
elaborated a new strategy. Under Soviet pressure, President Karmal launched
a reform programme, known as the Ten Theses, in October 1995. It continued
more coherently under his successor Najibullah between 1986 and 1992, but
with varying success. The regime intended to favour political over military
means, to appear more respectful of Islam, to represent the various strata of
the population, and to respect a certain level of local autonomy. It attempted
‘to co-opt the armed opposition in the countryside, striking deals with single
commanders or single villages’ (p. 119). At first, it was an opportunist
tactic, but it progressively became the main long-term strategy of the regime,
especially after Soviet withdrawal in 1989.
Part 4 examines the role of the militias up to the fall of Kabul (1992). To
tackle the problem of the army and the withdrawal of the Red Army, the
communist regime developed a new strategy and encouraged the rise of several
militias in the second half of the 1980s. The latter have played a fundamental
role in the pacification of the country, especially in the northern provinces. A
‘sort of feudal relationship between the central government and the militia
leaders’ was established, leading to further fragmentation of the country
(p. 231). Their commanders were often mujahedin. They committed various
sorts of abuse (robbing refugees or ransacking villages) and their imperfect
loyalty compromised the existence of the Communist Government. They
finally provoked the fall of Kabul when the resources of the central state
dried up (after 1991 the Soviet Union was unable to meet its commitments).
Antonio Giustozzi writes clearly and is very well informed. His insightful
book fills an important gap in Afghan studies, since most Western scholars
have focused on the resistance or on the geo-political issues of the conflict.
Unfortunately, one regrets the relative lack of analysis of the nationalities
policy implemented by the Communist Government on the Soviet model,
which has certainly contributed to the ethnicization of the Afghan society
throughout the war (see pp. 236 and 242–3 for instance) and will have long-
lasting effects. The author could also have developed his rich final insight
linking the present situation in Afghanistan with the strategy of the Communist
regime, when he mentions the possible ‘appearance of a reaction against the
warlords from some quarter, probably outside their area of influence, e.g.
from the southern Pashtun belt, where it could also have exploited ethnic
resentment against the dominance of ethnic minorities in Kabul. This is what
actually happened with the Taliban’ (p. 250). But that is another story.
 
 181

 - :

The new Mamluks: Egyptian society and modern feudalism.
xli, 292 pp. Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 2000.

The work under review traces the social changes that occurred in Egyptian
society over the last two hundred or so years. More specifically, it examines
how authority and influence shifted and changed hands from the Mamluks to
Muhammad "Ali Pasha, then to his dynasty, and also to the British from 1882
until 1952, when the Egyptian military initiated their coup d'état. This coup
was supposed to benefit the hitherto deprived classes of society, yet Sonbol
considers that the only groups to profit were the military and their cronies.
She concludes that the importance of the military was reduced during Sadat's
rule, allowing a new class of businessmen to gain prominence.
Sonbol's study is worthy of interest if only for its categorization and
description of the holders of power and authority—referred to as the khassa.
She stresses that the khassa still exist today, despite the 1952 revolution and
its abolition of class differences, but that it comprises different groups. The
groups changed over time, but the ruling class have always been part of the
khassa, as are tax collectors and assessors, and sometimes the military, as well
as the merchant or business class. The merchant class is important especially
since it maintains direct or indirect foreign relations. The groups in the khassa
complement each other, yet each fights for greater control and power. Sonbol
specifies that the khassa are not necessarily the élite, but that the "ammah, or
larger public, recognize them as those who wield power and influence. The
"ammah includes members of the clergy, professionals, and other intellectuals,
although some clergy were, in the past, part of the khassa; they could control
the public as well as intercede for people with the rulers.
The first chapter gives the historical background, with a criticism of the
conventional view that Egypt's only noteworthy attribute in the eighteenth
century was the internal strife between the warlords, Mamluks, and the
Ottoman garrisons in Egypt. Sonbol aptly points out that people's lives went
on as usual, and that life was organized and ordered: transactions took place,
court cases were heard, sentences were passed, and justice was carried out in
accordance with existing laws.
Chapter ii shows how the destruction of the Mamluks allowed Muhammad
"Ali to secure Egypt for himself. He took over the khassa, rid himself of the
multazims (tax collectors), and then appointed local notables to collect taxes
from their respective areas. By the end of the nineteenth century, this group
had become part of the new khassa, together with the British and other
foreigners who now controlled the country.
Sonbol, who herself uses more secondary than primary sources, points out
that one difficulty faced by those seeking to determine the conditions of the
merchants during Muhammad "Ali's time is the lack of such sources or data.
The third chapter describes how the need to modernize the country
necessitated the use of European languages in the legal and administrative
domains. Accordingly, Egyptians wanting upward social mobility and seeking
to join the administration needed to be fluent in foreign languages. The author
cites an example, based on her own research, of the School of Hakimas,
senior healthcare nurses, where the period of study was three years. Egyptian
female graduates aspiring to more advanced study needed to demonstrate
their fluency in a foreign language in an oral exam. Conditions such as these
accentuated the duality of Egyptian society. Members of the khassa eventually
182 

came to ape the mannerisms, clothing and culture of the West, and others,
who aspired to join them, did the same. Naturally, there were those in the
"ammah who ridiculed them.
Such ambiguities were particularly evident among the upper echelons of
the Egyptian administration, as is shown in chapter iv. Thus, "Adli Yeghen,
"Abd al-Khaliq and Isma"il Sidqi tended to adopt European customs, and
were generally unpopular with the people, in contrast with, for example, Sa"d
Zaghlul. Zaghlul was not originally from the khassa, but in time joined it—
although he continued to speak the language of the "ammah. The author aptly
observes that the contradictions and conflicts that separated Zaghlul and
other members of the Wafd from the Palace and the British were only fully
resolved after 1952.
In chapter v Sonbol is equally scathing about the khassa that established
itself after the 1952 coup. She argues that Nasser's rhetoric with regard to the
abolition of class differences actually helped to augment class consciousness,
so that the poorer classes now demanded a greater share of wealth
corresponding to that of the better-off middle classes of professionals and
intellectuals. Moreover, because the new order represented themselves as
members of the "ammah or public, whilst they saw themselves as symbols of
the people's will, they considered political equality to be inconsequential. The
policy of Nasser's military regime was to ‘humble bureaucrats and intellec-
tuals’. This involved ‘no freedom of expression, no respect for life or property,
no concept of law above the needs of the state’. The state that emerged
represented only one order—that of armed officers and their allies. Scientists,
engineers and doctors were needed, but were seldom asked whether they
approved of the policies carried out in their respective administrations, as
these were dictated by a government composed mainly of military officers.
Chapter vi discusses Sadat's presidency, describing how internal needs and
external factors led to a new open door policy. Once again, this favoured the
new khassa, namely allies and close affiliates of the new president, as well as
businessmen. Sonbol surmises that Sadat continued the same discourse as his
predecessor, but that he had one discourse for the people and another for the
khassa, and that he was far more élitist than was Nasser.
In Chapter vii and the conclusion the author reflects on the fact that while
in the past the khassa set the standards for Egypt, she suspects that the
"ammah may have finally gained the upper hand, as they are the ones who
now set the tone.
Sonbol's analysis is sound, her judgements impartial, and her arguments
convincing. However, the value of her book is marred by a lack of
thoroughness. For example, she mentions, on page 47, that the Qanuname of
Egypt was issued in 1528 by the Ottoman Sultan Selim I, but it was his son,
Sulayman, who actually instituted the Qanuname, since Selim I died in 1520.
On the same page, when referring to the Ottoman invasion of Egypt, she says
‘after the 1916 invasion’. She writes, on page 49, that diwan al-madaris was
initiated in 1926, whereas she means 1826. Then on page 61, she declares that
a general Coptic congress took place in Assiut in 1910; however, the Egyptian
government, after the Wardani incident, refused to allow the Coptic congress
to take place in 1910, and it was held in 1911. Further, on page 64, she says
that there were one million Swiss and Belgians in Egypt after 1840—which
seems slightly far-fetched, especially since she herself writes that there were
150,000 foreigners in Egypt at that time. She later refers to the ‘celebrated’
case of Shaykh "Ali Yusuf, founder of the newspaper al-Mu'ayyad, who
married a girl from ‘the elite classes’, and Sonbol mentions Malak Hifni
 183

Nasif. Shaykh "Ali Yusuf actually married a daughter of Shaykh al-Sadat,

who was one of the ashraf. As for Malak Hifni Nasif, bahithat al-badiyah, she
was married to "Abd al-Sattar al-Basil. Sonbol also states that a secret police
force was instituted in 1940, yet it was established in the early 1920s to fight
political crime. There is also the burning of the Cairo Opera House which,
according to Sonbol, took place in the 1990s, whereas it burned down in
1971. Montreux is referred to as Montreaux. Also according to Sonbol,
Isma"il Sidqi was fired as Prime Minister of Egypt after the Badari incident,
but the Badari case was debated in the Egyptian Parliament in January 1933,
and Sidqi only resigned in September 1933, as a result of King Fuad and
Ibrashi's machinations. In referring to the Ziwar cabinet of 1925, she writes
1952. The bread riots took place in Egypt in 1977, not in 1981.
 

  and  - (ed.):

Imagined masculinities: male identities and culture in the modern
Middle East.
294 pp. London: Saqi Books, 2000. £25.00, £14.95 paperback.
There has been a significant increase during the 1990s in publications on
Western ‘masculinity’. Some have been written in response, and sometimes
as a challenge, to a perceived imbalance in gender and identity studies that
favours women. These (primarily male) authors assert that feminist literature
and women's studies have either excluded men, or have neglected to address
the complexities and possible diversity of male identities. The juxtaposition of
more fully explored and developed female identities against some essentialized,
monolithic, and normally patriarchal ‘male’ in much feminist literature has
been viewed as tactically disempowering towards men, and some have sought
to rectify the situation by reclaiming a male focus in their writing. Positions
entrenched in exclusionary policies, however, have only served to widen the
gender divide and have failed productively to engage with the social and
cultural politics of gendering.
More inclusive approaches to gender studies have also responded to the
under-representation of ‘masculinity’ in earlier feminist works and women's
studies, but have more successfully avoided the pitfalls of the ‘all-male’ works
by bridging the divide between the sexes. Contemporary gender studies address
notions of masculinity and femininity within a unified discursive field, thereby
recognizing not only their necessary relation to one another, but also the
possibility of multiple and overlapping gender identities. Writers, such as the
contributing authors to Cornwall and Lindisfarne's Dislocating masculinity
(1994), consider the construction of hegemonic and variant masculinities
within particular ethnographic contexts, and thereby collectively challenge the
notion of a natural, universal and heterosexual masculinity. The compilation
of writings in Ghoussoub and Sinclair-Webb's edited volume under review
here, Imagined masculinities, follows suit, and makes a significant contribution
not only to the study of masculinities, but also to gender research in the
Middle East more generally.
Despite commonly held assumptions about patriarchal dominance in
Middle Eastern cultures and societies, studies of the production and
reproduction of masculine identities have been scant, and much of the gender
focus in this region has been on women in relation to issues of social status,
184 

Islam, politics and law. Ghoussoub and Sinclair-Webb's volume initiates a

much-needed correction to this deficiency. Imagined masculinities presents the
work of fifteen academics, journalists and writers of various cultural
backgrounds, all of whom share the premise that masculinity, like femininity,
is socially constructed with complex webs of power relations. In addition to
newly-authored contributions, a few of the chapters are excerpts reprinted
from existing publications, such as Bouhdiba's ‘Sexuality in Islam’, and
others are translations from works in Arabic which present an English-reading
audience with a valuable insight into gender studies pursued by non-Western
scholars and writers. One of the great merits of the book is that the editors
have not equated the Middle East exclusively with Islam, and have included
several fascinating contributions on Jewish-Israeli notions of masculinity (but
unfortunately none specifically addressing the Christian communities of the
region), and regional coverage extends widely from Morocco to Turkey and
into the Arabian Peninsula without ever positing generalized notions of
‘Middle Eastern’ practices.
The book has been divided into three parts. The first, entitled ‘Making
men: institutions and social practices’, comprises essays that analyse the
making of masculinity in ritualistic and institutionalized contexts. The editors
claim to have achieved a chronology from childhood to adulthood here, but
with only five chapters in the section, two of which deal with circumcision
and three that analyse masculinity within military and combative contexts,
there are certainly a great many lacunae in relation to the ageing process. In
fact, elderly males, or even those who have passed beyond the ritual ‘wedding
night’, tend to be relegated outside of studies of masculinity, falsely suggesting
that either masculine identity remains static with maturity, or that older men
assume classic patriarchal roles. The contributions in this section are
nevertheless among the strongest in the book, and particularly enlightening is
the contrast between both Bouhdiba's and Khal's accounts of Muslim
circumcisions with that of Bilu's highly informative (though at times overly
theoretical) analysis of circumcisions, haircuts and the Torah among Israel's
ultra-orthodox Jews. Sinclar-Webb's study of military service and manhood is
situated within the intricate relationship between gender, ethnicity and power
in contemporary Turkey, and the government's ongoing oppression of the
Kurds. I felt, however, that this relation could have been better highlighted
in order to demonstrate more clearly how questions of gender identity cannot
be disentangled from ones regarding language, ethnicity and race. Peteet's
essay on male gender in the Intifada is an abbreviated version of an article
originally published in 1994 that nicely complements her earlier and more
extensive work on women in the Palestinian resistance movement. Kaplan's
study of gender and sexuality in the all-Israeli millitary ‘melting pot’ points
out how some men, while fully upholding the hegemonic masculine ideal
espoused by the army and nation, may also develop a homosexual identity.
Part 2 of the book on ‘Male fictions’ takes a more literary slant on the
issue of masculinity, with contributions considering medieval and modern
Arabic literature, the Egyptian cinema, and propagandist journalism. The first
two chapters are particularly insightful and complement each other nicely in
their historic focus. In her analysis of ‘wiles of women’ stories, such as those
integrated within such frame stories as The Thousand and One Nights,
Najmabadi provocatively suggests that, in contrast to the way that the
Oedipus story works to produce ‘heterosocial heteronormativity’, these
circulate in the Middle East to produce and reproduce a ‘repudiation of the
world of women, while distancing from male homoeroticism to construct a
 185

homosocial adult manhood’. In the following chapter, Lagrange engages in a

somewhat extensive historical survey of ‘homosexuality’ in Arabic literature,
and posits several possible reasons for the subject's general neglect in
contemporary writing in comparison with literature of the Classical Age. The
book's third part, ‘Memoir and male identity’, completes the volume with
three chapters by Jewish and Arabic writers. All three present highly
entertaining autobiographical insights into the lives of Middle Eastern men
and explore important episodes in the construction of gender identities.
Imagined masculinities provides a necessary study in the Middle East
context, and will be extremely valuable for students in gender, anthropology,
and Near and Middle Eastern studies. We can only hope for more follow up
on this important issue.
 . . 

  (ed.):

Women in Islam and the Middle East: a reader.
xiv, 271 pp. London and New York: I. B. Tauris, 1999. £39.50.
Ruth Roded has been associated with the Department of the History of Islam
and the Middle East at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem for over twenty-
five years. During this time she has worked to transmit an understanding of
the complex role of women in the history and culture of this part of the
world. From the first course she taught on women in Islam and Middle
Eastern history, it became clear to the author that the only way to do justice
to this controversial subject was by enabling her students to read primary
sources (in translation, if necessary) and form their own opinion. This was a
perilous path, fraught with dangers in not only the selection of materials, in
their translation (mainly into English), but also in the omission of material.
Ruth Roded is careful to highlight the particular difficulties of interpreting
early Islamic, particularly quranic, references to women. Hence her effort to
let the material speak for itself is introduced by text which attempts to
‘locate’ the material. Here she raises questions which the twenty-first century
reader might wish to ask. She is also careful to note the biases which emerge—
particularly in European travel literature—isolating Islam as denigrating to
women, when the facts presented seem to suggest that what is being perceived
is a social and cultural attitude common to Arab Christians, Muslims and
Jews alike. She cites, for an example, the work of Henry Harris Jessup, a
Protestant missionary in Syria for seventeen years in the mid-nineteenth
century. In his book Women of the Arabs he refers to a number of scholarly
works and Arabic written and oral sources, yet his attitude to the subject is
extraordinarily biased. ‘The scourging and beating of wives is one of the
worst features of Moslem domestic life’, he says. Yet, as Ruth Roded shows,
Jessup, by his own evidence, admits that Christians in nineteenth-century
Syria beat their wives as often as did Muslims. In fact she goes on to state
that the nineteenth-century man's ‘right and even obligation to punish women
and children in his care by beating if necessary was widely recognized in the
West as well as the East until very recently’ (p. 6). With this cultural
relativistic approach to the material outlined in her 20-page introduction, the
selected readings which comprise the bulk of the book offer a promise of
being more than a reaffirmation of orientalist scholarship.
The readings are divided into five parts: Part 1, The foundation of Islam;
186 

Part 2, Early Islamic history; Part 3, Women as sources, actors and subjects
of Islamic law; Part 4, Women's roles in medieval society; Part 5, Twentieth-
century vicissitudes. Each part is introduced by Roded who offers some
interpretive insight into and contextualization of the materials she has selected
as well as, frequently, a set of questions which she feels the material raises.
However, the readings cannot begin to answer the questions raised and the
reader is often left with the sense that fewer readings and more interpretation
by Roded would have been more satisfying. The material cannot be understood
out of context and it is the interpretation or directed reading towards that
end which has value. For example, in Part 1, Roded chooses from the Quran
select passages from just three chapters. Surah XXIV Light; Surah XXXIII
The Clans; and Surah IV Women. These are the contentious passages
concerned with the appropriate modesty of women, the ‘superiority’ of men
to women, the right to beat women, and the admonishment to bring in
arbitration when a man and his wife are in disagreement. The very wording
of these passages in Arabic has been the cause of much debate and
interpretation. In English translation this becomes even more controversial
and problematic.
This book is not an easy one to read on its own. It can easily be
appropriated to justify a now stale orientalist image of women in the Middle
East. However, as a text which is used to accompany a directed course on
women in the Middle East it has great potential. The materials which Ruth
Roded has identified, translated into English and notated make an excellent
starting point for a taught course. This material and the questions raised by
the author in each chapter can be addressed in the course of classroom
discussion and debate. Furthermore, it might then be possible to expand the
material presented and to bring it into greater focus and clarity by selecting
accompanying material on the roles and attitudes towards Arab Jewish and
Christian women. As a teaching text, this book has significant potential. If
the material in this book were enhanced by additional supporting historical
texts on Arab Christian and Jewish women, the reader would emerge with a
firmer grounding in Women in Islam and the Middle East.
 

  (ed.):

Gender and citizenship in the Middle East. (With a foreword by
Deniz Kandiyoti.)
(Contemporary Issues in the Middle East.) xxxi, 400 pp. Syracuse,
NY: Syracuse University Press, 2000. $29.95.
The work under review discusses a number of important issues: specific ways
in which women are incorporated into the political sphere in different Middle
Eastern countries; how women's rights and privileges are limited and they are
therefore not fully enfranchised citizens; how various forms of state and
governance shape and constrain the political and civic participation of women;
and the varied ways in which women systematically challenge patriarchal states.
The book provides historical analysis of different forms of patriarchy
(systems of social relations) in a number of Middle Eastern societies. This is
an important analysis, as Islam per se is not viewed as the only phenomenon
shaping women's lives—women in these societies are also subject to patriarchal
laws and the regulations of the Christian and Jewish religions.
 187

The introductory chapter by Suad Joseph provides a thorough review of

the literature on citizenship. Joseph argues that citizenship is a legal process,
and that its practice can therefore be constrained by law. It is also a cultural
process which treats men and women differently. Sometimes equality of rights
may be enshrined in law but culture determines an unequal status for women
and men. This is an important argument, as it sheds light on the differing
relationships of men and women to the laws and practices of citizenship in
Middle Eastern societies.
Suad Joseph also draws on the theoretical work of many authors on
nation-building and state-building, and argues that to link women/mothers to
nation and men/fathers to state (the state being masculine and patriarchal)
reproduces gender hierarchy. Women's experiences show that they are caught
between the conflicting demands of nation-building and state-building projects.
The contributors to this volume argue that in most Middle Eastern
countries there is an inter-relationship between citizenship and religion. This
is because the citizens as legal subjects are constituted through membership
of religious communities, institutionalizing religious identity as political
identity. This is taking into consideration the fact that religious identities are
not fixed but are historically specific and therefore change according to
political, economic, social and cultural factors, as well as gender, ethnicity,
age, etc.
In all Middle Eastern countries, the family is a part of the political process
and religion is embedded in politics. Different religious laws determine family
law, a critical feature of citizenship laws and practices. The patriarchal family
means that women are not free, autonomous individuals; their rights and
obligations as citizens depend not only on their personhood, but also on their
familyhood. The family is not a free association of individuals but an
institution characterized by unequal power relations and governed by rules
invented, interpreted and administered by male communal authorities.
Altorki, in her study of Saudi Arabia, argues that the Western definition
assumes that citizenship is a homogeneous, undifferentiated, universal category,
but this definition is problematic and does not apply to the Middle East, as
women in these societies are not contract-making individuals who defend their
own interests in society. Haya Al-Mughni and Mary Ann Tétreault argue that
nationality is not synonymous with citizenship: nationality means that a
person belongs to a particular state, but some groups within society are
excluded from certain state entitlements. For example, until 1999 women in
Kuwait were not entitled to political participation and were denied the right
to vote. Only those women not supported by male relatives are entitled to
social welfare. Female wages are lower than male wages, even if women have
higher educational qualifications than men. Kuwaiti women are forbidden by
law to marry non-Muslims. The children of Kuwaiti women and non-Kuwaiti
men are considered to be foreigners. (These laws do not apply to Kuwaiti men.)
This demonstrates the gendered construction of citizenship and adds
weight to the assumption that women are not viewed as individuals in their
own right but as family members whose rights and duties are defined in
relation to their kinsmen. Men are seen as the protectors and keepers of
women, ensuring that their honour is preserved and their sexuality remains
under control. Therefore, women's political, social and economic existence is
controlled by men.
This volume also contributes to the debate about women's varied ways
of struggle for liberation. Everywhere the laws of masculinist/patriarchal
states institutionalize gendered citizenship. But women are challenging this
188 

masculinist discourse of citizenship. Case studies by Mervat F. Hatem on

Egypt, Marnia Lazreg on Algeria, Sondra Hale on Sudan, Islah Jad, Penny
Johnson, and Rita Giacaman on Palestine, Yesim Arat on Turkey and Homa
Hoodfar on Iran demonstrate how women work with the state, but
systematically demand reforms. Further case studies by Mounira M. Charrad
on Tunisia and Morocco, Abla Amawi and Barbara Swirski on Jewish and
Palestinian Arab women in Israel demonstrate how women look to their
respective states to protect them from the tyrannies of their families. Jacqueline
S. Ismael and Shereen T. Ismael on Iraq, and Soraya Altorki on Saudi Arabia
demonstrate how women turn to their families from the tyrannies of the state.
This also applies to the Palestinian women who turn to their community from
the tyrannies of the state of Israel. Case studies of Egypt, Algeria, Iran,
Palestine and Israel also show that women challenge and at the same time
work with the state because the tyrannies of the state and family are
interwoven.
The case studies of Saudi Arabia, Iran and Kuwait are particularly
fascinating in demonstrating how women are in different ways challenging the
state and extending their rights. In Saudi Arabia, where women are denied
access to many occupations and men can easily divorce their wives, some
women have begun to pool their resources by establishing women's banks
and building protection for their interest through their traditional networks.
In Iran, a significant number of Islamist and secular women, despite their
diverse views on the nature of religion and the Islamic state, are working
together against patriarchal gender relations and have managed to bring
about some major changes in their own favour. In Kuwait, despite the Islamist
upsurge, female labour force participation has increased from 2 per cent in
1965 to 17 per cent in 1997. Women's educational achievements are equally
remarkable; 62 per cent of senior positions are occupied by women. A
significant number of women occupy important managerial positions in both
the private and the state sectors. This is the most important argument of this
book, as it shows the power of Middle Eastern women to mobilize, in their
varied ways, to extend their citizenship rights.
  

 

  (ed.):

Buddhist manuscripts, volume I. Manuscripts in the Schøyen
Collection I.
xxii, 302 pp.; 12 facsimile plates. Oslo: Hermes Publishing, 2000.
With a considerable number of more or less fragmentary manuscripts of
highly important Buddhist texts, both Śra: vakaya: nist and Maha: ya: nist, having
come to light over the past decade, Buddhist studies have recently received a
very significant new impetus. Among the first of these manuscript discoveries
to have been described were the birch bark scrolls containing texts in Gandhari
Prakrit and Kharos1t1hı: script now kept in London at the British Library, these
evidently being the older of the recently discovered manuscripts. The
publication under review now presents scholars with a valuable selection of
palm-leaf manuscripts in Bra: hmı: or Kharos1t1hı: script, as well as fragments of
 189

a leather manuscript in Graeco-Bactrian script, all apparently coming from

the Bamiyan valley in Afghanistan and kept in Norway in the collection of
Martin Schøyen.
A General Introduction from the pen of its general editor, Jens Braarvig,
opens the present volume (pp. i–iii). In her Appendix (pp. 285–300) on the
palaeography and dating of the Bra: hmı: fragments published in this volume,
Lore Sander concludes that the five manuscripts in question reflect ‘the
development of the Bra: hmı: script from the 3rd to the 6th centuries in a region
named [...] "‘Greater Gandha: ra’'’ (p. 300). The main part of the volume
contains the edition and discussion by several scholars of the manuscript
materials. In these individual contributions the manuscript fragments first
receive diplomatic transliterations and then, in most cases, what is here termed
‘reconstructions’ made on the basis of parallel textual material in Sanskrit,
and also when available in Pali, Chinese and/or Tibetan.
From the Dı:rgha: gama come six fragments, edited by Mark Allon and
Richard Salomon, of a version of the Maha: parinirva: n1 asu: tra (pp. 243–73) in
Gandhari Prakrit (somewhat Sanskritized linguistically and/or orthographic-
ally) from a palm-leaf manuscript in Kharos1t1hı: script. This study shows the
fragments to belong to a recension of the Sutra differing significantly from
other known versions, even though it does bear some notable similarities with
the translation in the Dı:rgha: gama of the Chinese canon. It may possibly
belong, then, to the Dharmaguptakanika: ya. (A single fragment from Murtuq
of a different, and highly Sanskritized, recension was published in 1968 by
E. Waldschmidt, who assigned it also to the Dharmaguptaka canon on the
basis of the Chinese translation; see his monograph Drei Fragmente
buddhistischer Su: tras aus den Turfanhandschriften and his article ‘Central
Asian Su: tra fragments and their relation to the Chinese A 9 gamas’ in H. Bechert
(ed.), Die Sprache der ältesten buddhistischen Überlieferung (Göttingen, 1980),
pp. 162–9. But see the remarks by M. Nishimura, ‘Die Sprache der
Dharmaguptaka’, in: H. Bechert et al. (ed.), Untersuchungen zur buddhistischen
Literatur II (Göttingen, 1997), pp. 260–4, a work not included in the
bibliography to the volume under review.) The present edition of the fragments
is followed by several pages of palaeographical and linguistic observations,
and by some ‘Preliminary observations’ on the relationship of the Gandhari
text to other texts of this Sutra.
Fragments in Bra: hmı: script from the Cam 1 gı:su: tra, an account of a
discussion between a Brahman and the Buddha about religious authority, are
edited by Torkel Brekke (pp. 53–62), who assigns the text to the
1 ghika-Lokottarava: din tradition. The parallel from the Caṅkı:sutta in
Maha: sa: m
the Majjhimanika: ya of the Therava: dins is also reproduced here.
Bra: hmı: fragments of the cycle of legends relating to King Aśoka, including
the Aśokamukhana: gavinayapariccheda, are edited by Klaus Wille (pp. 219–31).
A Bra: hmı: fragment of the Pra: timoks1a-Vibhaṅga containing the Episode
of the monastic steward Dravya Mallaputra is published by Seishi Karashima
(pp. 223–41), who attributes it to the Maha: sa: m 1 ghika-Lokottarava: dins. (As
pointed out already in 1932 by S. Lévi, and by other scholars since, the
Bamiyan area of Afghanistan had earlier yielded portions of Vinaya works
1 ghikas.)
attributable also to the Maha: sa: m
A large number of fragments of an As1t1asa: hanika: Prajña: pa: ramita: are edited
by Lore Sander (pp. 1–51), who assigns the Bra: hmı: manuscript in question
to the Kus1a: n1 a period, probably to the second half of the third century ..
(p. 288). The manuscript from which these fragments come is therefore the
oldest of those studied in this volume. Very significantly, therefore, the
190 

recension of the Sutra to which these very old fragments belong differs
somewhat from the recension represented by the Indo-Scythian Lokaks1ema's
Chinese translation of the late second century, and they are indeed closer to
the recension represented by the very much later Nepalese manuscripts on
which the printed edition of the Sanskrit is based. This circumstance tends to
support the view that just because a Chinese translation contains a shorter,
and simpler, text of a given work, it is not necessarily older, or more
‘original’, than a longer and more elaborate recension.
In addition, the Schøyen Collection includes fragments of one very large
manuscript in Bra: hmı: script described by Sander (p. 291) as a local
development of ‘Gilgit/Bamiyan, Type I’ which she dates to the fifth century
(p. 293). The following four texts have been identified in this manuscript.
(1) Fragments of the Śrı:ma: la: devı:sim 1 hana: dasu: tra are edited by Kazunobu
Matsuda (pp. 65–76). To his transliteration the editor appends Chinese and
Tibetan translations of the passages to which the fragments belong. The
Tibetan text, taken from Tsukinowa's edition (Kyo: to, 1940), contains a
number of misprints.
(2) A portion of a ‘Prava: ran1 a: su: tra’ is edited by Kazunobu Matsuda
(pp. 77–80), who points out that the fragment actually reads pra: va: ran1 a (p. 80).
This text is connected by him with the Maha: ya: na.
(3) Fragments of the Sarvadharma: pravr̊ttinirdeśa (pp. 81–166), the diplomatic
transliteration of which by Jens Braarvig is followed by his ‘reconstruction’
using Chinese and Tibetan translations of the whole Su: tra.
(4) Fragments, nineteen in all, of the Aja: taśatrukaukr̊tyavinodana: su: tra are
published by Paul Harrison and Jens-Uwe Hartmann (pp. 167–216, 301–2).
This work was translated by Lokaks1ema in the late second century, and it is
extant also in a Tibetan translation; the parts of these two translations
corresponding to the edited fragments are reproduced here, together with
Dharmaraks1a's third-century Chinese translation. For the edition of the
relevant portions of the Tibetan text, a manuscript from Tabo has been used.
Three very small, and unidentified, fragments assigned to the same
manuscript are published on pp. 217–8.
Finally, two small fragments of a Buddhist manuscript on leather in the
Bactrian language and a cursive Graeco-Bactrian script are edited by Nicholas
Sims-Williams (pp. 275–7), who dates them to about the fifth century.
Twelve beautifully clear facsimile plates of reproductions of the edited
fragments are appended to this volume.
With the exception of the fragments of the Aśoka legend, the two
additional fragments of the Aja: taśatrukaukr̊tyavinodana: su: tra on pp. 301–2,
and the Bactrian fragments, the texts presented in this volume are accompanied
by English translations. For some texts the fragments only have been
translated, whilst for the majority the translation is of a fuller ‘reconstruction’
that makes use both of the fragments and of any other available parallel
material in an Indian language, as well as of Chinese and Tibetan versions of
the text. In style and quality these translations differ appreciably, no uniformity
having been aimed at. The question may arise as to whether translations—
which perforce greatly increase the bulk (and price) of the volume—are
always needed for the purposes of such a publication. Where there is no
context, as in the case of an unidentified fragment, a good translation is of
course very often scarcely possible. And where ample parallel materials in
Indian languages, as well as in Chinese and Tibetan, are available, an
accompanying translation may not really be required, an example being the
As1t1asa: hasrika: Prajña: pa: ramita: (of which there is an English translation by
 191

E. Conze the revised edition of which, published under the title The Perfection
of Wisdom in eight thousand lines and its verse summary (Bolinas, California,
1973), has not been referred to by Sander). An exception is no doubt the case
where what is here termed a ‘reconstruction’ consisting of a full-scale
multilingual synoptic edition of the whole text has been translated, an example
being the Sarvadharma: pravr̊ttinirdeśasu: tra rendered in its entirety.
In Braarvig's translation of the latter Sutra, the expression kim 1 sam
1 dha: ya
(p. 102) probably means ‘intending what=having what in mind?’, rather than
‘with certain hidden intentions’ (p. 103, a meaning appropriate in only a
limited set of texts). And pratibha: na, a pratisam 1 vid ‘penetrative knowledge’,
presumably refers to intelligence and insightful/inspired speech (relating
to the content level), rather than just to ‘eloquence’ (on the level of
expression) (p. 82 f.). In the introduction to his contribution on the
1 hana: dasu: tra, Matsuda remarks (p. 65) that ‘this Su: tra employs
Śrı:ma: la: devı:sim
the narrative of Queen Śrı:ma: la: to express the Tatha: gatagarbha theory that
"‘although all beings are enmired in afflictions (kleśa), in essence they are the
same as the Buddha, that is, all living beings dwell within the womb (garbha)
of the Tatha: gata (i.e., Buddha)’'’. In the Sanskrit fragments published here
or found in the commentary on the Ratnagotravibha: ga, however, there is
nothing corresponding to the statements ‘All beings are the same as the
Buddha’ and ‘All beings dwell in the womb of the Tatha: gata’. Indeed, in
most Indian and Tibetan language Sutras teaching the tatha: gatagarbha, this
doctrine has not normally and regularly been formulated in such terms. On
p. 72, the term nı:ta: rtha ‘of definitive meaning’ (Tib. ṅes pa'i don), modifying
the noun nirdeśa: h1 (namely of this ŚMDSS), is rather loosely rendered as
‘clearly bring[ing] out the meaning’; whilst ekatvapratisaran1 a ‘having recourse
in unity’—the Tibetan has rton pa gcig pa ‘having a single recourse’—is also
quite approximatively rendered by ‘basis of Oneness’ (is the reference to the
ekaya: na treated in the ŚMDSS?). These two epithets are accompanied, also
as a modifier of nirdeśa: h1 , by the adjective chinnaplotika ‘having the bond(s)
severed’ (Tib. rgyu ba [?] bcad pa), a usage of the expression that usefully
expands the entries in Edgerton's BHSD under ploti, plotika: , and
plotika/pilotika. In Sander's translation of the As1t1asa: hasrika: , it is noted (p. 8)
that the translations of ru: pa(skandha) by ‘form’ and sam 1 jña: (skandha) by
‘perception’ follow Groner's English translation of A. Hirakawa's History of
Indian Buddhism (Honolulu, 1990); no explanation has been offered as to why
these translation equivalents are to be preferred to those in much of the
specialized work done on the subject in recent decades. On p. 11, sarvajña
‘Omniscient’ and sarvajñatva ‘state/condition of the Omniscient’ are both
rendered by ‘omniscience’, as is also (and correctly) sarvajñata: (p. 31). On
p. 26 f., the words unmiñjita and sam 1 miñjita, rendered as ‘beginning’ and
‘ending’ respectively, would appear to designate rather an opening (cf.
prasa: rita ‘extension’, another antonym of sam 1 miñjita)—i.e. an engagement in
terms of positive affirmation, vidhi, according to Haribhadra—and a drawing
together—i.e. a retraction in terms of negation, pratis1edha. Given the context
on p. 45 f., dharma would normally be rendered as ‘thing’ (in other words, a
[mentally posited] factor or phenomenon) rather than as ‘religious precept’.
In this volume there is no index, but one will no doubt follow in the
second volume, the publication of which is announced as being imminent and
which is eagerly awaited. The present publication constitutes a most valuable
contribution to Buddhist studies providing us with Sanskrit texts, albeit
fragmentary, of several major works.
.  
192 

  :

Ja: taru: pa's commentary on the Amarakos1a. For the first time critically
edited together with an Introduction, Appendices and Indexes.
Pt. I Introduction. x, 468 pp. Pt. II Text.
x, 512 pp. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 2000. Rs. 1295 each.
This edition of the Amarakośat1:ıka: ascribed to Ja: taru: pa, carefully edited in
Nagari and lavishly annotated, celebrates M. R. Pant's identification, under
the auspices of the Nepal-German Manuscript Preservation Project, of the
oldest direct attestation of a work of Sanskrit lexicography, an incomplete
palm-leaf copy (less than 40 per cent) of a Buddhist author's commentary on
Amara's seminal lexicon. The date of the manuscript corresponds to .. 1119.
It has been used, and apparently misquoted (I, 383ff.), by the better known
medieval Bengali commentators. The editor attributes discrepancies between
their quotations and this Amarakośat1:ıka: to incompetent oral transmission (I,
408), but it would seem at least equally likely that the fault lies with the
colophon verse in attributing the present text to the well-known ‘Ja: taru: pa’.
The verse makes a pun on Vulgate kos1a (t1:ıkaya: vikacah1 kr1tah1 ), whereas the
prose colophon (I, 67), and an early occurrence in the text (II, 154, line 18),
have kośa.
The editor has been able to supplement the older manuscript with the help
of an eighteenth-century copy, of which, however, only the beginning was
extant (it has since been mislaid). He takes enormous pains to demontrate
that the later manuscript is (to all intents) a corrupt and miscorrected direct
copy of the other. The palaeography, orthography and punctuation of the
early specimen are described in suitably exhaustive detail. Even the 114 pp.
devoted to analysing the scribal errors found in both, and the 30 pp. that
strive to attest ‘Buddhistic and Prakritic influence’ as a separate phenomenon,
though predictable, will no doubt be found useful by apprentices in the art of
editing Newari material.
An expert analysis of the commentator's grammatical usage (I, 414ff.)
seems to show that this Ja: taru: pa offers an amalgam of Pa: n1 inı:ya quotations
with underlying Ca: ndra tenets, but also a measure of inconsistency with both.
The discussion of the commentator's time and place locates him in Bengal
and finds a terminus post quem of .. 991 (I, 300f.). It compares him with
other commentators, all of whom are shown, in the case of Bengal, to
presuppose Ja: taru: pa, or to be either demonstrably, or in the case of
Ks1:ırasva: min probably, later.
The observation that the ‘Gaud1 a’ whom Ks1:ırasva: min criticizes is a source
very close to the Ja: taru: pa is evidently important. It seems possible to suggest,
however, that corruption of Ja: taru: pa's T1 :ıka: is involved in the three cases
where that Gaud1 a differs from it (I, 305ff.). What is in question is substantially
(1) stambhordhvam 1 da: rva: ntarastha: pana: rtham
1 yad a: sajyate, glossing śila: , where
Ja: taru: pa has adhah1 ka: s1t1h1 e dva: rasya; (2) jala: ntas taru: n a: ha, glossing ku: pakah1 ,
where he has jalagata: guruśila: dayah1 ; and (3) tu: lı: for tu: lam. In particular, the
Gaud1 a's gloss on śila: looks like a misunderstanding of Ja: taru: pa's remark
adhah1 ka: s1t1h1 e dva: rasya śila: / tasya: upari sthitam 1 da: ru (via a misreading
*tasyopari?).
The Gaud1 a's taru could reflect a variant reading *taruśila: dayah1 for
Ja: taru: pa's guruśila: dayah1 , which would bring this gloss on ku: paka closer to
the word's more usual sense ‘mast’ (DEDR, 1984, no. 1895) and to
Ks1:ırasva: min's gloss gun1 avr1ks1a. Ja: taru: pa's guruśila: and Ks1:ırasva: min's
 193

gun1 avr1ks1a both have a rather suspect and superfluous first member; and
*taruśila: - would provide a basis for Ks1irasva: min's two alternative glosses
vr1ks1a and a: dha: ra, since a: dha: rada: ru is his gloss on śila: .
Thus it could be that Ja: taru: pa did read tu: lı: for the plant (tu: la being the
more familiar word, but as denoting the substance ‘cotton’). His second
mention of tu: la: di would seem to imply an alternative interpretation for the
whole hemistich; but it rests on an editorial emendation.
Pant's introduction includes a list of Ja: taru: pa's significant departures from
the vulgate Amarakośa text, selective since many discrepancies serve only to
prove that the text already existed in a defective (Buddhist Sanskrit?)
orthography; ed1 u: ka is labelled ‘madhyahrasva’ against the metre; sr1ga: lah1
competes with śr1ga: lı: ; and ‘kava: t1am ... kapa: t1am ity api dr1śyate’ and ‘kus1alam
... kuśalam ity api’ seem to express a measure of incredulity (cf. I, 312, n.;
but at I, 339 and 385, Pant takes kuśalam ity api to attest a choice of
readings). Every effort is made to distinguish genuine readings from casual
misreadings, and to discover some pattern within the welter of discord that
arises in later commentaries.
As when comparing commentaries, the editor studiously refrains from
assessing the relative value of Ja: taru: pa's readings. Yet it would seem possible
to infer that, since Ja: taru: pa is so often in the right, those of his readings that
were subsequently rejected, ilvala: h1 , tripis1t1apam, u: rdhakah1 , kuruvakah1 , vartaka: ,
etc., genuinely serve to identify an original ‘Eastern’ and probably Buddhist
tradition as the main impetus underlying Sanskrit lexicography. This would
be consistent with the inclusion in the commentary of several dozen Eastern
Apabhram 1 śa or hybridized Middle Bengali taxonyms, such as would be
resistant to Sanskritization: amara: yika: (<apara: jita: ); aka: naviddhı: (glossing
a! viddhakarn1 :ı ), etc. In later Bengali commentaries they were replaced by more
specifically vernacular forms, e.g. akanidhı:, a: kana: dhı:<aka: naviddhı:.
Apart from one large lacuna (2.5 to 3.3), Pant has supplied the text of
Amarakośa according to Bha: nuji's Vulgate recension, even where Ja: taru: pa's
text disagreed with it or is missing. An effort has been made to lay out the
text in a readable fashion, including, for better or worse, a fairly strict
enforcement of sandhi, with manuscript readings relegated to the apparatus.
The attempt to imitate roman typographical possibilities in Nagari is
generally user-friendly (and a credit to the Shri Jainendra Press), but it does
produce some dire results. The commentary on 3.5.24c dvyackam as-is-us-ann-
antam (referring to disyllabic neuters) reads in Nagari asantamisantamusanta-
mannantam 1 ca dvyackam, which is meant to convey ‘as’-antam ‘is’-antam
‘us’-antam ‘an’-‘antam 1 ’ ca ‘dvyackam’. Since, to avoid an opening dactyl,
the pa: da has to be read as dvyacka[m 1 ca: ]s- ... in any case, this mere prose
Anvaya should have been printed in italics throughout. It is also questionable
whether it was right to emend (I, 99) the commentary's anantam 1 to conform
with the text's annantam 1 (metri gratia).
The gloss on 2.4.80cd-81a arka: dyarkaparn1 a: ntamarkaparn1 e represents
‘arka’-a: dy ‘arkaparn1 a’-antam ‘arkaparn1 e’, but Nagari has been deemed
incapable of tolerating a non-italic a: dy in sandhi. It would have been simpler,
more effective, and space-saving, to attach a typographically sophisticated
romanized edition to a diplomatic Nagari transcription.
Much of Part II is devoted to appended notes on the more important
emendations; to a concordance with parallel texts in other old commentaries;
and to copious indexes. The indexes list all the words that Ja: taru: pa has
chosen to gloss, his cross-references to Amara, his quotations from Śa: śvata,
etc., from Pa: n1 ini, etc., and from literary texts; and all those instances where
194 

his quotations involve variant readings. No aspect of this highly significant

survival has been neglected. It promises considerable progress in understanding
the interrelationship of those many and disparate glosses that most Sanskrit
dictionaries ascribe simply to ‘lex.’.
. . 

  (ed.):

The Paippala: da-sam 1 hita: of the Atharvaveda. Critically edited from
palmleaf manuscripts in the Oriya script discovered by Durgamohan
Bhattacharya and one Śa: rada: manuscript. Vol. I. Consisting of the
first fifteen Ka: n1 d1 as.
(Bibl. Ind., 318.) lx, 840 pp. Calcutta: The Asiatic Society, 1997.
Rs. 1200.
From the palm-leaf manuscripts of the Paippala: da Atharvarveda that were
discovered in 1959, fifteen of the text's twenty Ka: n1 d1 as, 510 of its 923
identifiably separate compositions, have now been asssiduously edited by
Dipak Bhattacharya, son of the scholar who made the original discovery but
did not live to complete his edition of four Ka: n1 d1 as (Paippala: da Sam 1 hita: , First
Ka: n1 d1 a, Calcutta, 1964; Volume two, Calcutta, 1970).
The date 1997, which is that of its prefaces, has been assigned to the
publication of the new edition, but there seems to be no evidence that it was
issued much before the year 2000. In principle, the Orissan manuscripts (Or.)
and the older, but defective and generally less reliable, Kashmir version (K)
have been edited together, with a minimum of conjectural restoration. The
first four Ka: n1 d1 as have been re-edited, and a fresh introduction surveys the
available textual evidence (including Vya: karan1 a); the little that is known of
their historical background; and the measure of orthographic normalization
which has to be applied. Every effort is made to indicate briefly the actual
state of scribal disarray, and to define an element of local mispronunciation.
The indications are that recordings of Orissan recitation contribute only
further distortion of the written material. The specimen in First Ka: n1 d1 a, p. xvii,
merely corroborated manuscript testimony; and the only example vouchsafed
by the present editor involves the substitution of a familar word sruc- for the
blatant graphic corruption of K and Or. snus1- for RV and Śaunaka (Ś) stus1-.
Why, when K jajñe is accepted passim in lieu of misspelt Or. yajñe (p. xxxv),
the editor opts for Or. snus1ejyam 1 (6.1.6, underlined to indicate dubiety), rather
than K snus1eyyam 1 is not explained.
Although there is no professed intention to reconstruct (or rule out) a
purely Orissan archetype, the evidence of K seems to be taken into account
more in the hope of emending Or. than of reconstructing an Ur-Paippala: da.
Thus at 7.7.6 girau ja: tah1 svar aha: si+ sa: kam somena babhrun1 a: is read on the
basis of Or. svar aha: su and K svar a: si (p. xxxi), although prosody may
recommend a reading *suvar asi, akin to the paradox in RV 10.1.2 sá ja: tó
gárbho asi ródasyoh1 . Paipp. a: si for *asi may have had a: sı:t in mind (RV
10.121.1 ja: táh1 ... a: sı:t). If so, Or. aha: su rests on some attempt to emend that a: si.
When no basis is found for compromise (+) or conjecture (*), the ‘best’
Or. reading is adopted (p. xxxii), usually with underlining and annotation.
No attention appears to have been paid to prosody. Despite a general
reference to Karl Hoffmann’s work as indispensable (p. x), preference is given
 195

to unmetrical Or. readings in 2.36.4a, 2.58.4a, 2.70.5c, and 3.22.4b over

Hoffmann's immaculate solutions in Aufsätze, pp. 741, 562ff., and 750.
The principle of retaining the Or. consensus in case of doubt produces
mixed results. In the blessing of a wedding dress, 15.5.5a–6b, Hoffmann opted
for *cakr1tus tva: in v. 5b (p. 813). The new edition tacitly agrees, but it
discards K -us and retains corrupt Or. cakr1tas with underlined -ta-. This is
probably right, but only because *cakr1m 1 tam1 s tva: will be the actual Paipp.
misreading (converting *kr1ttika: ś ca: kr1ntam 1 s tuva: into a seven-syllable Pathya: ?).
For this, in what is a versification of MS gna{ s tva: kr1ntann, is the link that
explains two sets of emendations, A 9 pMP ca: kr1tam 1 s tva: , Ś ya{ ákr1ntann and K
cakrutus tva: , Ka: t1hGS cakratus tva: . The latter pair sacrifice consistency of
tense, as well as the ca that suitably conjoins kr1ttika: h1 with revatı:h1 .
The evidence of K (abhayam 1 tu) in collusion with Ka: t1hGS (avayann u) is
rightly rejected outright, in favour of Or. abhayam 1 vi in v. 6b. Hoffmann gave
only doubtful credence to this (p. 817f.). Since, however, the spelling abhayam 1
would not necessarily obscure the obvious meaning avayan, it is indeed
probable that Paipp. a[v]ayam 1 vi was influenced by vi-ks1an- in v. 5a, like the
needlessly prefixed vi-tan- of v. 5c in K.
On the other hand, the massively emended K ava ... -vantam 1 in v. 5d may
be in better company with A 9 pMP áva ... avr1ñjant (and Ś 10.7.42 ápa-vr1ñj-)
than is Or. ava ... apr1ñcan with HŚS ava ... apr1ñcata. The Or. reading has
been adopted, with underlining; but since the basis is a replacement of *apr1jjan
by avr1ñjan (not necessarily via *apr1ñjan, despite Hoffmann, p. 817), the Or.
-p- is as questionable as that of Or. patipatnı:, which has been edited out in
favour of K pativatnı: (in view of Pa: n1 ini's pativatnı: : p. xxxvii).
Grammarians' evidence is not unimpeachable, as witness Aufsätze, p. 758.
The Ka: śika: reading of a verse-final locative asya: m 1 ma: makı: tanu: in 6.6.8 need
not decisively overrule Paipp. tanu (Or. tanu, K tanum 1 ). Given the existence
of verse-ending -u duals in RV, the view that *tanu is ‘grammatically
impossible’ (p. xxxi) is uncomfortably reminiscent of the ‘durgraha’ that was
a pretext for emendation in the earlier edition.
The choices often seem arbitrary, as when 4.33.2 makes the correction
*s[u]ja: tam 1 ja: tavedasam agni[m 1 ] vaiśva: naram 1 , with saja: tam ... agnir ousted as
scribal error. More obvious Paipp. errors, 1.30.2 vibha: va for vibha: va: and
1.111.3 hr1dam 1 for hradam 1 , are advisedly retained (with underlining), although
the support for vibha: va: (RV, Ś) seems at least as strong as that adduced for
suja: tam (YV, Ś). In the present editor's introduction to Volume two, 1970,
xxv, he sought to justify the alteration by citing also RV 3.23.3 súja: tam 1 ma: tŕ1s1u
priyám / agnı́m; but one can at least as appositely cite RV 2.1.5 táva (agne)
... saja: tyàm. The fact that both Paipp. sources share saja: tam 1 and attest a
common misreading *agnivaiśva: naram 1 is exactly the sort of evidence that
makes it seem appropriate to minimize dilemma by reconstructing a purely
Paippala: da archetype, as Karl Hoffmann recommended. Only on that basis
can one hope to fathom its relationship with Ś and other texts.
At 2.19.3a the inscrutable K dr1tya: m 1 is retained, in preference to the
impossible Or. ghr1tya: m 1 , without mention of Hoffmann's support for *dhr1tya: m 1
(p. 822). In 2.91.3, K acchavo is still deemed preferable to Or. acchyavo,
ignoring Hoffmann's recognition of *atsyavo (p. 767).
The reliability of the apparatus remains hard to gauge. 1.111.3d now reads
paretya with Ś, against the parı:tya of both K and the 1964 edition, implying
that the agreement of Or. with Ś had previously been ignored. Since para: -i-
appears to be intransitive in Vedic verse (with ástam 1 pára: -i- as a special case),
h[ra]dam 1 ... parı:tya may be the better reading, with Ś sı́ndhor mádhyam 1
196 

páretya as an emendation based on the misreading paretya. In 1.46.1-2,

vyadhmano replaces vyadmano without comment; and there is no reaction to
Hoffmann's preference (p. 234) for the readings of K somah1 pra t[ir]ad ...
na: śaya: d, although loss of the third-person markers in Or. is indeed the more
obvious hypothesis.
Discrepancies in reading between the first announcement in Our Heritage,
1957 [publ. 1960], and First Ka: n1 d1 a, 1964, to which attention was drawn in
BSOAS , 1967, 201f., have not been fully explained. 1.2.1a (=1964 yanty)
implies that yantv was wrongly read for all manuscripts in OH. 1.3.2e reverts
to virud1 (=OH; now underlined) plus vihi, with no mention of the three 1964
readings, itemized as virur(ihi) and twice vid1 ud1 (vihi). 1.4.4b now reads varttam 1
with the second syllable underlined (OH vartrim 1 , 1964 vartram
1 ). If this were a
misprint, for vartram 1 ‘dam’ as in Ś, it would not be underlined. If it is
another tacit change in the reading of all three sources, it would still have
been in keeping to read +vartram 1 as a compromise; but the K reading
(19.20.13 vr1tram 1 ... yatha: ) has not been cited. For 1.5.1cd, information
previously given of variation within Or. has been suppressed.
Despite a fair sprinkling of misprints in the English introduction, the
Nagari text has evidently been prepared and printed with scrupulous care.
Delightful as it is to look forward to the appearance of the second volume,
completing the vital task that was begun in 1959, the absence of any readable
facsimile reproduction or direct collation of the original Orissan sources
continues to be a disincentive for any more critical evaluation of their
relationship with each other, with the Kashmir text, and with Śaunaka.
. . 

 :
Les Na: satya. Vol. II. Traduction commentée des strophes consacrées
1 gvedasam
aux Aśvin dans les man1 d1 ala II-V de la R 1 hita: .
(Bibliothèque de la Faculté de Philosophie et Lettres de l'Université
de Liège, Fasc. CCLXXX.) 422 pp. Geneva: Librairie Droz, 2001.

Following his study of the Aśvin hymns of Book 1 of the R 1 gveda (Les
Na: satya, I, 1995), Pirart now examines those of the first four Family Books,
registering features of grammar, prosody, composition, and nuance, and
noting Iranian analogies. He provides reasonable coverage of the opinions of
Sa: yan1 a and of modern scholars.
Modern facilities for textual analysis lend strength to the interpretations.
Thus an early crux, 2.39.1a gra{ va: n1 eva ... jarethe, is appropriately solved with
the help of a Book 5 remark ( gra{ veva jarita{ ...) that looks like a paraphrase
of the same idiom; and he uses a Book 1 phrase (nidháyo mádhu: na: m) to
substantiate Bergaigne's rendering of 1b vr1ks1ám 1 nidhimántam, versus the
meaningless misconstruction of Sa: yan1 a and Geldner.
The method is, however, subject to caveat. In an inauspicious beginning,
he proposes in 2.27.16ab ma: ya{ h1 ... pa{ śa: h1 ... ripáve vı́cr1tta: h1 to read ripávé
'vicr1tta: h1 ‘que celui qui porte préjudice ne peut relâcher’, i.e., against both
Pa: t1has and with no encouragement from the metre, but in deference to MS
(pa{ śam ... avicartyám), AV, etc., and in the belief that vı́cr1t- means ‘release’
in RV 1.25.21 (vı́ pa{ śam 1 ... cr1ta). Even if the negative participle could be so
construed, it would spoil the Book 2 image, for the implication that the toils
 197

of death are inevitable only for the enemy accords ill with the speaker's
personal anxiety (ta{ m̆ ˙ áti yes1am).
Sa: yan1 a's gloss prasa: rita: h1 , Bergaigne's ‘ouverts’, Geldner's ‘die ihr stellt’,
and Renou's ‘(posés, puis) déliés’ were attempts to align vı́cr1t- with the usage
of YV and AV. Pirart goes further by adopting the misreading on which their
interpretation rests. Since the influence of vi- is negligible in vı́bandh- ‘make
fast’ (1.28.4) and vı́muc- ‘undo’, the verb vı́cr1t- can refer to tying the noose
(AV pa{ śo granthı́ś ca yáh1 kr1táh1 ), rather than putting it in place (RV druh1 áh1
pa{ śam1 prátimuc-; later pa: śam 1 bhu: mau yojaya-, vr1ks1e sajjaya-). Possibly 1.25.21
and the equally laconic 1.24.15 envisage a triad únmuc- nah1 / (ripáve)
vı́cr1t-/ávaśrath- jı:váse on the basis of 2.27.16.
Pirart gives a full account of such ethnic and geographical details as can
be gleaned from the texts. Book 3's account of Viśva: mitra and the Bharatas
is deemed to be ‘historique et correcte’, apparently because later tradition
partly ‘confirms’ it (p. 63). Determined to sift historical fact from myth, he
compares the Sarva: nukraman1 :ı 's septet of R 1 s1is for 9.67 with the partly different
six to whom it chose to attribute the Family Books; but with scant success.
No reason emerges for believing that the later tradition had anything to go
on, apart from what could be deduced from the text. The claims of
Jamadagni(s), whose ‘signature’ so prominently closes Book 3, were clearly
overshadowed by those of Viśva: mitra; and Gotama(s), who appear incidentally
in Book 4, would be disqualified by the explicit distinction that is made
between Va: madeva and his father Gotama. No pretext presented itself for
assigning a role to Kaśyapa.
Two close relatives of Gr1tsamada, Soma: huti and Ku: rma, who are credited
with authorship of seven of the hymns, are deemed to be fictitious since they
are not directly mentioned in any text (p. 20); but Gr1tsamada himself is
classed as authentic, because Gr1tsamada{ h1 appear in several Book 2 hymns.
This leads to the thought that Gr1tsamada might be identified as someone who
superadded the Book's somewhat untidy system of refrains.
One might rather imagine that the complex pattern of refrains took some
time to evolve. Similarly, the eventual notion of a unitary Gr1tsamada Book
seems far removed from the more basic strata of composition in which the
R1 s1i names make their appearance. If gr1tsamadá is so ‘clairement un
upapadasama: sa’ (p. 18), it would imply the adaptation of a divine epithet,
for it most obviously designates Soma as the ‘invigorator of gŕ1tsa Indra’ as
in 3.48.3, a passage which recommends the nuance ‘greedy’, with gŕ1tsa Indra
as the calf that monopolizes the udder).
There is confirmation in Br1haddevata: 4.78 gr1n1 an ma: dayase ... asma: n.
Middle-voice ma: daya- being intransitive in RV, Indra's usage implies a
causative reflexive, identifying the unnamed gr1n1 ánt, his great friend, with (or
as) the Soma who compels Indra to exult in him. Pirart's rendering ‘tu as su
nous enivrer de ton chant’ (p. 16), though unexplained, is effective.
The combination of Soma and gŕ1tsa Indra probably recurs in the opening
verses of 3.1, of which the first (sómasya ma: tavásam 1 váks1y agne ... śama: ye) is
apparently Indra's offer to press Soma, and the second (... gŕ1tsa: ya cit taváse
ga: túm :ıs1uh1 : scil. diváh1 ?) describes the outcome in terms that associate present-
day officiants with the acts of Indra's officiants (duvasyan ... śaśa: sur vidátha:
... ga: túm :ıs1uh1 ), and hence with underlying functions of Soma (9.65.3 dúvah1 ...
pavasva; 9.32.1 prá ... suta{ vidáthe akramuh1 ; 9.69.7 máda: so ga: túm a: śata).
Sa: yan1 a's identification of gŕ1tsa as Agni leads to no clear solution.
Certain Book 2 hymns identify Gr1tsamada{ h1 , only in the plural, as
co-authors. Prior to that (at the end of 2.4, the first of the texts assigned to
198 

brother Soma: huti), the plural name would logically apply rather to the plural
patrons (su: rı́bhyah1 ) than to the one singer ( gr1n1 até). This probably indicates
that the epithet Gr1tsamada{ h1 identified not ‘our’ name, but ‘our’ Soma,
effective under this private name ( gúha: vanvántah1 ). When the word is used to
designate co-authors, Gr1tsamada{ h1 may indeed be taking turns in the manner
imputed to the septet of 9.67.
Soma: huti possibly combines two images: the ostensible identification of
the gr1n1 ánt as gr1tsamadá Soma in his first hymn, and of the hótr1 as a{ huta Agni
in his last. That 2.27–29 are attributed to a son Ku: rma seems a simple
inference from the group's striking final image of a scared son scuttling for
shelter from paternal wrath, like some creature from a beast of prey.
Pirart notes etymologizing references to two of the R 1 s1i names: 3.58.4 vı́śve
jána: so havante ... mitra{ so ná, and 4.30.24 va: mámva: mam ... devó dada: tu. The
Br1haddevata: etymology gr1n1 an ma: daya- is vaguely implicit in 2.4.9 gr1tsamada{ h1
... gr1n1 até; and the appearance of atrá, designating one single serpent only in
the Atri hymn 5.32.8, also deserves a mention (even if it may be only a back-
formation from the serpent epithet atrı́n). The author's conviction that ‘le
nom d'Atri doit être séparé de atrı́n’ (p. 192) seems to rest upon his belief
that the traditional etymology for both can be ruled out, on the dubious
grounds that *ad-tr- could not become atr- (JAs., 1998, 549, n., despite átra
‘food’); and that apád atrá and the atrı:n can, but átri cannot, be based on
an *atra: ‘without protection’. If the word ádri is, say, ‘*impermeable’, then
átri ‘*invincible’ (an Agni epithet in 2.8.5) from tirati must be at least as
plausible as Pirart's *at-ri or *a-tri and *a-tra: .
Detailed indexes are provided for this and the previous volume conjointly.
An appended note on the verse MBh. 3.292.11 is concerned about a double
negative, one that does not actually exist. Van Buitenen rightly subordinated
11b (ma: ca te paripanthinah1 ) to 11a (śiva: s te santu pantha: nah1 ); but, missing
the Vedic allusion in 11b, he inferred Anuvr1tti of pantha: nah1 , and so gave
paripanthinah1 the implausible sense ‘adverse’. Pirart corrects 11b, but deems
resumptive tatha: in 11c to imply Anuvr1tti of the negative ma{ of 11b (p. 335).
The substitute Southern reading in 11c (a: gama: ś ca tatha: santu) confirms,
however, that its natural link is not with 11b but with 11a (śiva: s te santu
pantha: nah1 ... a: gama: ś ca tatha: ...).
. . 

 :
Jña: naśrı:mitras Vya: pticarca: . Sanskrittext, Übersetzung, Analyse.
(Wiener Studien zur Tibetologie und Buddhismuskunde, Heft 48.)
188 pp. Vienna: Arbeitskreis für tibetische und buddhistische
Studien Universität Wien, 2000.
 :
Ratnakı:rtis Vya: ptinirn1 aya. Sanskrittext, Übersetzung, Analyse.
(Wiener Studien zur Tibetologie und Buddhismuskunde, Heft 49.)
95 pp. Vienna: Arbeitskreis für tibetische und buddhistische Studien
Universität Wien, 2000.
The first of these two books is the author's revised and enlarged 1999 Ph.D.
thesis and the second is his 1994 dissertation, also revised and enlarged. As
 199

the subtitles indicate, both publications have the same internal structure,
presenting a Sanskrit text and its translation and analysis. Both are the result
of the author's engagement in preparing sources for the study of the evolution
of the Buddhist epistemological tradition and logic (basically the theory of
perception and inference). There would appear to be a group of experts in the
Institute for Cultural History of Asia in the Austrian Academy of Sciences
working on this project. Young, able scholars are obviously encouraged to
participate by working on textual sources. The fact that these two works have
been published in the prestigious series of Vienna University in itself speaks
for the high standard of scholarship displayed by the author in dealing with
the two texts and presenting their translations and analyses. The introductions,
though, are less informative than they could be, at least for those outside the
circle of the specialists involved.
Thus in his introduction to the first book the author does not even suggest
or mention possible dates for Jña: naśrı:mitra and does not say much about
him, except that when Frauwallner wrote about him (‘Jña: naśrı:’, WZKM 38,
1932, 229–34), he was still an obscure and almost unknown figure, but that a
few years later twelve philosophical works of his were discovered (and
published by Anantalal Thakur, Patna, 1959, 2nd ed. 1987—not traceable in
the SOAS or British Library). Only from the introduction to the second book
does one learn that Ratnakı:rti regarded Jña: naśrı:mitra as his guru.
From Frauwallner's article it transpires that he knew of one work of
Jña: naśrı:mitra, Ka: ryaka: ran1 abha: vasiddhi (on the relation between cause and
effect), which is included in the Bstan-'gyur (Tanjur), and that he also traced
a stanza by Jña: naśrı:mitra in Sa: yan1 a-Ma: dhava's Sarvadarśanasaṅgraha
(fourteenth century), which is concerned with the doctrine of momentariness
(ks1anabhaṅgava: da), and another of his stanzas in the work of Udayana (a
Nya: ya-Vaiśes1ika thinker, late tenth and beginning of eleventh century) which
also appears twice in Ratnakı:rti's works. From this Frauwallner concluded
that Jña: naśrı:mitra must have been an important author and places him in the
first half of the tenth century, and Ratnakı:rti a little later.
In view of Frauwallner's assessment of his importance, the discovery of
Jña: naśrı:mitra's twelve philosophical works does not represent a great surprise.
They all deal with various problems of logic and epistemology, but a work
on metrics is also ascribed to him (cf. Michael Hahn, Jña: naśrı:mitra's
Vr1ttama: la: stuti, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1971). Ta: rana: tha is another source
for Jña: naśrı:mitra. He dedicated a few paragraphs to him in his History of
Buddhism in India, showing a high regard for his work. According to
Ta: rana: tha, Jña: naśrı:mitra was born in Gaud1 a (now in Central Bengal), studied
first the Śra: vaka Tripit1aka, then Maha: ya: na texts, including Na: ga: rjuna and
Asaṅga, and eventually also Guhya Tantras. He is further reported to have
had visions of Śakyamuni, Maitreya and Avalokiteśvara and the power to
foresee future events, and he was also described as ‘the second great Central
Pillar’ of the seat of learning in Vikramaśı:la (founded towards the end of the
eighth century) where he gave instructions to Atı:śa (who lived between
982–1054).
Atı:śa, as is known from other sources, had studied for twelve years in the
(now vanished) monasteries of the kingdom of Śrı: Vijaya (on present-day
Sumatra), which had extensive libraries, and he came to Vikramaśı:la in March
1041. (A year later he arrived in Tibet where he was instrumental in reforming
the monastic system and practices of ritual Tantrism.) The assumption is that
if Atı:śa accepted instructions from Jña: naśrı:mitra, the latter must have been
200 

his senior which would place his lifespan somewhere between the second half
of the tenth century and the middle of the eleventh century.
In the introduction to the second book the author dates Ratnakı:rti in the
first half of the eleventh century, but if he was Jña: naśrı:mitra's disciple, he
would probably have flourished well after the middle of the eleventh century.
(S. R. Bhatt seems to be wide of the mark, dating Ratnakı:rti to about 940 in
the Companion encyclopedia of Asian philosophy, p. 433.) Ratnakı:rti is much
better known and several of his ten known works have already been translated
into English or German. The author describes him as belonging to the last
phase of the Buddhist scholarly tradition in India, concerned with the theory
of perception and inference, which has its starting point with Digna: ga and
Dharmakı:rti. Ratnakı:rti discusses, in a number of short works, themes
important for this tradition, such as whether the Buddha was omniscient, the
refutation of the idea of God creator and the proofs for the momentariness
of all things.
As for the contents of the two small works here presented, they are both
dedicated to the investigation (carca: or nirn1 aya) of inferential knowledge,
particularly to the relation of necessary connection (vya: pti, lit. pervasion or
permeation) between major and middle terms in syllogism. In the form in
which they are presented both works are interesting mainly for specialists, but
both, together with other similar basic textual studies, are no doubt important
as sources for the global picture of the historical development of the Buddhist
theory of knowledge and logic. If we discount surveys of the subject in
encyclopedias, usually based on rather limited source materials, we have no
major up-to-date work which would present a comprehensive picture of the
field. The only comprehensive treatment of it ever published is Buddhist Logic
I–II by F. Th. Stcherbatsky (1930–32, repr. New York, 1962), now of course
rather outdated. A new one, taking into account all, even recently discovered
sources, is certainly a desideratum. Perhaps one can look forward to the time
when such a work might emerge from the circle of scholars in the Austrian
Institute mentioned above.
 

 . :
Brahman: a comparative theology.
ix, 268 pp. Richmond: Curzon, 2001.
This is an unusual, not to say strange, book in that in focusing on the
fundamental concept of Indian Vedantic philosophy, it purports to use the
comparative method (well rehearsed in the academic study of religious
thought) from the theological position rooted in the Christian tradition, yet
claims to provide critical reflection on ‘world view construction’. In the event
it would appear that the study of other traditions, for the author reflects also
on Buddhist and Chinese systems, serves him to clarify for himself the
fundamental tenets of Christian belief in order to deepen their theological
formulation in an attempt to give them an air of academic respectability.
This, the author seems to think, is achieved by his adopted method called
‘holistic theology’ which excludes ‘one-dimensional strategies’, by which he
means relying solely on one source of authority, such as scriptures, mystical
experience, or natural theology based on reason. Holistic theology, on the
other hand, allows all of these and even insights of science. That clearly
 201

makes ‘two-dimensional strategies’, such as ‘correlative thinking’, epitomized

by yin and yang of Taoism, also inadequate. An example of early holism is,
for the author, Vedic ‘henotheism’, a controversial and now outdated concept,
but the author acclaims it as ‘an example of freedom of expression rather
than diminution of divine power’. Based on other outdated views of the Vedic
tenets, the author finds in the Vedas ‘nascent eschatology’ as opposed to the
‘developed context of eschatology’ of later texts.
The bulk of the book is presented under the heading ‘Systematics’. This
includes evaluating śruti or revelation through sacred texts, which helps the
author to see the literal understanding of Christian scripture as inadequate
and to admit also its figurative nature. In discussing the question whether
Brahman is God, the author considers, besides the contradictory answers of
Dvaita and Advaita, also the case of ‘the Christ-like Buddha, Amida’. As
Buddha, Amida shows transcendental and metaphysical aspects, but ‘as a
bodhisattva’ he ‘displays definite humane and compassionate elements of
personality’. This provides the author with ‘support for a wider conception
of Christ, including Christ's transcendental and metaphysical aspects’. The
question is also connected with the problem of the subject as self- or not-self,
of Buddhism, but in the end theology prevails, for the question ‘Is Brahman
God?’ only ‘invites one to entertain a wider conception and more profound
doctrine of God’ through ‘dialectical understanding’. But what does it mean?
Any concept of God opens the question of theodicy. As far as I know,
nobody has ever provided a satisfactory answer. Although the author ponders
the concepts of r1ta, the cosmic law, and of karma, its ethical dimension,
taking into account the views of John Hick as well as St Augustine, he too
fails to provide a satisfactory answer, falling back on the biblical theory of
Job, utilizing even its extended Swahili version derived from the Quran, to
‘offer a positive account of evil’, with some help from Martin Buber. The
only positive element in his interpretation of Job's story is the endorsement
of freedom of choice. But where is the explanation of evil (on the premise of
the existence of a just, merciful and omnipotent God) inflicted on innocent
children or even of a birth with disability (famously resolved in Glen Hoddle's
formulation)? The author's formulation is a remarkable example of modern
liberal theological jargon, conceptually diffused: ‘The world is a place where
cosmic order is achieved by the human modelling of great love and great
service. The ideals of love and service are provided by personal deity and
impersonal principle. The world is place and principle, a vector of awesome
proportions directed toward God.’
The book finishes with a chapter on ‘Humanity, comparative Christology
and eschatology’. It exploits the not altogether invalid comparisons between
Christian, Hindu and Maha: ya: na Buddhist concepts of God/Christ,
Gods/Avata: ras and Śu: nyata: /Buddha-bodhisattva. But it culminates in a
eulogy on Christology, presenting Jesus as Wisdom incarnate, as Logos, as
Cosmic Law, as Sage, as the Culmination of Apocalyptic History, as Divine
Physician, as Fulfilment of the Scriptures, and as Bearer of the Kerygma
(‘that which is proclaimed’), many of these attributes being inspired by Indian
paradigms. Even the Christian understanding of eschaton, the final goal,
which is the Kingdom of God, can be squared with moks1a (liberation) which
is ‘the highest bliss of conscious life’ (saccida: nanda). But as Jesus said ‘I am
the life’, this freedom from bondage can be attained through ‘the model of
an enlightened teacher ... a living embodiment of religious ideal: Christ,
Kr1s1n1 a, Avalokiteśvara ... When teacher and student embody the religious
ideal, the synergistic result is rightly called spirit. Borrowing insight from
202 

India, we may learn that such a spirit is Brahman. In theology which is truly
systematic, Brahman and the Holy Spirit are one and the same.’
Specialists in and students of the academic study of religions will hardly
find this book useful, but it is no doubt a remarkable exercise in ecumenical
thinking. Whether it will find favour with theologians of various persuasions
is another matter.
 

 :
Der Kreislauf der Opfergaben im Veda.
(Alt- und Neu-Indische Studien hrsg. vom Institut für Kultur und
Geschichte Indiens und Tibets an der Universität Hamburg, 51.) x,
233 pp. 2 pull-out charts. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2000.

Translated in the English summary as ‘The circulation of sacrificial gifts’, the

title refers to the exchange of liquid nourishment between men and gods
which is arguably the main raison d'être of Vedic (śrauta) sacrifice. The author
sets out to establish this as its ‘metaphysical basic pattern’, examining Agni-
related material in, successively, the R 1 gveda, YV-Sam 1 hita: s and Bra: hman1 as,
and Upanis1ads.
While her analysis of passages documenting the history of intellectual
responses to a substantially static ritual tradition is illuminating, the main
inferences are rather oddly formulated. That the system (‘a primary paradigm
of action in Vedic times’) ‘collapses and becomes obsolete’ in the Upanis1ads
seems to be an argument from relative silence in the ‘Vedanta’ and somewhat
belies the system's survival fairly intact into the twentieth century.
The view is taken that, whereas ‘in the mid-Vedic period there arises a
well-balanced system of dependence between gods and humans’, only ‘traces
of such an interpretation of sacrifice can be found already in R 1 gvedic times’.
This seems a misleading way of reporting the fact (p. 12) that only a relatively
late source, RV 1.164.51, chooses to point explicitly to the meteorological
analogy of evaporation and precipitation. This mechanistic observation,
coupled with a nod in the direction of the big bang (dhárma: n1 i prathama{ ni), is
sandwiched in between pleas to suck riches from the fertile breast of mother
Sarasvatı: and to be made fruitful by the pluvious effusions of young Sarasvant.
As an interpretation of sacrifice, abetted by the Sarasvatı:-Sarasvant correlation
appended to 7.96, it seems satirical enough to please any Buddhist, and indeed
it is no proof that circulation theory basically involved evaporation.
While demonstrating the constant underlying postulate of a cyclic food-
chain, the study presents a meticulous and critical survey of the ever more
unwieldy secondary literature on the subject (the appended bibliography lacks
two books referred to on p. 9). It reviews, and where possible revises, the
meaning of crucial terminology: dhárman as an inexorable rule, vratá as an
acknowledged duty, mitrá as confederate, etc. For priyám 1 dha{ ma, however, it
is hardly necessary to substitute ‘eigen(tümlich)e (Lebens)-Grundlage’
(p. 169f.) in lieu of ‘preferred domain’, when the etymology shows that
dha{ man is not basically an ‘Ursprungsort’, and stray mentions of terrain and
air as the dha{ man of animals do not particularly support the notion.
The word vidátha remains unsatisfactorily rendered as ‘distribution’
(p. 28). It is a concomitant of battle (RV 3.8.5 samaryá a{ vidáthe, etc.), as
 203

well as of distribution (2.1.4 vidáthe deva bha: jayúh1 ) and sacrifice (3.3.3 ketúm 1
1 vidáthasya sa{ dhanam); and it can be given (5.33.9 vidáthasya ra: táu).
yajña{ na: m
Since (with Bloomfield, JAOS, 1898, 12ff.) it is more obviously akin to vittá
‘possessed’, it would mean ‘possession’, but with basic nuances ‘reward,
plunder’: the gloss ‘Preis- und Beute-Verteilung’ is superfluous. As the
adjective vidathyà is applied to speech (as ‘conducive to gain’ in 1.167.3), it
would follow that vidátham a{ (vada: si, etc., in Gr1hya and Śrauta blessings)
expresses result, like jós1am a{ , váram a{ . This is largely represented by a locative,
Delbrück's ‘Localis des Ziels’, exclusively so in Book 9: 32.1 prá ... vidáthe
akramuh1 (beside 31.1 prá ... akramuh1 , rayı́m 1 kr1n1 vanti), 97.56 :ıráyan vidáthes1u.
A more normal locative appears, as in 1.166.2 krı:1lanti ... vidáthes1u ghŕ1s1vayah1 ,
but here the word still has to convey a gainful activity that enables the Maruts
to produce fertile fluid (nı́tyam 1 ná su: núm
1 mádhu bı́bhrata úpa).
The case in point, 8.39.1de ubhé hı́ vidáthe kavı:r≠antáś carati du: tyàm, is,
with Geldner, a truncated reference to 4.8.4ab (Ga: yatrı:) and 4.7.8ab (a
Tris1t1ubh expansion), i.e., its two pa: das ... kavı́h1 and ... du: tyàm reflect two
separate clauses in 4.8, sá hóta: and séd u du: tyàm 1 (and misconstrue séd u
du: tyàm1 ≠cikitva{ n antá :ıyate, dropping cikitva{ n, and probably leaving du: tyàm
in apposition with the subject: a construction of antáś car- with two accusatives
would be anomalous). In its first pa: da, ubhé vidáthe accommodates 4.7 ubhé ...
ródası:, which is possibly (following 4.8) the object of sam 1 cikitva{ n rather than
of veh1 ... antár; and sam 1 cikitva{ n is correspondingly dropped: hence ‘he goes
between the twofold rewards, he is the Du: tya and the Kavi’. Agni's status as
kavı́h1 in respect of earthly and heavenly rewards is a transformation based on
the fusion of 4.8 sá hóta: with 4.7 ubhé ródası: ; and transitive antáś car- gets a
sense quite different from ‘penetrate’ in 3.55.8.
Soma is described as a puzzle, untidily duplicating the ‘model’ of fire-
worship. The reason for this emerges only at the end of the discussion
(p. 65ff.), when the author tries to envisage a point in time ‘als die Arier das
Somaopfer kennenlernten und es in irgendeiner Weise in ihr ursprüngliches
Feueropfer zu integrieren bemüht waren’. Even if Wüst had not long since
demonstrated the relative antiquity of Book 9 on statistical grounds (and this
is scarcely invalidated by Lommel's objection that it need not be wholly old,
but merely conservative and archaic), it would still be much more probable
that its simple and magical rain-making cult would antedate the complex
Agnis1t1oma of later literature.
Particularly valuable is a fresh examination of a priyam 1 dha: ma passage in
the YV section and a pañca: gnividya: passage in the Upanis1ad section, with all
the relevant texts synoptically displayed in pull-out charts. The first seeks to
show how the explanations given in MS can be the source of all other Vedic
versions of the idea that Agnya: dha: na and Agnicayana both rest upon a union
of heaven and earth. Much that has been misunderstood hitherto is clarified
in the process.
The author is, however, willing to believe that the brief statement about
A9 dha: na in MS presupposes its complex discussion of Cayana. This seems
inherently unlikely. The comment on A 9 dha: na is probably no more than a
brief argument in support of a fanciful derivation of u: s1a from √pus1, one that
is fragmented and lost in the Cayana's fully-fledged myth. The relevant pull-
out synopsis contains one of the book's very few oversights: the word
‘Agnicayana’ is to be deleted from the top line, following ‘TB 1.1.3’ (which
in fact relates to A 9 dha: na). Another occurs in the second synopsis: lokah1
pratyuttha: yi for °tha: yı: in ŚBr. 11.6.2.10.
The observation that the Ka: n1 va ŚBr. is superior to the Ma: dhyandina
204 

recension in the A 9 dha: na context is significant, as is the demonstration that

the pañca: gnividya: passage in ŚBr. is the source of JBr. and other Upanis1adic
versions. As with the Cayana passage, growing interest in the theory of the
universal circulation of water can be held responsible for the changes, which
involve dropping the moon's role as a soma-reservoir in favour of Parjanya
as a rain-god (pp. 189, 195f.), and so effectively replacing ritual symbolism
with a mystic amalgam of divine providence and meteorological reality.
The suggestion that JBr. presents an alteration of the consensus of BA 9 Up.
and ChUp. is, however, scarcely tenable. Coincidence can explain the fact that
JBr. and ChUp. share the readings pr1thivı: (as a clarification of ŚBr. ima:2 m>Up.
ayam 1 lokah1 ) with va: k (clarifying ŚBr. mu2 kham>Up. vya: ttam). In JBr.,
striyo ... tasyopastham 1 (but tasya: a: huter) is merely corrupt. More significantly,
JBr. has es1a va: agnih1 as a stage intermediate between ŚBr. te va2: ete a2: hutı: and
Up. asau vai loko 'gnih1 . Similarly, its striyah1 (for *strı: ) is closer to stri2 yam
than yos1a: . Its stanayitnuh1 ... dyauh1 instead of ŚBr. di2vam ... a: ditya2 m anticipates
a steady progression towards plain rain and wind in BA 9 Up. (parjanyah1 ...
sam1 vatsarah1 ) and ChUp. (parjanyah1 ... va: yuh1 ).
This beautifully presented book offers interesting original solutions to
many unsolved problems of Vedic religion, diligently seeking ‘die Fragen zu
all den auf uns gekommenen Antworten’. It shows sound appreciation of the
vital necessity of text-historical analysis in a field where the sequence and
interrelationship of texts have yet to be established with certainty.
. . 

 :
Religious doctrines in the Maha: bha: rata.
xxii, 477 pp. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 2000. Rs. 250.
Sutton sets out his stall clearly in the introduction to this work, which
contains a number of challenging statements indicating directions he proposes
not to take: ‘historical text criticism is an inexact science frequently displaying
circular logic’ (p. xiv); ‘where a Western scholar may recognise a clear
doctrinal contradiction ..., Indian thought may recognise a subtle approach
to the resolution of a complex issue’ (p. xv); ‘I do not believe that the
Maha: bha: rata's teachings are concealed in any form of symbolic code,
especially one that has only been penetrated by twentieth century Western
scholarship’ (p. xvi); ‘To my mind a major weakness of much modern work
on the epic is excessive theorising based on inadequate textual study’
(p. xxi, n. 8).
On the other hand, Sutton approves of Heesterman's praise for ‘the
patient and sometimes fruitless task of listening to facts and documents for
their own sake’ (p. xvii). He describes his own principal task as one of simply
‘cataloguing’ the text's doctrinal statements (p. xiii), though he proposes also
to explain and interpet them, and occasionally to consider their relevance to
present-day thinking.
Catalogues tend not to be startling or dramatic works, and Sutton's book
is no exception; on the other hand, catalogues tend to be very useful, and
Religious doctrines in the Maha: bha: rata has this merit too. Sutton's chief
concern is the didactic sections of the epic rather than its narrative. He deals
with these voluminous writings under a sequence of substantive headings
(eschatology, ethics, etc.); inevitably there are some overlaps, and occasionally
 205

it happens that an issue is addressed under a slightly surprising heading, but

for the most part the enquirer who wishes to know what the Maha: bha: rata
has to say on a given theme will be able to find guidance here. The index is
not enormous, but it is adequate and helpful.
I have two reservations regarding Sutton's work. The first is his contention
that the theology of the Maha: bha: rata is, fundamentally, monotheistic. This is
implicit in much of what he says, and causes him sometimes to express himself
in rather odd ways: ‘the universe is created and controlled by one supreme
Deity, known in the epic as Na: ra: yan1 a or Śiva’ (p. 12); ‘Within the
Maha: bha: rata we thus have a monotheism of a unique type, expressed
sometimes as if Vis1n1 u and sometimes as if Śiva were the Supreme Deity’
(p. 191). On pp. 203–10 he deals with the issue specifically, noting ‘that the
term "‘monotheism’' has become culture-bound to the extent that it is
accepted as referring only to Judaeo-Christian or Islamic theism’ (p. 203),
and he proposes a ‘broader definition’ for it. But the problem with the term
as applied to the religion of the Maha: bha: rata is not simply that it is ‘culture-
bound’, but rather that it is inappropriate: it indicates a belief in a single god,
not in a set of gods one of whom may be viewed as supreme. To justify his
use of it, Sutton has to talk down Indra, Brahma: and so forth (pp. 207–9):
easy enough in the Maha: bha: rata, where these gods do play a subordinate
role—but where they are still, indisputably, gods. Sutton also has to show
that Vis1n1 u and Śiva are, in some sense, ‘the same’ or ‘complementary’; so,
for example, he notes the existence of passages where one great deity is
glorified and the other ignored, and writes that ‘such passages are aware of
the existence and status ascribed to the other Deity and hence the fact that
there are no assertions of supremacy provides some indication of a theology
based on complementarity’ (p. 198). Well, perhaps, but other explanations
come to mind; and things are not helped by the attribution of ‘awareness’ to
the text (an attribution which Sutton makes repeatedly).
The insistence on a form of monotheism no doubt stems from Sutton's
own background in Christian-based theology, which sometimes shows itself
in other ways too. From time to time he refers to aspects of the religion of
the Maha: bha: rata that do not exist—but that a Christian might have expected
to exist. ‘There is little or no reference to mission in the Gı:ta: ’ (p. 66);
‘nowhere in the Maha: bha: rata is there any instruction for the individual to be
a member of any religious order ... The Deity ... is not a remote figure only
to be approached through an intercessor, and humanity is not viewed as
inherently flawed’ (p. 72). And sometimes he seems unnecessarily defensive
about his topic, referring to ‘the frequently encountered claims of Western
thought, both Christian and secular, to ethical superiority over that of India’
(p. 335), and lamenting the frequency with which scholars damn other people's
doctrines (pp. 453–4). All this may make his work read a little strangely in
the country where it has been published.
My second reservation has simply to do with accuracy. It is excellent that
Sutton cites the Sanskrit text of the Maha: bha: rata to support his arguments,
but it is unfortunate that so many of the citations are disfigured by
misspellings. On p. 29, as one example out of many, appears the six-word
sentence putra: h1 śuśru: s1avah1 santi pres1ya: ś ca priyaka: rin1 ah1 , but two of the words
are spelt incorrectly. (Sadly, there is a similar error in the quotation with
which the book concludes.) Sutton's translations too are sometimes open to
doubt. A particularly clear case is his translation of 14.46.48, which ends,
‘Neither are the Vedas, yajñas, the heavens of this world, austerity or religious
vows’ (p. 36). But the text (which he cites) reads veda: yajña: ś ca loka: ś ca na
206 

tapo na para: kramah1 : not ‘religious vows’ but ‘valour’. In this case, the
explanation is presumably to be found in the fact that some editions predating
the Critical Edition had vrata: ni ca for para: kramah1 , and that Ganguli's
translation was based on that reading. This sort of thing obviously reduces
the reliability of an otherwise useful work. Caveat lector.
 . 

 :
A Hindi reference grammar.
x, 156 pp. Leuven: Peeters, 2000.
The aim of this reference grammar is defined as ‘to present the Hindı: language
as clearly as possible in order to understand and translate correctly complex
texts, both fiction and non-fiction’ (p. v); it has grown from instructional
material used with students who were often already speakers of Hindi or a
related language, but wanted to deepen their understanding of its structures.
(Such students would require some background in linguistics, since Stella
Sandahl pulls no punches in her use of technical terminology.) The aim of
offering a clear statement of the language is efficiently and economically
achieved within 156 pages; Sandahl's methodology occasionally strikes out on
its own, for example by treating the future tense as ‘an aspectless presumptive
within the subjunctive system’ (and the lack of an index leaves readers
wondering if they have a future here at all), but the analysis is grounded in
copious examples that lend the book a useful readability. The book's
conciseness is a great strength, and marks it out from most other currently
available grammars.
Interestingly, the application of a narrowly grammatical approach to the
analysis of a language is seen here to have some rather serious restrictions.
Grammarians often allow themselves some latitude when it comes to the
realism of their examples (Sandahl's paradigms for the vocative include the
nouns vidhi ‘method’, bha: lu: ‘bear’, d1 ibbiya: ‘little box’, and kua= ‘well’—oh
well!), but it does seem important that an intended readership of translators
be properly briefed in respect of register and style. Sandahl's choice of
vocabulary reflects Sanskritizing tendencies that take us far from contemporary
Hindi. To offer duhita: for daughter (p. 17) is unrealistic, while to offer the
classical kapi (p. 18) for ‘monkey’ is to make simians of readers trying to
address the real (as opposed to the mythological) bandar log. The application
of Sanskritic norms to modern Hindi can also disturb the conventions of the
modern language: full homorganic nasal consonants have been used in place
of the vowel nasality that is required in words like a= kh, ja= c, and ga= dhı:.
Conversely the use of tilde to transliterate anusva: r is inappropriate in such
contexts as dãd1 (for dam 1 d1 , dan1 d1 ) and ãcal (am1 cal, añcal). A sense of
remoteness from modern conventions returns in the retroflex spelling lan1 d1 an
(p. 117), which gave way to landan many decades ago—perhaps through a
polite dissimilation from lan1 d1 , a rude word for ‘penis’. Finally, the Devanagari
font here itself has an archaic look both in overall design and in the choice
of certain graphs for which more acceptable modern alternatives exist.
Furthermore, the particular font used here has difficulty in representing certain
Hindi forms that are absent or rare in Sanskrit orthography: subscript dots
and candrabindu are often mislocated, and the conjunct ‘ft’ (in common
words like daftar and hafta: ) seems to be unachievable. If this list of complaints
 207

seems overlong, its justification lies in the need to show that Hindi is not just
a kind of debased Sanskrit; it has its own conventions and sensibilities, an
awareness of which is necessary for all those who aspire to a knowledge of
the language.
Though Sandahl's presentation of the grammatical material is mostly lucid
and precise, the book does contain an unacceptably high number of mistakes
and idiosyncrasies that need attention. Typographic errors are legion, especially
in the Devanagari (a passage on p. 101 crams eight typos into four lines);
subject pronouns are frequently omitted from example sentences, infringing
the rule that permits such omissions only when a subject is clearly established
by its context (many of the examples are from literary texts, but only one is
so identified). Numerous mistakes unfortunately coincide with the errors most
commonly made by the intended readership for this book, namely students
learning the language: these shibboleths are exemplified by a missing ne
(p. 139), the writing of unhõne as two words (p. 31), ‘this/that’ confusions
(p. 63, twice), errors of gender (p. 36), of person (p. 28) and of tense (p. 24),
incorrect use of the pronoun koı: (p. 52), a confusion of gaya: /ga: ya: ‘went/sang’
participles (p. 103), a misinterpreted ‘compulsion’ expression (p. 112), and
failures to translate correctly the nuances of compound verbs—here called
‘combined verbs’ (passim).
Despite its seemingly rather remote perspective on the language, this book
does represent a useful contribution to the Hindi shelf; it is much to be hoped
that careful editing may remove some of the existing blemishes from future
editions.
 

 :
Textualising the Siri epic.
(FF Communications No. 264.) Helsinki: Academia Scientiarum
Fennica, 1998.
 , in collaboration with  , 
 and  :
The Siri epic, as performed by Gopala Naika.
Parts 1 and 2. (FF Communications 265 and 266.) Helsinki:
Academia Scientiarum Fennica, 1998.
  (ed.):
Textualization of oral epics.
(Trends in Linguistics, Studies and Monographs 128.) Berlin:
Mouton de Gruyter, 2000.

Professor Lauri Honko is among the world's leading theoretical folklorists,

and one with a strong pragmatic bent, too; he is at the centre of current
debates not just on texts and performance but also on ethics and archiving.
For nearly a decade he led a team of Finnish and local Tulu folklorists
208 

(themselves trained by Honko and others in Finland) in a project documenting

an oral epic sung in the Tulu language in south India. The results of that
research are published in the first three volumes under review: (1998, FFC
264, FFC 265, FFC 266). The fourth and final book (2000), Honko's edited
collection of essays on oral epics from across the world, also derives from the
Tulu epic project and is centred around Honko's introduction.
The first three volumes document the Siri epic sung in the Tulu language
on the coast of Karnataka, in south India; the first provides the analysis,
while the second and third contain a translation of one performance of the
epic. Inspired by the passion of Elias Lönnrot, Finnish collector and translator
of the Kalevala epic in the early nineteenth century, as well as by a concern
to balance power relations between folklore users and collectors, Honko
found in the Siri epic a field in which to experiment empirically with the
perennially perplexing issues of epic composition, memory and textuality.
The first volume is entitled Textualising the Siri epic because Honko
believes that ‘textualization’—the documentation, transcription, translation
and publication of the epic text—is the only means by which scholars can
communicate with one another about these long, complex narratives. The text
published in volumes two and three is a translation of a performance given in
1990 by Gopala Naika; for seven days, at the home of a local scholar, Naika
sang the epic in a total of 15,683 lines (five shorter than the Iliad, as Honko
remarks). Having taped this massive text, the Finnish scholars then realized
they had an obligation (as well as an interest) to translate it. This was a
Herculean task, requiring two Tulu scholars (Chinnappa Gowda and Viveka
Rai) to spend four to eight weeks in Finland annually for several years, plus
additional work and support in India. The end product, the two-volume The
Siri epic, as performed by Gopala Naika, in 900 pages of bilingual text (with
Tulu in Roman, its traditional script) will certainly stand as a monument to
oral epic studies.
The slimmer, 650-page, analytic study, though weakened by the author's
lack of competence in Tulu and knowledge of India generally, nevertheless
makes an important contribution to the comparative study of epics. Honko
divides the book into four sections. The first of these sections is a series of
short essays on virtually every important question in epic scholarship, from
genre definition to narrative segmentation. Before settling down to tackle
these issues, however, Honko sets out his stall in defence of the singer, rather
than tradition, as the key to understanding epics: ‘The dynamics of tradition
must be sought in individual action, in use and performance. The tradition
engraved on the mind and consciousness of the individual is not chaotic in
the way the somewhat arbitrarily defined collective tradition tends to be’
(p. 72). The mind, as it turns out, is central to Honko's analysis: in order to
solve the dilemma of how an epic survives when there is no fixed text and the
epic is never (or rarely) performed in full, Honko presents the concept of a
‘mental text’. Memorization is essential for epic composition, but Honko
argues that a coherent notion of the story, a collage of characters, images and
meanings, exists first in the mind of the singer. This is the ‘pool of tradition’,
which may encompass other singers' renditions of the story, even other epic
stories, as well as personal and cultural interpretations attached to the epic.
From this repertoire performances are realized, though they are neither
identical nor complete. This ‘mental text’ is Honko's big idea, although he
also writes with originality on other aspects of the epic singer's craft, including
epic register, intertextuality and organic variation.
 209

Some ideas, however, are not entirely convincing. For example, the
author's emphasis on the individual singer would be more persuasive if it
were not in part a justification for the fact that he chose to ‘document’ the
epic tradition by studying a single performance from a single singer (although
he did consult other singers and performances). True, the role of the individual
tends to get lost in abstract notions of ‘tradition’, but even in the author's
own description of the individual, tradition is ‘engraved on the mind’ of the
singers; epics, perhaps more than other oral narratives, are social documents
shaped by the force of cultural tradition. Other contentious points include the
author's definition of epic, with its highly subjective criterion of ‘quality of
greatness, even superiority’ (p. 28); his claim that his categories of epic
composition match the singer's local ones (p. 131); and the idea of a purely
‘oral epic’ in the highly literate Tulu country.
The second section of the analytic study is a series of essays, evaluating
earlier studies of oral epics, from Egypt to Sumatra. As brief, idiosyncratic,
synopses of epic scholarship, these reports are of limited use, and a far more
satisfying choice would have been to incorporate them into a single, more
sustained chapter. The third section presents the details of the Siri epic,
including relevant contextual material. This section, too, has the flavour of a
fragmented field report, and although much of the information is valuable,
the reader strains to gain an overview of the complexity of the Siri epic. We
do learn that the epic is sung in a variety of settings, but most importantly at
temple festivals, in which women become possessed by the divine Siri. Indeed,
ritual uses of the epic (highlighted by the extensive invocations), especially
spirit possession and its healing capacities and dialogue, are arguably more
important than the narrative, although Honko is probably right to insist that
the mental text must exist as a frame of reference, even if the story is not
sung in anything but fragments. The fourth and last section of the analytic
volume consists of a 30-page synopsis of the epic, and here again an overview
(a 2–3 page narrative summary, for instance) would have been useful to readers.
The second and third volumes in the Siri series contain an English
translation and roman transliteration (Tulu has no script) of Gopala Naika's
performance of the Siri epic. As Honko explains, the translation aims for
cultural encoding so as to permit the English reader to experience something
of the original, which is an admirable aim but one which nearly always
produces unsatisfactory results, and the present case is no exception. The first
page I turned to contained this line: ‘As of today, your granddaughter will be
the girl, the girl of our right’ (part 2, 547). Elsewhere we read: ‘Now, the sari
round her waist, now, Siddu stripped off. To a fold, to a fold she was folding’
(part 1, 177). While undoubtedly faithful to the original, these lines
communicate little in English.
Nevertheless, these three volumes on the Siri epic are a major contribution
to epic scholarship, adding both new ideas and text. Packed into their dense
pages are fascinating observations by the Tulu singer, who describes his own
conception of the epic and its performance, which Honko uses to assist his
own understanding of a complex creative process.
The final book under review is a collection of essays, from papers given at
a conference at Turku, Finland, in 1996, organized around the bedevilling
problem of how to represent oral epics (or any oral performance) in writing.
Honko has written an excellent historical survey of this theoretical and
practical issue in the introduction, which also proposes that the debilitat-
ing split between oral and literary epics should be mediated by a third
term, ‘tradition-oriented’ epic; a clumsy phrase, but it does underline the
210 

criss-crossed modes of epic transmission, oral, printed, written, scribal, local

scholarly and so on. Then follow fourteen essays discussing oral epic and
textualization with reference to Homeric, south Slav, Old Norse, Turkic,
Siberian, Sanskrit, Tulu, West African, Swahili, Arabic, Native American and
southern Cook Island epic traditions. Not just a concise reader in the world's
oral epics, this set of essays raises both theoretical and practical questions: Is
a CD a better document than a book? Should a published translation include
the parts that the singer forgot but sang later when he realized his ‘mistake’?
For me, however, the most memorable moment in this rich volume is an
historical one, noted by A. T. Hatto. N. G. Trofimov, a Evenk (Tungus)
singer, wrote down his version of the great epic Sodani ‘under canvass and
by candlelight when each hard day's work herding the reindeer was done. The
great bard was ailing, and a day came in 1971, when he had to be flown to
hospital. He died in the operating chair, but in his hold-all his record of
Sodani was found in an exercise-book’ (p. 139). The means of textual
transmission are diverse.
 

  and   (ed.):

Health, medicine and empire: perspectives on colonial India.
(New Perspectives in South Asian History I.) x, 408 pp. Delhi:
Sangam Books, 2001. £27.95.
The variety and scope of the emerging field of imperialism and medicine in
South Asia has been reflected in this monograph in the series ‘New
Perspectives in South Asian History’. Edited by Pati and Harrison, the
chapters presented are written by both eminent scholars in the field and new
researchers. The book makes an important contribution to the development
of historiography in studies of colonial medicine. In their presentation of a
critical approach to Western medicine in India the editors have moved away
from using models of analysis that concentrate on aspects of medicine as a
form of state intervention and social control.
The ten essays benefit from the expertise of authors writing from different
historical perspectives. The book presents a consensual view in the representa-
tion of both the utilization and implementation of Western medicine in India.
The topics discussed (such as the examination of leprosy, Unani medicine and
medical missions) have previously been largely neglected in studies on colonial
medicine in India. The use of rare material adds to the development of
analysis in various issues raised in the field.
The first chapter, by Mark Harrison, charts Europe's relationship with
India's indigenous medical systems through four phases, starting with the
earliest ‘encounters’ of the Portuguese in 1670, up to 1900. He argues that
from a position of interaction, developments in European science created a
gulf which was apparent even by the second phase, 1670 to 1770. Harrison
goes on to show how, during the nineteenth century, this gulf widened and
how European practitioners accepted only those basic ideas in indigenous
systems that served to reinforce aspects within Western medical traditions.
Through the use of notes taken by missionaries in the field Rosemary
Fitzgerald demonstrates how the initial scepticism within the missionary
 211

movement about embracing medicine in its evangelical mission had altered by

the end of the century. Her analysis gives insights into the diversity of the
work of the Protestant missionary movement in India.
The next three chapters examine the use of ‘imported space’ by exploring
how the establishment, management and utlization of an institution alien to
Indian concepts and treatment of mental illness was incorporated into Indian
systems of thought. Waltraund Ernst examines the changes in medical
reasoning for the repatriation of European lunatics. Ernst also considers the
segregation of patients on grounds of race and class. James Mills uses a
unique collection of case notes from an asylum in Lucknow to show how the
asylum formed part of individual survival strategies. For example, it provided
shelter for the poor and needy, and criminals used the institution in order to
escape jail sentences or to endure lighter sentences. The asylum was also used
by the community as a punitive tool for recalcitrant family members.
In a rare account given from the view of the patient Sanjiv Kaker brings
a new dimension to the social history of medicine. Set against a background
of medical controversy and diverse public opinion in the attitude towards and
treatment of lepers in Colonial India, Kakar explores factors that contributed
to patient resistance in leprosy asylums. He examines how patients took an
active part in deciding how they were treated: they showed dissatisfaction
towards policies for segregating the sexes, about religious instruction with the
purpose of conversion to Christianity, and to cutbacks and food shortages.
Sanjoy Bhattacharya gives an account of a smallpox eradication pro-
gramme. He breaks away from examining colonial medicine as a monolithic
institution in South Asia, instead focusing on the diversity in medical
approaches. Through his research into localized problems at grassroots level
we can fully appreciate the challenges faced in implementing a medical
programme; for example, the problems associated in transporting, preserving
and manufacturing the smallpox vaccine in India. Bhattacharya unravels the
various controversies within the medical profession, including public reactions
and activities such as experimentation on human subjects.
Biswamoy Pati gives a detailed analysis of the local infrastructure and
shows how ineffectual town planning affected the overall health management
of an important pilgrimage centre, Puri in Orissa. Continuing with the theme
of ‘sacred space’ and colonial intervention in the case of infectious diseases
and religious practices, Manjiri Kamat examines a combination of the
connections made between pilgrimage and epidemics and of indigenous
popular responses to colonial intervention.
Neshat Quaiser expands on contradictions and complexities in attitudes
towards and philosophies about the Unani (Islamic/Graeco-Arabic) medical
system and early modern medicine (doctory) in Colonial India. By focusing
on these two systems of knowledge he examines the ambiguities of the colonial
system of medical knowledge. He exemplifies how the revival of traditional
Indian medicine was linked to a distinct resistance to imperial rule.
The pharmaceutical industry provides a useful case study for Anil Kumar
who, with limited sources, presents a brilliant argument of how the colonial
authorities restricted the growth of and controlled the Indian drug industry
to suit their needs.
The book is essential reading for anyone with an interest in the history of
India. Given the diversity in South Asia the research presented provides an
example of how fruitful studies in history of medicine can be.
 
212 

.  :
The ideology of the Hindi film: a historical construction.
xi, 258 pp. (Oxford India Paperbacks.) New Delhi: Oxford
University Press, 2000. Rs 415.
This is undoubtedly the most important monograph published on Hindi
cinema to date, essential reading for anyone with any interest in Indian film
studies. In this insightful and thought-provoking book, Prasad draws on film
theory and film analysis to illustrate his examination of India's (partial)
transition to capitalism. The book is divided into two parts. The first deals
with the economics of the industry, the narrative of the films, and the
prohibition of the private, while the second is a longer analysis of the Hindi
cinema in the wider context of the 1970s. The last chapter examines two later
films, finding a new nationalist modernity through the new relationship
between character and the state.
Prasad's arguments are often contestable, but are stimulating and reward
repeated reading as he has raised topics that are rarely analysed, querying
their assumptions in an exciting and original manner. For example, I
particularly welcome his firm stance that Hindi cinema is a modern form,
rather than a manifestation of some essential ‘Indianness’ found in ‘rasa’
theory and the ‘folk’. However, I am unclear how this fits into his arguments
about specifically Indian structures of spectation, namely darshana, a hierarchy
of looking found in religious and political spheres. Similarly I enjoyed his
persuasive argument challenging widely held beliefs about the absence of
kissing in Hindi films, which he sees as part of the prohibition of the depiction
of the private by the dominant narrative of the ‘feudal family romance’.
However, I disagree with his findings, arguing that we need to understand the
conventions of kissing in other cinemas which we then find are replaced by
other structures in the Hindi film.
One of the most exciting parts of the book is Prasad's theorization of a
model of change at a ‘moment of disaggregation’ in the 1970s. As the
traditional coalitions of Congress fissured under pressure, the government
began to fund what Prasad calls ‘state sponsored realism’. The industry
responded with a new populist cinema ‘the aesthetic of mobilisation’, centred
largely on the persona of the ‘Angry Young Man’ of the superstar Amitabh
Bachchan, while developing its own forms of realism in a middle-class cinema.
While this model cannot be taken as historical ‘fact’, it provides a fresh and
suggestive way of understanding the nexus between politics and popular film
at this critical moment in Indian history.
The major problem with the book is that it is barely reworked from its
original format as a Ph.D. dissertation. Some sections are less readable than
others largely because definitions of key terms, usually Marxist, are not always
adequately glossed. Other crucial terms, such as Prasad's suggestive category
of the ‘feudal family romance’, are not defined at sufficient length. It is to be
regretted that the new paperback edition, presumably aimed at a wider
audience including students, has not addressed these problems. Nevertheless,
they do not distract from the merits of this outstanding book by a brilliant
young scholar.
 
 213

 

 :
Musulmans de Chine: une anthropologie des Hui du Henan.
(Recherches d'Histoire et de Sciences Sociales, 89.) 334 pp. Paris:
Éditions de l'École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales, 2000.
200F.

The recent spate of books on Muslims in China continues to expand. The last
few years have seen works by Michael Dillon, by Maris Boyd Gillette, and
by Maria Jaschok and Shui Jingjun, and now here is another from Élisabeth
Allès (which though published well over a year before the time of writing,
still seems to be virtually unobtainable in the UK). The appeal of the field to
researchers needs little explanation and one can only hope that that interest
will not peter out entirely when the academic community tires of running
circles around issues of identity and giddily staggers into pastures fresh. In
the meantime, these works provide us with a range of rich new data and the
luxury of picking and choosing between their various theoretical merits.
Allès states that her objective is to study the identity of the Hui (Chinese
Muslims) in precise places and at precise times; this, she asserts, will lead to
a clearer understanding of the ethnic and religious dimensions of Hui identity.
She begins with a brief survey of the academic literature to date and concludes
by dismissing Dru Gladney's use of the term ‘ethno-religious group’ to
describe the Hui, on the grounds that it confuses rather than clarifies the
issue. Allès argues that use of the term ethnic group (‘une ethnie’), ‘est pour
un groupe une manière parmi d'autres de concevoir son existence et son unité,
et cette manière ne s'impose qu'à la faveur de certaines circonstances et au
service de certaines stratégies’ (p. 17). Here she is at odds with most of the
prevailing literature, which suggests, whether or not the Hui have any common
ethnic roots, their shared historical experiences and the fact that since the
1950s they have been so conspicuously labelled and treated as an ethnic group
by the government of the PRC, has resulted to a great extent in their
considering themselves to be, and indeed functioning as, such a group. Thus
unlike those who start from the premise that Hui identity, or multiple-identity,
has always been composed of a shifting blend of historical, cultural, religious,
and indeed ethnic characteristics, Allès assumes the task of disentangling ‘the
Chinese’ from ‘the Islamic’ component of their make-up at various critical
junctures. She concludes by conceding that while a Hui ethnic group may
currently be in the process of emerging, at the heart of their identity lies not
the merging of two cultures but their juxtaposition.
The study is based on three sites in northern Henan which Allès visited at
intervals throughout the 1990s; the Hui village of Sanpo near Loyang; Shunhe,
the Hui quarter of the ancient imperial capital of Kaifeng; and Guancheng,
the principal Hui quarter of the modern city of Zhengzhou. The book is
divided into three sections. The first, chapters i-iv, provides a general historical
background and introduction to the contemporary situation of the Hui in
Henan. Here, in analysing the Hui people's own accounts of their origins and
early history, Allès sifts the historical evidence into that which connects them,
on the one hand to Islam—such as their early Arabic and Persian roots,
genealogical links to the Prophet and the tombs of foreign saints—and, on
the other, to China—the legitimation of their presence there by imperial
214 

edicts, government-sponsored internal migrations, the granting of Chinese

family names by the emperor, and so on. She then examines the specific
historical evolution of her three subject communities, and it is here in the
historical and contemporary data of her case studies that, to my mind, the
strength of this book lies.
In the second section, chapters v-viii, Allès draws on data primarily from
Sanpo but also from Kaifeng and Zhengzhou, in order to detail Hui
similiarities with, and differences from, the Han; this she does by looking at
various aspects of social organization such as lineages, marriage alliances and
funeral rituals. She then proceeds to analyse how these differences and
similarities determine the nature of conflicts that typically arise between Han
and Hui. And finally, in this section, she presents brief biographies of five
men whose lives were shaped by virtue of their being Hui, living at a particular
time and place in Chinese history.
But for many readers the principal interest of this book will lie in the final
section, chapters ix-xii, in which Allès turns her attention to the religious
element of Hui identity and focuses on the mosque, and specifically the
women's mosque. In drawing attention to this little known phenomenon; the
existence in China not only of female ahongs, but of mosques run by women
for women, Allès (along with Jaschok and Shui whose recent book is devoted
to this subject), has opened up a rich field of research. This is a subject set to
attract considerable attention, not only among historians and anthropologists,
but also among those working in gender studies. Allès, perhaps wisely,
however, restricts herself to establishing some basic facts about the physical
appearance of the mosques, their location, financial and administrative
organization and so on. Even in an interesting section in which she seeks to
establish the origin and development of these sites, she seems almost
purposefully to side-step any discussion of the contested notions of social and
sexual equality that are inherent in the various explanations.
Islam has a long tradition of female religious teachers, notably in Central
Asia, but with the exception of parts of South-East Asia (where presumably
it is an offshoot of the Chinese tradition), the women's mosque is unique to
China. The phenomenon does therefore require explanation. The existence of
women's mosques in the Central Plains is well attested in Ming dynasty
sources, but earlier references, according to Allès, are scarce. Dismissing more
common explanations that they were an outgrowth of quranic schools for
women (nüxue), she traces their origin back to the Yuan when large numbers
of Han women intermarried with the Muslim migrants from Central Asia.
According to Allès, against a backcloth of political crisis these women
introduced the Muslim community to the concept of creating women's
associations and places of refuge, as was already well-established among
Chinese Buddhists and Daoists. Here, Allès argues, lies the origin of the
women's mosque. It is an appealing argument, which deserves further research,
but is there not a strong suggestion here of the merging of two cultures?
There is no doubt that this is a book that will be of interest to students of
contemporary China and more generally to anyone interested in the Islamic
world. It represents a useful contribution to the field and will hopefully be
the first of many more local studies of Muslims in China.
. . 
 215

  and  :

The history of women's mosques in Chinese Islam: a mosque of their
own.
xx, 361 pp. Richmond, Surrey: Curzon Press, 2000.
This co-authored book raises intriguing questions about the relationship
between gender, Hui Muslim identity and Islam and it stimulates a fresh and
original debate on the indigenization of Islam in China. At the heart of the
work lies the fascinating discussion of the origin and development of sites of
worship for women (nüsi ) under the guidance of nü ahong (female religious
leaders) in the zhongyang diqu (Central China) and especially in Henan
province.
Each chapter can be taken as a separate unit and, though some sections
are more readable than others, they nevertheless blend into a powerful
narrative which weaves together an array of mutually compatible themes. The
complex structure of the book, divided in five parts (thirteen chapters) and
an epilogue (five appendices), intentionally reflects the differing theoretical
approaches and cross-cultural perspectives of the authors and contributors.
The first part consists of an introductory chapter which helps to situate the
study and prepares the reader to undertake a journey in space and time in
the gendered culture of Islam in Central China. The second part explains the
origin of women's mosques, the third provides useful insights on women's
lives, the fourth delves into issues related to the impact of nüsi culture and
the fifth presents life testimonies of Hui Muslim women. Finally, the short
appendices offer useful material for further study of women's mosques.
The second chapter starts with the presentation of feminist discourses on
‘the impact of Islamic religion on women and of women on Islam’ and then
proceeds to an accurate explanation of the ideas on women's position in
family and society exposed by influential Hui Muslim scholars of the Ming
(1368–1644) and especially Qing (1644–1911) dynasties. It finally highlights
the lack of recent Chinese sources on the religious life of Hui Muslim women.
The third chapter convincingly contends that women's mosques and the
institution of nü ahong in central China originated as a strategy of survival of
Islam in areas where Muslims were compelled to negotiate continuously their
presence with the surrounding environment. According to the central argument
of the chapter the establishment of women's mosques, probably during the
reign of the emperor Jiaqing (1796–1820), stems from an established tradition
of women's religious education, which dates back to the late Ming and early
Qing. The topic of women's religious instruction is further elaborated in the
following chapter, which deals with contemporary China and provides
stimulating data relating to the present number and distribution of women's
mosques.
Chapter v describes how teaching on sexual, ethical and health issues
imparted by nü ahong, whose main task is to transmit religious and ritual
knowledge, still draws its inspiration from texts dating from as far back as
the late Ming dynasty. Consequently, the mosque education offered by nü
ahong is obsolete and does not conform to the needs and concerns of
contemporary Chinese society. Chapter vi analyses marriage, divorce and
remarriage patterns among Muslims in central China. It draws useful
comparisons between pre- and post-1949 China and stresses that overall
attitudes towards divorce and especially marriage have changed considerably
in the last half-century. Whilst arranged marriage was the customary
216 

experience of Muslim women in central China prior to 1949, nowadays

women freely choose their husbands. Chapter vii revolves around the
organization of women's mosques and offers interesting details on the
economic management of mosques: significantly, it stresses that some women's
mosques operate independently from men's mosques.
As for chapter viii, in its first part it addresses gendered historical processes
through the analysis of different sources of memory construction. It then
shifts to uncover discourses of equality, justice and purity related to Hui
Muslim women and their sites of worship. Chapter ix investigates ‘... the
existential ambiguities in women "‘thinking’' their body as a site of God-
ordained affliction’ by using differing threads such as the history of dress
among Hui Muslims, and the exploration of ‘popular myths on the origin of
gendered sinfulness and remorse’. Chapter x discusses women's spirituality in
the light of ‘fates of female souls’ and enlightens the reader on the
instrumental role of nü ahong as religious brokers between God and women.
Taken together these two chapters unravel the innovative spirit of independent
female religious culture of Hui Muslims in Central China and, at the same
time, raise significant questions about the impact of nüsi culture in
contemporary China.
Chapter xi offers the textual analysis of a booklet which chronicles how,
in recent years, a young Han embraced Islam and became a nü ahong, a
radical decision that painfully distanced the woman from her own family. The
following chapter (xii) introduces different facets on the lives of nü ahong,
thus providing an illuminating picture of the complex existences of female
religious leaders in various environments and at different times; it ends with
the account of a woman who married into a prominent ahong family and
whose life experiences poignantly demonstrate the painful tensions that cut
across different generations of Hui Muslims.
In summary, this book could be located at the intersection of women's
studies, anthropology, history, religious and cross-cultural studies. It represents
a thoroughly researched treatment of a complex topic and provides a wealth
of material for anyone interested in the history of Islam in China. By offering
stimulating and thought-provoking viewpoints, it establishes a valuable
foundation for future research.
 

 .  (ed.):
Music in the age of Confucius.
152 pp. Washington: Smithsonian Institution, 2000. £26.95.
The late 1970s marked a significant stage in the modern study of ancient
Chinese music. Early in 1978 archaeologists at Leigudun, Suizhou, completed
the excavation of the tomb of Marquis Yi of Zeng, with its huge cache of
musical instruments dating from around 433 .. This was in itself of obvious
archaeological interest, but its deeper impact upon the study of ancient
Chinese music was not realized immediately. Only recently freed from the
ideological constraints of the Cultural Revolution, Chinese musicologists were
still sceptical of any possible relevance to them in what they called ‘antiquarian
music’ ( gudai yinyue), claiming that ‘traditional music’ (chuantong yinyue)
represented the continuing musical life-blood of the masses. The debate was
entered into vociferously by Chinese, South Korean and Western musicologists
 217

at the 1979 Durham Oriental Music Festival (see Fang Kun in Renmin Yinyue
178, January 1980, also Asian Music /2, 1981), but ‘antiquarian music’ was
already beginning to come in from the cold. When I visited the Beijing Central
Conservatory in 1980 I was introduced to an elderly mouth-organ player,
found by a research team despatched to the countryside to discover ancient
skills that had survived the recent upheavals, just as the Yuefu had sent
fieldworkers out in the first century .., and the compilers of the Shi Jing in
the Western Zhou. As the value of the Zeng Hou Yi tomb sank
in, contemporary China—as in the Song dynasty—was back in the business
of trying to re-create authentic music from the ancient dynasties.
Twenty years later, that attempt continues, and Jenny So's valuable and
sumptuously illustrated book reviews the progress to date, concentrating on
what is now understood about music in south-central China in the late fifth
century .. In the first of five essays, she and John Major set the scene,
describing the contents of the tombs occupied by the Marquis and his consort,
‘the largest group of ancient musical instruments known, not just in China
but in the entire ancient world’. They analyse the composition of the separate
ensembles arranged to play court ritual and chamber music, compare them
with the literary sources, and relate the music of Zeng, a small vassal state of
Chu, to that of the northern states. The heavy, largely percussive style of
music in the early Bronze Age—the age of Confucius—was now giving way
to ensembles dominated by strings and wind instruments.
In the second essay, ‘Percussion’, Robert Bagley examines the bells and
chimes of Zeng Hou Yi. He discusses the implications of their inscriptions,
‘the oldest record of musical thinking known from China’, and the two
striking points marked on each bell. He points to the extreme difficulty of
casting sets of dual-note bells, concluding that southern bellsmiths were more
skilled than their northern counterparts, and proposing that the first sets were
not cast as such but assembled from existing bells of different sizes, with
subsequent sets later cast in replica. The three-octave chromatic scales
available on the Marquis's bell set enabled its players to start their pentatonic
scale on any pitch, while the inscriptions on the bells related pitch standards
in Zeng to those of Chu. Bagley speculates that the reason for this unique
and expensively cast guide to transposition had to do with some unknown
political code linking the two states, an intriguing but so far inconclusive idea.
Bo Lowergren reviews recent finds of four types of zither, the multi-
stringed se, the pre-Han qin and zhu, and the prototype of today's zheng.
Examples of the first three were all found at Leigudun, revealing details of
their manufacture, decoration, and design development. The absence of the
zheng may mark it out as a south-east regional instrument in the late Bronze
Age. Discoveries of the qin, on the other hand, suggest a northern or trans-
Asian origin, and only marginal appreciation in Chu, where the number and
style of se unearthed since 1935 indicate its greater popularity. Paintings on
examples found at Leigudun and Mawangdui confirm the use of stringed
instruments in shamanistic rituals. One of these is the most problematic
instrument, the five-stringed zhu: extinct in China since the Han dynasty, hints
of its possible ancestory to the Korean kômun'go still await investigation.
When it comes to wind instruments, the multiplicity of archaeological,
historical and literary evidence, dating from 5000 .. onwards, is sometimes
contradictory. Feng Guangsheng assesses the contribution of the Suizhou
finds to their study and clarifies the relationship between the chi and di
transverse flutes, and include the best preserved set of Chinese Bronze Age
panpipes (xiao), the universally popular instrument which inexplicably
218 

disappeared from China during the Song dynasty. Of special interest is the
description of sheng manufacture from gourds grown within a tubular mould,
the method used to make all six found in Marquis Yi's tomb, and the fact
that Chu and the far south-west was the region where the mouth-organ first
flourished. The question of a possible South-East Asian origin is hinted at
but left unstated.
The principal conclusion of Lothar von Falkenhausen's summing up is
that although ritual (as distinct from shamanistic) music was already perceived
as conservative in the fifth century .., it was still much more varied and
lively than later attempts at reconstruction. By contrast, music for entertain-
ment was rapidly developing. It apparently placed less emphasis on precise
tuning, the bugbear of court musicologists responsible for ‘correct music’
(cheng yue) in the imperial era. Tuning, in fact, is one of the general areas
identified in the book as requiring further research, along with tempo, rhythm,
and the nature of the first Chinese notational system. Von Falkenhausen
makes two points that deserve to be emphasized more forcefully at the
beginning of the book; first, that the central chamber of the Marquis's tomb
had already been entered before excavation, and second, that there is so far
no corroboration that the constitution of the ensembles placed in the Leigudun
chambers was the same as those used by live musicians.
 

  and  :

Neokonfuzianer und Sinobuddhisten: drei Studien zur Entstehung der
Lixue-Philosophie in der späten Tang-Dynastie.
(Freiburger Islamstudien, Band XX.) 416 pp. Stuttgart: Franz
Steiner Verlag, 2000.
Prior to the introduction of Buddhism to China, emperors frequently lived
and even ruled for over one-hundred years. ‘But emperor Ming of Han,
during whose reign the Buddha's Law came to China, ruled a mere eighteen
years. After him, chaos and death, not continuity were the order of the day
[...] It is obvious that Buddhism has accomplished nothing.’ The Daoist
argument (of longevity) against the purported merits of Buddhism comes
from the well-known Confucian scholar Han Yu (768–824) and is quoted in
the work under review which, as its subtitle reveals, is the bringing together
of three separate studies on the early origins of lixue-philosophy in late Tang
China. It also provides a valuable bilingual (Chinese-German) anthology of
Confucian and Buddhist texts of Han Yu's time.
The complicated relationship between Confucian and Buddhist scholarship
and the accessory role of Daoist ideas therein has been the subject of studies
by C. Hartman (Princeton, 1986), R. Emmerich (Wiesbaden, 1987), and
T. H. Barrett (Oxford, 1992). The latter two provide opposing views on the
case of Han Yu's junior associate Li Ao (d. 836). Hoffmann and Hu adopt
the term ‘Reform Confucians’ for the generation of scholars based around
Han Yu, Li Ao, Liu Zongyuan (773–829), and Liu Yuxi (772–842), cursorily
including Bai Juyi. The authors' central thesis is straightforward: ‘no
Confucian reform [would have been possible] without Sino-Buddhist heresy’.
The first essay: ‘Das Eigene und das Fremde’ follows the development of a
‘Buddhism with Chinese characteristics’ through the stages of xuanxue
Buddhism, academic Sanskritism, Sui-Tang Neobuddhism, and the political
 219

Buddhism of empress Wu Zetian's prelates, resulting in the well-known Inquiry

into the origin of humanity (Yuanrenlun) by Zongmi of Guifeng (d. 841). The
text of Yuanrenlun with a translation based on the work of H. Dumoulin
(Tokyo, 1938) and P. Gregory (Honolulu, 1995) is appended to this first essay.
Yuanrenlun is a textbook example of doctrinary classification ( panjiao) as is
‘Das Eigene und das Fremde’. The authors consider Zongmi the most
important of the Sui-Tang Neobuddhists, but give still greater credit to ‘New
Zen’ teachers such as Shenhui (d. 764) and Linji (d. 867) for allowing
‘Chinese vitalism to triumph over Indian spiritualism’. That the authors are
mistaken about the historical context of this ‘New Zen’ is apparent from the
following:
One should not forget that the movement [sic] of Huineng and Shenhui was
directed against the entire courtly Buddhism of the Middle Tang, against
the clerical pomp of the two capitals which had turned religion into a
political farce. The new connection between spirit and everyday life was not
in the last place furthered by the rule of manual labor instituted for monks
in monasteries of the [Southern School].
Firstly, Huineng and Shenhui did not initiate a ‘movement’ in the sense of
the Modern Devotion in Europe, least of all Huineng (d. 713?), a
historiographically obscure southern saint whose relation to Shenhui is still
unclear. As to monastic reform (‘one day no work, one day no food’),
T. Griffith Foulk has made clear that this so-called ‘pure rule’, usually
ascribed to Baizhang (d. 814) is an anachronism, if not a falsification; it was
certainly not a part of (Huineng's and) Shenhui's ‘New Zen’. Lastly, nothing
in Shenhui's career suggests that he had any scruples about joining the
‘clerical pomp’ in the Tang capitals. Neither was Shenhui a ‘reformer’ in any
modern sense. Quite the contrary: his proselytizing campaign of the 760s (to
benefit the imperial war chest!) stood for all that was opposed by modern
reformers like Martin Luther.
But ‘New Zen’ or not, the ‘Reform Confucian’ generation was apparently
and to varying extents open to the ideas of a gentrified Sino-Buddhism. This,
at least, is the thesis of the second essay ‘Kosmosdebatte und instrumentelle
Vernunft’ (‘cosmic debates and instrumental ingenuity’), which presents the
famous debate on the role of Heaven (tianlun) between Han Yu, Liu Zongyuan,
and especially Liu Yuxi. Buddhist influences are most notable in the
contributions by Liu Zongyuan (Tiantai school) and Liu Yuxi (Huayan
school). Their well-known memorial texts for Huineng as well as their
contributions to the tianlun debate are appended to this essay. It is unclear
whether their different Buddhist leanings also inspired different kinds of
hagiography, but Liu Zongyuan's preoccupation with soteriology, messianism
and transcendency as well as Liu Yuxi's legalism, naturalism and instru-
mentalism are exposed in their respective tianlun texts. It also appears from
the essay that both men were able to formulate contiguous conceptions of li
in different contexts in dialogue with the traditional Mencian ethics represented
by Han Yu.
Han Yu's efforts to maintain a ‘Confucian platform’ in these debates
between ‘Sinobuddhist heresy’ and China's central tradition, but also his
attempts to realize his platform in his own career, are examined in depth in
the final essay: ‘Han Yu, Mengzi und die Gentry’. Han Yu's ‘middle-class
values’ (he was from a family of bureaucrats) apparently conflicted with the
relatively cosmopolitan ideology of the grands noms (haomen) of the palace
intimi (neiting). His ‘compassionate conservative’ treatment of the victims of
220 

the Yellow River flood of 799 cost him his job as a censor—not just because
of conflicting class values, as the authors suggest, but also because his plea
for lenient taxation ran contrary to emperor Dezong's centralist reforms for
which strict taxation was a prerequisite. But Dezong's reforms failed
dramatically and the ‘desperate times’ (Barrett) which followed were probably
the underlying reason for the pronounced conservatism of Han Yu's later
years. To call Han Yu a ‘culturalist nationalist’ (as Hoffmann and Hu do)
misses the point that his inquiry on ‘The origins of the (Confucian) Way’
(Yuandao) is really a plea to read China's central tradition in its proper
historical context, untainted by later Daoist or Buddhist re-interpretations.
Han Yu speaks of the Way (sidao), not of culture (siwen) because he is
concerned with political purity, not cultural purism. To the purity of political
ethics it is historicity, not ethnicity, that matters: as Chinese as Laozi and
Zhuangzi may be, a public servant can only rely on Confucius and Mencius
to save the country.
I am not convinced that Han Yu would not have reached these conclusions
had he not been exposed to the ‘Sino-Buddhist heresies’ of his friends Liu
Zongyuan and Liu Yuxi, or that the two Liu would have taken different
stands in the tianlun debate had they not dabbled in the Buddhadharma. It
remains to be seen how far the term lixue may be applied to the writings of
these three scholars of the High Tang, and how much of it was already
discernable in Zongmi's Yuanrenlun. I would rather favour Peter Gregory's
cautious conclusion that ‘[Zongmi's] essay [goes] beyond the polemical intent
of earlier works [and] shifts the field of controversy to a new and more
philosophical level of debate [upon] which Confucianism was called [...] to
respond’ (P. N. Gregory (tr.), Inquiry into the origin of humanity, Honolulu,
1995, 37).
 

 :
François de Rougemont, S.J., missionary in Ch'ang-shu (Chiang-
nan): A study of the account book (1674–76) and the elogium.
(Louvain Chinese Studies VII.) xvii, 794 pp. Louvain/Leuven:
Ferdinand Verbiest Foundation and Leuven University Press, 1999.
The object of this study is a little notebook by the Jesuit China missionary
François de Rougemont (1624–76), accidentally discovered by the author in
the archives of the Royal Library in Brussels. Minutely compiled over 140
pages, this ‘account book’ contains a mixture of figures and brief explanations
relating to the missionary's private expenditures. On this basis, a comprehensive
account of the life of his missionary station is reconstructed, shedding light
on the social universe of the Changshu mission. Thus we learn of the essentials
as well as of the more pleasant aspects of clerical life in seventeenth-century
China: from wax for church candles to the occasional pheasant as a gift to
the physician; from alms and Christian hardware to doufu, wine and Castilian
cakes. We read that Suzhou was the only place where European travellers
could obtain butter and that tobacco was smoked by tea-sipping officials in
their pavilions. The local preference for crabs, yam and pork dumplings is
documented in as much detail as the execution of spiritual exercises by
Chinese Christians. The deeper the reader is drawn into the account, the more
facets of contemporary life emerge.
 221

In order to make the ‘account book’ accessible to a modern audience,

most authors would have chosen to produce an annotated translation. Golvers
went far beyond this option, creating something akin to three interlinked
monographs. The book is thus divided into an introduction (pp. 1–90), the
text itself (pp. 91–237) and a third part dedicated to commentaries
(pp. 239–630). The appendices (pp. 631–794) contain various indexes, but
crucially also the Elogium (pp. 634–52). The introduction begins with a
comprehensive biography of François de Rougemont, exposing the tormented
religious and political life in the Netherlands during the seventeenth century.
It also reveals the devout religious upbringing of the young François whose
mother, according to anecdotal evidence, made him wear Franciscan garb
during his childhood. The subsequent exegetical paragraphs provide valuable
historical insight. From this point onwards, the author's meticulous and
systematic approach begins to breathe life into the welter of information
connected with the manuscript itself. An interesting chapter on languages
gives a vivid portrait of the China mission's polyglot environment, with Latin
employed for church use, Portuguese as the lingua franca among Europeans,
Chinese as second nature to all Jesuit ‘Confucians’, and Flemish, finally, for
the author's more intimate usage.
This linguistic diversity becomes evident in the second part, where the
‘account book’ is reproduced in full (except for its Chinese additions), even
retaining the reverse pagination of the hand-written original. The author's
translation into English is not merely accurate but also imaginative, necessary
because of the brevity of some of the entries. Special praise is due for his
diligent identification of words rendered in humanist Latin or in unorthodox
romanizations of the Chinese. A unique feature of the account book are the
‘spiritual comments’ interwoven into the ‘account book’ proper. De
Rougemont's religious self-examination stands out like a burning candle
amidst the financial and material data, and provides us with a unique insight
into the missionary's spiritual identity and personal background.
In Part 3 Golvers combines the economic and missionary data of the
manuscript with other crucial accounts of the period, such as A. Launay's
Journal d'André Ly and the Histoire d'une Dame chrétienne de la Chine by Ph.
Couplet, alongside missionary correspondence kept at the archives of the
Society of Jesus. The commentaries are divided into seven chapters, introducing
the Changshu mission—with de Rougemont at its very centre—and looking
at the wider material and economic realities of the Jiangnan region during his
lifetime. In subsequent chapters we learn of the region's Christian topography,
of de Rougemont's ten major travels and the conditions encountered en route,
of the structure of social life in his mission and the Christians' position in
Jiangnan society, as well as of the missionary's professional life and the
priestly organization of his mission. In chapter v we gain a detailed picture of
the mission's Christian literature, composed by Europeans and translated into
Chinese by the Jesuit missionaries. The two concluding chapters deal with the
more ‘mundane’ aspects of life, commenting on aspects of food and clothing
as well as the services of physicians and artisans (chapter vi) and on the
financial position of the mission, with illustrative examples of the contemporary
payment and currency systems (chapter vii).
The glossaries and indexes of the appendix are characteristic of the
author's appreciation of detail and structure, while rendering all the
accumulated information into a highly useful and stimulating book. The
posthumous homage paid to the manuscript's author by his colleague Egidius
Estrix is also reprinted in the appendix, his Elogium forming the basis of
222 

much of the biographical information we possess on François de Rougemont.

The eulogy was composed in 1690 and contains references to his publications
(chiefly the Historia Tartaro-Sinica, Innocentia Victrix and his Chinese
catechism) as well as several quotations from the missionary's correspondence
with Couplet.
Golvers' monograph certainly does not make for light reading. Nor does
the book reward readers for their patience with challenging hypotheses or
spectacular discoveries. But this is a different category of book—a monograph
with a mission to reveal details of an intricate mosaic, for educated readers
to integrate into their own pre-existing knowledge. In this sense, Noël Golvers
has brought to life a period of Chinese-European contacts which is usually
reserved for ‘grander’ aspects of history. His study is therefore an indispensable
addition to any collection specializing in the history of Eastern Asia and to
anybody with a special research interest in the early life of the Jesuit
China mission.
  

 :
Xu Xiake (1587–1641): the art of travel writing.
xviii, 231 pp. Richmond, Surrey: Curzon Press, 2001. £45.

This survey of the life and work of the late Ming traveller Xu Xiake
(Xu Hongzu ) is based on a Ph.D. thesis written by Julian Ward, now
a lecturer in Chinese at Edinburgh University. Xu has long been revered in
China as an explorer and even as an early environmentalist, but apart from a
short book by Li Chi, The travel diaries of Hsü Hsia-k'o (Hong Kong, 1974)
and some extracts in Richard E. Strassberg, Inscribed landscapes: travel writing
from Imperial China (Berkeley, 1994), his life and work have not been
extensively discussed in English. Julian Ward summarizes the history of travel
writing in China up to Xu's time, and describes what is known of Xu's life,
but concentrates on his last and most fully documented journey, to south-
west China in 1636–40.
Ward examines the publication history of Xu's diaries—which were lucky
to survive the cataclysmic events of the Manchu conquest of Jiangnan
in 1645—and, by comparing the originally published version with a fuller
version recording the south-western journey which resurfaced in the 1970s, he
argues that Xu is more of a literary artist, and perhaps less of a scientific
pioneer, than was previously thought. In a short chapter on south-west China
in the Ming, Ward makes the point that this area, although regarded as
‘exotic’ by contemporaries, was far from being terra incognita when Xu
visited it. The whole question of Xu's status as a ‘proto-scientist’, in a similar
category to Xu Guangqi or Song Yingxing , is one with which
Ward does not fully get to grips. In the context of seventeenth-century China,
it is questionable whether one can criticize Xu for ‘amateurish’ methods of
research (p. 57), or whether it is meaningful to make a dichotomy between
the ‘scientific’ and the ‘aesthetic’ (p. 170). However, Ward persuasively
demonstrates that Xu, although rightly regarded as an exceptional character
by his contemporaries, did represent a certain late Ming type: a member of
the literati class who for lack of interest or opportunity never embarked on
the bureaucratic rat-race and instead cultivated the ‘obsessional’ side of his
 223

personality and an interest in the strange (qi ). Clearly, though, for Xu

obsession (pi ) was not just a pose but a powerful motivation.
Ward could, perhaps, have taken further his discussion of how Xu's own
sense of what he was doing related to late Ming currents of thought. He
makes some reference to the ideas about art associated with the name of
Dong Qichang (1555–1636), but, I believe, overestimates the influence
of the early Ming artist Wang Lü (1332–91, p. 20). It is rash, in a work
of this kind, to tangle with such loaded terms as the ‘sublime’ and the
‘picturesque’ (pp. xiii, 162, 188, 202) which have a very specific meaning in
Western art history but are not readily applicable to Chinese aesthetics.
Ward's main theme is Xu's use of language and how this reflects his
sensibility. By supplementing the traditional edition of Xu's work with the
edition which resurfaced in the 1970s, he is able to give ample evidence that
Xu was not just a practical recorder of his experiences, but a consciously
literary author. Ward's argument that those parts of Xu's diary which were
written when he was staying temporarily in various centres of comparative
civilization rather than in the mountains reflect his access to books is less
persuasive; it is noticeable that the authors identified by Ward as having the
greatest influence on Xu are such canonical figures as Tao Yuanming
and Li Bai , whose works he must surely have known by heart; he would
not have needed access to a library to quote from them. If there is a stylistic
difference between what Xu wrote when staying in towns and what he wrote
on the road, this presumably reflects different degrees of comfort and leisure.
Given that Xu's use of language is a central theme of the book, the
numerous passages from his diaries and other writings translated by Ward are
of some importance to the argument. Generally, Ward's translations read very
well, and convey the enthusiasm of Xu's reactions to what he saw and
experienced. There are a few instances where the accuracy of his translation
is questionable. ‘Screams of delight’ (p. 83) is not a good rendering of
shuxiao , a type of vocalization connected with Taoist breathing practices.
Ward misinterprets a Zhuangzi reference ( ) to mean
that Xu, climbing a mountain in Guangxi, found himself ‘as high as if I were
flying through the sky’ (p. 171), when in fact the meaning is the opposite,
that he was frustrated at never getting nearer the summit. Lanruo (not
lanre) is not a ‘fragrant plant’ (p. 176) but a Chinese phonetic rendering of
the Sanskrit word a: ran1 ya, a forest, hence a place of retirement or hermitage.
There are a number of errors in romanization, and too many misprints (the
fault of the publisher rather than the author). However, these are minor
defects. Generally, this is an illuminating book, which conveys a lively
impression of a remarkable individual.
 

  (ed.):

Symbols of anguish: in search of melancholy in China.
(Schweizerische Asiengesellschaft/Société Suisse-Asie, Monographie
38.) 490 pp. Bern: Peter Lang, 2001. £40.
It is wonderful to see the gusto with which the sixteen authors and one editor
gathered here attack the potentially depressing topic of melancholy in this
excellent volume, which, especially since it spans the transition from premodern
to modern literature, forms a fitting tribute to Helmut Martin (1940–99), who
224 

sadly did not live to see the publication of his essay on tension and despair in
the work of Zhang Ailing. Not unnaturally, references to Robert Burton
abound, and of course pick up his own gleanings from Ricci, though mercifully
perhaps no one strives to be as discursive in their treatment of the theme of
the volume as their seventeenth-century predecessor.
On the other hand, one comes away from a first reading of this collection
with a strong feeling that more might have been said. As the editor points
out on p. 9, the starting point of the participants' deliberations was the
relentlessly upbeat picture of China presented by writers like Lin Yutang. Yet,
as Raymond Dawson pointed out some time ago, stereotypes about China
tend to have a remarkably chameleon-like quality to them, veering alarmingly
between extremes dedicated consistently only to the notion that whatever ‘the
Chinese’ are like, a priori they cannot be like ‘us’ at all. Lin was perhaps
trying to strike a positive note precisely because the Ah Q like passiveness
detected in his fellow-countrymen by some of his contemporaries tended to
play into the hands of imperialists all too glad to view ‘the Chinese’ as a
hopelessly apathetic lot who needed a firm imperialist hand (whether Western
or Japanese) to get them to shape up. Yet his picture of Chinese jollity comes
at times perilously close to an earlier stereotype of the constantly smiling
Chinese as child-like innocents, not yet ‘grown-up’ enough to meet with
civilized nations on an equal footing. Had the concept of ‘teenager’ been
around at the time, perhaps the early modern angst and apathy of the Chinese
could have been depicted as signs of growing up.
But in fact Lin, by addressing a resolutely ignorant Western audience in
English, was free to start from scratch, since no one knew too much about China
anyhow. This emphatically would not have been the case with a contemporary
Japanese audience, who do seem to have been aware of plenty of evidence in
traditional Chinese literature for what one might take to be the melancholic
nature if not of the Chinese, then at least of the Chinese literary tradition. True,
the best-known writers on this topic actually published somewhat later than Lin,
when China had conspicuously ‘stood up’—I have in mind Shiba Rokuro: ,
Chu: goku bungaku ni okeru kodokukan, first published in 1958 and reprinted in
the series Iwanami bunko in 1990, and O 9 ta Teizo: , To: yo: shiso: ni okeru kodoku to
mujo: , published by Ho: sei daigaku, Tokyo, in 1970. These studies, moreover,
unmentioned by any of the contributors, may either have been written to an
agenda of their own, or may be dealing with something that Robert Burton
would have ruled out of order, even if deeming any aspect of the topic beyond
his interest is hardly typical of Burton's approach.
Either way, the reader is still left with no answer to some obvious questions,
such as is the ‘Scholar's Frustration’ (a syndrome long ago identified by Helmut
Wilhelm) a type of melancholy or not? When Hu Shi (again, a figure not
addressed in this volume) advised at the self-conscious dawn of Chinese literary
modernity ‘Do not say you are sad if you are not’ was he directing his remarks
at a tendency to melancholy, or at some other convention? Certainly sleeves
enough are wet with tears in Tang poetry to suggest that the problem was a real
one. In short, there is plenty to learn from this collection, but plenty more to
learn that could easily go in another volume. Given that even a compendious
modern edition of The anatomy of melancholy runs to over twice the length of
Kubin's collection, we should surely not be surprised. For those disposed not to
be idle, there is still plenty of work to be done on Chinese literature—and, as
the spirit of conviviality that shines through this conference volume bringing
together scholars from all over Europe, Asia and America suggests, plenty of
reasons not to be solitary either.
. . 
 225

 . :
Incense at the altar: pioneering sinologists and the development of
Classical Chinese philology.
(American Oriental Series, 86.) xxxv, 359 pp. New Haven, CT: The
American Oriental Society, 2001.

 :
Paul Pelliot (1878–1945): his life and works—a bibliography.
(Indiana University Oriental Series, Volume IX.) xxv, 248 pp.
Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Research Institute for Inner
Asian Studies, 2001.

David Honey probably possesses what is now a rather rare qualification for
tracing the early history of Chinese studies, in that a 1994 interview with
Hans Hågerdal put on record his initial involvement in Chinese studies
through missionary activity, a route which, together with consular service,
accounted for the entry into the field of many European and North American
China scholars well into the twentieth century, but which has formed a much
more unusual starting point of late. The genealogical interests of his home
institution, Brigham Young University, have also served him well in
constructing an introduction to the development of philological sinology
based on clear patterns of personal filiation, rather than on hypothetical
schools intellectually defined. As his preface states, he makes no claims to
comprehensiveness either in his coverage of Chinese studies or in his listing
of sinologists, but by concentrating on the main figures involved in the
philological study of China, in what was after all during the most significant
period of its emergence a largely philological subject, he has effectively
supplied a basic history of the establishment of Chinese studies which usefully
reflects the perspectives of those involved at the time.
Thus an introductory chapter takes us swiftly through Jesuit scholarship
to the beginnings of academic sinology in France, allowing the first main
section of his work to concentrate on Chavannes, Pelliot and Maspero. The
next section deals with German language sinology, from Klaproth to Haloun,
while the final section on the English-speaking world covers developments
from Robert Morrison to Edward Schafer, encompassing on the way separate
sections for James Legge, Arthur Waley, and American experts as a group,
from Rockhill through Fairbank to Cleaves, reserving a full section for Peter
Boodberg, who was, with Schafer, Honey's own teacher.
Against the obvious (and candidly admitted) drawbacks of the genealogical
approach on display in such a selection, one must set many incidental pieces
of useful information worked into the larger pattern for no better reason than
that they communicate the whereabouts of scholarship exciting Honey's own
personal admiration, whether connected to his own sinological antecedents or
not. A good example of this would be the listing on pp. 164–6 of the complete
Haloun papers in Cambridge University Library—though of course, as
pointed out in this journal, 62/1, 1999, 174–5, Haloun's scholarship is also
reflected in other archival sources. In the case of that little published but
much loved scholar, as with several others, Honey was perhaps unlucky not
to have had to hand Bernhard Führer, Vergessen und verloren: Die Geschichte
der österreichischen Chinastudien (Bochum: projekt verlag, 2001), which would
226 

have helped him with several matters of detail. But there are signs that
Honey's work has been some time in reaching publication (surely, contra
p. 252, Rockhill's work on William of Rubruck has now been replaced in the
Hakluyt series by the joint efforts of Peter Jackson and David Morgan), so
rather than carp over the inevitable omissions, one should look rather to the
great wealth of bibliographical information that has been incorporated,
making it all the easier for students to use as a guide to a world of scholarship
that they ignore at their peril. Fortunately, moreover, proofreading standards
appear to have been quite high: Martianus Capella (p. xviii) and Charles
Bawden (p. 152) have suffered slightly, but the host of luminaries from the
centuries and decades in between have been given their due, often for the first
time in an English-language publication.
If, however, we court disaster by ignoring the work of earlier generations,
not all of whom were complete fools, then it is most perilous of all, of course,
to embark unawares even today on any topic touched upon by the remarkable
Paul Pelliot. This is not because he was infallible, but simply because he had
read more about China and Inner Asia than any of us ever will, and had such
powers of memory as to be able to recall information from utterly disparate
sources and so make connections unlikely to occur to any other scholar,
either before or since. Yet, given his penchant for scattering these gems of
information throughout a career total of many hundreds of book reviews, the
chances of finding them have in the past always been fairly slim. The new
chronological bibliography by Walravens at least gives one a fighting chance
of running them down, equipped as it is with author and title indexes for
these reviews and other publications, plus an inevitably incomplete but still
useful index by content as well.
The volume also contains much useful information on what might be
termed ‘Pelliotica’, starting with a reprinting (unfortunately not free from
typographical errors) of his most eloquent English-language obituary, by
J. J. L. Duyvendak, and also of the delightful recent reminiscences of Pelliot
as a teacher (a piece also listed by Honey) from the veteran Altaicist Denis
Sinor. The body of the work and the indexes associated with it are then
followed on pp. 219–41 by a listing of items about Pelliot and the materials
collected by him; this section too is equipped with indexes by name and by
title. The subsection here on materials includes many works on the Pelliot
collection of Dunhuang manuscripts, and even one or two articles on specific
manuscripts, though obviously this is very far from a full account, which
would in any case duplicate the work of the cataloguers of that collection.
Even the section on Japanese ‘Pelliotica’ is evidently not designed to be
comprehensive. In the Ajia rekishi jiten published by Heibonsha in 1962 there
is an entry on Pelliot by Enoki Kazuo, who also contributed a brief account
of the Pelliot Nachlass to the To: yo: Gakuho: 32.2 (1949); neither item is
mentioned here. Indeed, the number of errors in the Japanese entries suggest
that this area of bibliography is not a particular favourite for Walravens:
Umehara Sueji's name, for example, is correctly written on p. 222, but not on
several earlier occurrences.
In a sense, of course, this does not matter, any more than anything much
written by Pelliot and his admirers matters—most of it concerned details,
‘facts for facts' sake’, in a famous formulation by John K. Fairbank. Surely
we can dismiss the bulk of it as mere dross, and equate ‘sinology’ as
represented by such men (and, much more occasionally, women) with a
discredited Orientalism best forgotten in the new millennium. Some of Pelliot's
actions, such as walking off with the cream of the Dunhuang manuscripts,
 227

are of course open to criticism, as Arthur Waley long ago pointed out in
Ballads and stories from Tun-huang (London: Allen & Unwin, 1960), 237–8,
and Sinor's report shows that in his later years Pelliot was well aware that his
scholarship was in a way self-indulgent. But, to judge from a 1903 review
cited in Duyvendak's obituary (p. xvi), Pelliot's original aims cannot be
faulted: mangling a Chinese name, he says, is as bad as mangling a European
one. In other words, the Chinese are not an inferior people, deserving only of
amateur, inferior scholarship, but have to be treated on the same level as
Europeans—a policy which, once he had insisted on it, involved him in those
days in a great deal of hard work, as it would have done also in the
supposedly more enlightened and less imperialistic era of ‘area studies’, and
alas as it would to some extent even today. Only when the BBC stops
regularly mangling Chinese names, even at the best of times equating pinyin
and Russian ‘zh’, for example, will we begin to be in a position to be
condescending towards Paul Pelliot.
. . 

 :
Aristotle in China: language, categories and translation.
(Needham Research Institute Studies, 2.) xii, 170 pp. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 2000. £35.
Here is a book well worth reading by anyone remotely interested in the
Chinese language, but one that is best set aside during the hurly-burly of
teaching and studied in those few moments of quiet still to be found in our
rapidly contracting summer vacations. The question addressed is not a new
one: to what degree did the nature of the Chinese language impose ‘guidance
and constraint’ on Chinese thought? It is a type of question particularly
associated with the name of Benjamin Lee Whorf, and one which A. C. Graham
certainly pondered throughout much of his remarkable career. One does
rather wonder why Chinese has been so often singled out in this regard.
Surely it cannot be because of something so epiphenomenal, or rather totally
unconnected, as the unfamiliarity of the script to European eyes? In more
strictly linguistic terms there are, after all, some fairly strange languages much
closer to home, such as Circassian, which baffled even Sir Harold Bailey. Or
are there more unpleasant Orientalistic motives lurking beneath the surface, a
desire to see a tongue spoken by so many people as actually hampering their
thoughts, destining them an intellectually second-rate position behind speakers
of Indo-European (and, one tentatively supposes, Semitic) languages?
Robert Wardy is far too polite to follow such a line of attack; instead he
takes the route of Christoph Harbsmeier in his contribution to Science and
civilisation in China, Volume 7, Part 1 (Cambridge: CUP, 1998), in confronting
the question, teasing out its meaning, and adducing the wealth of counter-
evidence available in the early texts of the Chinese language itself. Harbsmeier,
in his somewhat more broadly conceived study, then goes on to consider the
question of translation from Indo-European languages, noting in particular
the impressive ability shown by Chinese translators of the Tang period in
rendering Buddhist texts on logic from Sanskrit into Chinese. The work that
Wardy concentrates on in the second part of the monograph under review he
too has examined to some extent, though it seems to disappoint him.
But Wardy's much closer look at the Categories of Aristotle as translated
228 

by Francisco Furtado and Li Zhizao in 1631 from the edition with commentary
prepared by the Jesuits of Coimbra (it would be too much to expect a direct
confrontation between Aristotle himself and early Chinese thought) shows in
detail that the Aristotelian tradition in Europe and Ming thought were, thanks
to the ingenuity of the two intelligent and dedicated men involved in the
translation, in remarkably effective communication with each other. Nor do
we have to depend entirely on Wardy's judgement for this, in that copious
quotation, liberally sprinkled with Chinese characters, allows any sinologist
to appreciate the validity of the points he is making at a glance. That is not
to say that his translation is always beyond criticism: on p. 81, for example, I
would not translate tui lun zhi fa as ‘regulations for discussion’, but as ‘a
method of discussion’, in that the more concrete ‘regulations’ would probably
be represented by some other word, such as faze. This example, however, has
no effect on Wardy's argument, and looking through the bilingual glossary of
technical terminology that covers pp. 153–60 (impatient sinologists wishing to
cut to the chase may well read this book backwards) I see nothing plainly
injudicious in the English equivalents chosen for the key Chinese terms.
What one does notice, however, are one or two fascinating hints that some
awareness of the earlier encounter with alien forms of thought originally expressed
in Indian languages may have been hovering in Li's mind, if not in Furtado's.
Cause, a notion for which one would expect some compound involving yin, as
in modern speech, is instead expressed by the phrase suoyiran, ‘wherefore it is
thus’, a term prominent in the thought of the Six Dynasties but not so
conspicuous in subsequent ages. Are not the Buddhist overtones of yin being
deliberately avoided? On the other hand, ‘object’ is rendered by jie, a regular
equivalent in Buddhist terminology for dhatu, which is by no means the same
thing, but which means something in a philosophical context in a way that jie in
its more literal senses of ‘boundary’ or ‘bounded area’ does not.
In short, like all well wrought pieces of research, Robert Wardy's monograph
does not, for all its commendable directness, present us with some Gordian knot
cloven indisputably quite in twain, but also leaves a number of loose ends to
puzzle over, seen perhaps from a new angle. As we head back to the classroom
we will probably not have had enough time to take things any further, but one
day—maybe in retirement—a few thoughtful sinologists around the world will
no doubt pick up this Chinese Aristotle, and other translations too, such as the
works of nineteenth-century scientific translation recently studied by David
Wright, and will find more to say on the rather weighty matters raised in this
slimmish volume. For such stimulating prompting from a slightly unexpected
quarter, we in Chinese studies clearly owe a considerable debt to Robert Wardy,
and hope that he will find other examples of cultural intercommunication between
the classical tradition of Western philosophy and China with which to beguile
our increasingly rare moments of reflection.
. . 

  and  :

Intermediate Cantonese: a grammar and workbook.
xiv, 200 pp. London and New York: Routledge, 2001. £13.99.
This is the companion and continuation volume to the same authors' Basic
Cantonese which was published in the previous year. Like its predecessor
it defies easy categorization, being neither a teaching textbook nor a
 229

comprehensive working grammar of the language, and is aimed apparently at

random somewhere between the teacher and the student in such a way that
neither is likely to benefit greatly.
For the teacher it is not comprehensive enough or analytical enough to
provide in-depth material which would add much colour and weight to
classroom presentation. For the student it is so perfunctory (perhaps
‘ungenerous’ might be a better word) in its treatment of many major grammar
points that it is hard to see how the innocent mind could get to grips with
much of it. As in the earlier book there is for the most part a curious
assumption that the student already knows a wide vocabulary which can be
understood when it appears in newly introduced grammatical contexts, while
here and there, as if waking briefly from this unwarranted assumption, a word
or term is suddenly explained (as with houchih ‘resemble’ on p. 85). As for
the ‘workbook’ element, it consists of a few brief and repetitive exercises at
the end of each unit. Little or no attempt seems to be have been made to
make the exercises original or interesting or to depart from the stolid fare of
‘fill in the blanks’ and ‘using formula x, change y to z’. The teacher will not
stimulate the student with this material, and because of the vocabulary
problem the student will often not be able to understand it without a teacher.
The book is more useful than Basic Cantonese if only because a learner who
has progressed that much further has a better chance of relating to some at least
of the material, but both are marred in principle by their failure to identify and
target a specific readership. Cantonese: a comprehensive grammar by the same
authors remains a towering achievement and neither of these ‘spin-offs’ comes
even close to matching it in usefulness. Having said which, they do contain some
new material elegantly rendered into exact English equivalents; they deal
unswervingly with everyday usage in straightforward language devoid of jargon
and pretentiousness; they are refreshingly free from contrived and unnatural
examples (indeed many of the examples are sourced); and they show evidence of
the insight and originality of approach which mark the earlier work of these two
gifted authors. Even the most experienced teacher of Cantonese will find some
food for productive thought at points in the text. For example, the casually
thrown away remark on p. 16 associating tone change with familiarity is
enlightening; the treatment of classifiers in Unit 8 is sparingly phrased but
satisfyingly full; and the discussion of causatives and resultatives with dou in
Unit 14 is unusual. By contrast rather heavy weather is made of the use and
positioning of the adverbs dou (pp. 97–8) and jauh (p. 137), both of which would
be better explained as being positioned before the verb rather than after other
features; and the sketchiness of Unit 7 on adjectives and stative verbs makes the
distinction between them less than clear.
As with most other Routledge publications there are no Chinese characters
used in this book. Since there can nowadays be no significant cost barrier to
including characters, their omission must presumably be ascribed to misguided
editorial policy.
 . . 

 -:
The Chinese lexicon: a comprehensive survey.
x, 390 pp. London and New York: Routledge, 2000. £75.
‘The Chinese lexicon is a detailed study of the words and word combinations
used in modern Chinese.’ When teaching Chinese to English-speaking learners,
230 

it is inevitable that comparisons between Chinese and English are made.

Written English can be analysed in different meaningful units, i.e. sentences,
clauses, phrases, words and morphemes. Written Chinese can similarly be
analysed in terms of sentences, clauses, phrases and, arguably, morphemes.
What then is the Chinese equivalent to the category ‘words’? Is it zi
(character) or ci (word)? To answer this question, we need not only to
define the intricate relationship between characters and words—which is not
always straightforward—we should also have a broad view on how the
language has functioned in its historical as well as modern development.
It is fortunate that we now have a book which deals with the Chinese
lexicon in English in such a detailed manner. Yip Po-ching's The Chinese
lexicon: a comprehensive survey offers us a broad picture of the words and
word combinations used in modern Chinese. We know, for example, that
more than two-thirds of modern Chinese words are disyllabic. It seems
convenient to adopt a word-based approach in teaching spoken Chinese.
However, if we look at modern Chinese against its historical and developmental
background, we will find that:

What we can clearly see is that in the monosyllabically oriented classical

lexicon, the increase in words is reflected in the increase in written symbols,
whereas in the modern lexicon, the increase in words corresponds directly
with the increase of disyllabic combinations, whilst the number of individual
characters employed for the purpose has not only been vastly reduced but
has subsequently remained constant (p. 18).

What does this claim, based on research findings, suggest to us in terms of

pedagogic considerations in teaching Chinese as a foreign language?
There are two major approaches to Chinese language teaching in terms of
reading, which are generally termed ‘character-based’ and
‘word-based’. We see that textbooks published in China are mostly ‘word-
based’: two- or three-character words are presented as a unit. The meaning
of the individual characters which constitute a word is not given. It is down
to the teacher who uses the textbook to deal with this. The character-based
approach, in contrast, pays attention to individual characters and their
capacity to form new words. This latter approach seems to be favoured
outside China, and is represented predominantly by the popular textbooks
used in the UK and France, namely, Colloquial Chinese by T'ung and Pollard
(London: Routledge, 1982) and Méthode d'initiation à la langue et à l'écriture
chinoises by Joel Bellassen and Zhang Pengpeng (Paris: La Compagnie, 1989).
The fact that some 2,000 to 3,000 core characters can form many thousands
of words, and cope with the expansion of modern-day vocabulary, must
deserve the attention of not only linguists but also of teachers of Chinese as
a foreign language. This is precisely the rationale behind the character-based
approach.
The question that follows is: how, then, does this comparatively small
body of characters manage to deal with what seems to be an ever increasing
number of words? The Chinese lexicon illustrates systematically the morpholo-
gical, syntactic, phonoaesthetic and rhetorical features governing word
formation in the Chinese lexicon. It provides a comprehensive analysis of how
characters and words interact. We find ample examples of the varied ways in
which words are formed. All of this is no doubt very useful for learners and
teachers of Chinese alike.
In the appendix, the author lists dozens of intra- and inter-lexical strategies
 231

of the Chinese and English lexicons with examples for each strategy. The
section is interesting, even fascinating, to read on its own.
To conclude, The Chinese lexicon will be an invaluable resource for
learners of Chinese at intermediate and advanced levels, even more so for
teachers of Chinese, who will find it a comprehensive as well as an easy-to-
use reference work.
 

 :
North China and Japanese expansion, 1933–1937: regional power and
the national interest.
viii, 249 pp. Richmond, Surrey: Curzon Press, 2000. £45.
Marjorie Dryburgh's important new book is a welcome addition to the slowly
growing literature on the effects of Japanese encroachment on Chinese politics
in the 1930s. The book uses a wealth of contemporary Chinese-language
sources, combined with memoir literature, and sets forth a powerful argument
that the Nationalist regime of Chiang Kaishek exacerbated its problems in
dealing with Japan by adopting too rigid an attitude towards regional Chinese
militarists in North China. In doing so, it helps create a more nuanced picture
of the way in which Chinese nationalism developed in the early part of the
last century.
The essential work on the way in which Chiang Kaishek's regime
responded to Japanese aggression in the 1930s is Parks Coble's Facing Japan:
Chinese politics and Japanese imperialism (1991). Coble's work gave us the
‘view from Nanjing’, showing the various pressures on Chiang's regime—
warlordism, the threat from the Communist party, factionalism—which forced
him to adopt a policy of appeasement towards the Japanese after the
occupation of Manchuria in 1931. Dryburgh switches focus, looking at the
question from the point of view of one of the regional militarists with whom
Chiang and the Japanese both had to deal. Her central figure is Song Zheyuan,
commander of the 29th Army and political leader in the Hebei-Chaha'er
region of North China. Throughout the period 1933 to 1937, Song was caught
between two conflicting sets of demands. On the one hand, Chiang Kaishek
demanded that Song show his loyalty to the central government in Nanjing
by resisting Japanese pressure to grant the latter military and political rights
in North China; yet Chiang refused to give Song any significant military
backing so that he could defend his position. On the other, the North China
Garrison Army, the Japanese military force in the region, wooed Song with
promises of support if he encouraged North China to become autonomous
from the Nanjing regime, and threatened him with retaliation if he refused.
In Dryburgh's account, Song's skill as a political juggler comes through first
and foremost, as he frequently kept his own statements vague and unfocused,
giving the impression that he was a simpleton. When Song refused to carry
out Nanjing's demands, a common reaction among Chiang's officials was
therefore not to assume that Song was being defiant, but rather that he was
not particularly intelligent, and could not be expected fully to understand his
role in the wider national picture. In retrospect, however, the impression that
one gets is of a skilled political operator, playing a weak hand well. For four
years, as Sino-Japanese tensions escalated between 1933 and 1937, Song
managed to maintain a large swathe of North China broadly under his
232 

control, while not giving full control either to Nanjing or the Japanese. It was
only the outbreak of full-scale war in 1937 that meant that Song could no
longer hold to his ambiguous position, and was forced unequivocally to side
with Chiang Kaishek.
Song Zheyuan's story is told in great detail over the first four chapters,
and by presenting large amounts of detailed evidence rather than editorializing,
Dryburgh gradually and subtly draws the reader into sly complicity with
Song's manoeuvres. Perhaps the most important argument comes in chapter v,
however, where the case against Nanjing's handling of regional militarists like
Song is weighed and found wanting. ‘If we are to identify a genuine failure
in Nanjing's prewar Japan policy,’ the author notes, ‘it is not the failure to
embrace resistance, but the failure ... to develop a strategy for dealing with
the Japan problem that would accommodate the complexity of the Sino-
Japanese relationship and the diverse actors engaged in it.’ The foreign policy
makers in Nanjing found it hard to conceive of loyalty to the national interest
which was not totally congruent with loyalty to the interests of their
Nationalist government. They engaged in a policy of trying to direct all their
diplomacy through formal channels, with negotiation only to be carried out
between Nanjing and Tokyo. This policy failed to take into account the reality
on the ground in North China, where leaders such as Song Zheyuan had to
deal with the ever-increasing demands of the North China Garrison Army,
which often had little respect for the Tokyo government's official policy.
Furthermore, Chiang Kaishek's demands that regional leaders such as Song
should sacrifice parts of the areas under their control so that the central
government could buy more time may have seemed appealing to government
officials sitting in Nanjing, but were hardly calculated to appeal to the leaders
who were being asked to bear these territorial losses, many of whom were
only reluctant allies of Chiang's in the first place. Song Zheyuan would have
had further reason to be wary of Chiang, having seen how another major
militarist, Zhang Xueliang of Manchuria, had seen his homeland invaded and
occupied by the Japanese in 1931, following which there seemed to be little
prospect of Chiang's government supporting any military attempt to retake
it. One cannot necessarily fault Chiang's calculations—as we have seen, he
had plenty on his plate already—but the knowledge of what had happened in
Manchuria must surely have made many regional militarists think twice about
their role as pawns in his national strategy against the Japanese.
Marjorie Dryburgh has written an innovative and thoughtful study of a
topic which has received far less attention than it deserves. Her book is
recommended reading for all those interested in the turbulent relationship
between China and Japan in the early twentieth century, as well as the
tensions within domestic Chinese politics during that period.
 

  (translated by  . ):

Japan and China: mutual representations in the modern era.
ix, 298 pp. Richmond, Surrey: Curzon Press, 2000.
This volume contains at the same time much more and much less than one
would imagine by glancing at the title. Anyone looking for a systematic
treatment of Japanese perceptions of China or Chinese perceptions of Japan
during the Tokugawa and Meiji periods is bound to be disappointed, since
 233

even an introductory overview of this fascinating field of study is simply not

attempted. Instead, we are presented with a series of book notes on important
publications of the period bearing upon Sino-Japanese cultural relations,
composed by a veteran who in his day was responsible for introducing the
great Chinese writers of the Republican era, many of whom he knew
personally, to a Japanese audience. In fact these notes were originally
published as a series of bibliographical essays in the mid-1970s, and then
translated as a series by Fogel in the periodical Sino-Japanese Studies during
the early 1990s, with additional annotation interspersed with Masuda's
own notes.
This dual annotation, now to be found in the end-notes, is useful, though
not exhaustive. For example, Fogel (p. 230, note j) evidently found the
Japanese reprintings of the pioneering Chinese adaptations of British medical
works by the early medical missionary Benjamin Hobson impossible to locate
in the United States, but had he revised his annotation in the light of
information in Peter Kornicki's catalogue of Japanese books in the library of
the Wellcome Institute, BSOAS LX/3, 1997, 494, he would have been able to
point out that these works—to say nothing of other items relating to Hobson
in a purely sinological context, likewise recorded in the Chinese catalogue of
the same collection by Hartmut Walravens—are readily available in London.
Some indication, too, might ideally have been given of other Japanese
studies of the literature covered. For example the intriguing historiographical
and even more extraordinary plain fictional contemporary Japanese response
to the Taiping rebellion is covered by Masuda in a number of essays from the
sixteenth through to the twenty-second. Yet several of the publications dealt
with in these pages were already touched upon in a study of Japanese
awareness of the Taipings by the historian Masui Tsuneo as early as 1951,
which was later reprinted on pp. 74–98 of his collection Chu: goku no futatsu
no higeki (Tokyo: Kembun shuppan, 1978). No doubt other secondary studies
could also have been woven into Fogel's commentary, though one can
understand his reluctance to extend his labours unduly, so perhaps confining
himself to remarks on the primary materials themselves was after all the right
approach to take.
In a sense, however, the omission of such further petty details in the
volume under review is of much more minor consequence than what would
appear to be a mere change of typography when compared with the original
translated versions of the essays that appeared in the 1990s. For these included
handwritten Chinese characters inserted in the main text of the translations,
and in the notes at the end of each section of translation. At first sight the
change in the reprint to typeset characters for all names and book titles in a
separate glossary (pp. 254–79), with only characters relating to textual
problems in the end-notes collected at the back of the volume, represents an
advance in terms of visual clarity and professionalism. Yet the removal of so
many characters from their original locations in the text and notes, where
they were most useful for rapid consultation, has rather undermined the ease
of consultation of this volume as a sort of bibliographical handbook of Sino-
Japanese cultural relations, as indeed has the separation of the notes from
proximity to their original portions of text. Even an index-glossary giving
more immediate access to the information required on each name or title
would have been better, though far from ideal. The amount of East Asian
script required could have been handled quite easily by an American university
press, to say nothing a European firm such as E. J. Brill, so the failure of the
most dynamic publisher of academic texts on East Asia in Great Britain to
234 

rise to the occasion typographically is distinctly worrying. Any publisher

nowadays who is unable to mix Western and non-Western scripts with
complete freedom is at a clear disadvantage in the international academic
market, so we must hope that this reluctance to scatter kanji liberally
throughout an English-language text marks no more than a passing phase.
As it is, this volume will still have its uses to those wishing to get a quick
grasp of the literary resources available for the study of the early modern
phase of Sino-Japanese relations, but it is just not the solid reference work
that it could have been, and that the labours of Masuda and Fogel even laid
the groundwork for.
. . 

 :
Fictions of femininity: literary inventions of gender in Japanese court
women's memoirs.
xii, 328 pp. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1999.
Fictions of femininity presents a sustained feminist account of Heian women's
literature with substantial ramifications for how we read that body of work.
Through close readings of both canonical and marginalized texts, the author
outlines an animated conversation among women writers and readers about
the very real social, emotional, and political consequences of having one's
body and text read as female. In doing so, this book moves beyond the
restrictive and anachronistic rubrics for defining ‘court women's memoirs’
that have dominated scholarship, treating them instead as part of a larger
female discourse about erotic desire, fantasy, family, class, fictionality, and
the slippery boundaries between ‘public’ and ‘private’ spaces. Like the texts
it treats, Fictions of femininity yields many rewards to the careful reader. The
following summary is intended to cover only some of the book's more original
contributions to scholarly accounts of these memoirs.
As the introduction acknowledges, the generic construct of ‘Japanese
court women's memoir literature’ (o: cho: joryu: nikki bungaku) is both
compelling and problematic in equal measure. Sarra outlines several desires
informing the modern conceptualization of this genre: those of Japanese
writers and critics in the twentieth century to find Heian foremothers for
modern Japanese ‘women's literature’ (joryu: bungaku) and the ‘I-novel’
(watakushi sho: setsu) genre; those of literary historians who treat Heian court
women's memoirs as the (perhaps socially embarrassing but necessary)
nursemaid of a national prose literature; and those of feminist scholars
wishing to reconstruct the voices of women who lived in other times and
places. In favouring the feminist approach, Sarra highlights what was at stake
for the literate and sophisticated women who wrote these memoirs as women.
This distinction matters not only because dominant representations of
femininity in Heian texts are male in origin; but also because, as Sarra argues,
it mattered to their authors insofar as their reproductive potential defined
them as tokens of exchange in the political traffic between those aristocratic
men who provided the education, patronage and material support for their
writings.
Sarra goes beyond this truism, however, by demonstrating how this
patriarchal traffic in women informed not only the material conditions for
their writings, but also those texts’ rhetorical contours. Because what Sarra
 235

calls the ‘well-bred’ (that is, potentially marriageable) Heian woman was
subject to significant constraints on her physical and visual mobility, her
written texts functioned as a compensatory prosthesis which could physically
travel to and be seen in settings where she herself could not. One of the
central themes in this book is the complicated play between concealing and
revealing which these women's memoirs mobilized within the Heian court of
public opinion. Such strategies, Sarra argues, can be seen in the rhetorical
complexities of voice, viewpoint, and emotional tone within their texts as they
set out to produce a complicated and calculated rhetoric of testimonial.
In chapter i, Sarra uses this approach to move beyond sterile debates
about gender and genre that have largely defined the male-authored mother
of Japanese women's memoirs, the Tosa nikki. Noting the degree to which its
author Ki no Tsurayuki seeks to align ‘feminine poetry’ with a properly
passive womanhood elsewhere, Sarra suggests that the memoir's ostensibly
female writer could have served a similar function vis-à-vis prose. As a
handbook for future female writers, the Tosa nikki would have related
specialized forms of knowledge in a manner not unlike that of the men's
diaries which it claims to emulate.
Chapter ii explores the Kagero: nikki, a text typically viewed as a more
genuinely gendered—if emotionally excessive—mother for Japanese court
women's memoirs. Yet the divide between author and (auto)biographical
subject embodied in this memoir's infamous shift from third- to first-person
narration in its opening lines is as profound as the gender gap opened up at
the beginning of the Tosa nikki. Sarras use of the term ‘heroine’ here and
elsewhere to describe the focal subject of the memoir offers a novel and subtle
approach to this issue. While it explicitly rejects the female stereotypes
developed in monogatari tales, Sarra argues, the Kagero: nikki and other
memoirs deployed that genre's perspectival suppleness to modulate the
author's proximity to her text's heroine. Such strategies mattered to the
Kagero: nikki because, as Sarra notes, it was probably begun as a defence of
its author's abortive attempt to divorce her politically influential husband.
Chapters iii and iv provide the first extended study in English of one of
the most intriguing and controversial of Heian court women's memoirs, the
Sarashina nikki. In these chapters, Sarra weaves together an account of
solitary reading as a feminine autoerotic act disciplined by Buddhism, enabled
by older knowing female accomplices, and rich in its capacity for dreams and
fantasy. As it happens, the verb used to describe the heroine's guilty acts of
solitary silent reading, miru (‘to look at something’) carries sexual connota-
tions. Any and all positions can be visualized by the girl peeping at an
illustrated tale under her covers. Small wonder, Sarra suggests, that she would
be loathe to give up such erotic mobility for the physical and visual restraints
of marriage.
Buddhism plays a complex role in Sarra's reading of the Sarashina nikki:
in terms of both the law limiting desires, and their being simultaneously
propagated in the form of dreams about sternly handsome monks. One is
reminded of the complex interplay between constraint and incitement displayed
by Christian formulations of Western sexualities. Regardless of this, Sarra
notes Buddhism's increasing prominence among the middle ranks of the male
aristocracy in the mid-Heian period which went hand-in-hand with a shift in
the tone of male monogatari criticism from one of patronizing amusement to
anxious denunciation of their potentially ‘immoral’ effects. Sarra's reading of
the Sarashina nikki would imply that such didactic criticism was informed by
236 

patriarchal anxiety that one's own ‘well-bred’ daughters or sisters might

prefer monogatari to men.
Chapter v provides the first extended scholarly treatment in English of the
Sanuki no suke nikki. Narrated by the former consort of one emperor now
serving his heir, this handmaid's tale is charged with connotations of ritual
pollution and political danger to herself and her family. Inconvenient and
agonizing memories of the former emperor are represented as a form of spirit
possession; hence, Sarra argues, the fragmentary, multiple perspectives
embedded in this memoir, which resembles a poetry anthology more than a
standard nikki in its eschewal of linear temporality. Sarra further draws on a
wealth of scholarship on Heian spirit possession to show how this phenomenon
is deployed by the memoir's author to excuse the handmaid as the victim of
possession, while perhaps simultaneously providing a veiled reminder of her
ability to summon the spirit of her former imperial patron. Here once again
there is a deft interweaving of the political complexities of the author's
situation with those displayed in the rhetoric of her text. These are intelligent,
articulate women who are well aware of the high stakes involved in the
display of a socially-scrutinized self.
Chapter vi provides a sweeping critique of the ways in which modern
scholarship on Heian literature has rendered the motif of ‘fence-peeping’
(kaimami)—with its delineation of a male voyeur and passive female object
blind even to the fact that she is being looked at—into the master metaphor
for Heian erotics. As Sarra argues, the women narrators in monogatari bring
their female audience into such scenarios in complex, sometimes critically
ironic ways. She then sketches an alternative range of erotic possibilities
involving parity between genders—as revealed in the Makura no so: shi, whose
author displays a master voyeur's appreciation of the erotic possibilities for
both seeing and being seen by women and men of all social classes at the
Heian court. Her reading thus links this text's oft-noted rejection of rhetorical
and narrative conventions with a rejection of gendered ones.
Perhaps this book's most provocative point is that we take more seriously
the links between textuality and corporeality in Heian court culture. The
rhetorical strategies of calculated disclosure it sees in these texts resonate
suggestively with the strategies for displaying one's hair, clothes, voice, and
calligraphic hand in which Heian women simultaneously engaged. Ultimately,
it is Sarra's sensitivity to the risks entailed in such disclosures that makes her
arguments so compelling. While preserving a critical distance between heroine
and author—in fact pointing out the misogyny that often accompanies
modern scholarship's tendency to equate the two—Fictions of femininity
makes a strong argument for reading these memoirs as carefully crafted and
politically canny testimonials to the contradictions, complexities, and con-
straints experienced by their female authors as wives, handmaids, mothers,
daughters, and sisters living in an intensely competitive and patriarchal society.
 

. . :
The Japanese experience: a short history of Japan.
xviii, 299 pp. London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1999. £20.
Professor Beasley is best known for his work on the nineteenth century and
especially the Meiji Restoration and its aftermath, in respect of which he is
 237

the sole British contributor to the multi-volume Cambridge history of Japan.

But as the emphasis on pre-Meiji Japan in this book seems to indicate, he
more than most must regret Japan's recent economic trials; indeed, the
outcome of the whole Meiji ‘experiment’ both before and after 1945. ‘All
very interesting but no more thank you’ was apparently his feeling at the
close of his first visit in 1945–46. As of 1990, on the eve of the first Japan
Festival in the UK, he was concluding that interest in Japan hardly rivalled
that in respect even of Italy, and would only continue to grow in line with
Japan's economy. The collapse of the ‘bubble economy’ would appear to
have seen to that, notwithstanding the current second Japan Festival.
By contrast, more than thirty years ago, the late John Whitney Hall was
already focusing attention in particular on the kinsei, ‘early modern’ Edo
period, 1600–1868, in his Japan from prehistory to modern times. Of lasting
popularity, the book featured a peaceful, stable society, by no means devoid
of social change, albeit all too featureless politically, such that it might still
seem comparable not only with Manchu China but even Yi Korea. And
Hall's contemporary, T. C. Smith, moving backwards from early work on the
Meiji era, was already presenting a picture of a society increasingly dominated
by rich farmers in which the samurai was almost redundant. This links with
the still much neglected evidence of the rare Russian visitor of 1811–13,
V. M. Golovnin, in whose eyes the ruling class had lost most of its military
character.
Smith, W. B. Hauser, Nakai Nobuhiko and Nakamura Satoru give us a
picture of rural Japan, at least around Osaka and Nagoya, in which the
nuclear family was emerging, landlordism and tenancy were spreading, and if
only as a way of getting around the rice-tax, cash-crops being grown of which
undoubtedly the most important was cotton. But in any case, the incidence
of tax was fixed, so that if population was stabilized as apparently was the
case by 1730, by means of late marriage, abortion and perhaps infanticide,
living-standards were bound to rise. To some extent, improved agricultural
technology was creating Japan's own ‘agricultural revolution’. And rural
industry, especially in the Kinai region around Osaka, principally cotton
spinning and weaving, was also helping to improve living standards, signifying
what Susan Hanley has called ‘samurai-zation’, reflected in improved diet,
clothing, and above all housing. A number of quite grand farmhouses still
survive from the late eighteenth century, and not just in the Kinai.
Commercialization and capital accumulation were features of this process,
focused in particular on Osaka, ‘Japan's kitchen’, which was seeing the rise
of future zaibatsu companies like Mitsui, Sumitomo, with mining and other
interests almost throughout Japan, and the Sasakawa sake business.
Another striking fact is that as early as 1730 Edo/Tokyo was probably the
world's largest city, with more than a million people, almost all literate, and
it remained so until the early nineteenth century, i.e. through all the early
years of the Industrial Revolution in England. Like many other Japanese
cities it had grown rapidly in the seventeenth century, and probably remained
twice the size of Osaka largely because of its role as the capital of the shogun,
Japan's real ruler. By contrast most of the other castle-towns of the daimyo
lords shrank during the eighteenth century as further evidence of the decline
of the old ‘feudal system’, but at least ten per cent of Japan's population was
still reckoned urban in the early nineteenth century. Thus there is general
agreement that Japan had reached ‘early capitalism’ by this time, and Smith's
most recent book is entitled Native sources of Japanese industrialization,
1750–1920. Susan Hanley goes on to argue that the nineteenth century as a
238 

whole, and thus even its second half featuring the Meiji Restoration, saw no
real improvement in living standards, thereby highlighting the social cost of
at least the early stages of so-called ‘modernization’, other than improved
security from the Western threat in the form of the notorious military
strengthening. And hand in hand with all this economic and social change
had gone other, more familiar, developments acknowledged already by Hall,
in art, theatre and literature, and not least emphasis on native Japanese
culture to the exclusion of Chinese influence.
That recent works like K. Pomeranz's Great divide, in making comparisons
between West and East so much to the disadvantage of the latter, should
focus so exclusively on decadent China under the Ch'ing is as mystifying to
this South-East Asianist as it is doubtless to any Japanologist. And it is to be
hoped that Professor Beasley's new approach will also serve to transfer
attention to Edo Japan. That so prosperous a society was increasingly and
unquestionably a sakoku, ‘closed’ country of course conflicts with orthodox
Adam Smithian, Anglo-Saxon economic thinking, founded in free trade,
population expansion and migration. But that orthodoxy now resembles a
treadmill with rather unpromising prospects. The ‘fairyland’ that Laurence
Oliphant for one perceived in 1858 in Edo Japan, and how it worked, might
now repay much greater attention.
 

 :
Japanese political history since the Meiji renovation, 1868–2000.
xxiv, 395 pp. London: Hurst and Company, 2001. £39.50.
Superbly designed and printed, the front cover a veritable work of art,
illustrated throughout with many photos of important people and events, plus
some amusing cartoons by contemporary satirists—while standards of
academic publishing steadily decline, what a pleasure to see a book as well
produced as this.
The book's content fully matches expectations. To complete such a
comprehensive, lucid survey of Modern Japan's stormy and tortuous political
history from 1868 to the present day is an impressive achievement in itself.
One can also single out some of its many admirable features for special
comment.
The author begins with a brief preface where he presents his own views
on the distinctive and enduring qualities of Japanese politics; then in chapter i
he gets off to a good start with a concise account of the Meiji renovation's
historical background and various conflicting interpretations of its real
significance. These form an excellent introduction to the book.
All major figures in the political arena are then successively described in
fine detail, with shrewd comments on their character and motives. Meanwhile
institutional changes, diplomatic entanglements, economic forces, social
movements and currents of thought are skilfully woven into the narrative,
never impeding its smooth flow. Factional disputes and personal rivalries
abound at every stage; often of baffling complexity, these too are handled
with effortless assurance.
The book concludes with a survey bibliography of all important works,
conveniently grouped into topics with brief appraisals of their merits and
deficiencies. This is a most valuable guide to further reading.
 239

Specialists in many fields will find this book a useful backdrop for their
work. Students and general readers will also benefit from gaining a firm grasp
of modern Japan's political evolution as a complete whole, rarely provided
by individual biographies, more limited studies or detailed monographs.
Compared with numerous general histories of the period, in my opinion
this one is easily the best and most useful of them all. It certainly establishes
the author as an historian of the very highest calibre.
 

. . :
Yosano Akiko and The Tale of Genji.
xi, 221 pp. Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Center for
Japanese Studies, 2000. $32.95, £20.50.
In the spring of 2001, members of the listserv for Premodern Japan Studies
discussed whether Arthur Waley had based his English translation of The Tale
of Genji on Yosano Akiko's 1912–13 translation of the same into modern
Japanese. Like her he abbreviated some passages, skipped over others, and
sanitized Genji's character. His library contains a copy of her work, annotated
in his own hand. All this proves, however, is that as with any careful scholar,
he had read as much as he could about the original text as well as studying
the text itself, just as Akiko herself had read all the available commentaries
and steeped herself in the world of Murasaki Shikibu long before beginning
her own translation. No one had attempted a translation of the novel in over
two-hundred years; its language was more foreign to the Japanese of her day
than it was to Waley himself.
Akiko's profound commitment to classical Japanese literature sits ill with
the common perception of her as a thoroughly modern woman. She is best
known for her poetry, but just as students of classical poetry tend to focus
their attention on a select few of the imperial poetry anthologies, so too do
admirers of Akiko's poetry read only her early, most passionate poems.
Lauded for their frank expression of emotion and their physicality, they are
said to mark the genesis of modern tanka. By reading more widely in Akiko's
poetry and by paying close attention to the classical antecedents found even
in her earliest poems, Rowley is able to challenge the received wisdom
regarding both Akiko and her poetry. The famous image of tangled hair, for
example, can be traced to Izumi Shikibu (born 977?) and Ono no Komachi
(fl. c. 850). Yes, the young Akiko caused a sensation with her first poems,
poems that she later found embarrassing. She participated in debates over
motherhood and promoted women's rights. She even wrote a powerful anti-
war poem at the height of the jingoistic fervour during the Russo-Japanese
War of 1904–05. In Rowley's eyes, however, all this pales in significance
compared to Akiko's life-long engagement with Genji monogatari.
The reader comes away from Rowley's study awed not just by Akiko's
superhuman energy but by her prodigious mind. An autodidact, she immersed
herself in the world of Murasaki Shikibu from a young age and memorized
large chunks of classical literature. Like premodern readers everywhere, she
read deeply, re-reading and pondering the texts that mattered to her and
integrating them into her own sense of self expressed in her writings, poetry
and dress. She lived out her fantasies as a Genji heroine by running away
from home to be with her lover, even though no woman in Genji is ever that
240 

bold. In this way, she appropriated and distorted the meaning of the text at
one and the same time. Whether she wrote her own commentaries or turned
out translations (in addititon to Genji, she translated Eiga monogatari,
Murasaki Shikibu nikki, Izumi Shikibu nikki, and Tsurezuregusa into modern
Japanese), she expressed full confidence that no one understood the text as
well as she did, and she received full endorsement of her claim by the leading
literary figures of her day. She was a master stylist in her own right, and so
thoroughly did she understand Genji monogatari that her final translation
surpasses all others in its fluidity as well as its fidelity. Her first is another
matter. Although superior to the half-baked efforts made earlier in the 1890s,
it abbreviates the original. The publisher's desire for a commercially viable
book and the need to advance the action at a pace suitable for a modern
audience played their part; leaving a text, that bereft of its ornamentation,
negates the alterity of the past. Beyond such mundane considerations, the
sections she cut are precisely those that show the dark side of Genji's
character. The reason? Rowley draws on a wealth of evidence and her own
detailed analysis of Akiko's writings to make the highly original argument
that in negotiating between art and life (p. 129), Akiko identified so closely
with Murasaki and saw so much of her philandering husband in Genji that
she made the text into her own story, transforming both Murasaki and Genji
in the process.
In addition to documenting Akiko's lifelong devotion to Genji monogatari,
Rowley offers a concise summation of Genji studies and how readers have
interacted with the text. Heian period aristocrats and their epigones in
medieval Japan tended to identify the text as a romance suitable for women,
but also dangerous at the same time, and they mined it for information on
court ceremonies and for poetical allusions. Men in the Tokugawa period
turned it into a classic for all Japanese. No longer the property solely of the
aristocracy, it was analysed for its insights into the ancient past, popularized,
summarized, and parodied. Rowley knows of only two women who can be
said to have read the work because of the way it informed their writing. I can
add a third: Matsuo Taseko (1811–94) read at least a fragment of the 1675
commentary and text and alluded to Genji in her poetry. In addition,
woodblock prints, novels and critical comments by male pundits suggest that
women, especially courtesans, found it worth their while to be familiar with
Genji, although any woman who might have wanted to treat it analytically
became a figure of ridicule. In reaction to the extremes of Westernization in
the 1870s and 1880s, the men who concerned themselves with building a solid
foundation for modern Japan turned to the past to create a national literature
suitable for shoring up the national identity by making it possible for the
Japanese to take pride in their cultural heritage. As ‘the world's first novel’,
Genji monogatari was an obvious candidate for this task. It was even adduced
as evidence for why the unequal treaties ought to be revised and as proof that
despite the first Sino-Japanese war of 1894, the Japanese were not a war-
loving people. Even so, the men who promoted Genji tended to read it
through a thicket of commentaries to which they contributed their own
interpretations. Akiko did both; she read it as a woman and analysed it as
a man.
By acknowledging the importance of classical literature to Akiko in both
professional and personal terms throughout her life, Rowley's monograph
provides an essential supplement that adds to rather than substitutes for
previous studies, at least those appearing in English. (Perhaps because ‘mere’
translation is too often denigrated in academic circles, its contribution to
 241

Akiko's literary career is often overlooked, even though it brought her a

sizeable income.) Rowley's depiction of how Akiko's scholarship has been
ignored reminds me of another modern woman, Dorothy L. Sayers, whose
translations of Dante and writings on religion have been completely
overshadowed by her creation of Lord Peter Wimsey. Both women led full,
complex, and multi-faceted lives that have been reduced in the years since
their deaths to what was, in their eyes, their least noteworthy achievements.
In the case of Yosano Akiko, at least, a complete biography of this poet,
activist, translator, and scholar remains to be written.
This is a book for advanced students and scholars of Japanese literature
and women's studies. Although it is highly readable and larded with elegant
and fluid translations, it presupposes a solid knowledge of The Tale of Genji
and the Japanese language as well as a willingness to plough through long
passages of transliterated Japanese. Rowley is well steeped in Japanese cultural
studies; her knowledge of historical scholarship is more limited. She
consistently refers to Akiko by her first name while calling male figures by
their family name, as, for example, ‘Akiko certainly saw Tanizaki's effort as
detracting from her own accomplishment’ (p. 153). In this Rowley follows an
unfortunate and nearly universal practice that implicitly denigrates women's
accomplishments in comparison to those of men. (Milton is never called John
whereas Austen is too often simply Jane.) These caveats aside, the book is
well worth reading not only for its fresh insights into a major modern writer,
but as a model of what can be learned from an array of close textual analyses.
 

 . :
Myths and legends from Korea: an annotated compendium of ancient
and modern materials.
xvi, 454 pp. Richmond, Surrey: Curzon Press, 2001. £55.
Korean myths, legends and folktales have so far been poorly served by
publications in Western languages, to the dismay of teachers who hardly find
anything worthwhile for reading assignments. Grayson's hefty compilation is
therefore a welcome addition to the literature. In easily readable translations
it brings together a substantial number of tales, some of which are most
fascinating. This is material that will induce many readers to study Korean
culture more deeply, and through his introduction, comments and bibliography
Grayson provides them with some of the means to do so. If, nevertheless, I
have some reservations with regard to the book, it is because of the—perhaps
over ambitious—claims it makes, which I feel it does not sufficiently live up
to, and to a certain extent also because of the nature of the comments on the
tales, which take up a considerable portion of the book.
According to Grayson, the compendium is a ‘collection of 177 tales from
the oral tradition’, ‘essentially anthropological in outlook’, and intends to
provide ‘an analysis of the function of the tales, the purpose which these tales
had for the listeners’; it is also intended to be ‘an introduction to the beliefs
and thoughts of the Korean people in the ancient and modern periods through
an analysis of the oral folklore of Korea’. For the ‘ancient period’ the
Samguk yusa (Remnants of the Three Kingdoms) has been the main source.
This raises two problems. Firstly, is this material oral? The Samguk yusa is
written in Classical Chinese, and was compiled in 1285, i.e. in the Koryŏ
242 

period, by the monk Iryŏn. Although it certainly drew on oral traditions, the
process of change these underwent when Korean oral narratives became
Chinese text should not be ignored. This may have happened long before
Iryŏn incorporated the tales in his work. For example, although Grayson
claims that in the case of the story of Tan'gun, Korea's mythical founder,
Iryŏn recorded a—presumably oral—folk narrative, the text quite clearly
states that it is based on written sources in Chinese, which have little to do
with ‘folk narratives’. In any case, whenever oral texts were put into writing,
in the new context the function, too, changed and this is likely to have
resulted in modifications to the text, leading it away from the meanings it
may have had in the stage of orality (when functions and meanings may not
be assumed to have been stable over time either). Any understanding of the
material in the Samguk yusa should therefore be based on a discussion and
understanding of the particular aims and purposes of Iryŏn's composition. In
other words, the Samguk yusa should be seen within the context of Koryŏ
history. Here the second problem arises, because Grayson, far from attempting
this, takes the narratives of the Samguk yusa as products of the period of the
Three Kingdoms and the period of Unified Shilla (which came to an end in
the tenth century), even apologizing for the fact that no medieval (that is,
Koryŏ) tales were included.
This is not the only ‘contextual problem’. To justify the claim that the
book is essentially anthropological in outlook, a detailed and careful attempt
should have been made to place each tale in its cultural and social context
(not to mention its intertextual connections, which are equally crucial in
determining a text's meanings and functions in any concrete situation).
Obviously this is an impossible task for a selection of 177 tales. Consequently,
it is not surprising that the functional analysis of the tales is frequently
superficial. Discussion of the historical development of tales, too, tends to be
based more on (unverifiable) common sense than on all the available evidence
and existent scholarly literature. Grayson does discuss certain aspects of the
historical development of the Tan'gun tales, for instance, but does not refer
to Korean scholarship on the matter, such as Han Yŏngu's careful tracing of
the different stages of the story. When mentioning the twentieth-century
relevance of the story, he omits one of the most crucial events, the creation
of a religion centred on Tan'gun in 1909 by Na Ch'ŏl (he erroneously dates
the emergence of Tan'gun worship to the post-liberation era, p. 56). In the
same passage it is wrongly suggested, by the way, that Taehan was first used
to designate Korea by the provisional government in exile (instead of during
the reign of Kojong), which invalidates several of the comments that follow.
Also questionable is Grayson's tendency to stick all kinds of labels on
elements in the tales, like ‘primordial’, ‘semi-heroic’, ‘magic’ etc., that imply
fixed categories of interpretation, which are nevertheless not clearly defined,
and in my view often problematic conceptually. One tale (p. 318) is considered
‘semi-mythological’ for no apparent reason other than that the spirit of a
dead man plays a key role in it. In Grayson's usage, magic almost equals
shamanism, an unwarranted prejudice, while shamanism seems to be a cover-
all for almost anything that has no place in modern Christianity, such as
prophetic dreams or apparitions of the dead (examples of which abound in
Confucian and Buddhist contexts). Another instance is Grayson's liberal use
of the term ‘Confucianism’. One tale (pp. 315–17) is pronounced to have a
‘Confucian ethos’ because it is supposed to be about a girl's chastity (actually
it is just about the question of who will get the girl). The story is also said to
be anti-Buddhist, in spite of the final words: ‘...[the mother] was so happy
 243

that she didn't know what to do and began to worship Buddha even more
fervently’.
The quality of the translations is on the whole certainly adequate, but I
did spot some mistakes, as on p. 157: ‘the sacred king’, instead of King Sŏng
(whose name happens to be written with a character meaning ‘holy’).
Occasionally the comment does not match the translation; p. 78 ‘As [Yuhwa]
is already pregnant, the sun's rays do not impregnate her’ where the
translation says, after the description of the sun's rays following her: ‘She
became pregnant ...’ (p. 76). On a more trivial level, there are spelling mistakes
and errors in the transcriptions of Japanese.
A practical defect in a handbook of this type, which few readers will read
from cover to cover, is that Korean terms in the translations are not all listed
in the index or glossed whenever they occur (e.g, kanja, ‘bamboo divining
sticks’ 159, also 163).
Yet, in the final analysis the great merit of the book is that a considerable
number of myths and tales have been brought together, in a format that
allows easy comparison and is suitable for discussion in class. This applies in
particular to the foundation myths and clan origin myths of the ancient
Korean states, where Grayson has collected various versions from Korean
and Chinese sources, and for comparative purposes added similar narratives
from other states and peoples in East Asia, ranging from the foundation
myths of Chinese dynasties to tales of the Tungus and the Ainu. For the book
as a whole, he has also added appendices that refer the reader to similar tales
in the type and motif indexes of Aarne and Thompson and in the separate
indexes of this kind for China and Japan. All this makes Myths and legends
from Korea a useful compendium.
 

 

 :
Animals and shaman: ancient religions of Central Asia.
206 pp. London and New York: I. B. Tauris, 2000. £35.

Although the subtitle of this work refers to the ‘Ancient religions of Central
Asia’, the introduction describes it as a ‘comparative study of the indigenous
religions of Central Asia’, and there is precious little here that refers to
‘ancient religions’. The author then goes on to reject the use of ‘Central
Asia’ as a suitable term for the subject region and to define as ‘Inner Eurasia’
that region surrounded by Chinese, European, Indian and Middle Eastern
cultures. His stated intention is to draw on the methodology of French
historians of religion, in particular Georges Dumézil, in arguing for the idea
of a common inheritance for the religions of Inner Eurasia.
Doubts over this work arise as early as the third page, when we read that
‘the population has consisted of hungry nomads, jealous of the rich sedentary
civilization on the periphery’. Aside from the fact that (a) true nomadism is
not characteristic of the region, and that (b) nomads are historically no more
liable to famine than are sedentary civilizations (indeed it may be argued that
their mobility makes them less likely to suffer famine), it ignores the fact that
the mobility-based identity of the (semi-)nomadic inhabitants of the region
244 

means that they generally regard the sedentary population as effete and
decadent, while the sedentary cultures needed the animal products of the
steppes as much as the (semi-)nomads needed their material produce.
Chapter i then proceeds to survey the religions of the Scythians, Hsiung-nu,
T'o-pa, Huns, Juan-juan and Avars, Khazars, Bulghars, and finally the
Khitans; all in twenty-three rather short pages! Chapter ii is a similarly
superficial survey of the Turkic peoples, which draws largely on a selection of
accounts by medieval travellers. Several pages are devoted to the practice,
literature and history of Turkic Islam. In the final section on the ‘internal
logic’ of the religion, the author concludes that ‘the theme of "‘becoming
animal’' ... is the most important Inner Eurasian aspect of Turkic religion ...
Thus the nomadic tribes of southern Turkey have intercourse at the same
time as animals, simulate the intercourse of cranes and tolerate bestiality.’[!]
Chapter iii concerns the Mongols, again largely viewed through the
accounts of medieval European travellers and the uniquitous Secret History
of the Mongols. Most undergraduates are aware that in reading, for example,
Carpini on the Mongols, or Chinese sources on the sexual customs of their
neighbours, their inherent bias must be taken into account, but any attempt
to contextualize these accounts is entirely absent here. Statements in the
sources are apparently, to judge from the lack of source criticism, to be taken
as gospel. At this point the reviewer checked to see that this was not a reprint
of a book from the 1920s.
The Tunguz and Manchus then figure, with five pages devoted to
summarizing Shirokogoroff's 1935 study entitled Psychomental complex of the
Tungus, which we are assured is ‘massive and extraordinary’, albeit
‘polemical’. This section concludes by informing us that ‘A Tunguz shaman,
[however], has a hard life, constantly tense because of his work, tired after
performances, unable to assist, [sic] weighed down by responsibility, confronted
by hostility, worrying about involuntarily harming people and troubled about
by [sic] the fate of his soul (owing to the danger that spirits may imprison it
in this work when he dies). So he lacks the cheerfulness of temperament which
usually characterizes the Tunguz’.
The chapter entitled ‘Conclusions’ actually carries on in much the same
vein, beginning with a discussion of the previously unmentioned Samoyeds
‘of the Arctic shores and the plot of one Samoyed epic ... [before going onto]
the Hungarians and their Siberian cousins, while noting similarities with
American Indians. After that ... Finnic evidence, and ... new interpretations
of the Finnish and Estonian national epics’—all that in twenty pages! Clearly
‘Inner Eurasia’ is an elastic term, as indeed is ‘ancient’ or ‘indigenous’
religion.
The level of analysis remains the same. A typical paragraph begins: ‘In
the eighteenth century Georgi noted that the Samoyeds consumed a
hallucinogenic mushroom, fly agaric (Amanita Muscaria). A man chose a wife
from another clan and after paying the bride price carried her off by force.
Wives were treated with the greatest cruelty. A dead person had to be taken
out of his tent through a hole in the wall ...’.
Such essentialist and Victorian Orientalist simplicities abound throughout
this work. On p. 156 we go, in a single paragraph, from a 1551 list of
indigenous gods compiled by a Finnish bishop, to a seventeenth-century
Swedish traveller's statement that Lapp shamans are ‘famous for their ability
to stop a ship in its course’, before concluding with the information that the
Lapps ‘use angelica as a panacea’. More follows, with leaps, devoid of any
apparent connection, from twentieth-century Estonian saunas to prehistoric
 245

Finnish rock carvings, again, in a single paragraph. Comparative religion may

not be an exact science, but in truth, this is only comparative in the sense
that the telephone directory is comparative.
There are no maps or illustrations. Nor is there any sense of historical
progression, or critical scholarship. Statements such as that concerning the
ship-stopping abilities of Lapp shaman are not placed in quotation marks,
and the author gives no indication that this, or any, statement might be more
questionable than any other. There are notable omissions from the biblio-
graphy; Charles Graves, Proto-religions in Central Asia, for example.
We can only wonder how this work found a publisher; it would barely
suffice for an undergraduate research project. If the author was an amateur
scholar, the reviewer might shake his head ruefully and leave it unreviewed.
But the author is a reader in Religious Studies at a major university and even
if this was written to meet the demands of the Research Assessment Exercise,
the most charitable assumption, the fact that university libraries in cash-
strapped Central Asia (and elsewhere) might be tempted to pay the stated £35
for what is apparently a random and hasty trawl through a card-index file
makes the unpleasant task of reviewing this work necessary.
 

- 

 :
The Muhimmât al-nafâ'is: a bilingual Meccan fatwa collection for
Indonesian Muslims from the end of the nineteenth century.
(Seri INIS, XXXII.) xiv, 219 pp. Jakarta: Indonesian-Netherlands
Cooperation in Islamic Studies (INIS), 1997.

This volume further extends the excellent INIS series, which is a joint venture
between the Indonesian Government's Ministry of Religion and the Southeast
Asia Department of the University of Leiden. The series both promotes
important scholarly research and helps to make such scholarship available at
affordable prices to Indonesian readers.
Kaptein begins by defining the form and function of the fatwa. His study
focuses upon a collection of fatwas (Arabic plural fata: wa: ) issued at the end
of the nineteenth century by the most prominent Meccan muftis in response
to requests from Malay-Indonesian Muslims based in or visiting Mecca. He
gives ample justification for this study in correctly pointing out that fata: wa:
provide ‘an important source of information for both the history of Islamic
scholarly activities and for the history of Islamic societies’ (p. xi).
Kaptein wisely chooses to base his study upon the first published edition
of the Muhimma: t al-nafa: 'is, dating from 1892. Both Shrieke and Djajadiningrat
had made reference to the Muhimma: t al-nafa: 'is, but only knew of later
editions. Thus Kaptein's study is ground-breaking in terms of identification
and use of original source material.
It is argued that the Muhimma: t al-nafa: 'is was most probably translated in
1887. None of the fata: wa: were issued before 1871. The work thus clearly
establishes the timeline in focus, and the author appropriately stresses that
this work provides a window into the crucial cross-over period between the
246 

era of Sufi predominance and the modernist period in the Malay-Indonesian

world. The Muhimma: t al-nafa: 'is is also important in that it provides useful
information on issues of daily concern to the Malays and Indonesians
directing the questions which elicited these fata: wa: , be they pilgrims or Malay
students studying in Mecca. Moreover, the relevance of this work seems to
have continued into the twentieth century, as four editions appeared
subsequent to the 1892 original.
The second chapter contains a facsimile rendering of the 1892 edition. The
margin also includes the text of Da: wu: d al-Fa: t1a: nı: 's D1 iya: ' al-murı:d pada
mengetahui bagi kalimat al-tawh1 :ıd, which makes Kaptein's study even more
valuable. The primary text contains 130 fata: wa: , with most carrying a signature
of a particular mufti. The format of each fatwa typically consists of four
parts: a question in Arabic, a translation of the question into Malay, an
answer in Arabic, and finally a translation of the answer to Malay.
Nevertheless, some only appear in Malay, suggesting lacunae in the printed text.
The importance of this work lies in the insight it provides not only into
Malay-Indonesian Islam, but also into the Meccan scene of the late nineteenth
century. Several Meccan muftis issue fata: wa: in this collection, with most
carrying the name of Ah1 mad ibn Zainı: Dah1 la: n (1817–86), mufti of the
Shafiites and shaykh al-"ulama: in Mecca. Other fata: wa: carry the name of his
rival, Muh1 ammad H 1 asab Alla: h (1817–1917). Furthermore, eight of the fata: wa:
in the collection were penned by the Patani Malay scholar "Abd al-Qa: dir ibn
"Abd al-Rah1 ma: n al-Fa: t1a: nı:.
In the third chapter Kaptein provides a meticulous transliteration of the
Jawi Malay part of the text, using the 1892 edition as his base manuscript,
but referring to later editions when the base MS is illegible or unclear. He
takes the appropriate decision to render the Jawi text according to the
orthographic conventions of modern Indonesian and Malaysian, while
maintaining fidelity to the morpho-syntactic form of the original text.
Chapter iv includes a summary in English of the key points of each fatwa,
though the author is quick to stress that ‘in no way does it pretend to summarize
each individual fatwa completely’ (p. 190). In the absence of a full translation into
English, this approach is useful. The topics of the fata:wa: are many and varied,
and include whether it is permissible to change Islamic law schools; correct
procedures pertaining to pilgrimage; marital and divorce laws; inheritance laws;
the ritual of reciting maulid poems; the drinking of palm wine; and whether a
community converting to Islam should continue to use former cemetery sites.
Chapters v and vi provide a useful index of people, places, and books
mentioned in the fata: wa: , as well as a glossary of Arabic terms and phrases,
with page references.
The work would certainly have benefited from an annotated translation
into English, in place of the summary of fata: wa: contents. Given the effort put
into transliterating the text and analysing its contents, it is surprising that the
author did not take the further step of providing a full translation into English.
Other than that, the only slightly disconcerting feature is the author's
somewhat stereotypical use of the terms ‘traditionalist’ and ‘modernist’.
Presumably by ‘traditionalist’ he refers to the attention in some of the fata: wa:
to the kind of legalistic detail which was not considered of relevance to
modern life by twentieth-century reformist thinkers, such as fatwa XXV by
Ah1 mad Dah1 la: n which declares that ‘If amphibians live permanently on dry
land, it is forbidden to eat them’ (p. 194). However, to brand the work as
‘traditionalist’ (p. 15) is to understate the importance of such interaction
between Malay-Indonesian questioners and Arabian masters in triggering the
 247

mood for reformism in South-East Asia which carried Islam in that region
into a whole new era, and which led to the progressive marginalization of
Sufi approaches, which had hitherto held centre stage.
Overall, this work represents a most valuable addition to the corpus of
studies into the transmission of Islamic thinking from Arabia to the Malay-
Indonesian world. It is as much a resource for further scholarship as a stand-
alone work in itself. No doubt future scholars will mine this work extensively
in search of valuable materials for further research.
 . 



 :
Land and society in the Christian kingdom of Ethiopia: from the
thirteenth to the twentieth century.
xvii, 373 pp. Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2000.
$60.

One of the remarkable aspects of the history of Ethiopia is the continuity of

a dominant, literate, Christian civilization and monarchy dependent on the
produce of ploughing peasants for nearly two millennia. Crummey is impressed
by this continuity and examines the case of the tenure known as gult as one
of the common threads through the dauntingly long and complex history of
the Christian kingdom. In so doing he asks the conventional, recently
unfashionable, but eminently useful question of how societies organize
production, and how the contradictory interests which arise in this process
are managed or resolved. The author's immediate challenge to recent
scholarship is that the conceptualization of gult as an administrative estate
and not ‘property’ is misleading and he argues rather that gult often became
individual property and could be transferred, accumulated and acquire a
market value. The argument is subtle but immensely important to scholars of
Ethiopia and will also be of comparative interest to scholars of other African
regions and the Sudanic belt in particular.
Thematically, the crux of the book is the chapter entitled ‘Man is free;
land is tributary’ which clearly explains the historical struggle between
monarch and nobility over the right to peasant produce, labour and land.
The evidence presented suggests that the modern gult institution has its roots
in the seventeenth century when the monarchy attempted to recover from the
trials of the previous century by capturing exclusive rights to the labour and
produce of the ordinary farmer in order to fund a centrally controlled and
mobilized army. ‘Man is free, land is tributary’ was originally an edict made
in response to structural crisis by the seventeenth-century Gondarine monarch
ZäDengel. ZäDengel designed his edict to liberate large numbers of Christian
farmers from virtual serfdom under the specialized military households or
c'äwa, to gain access to land and neutralize the base of praetorian power.
Ultimately, however, the edict failed and ZäDengel died in battle shortly
afterwards. Nevertheless Crummey presents this edict and the aims it addressed
as the core material struggle which lay at the heart of the Christian kingdom,
vital to the understanding of post-medieval and early modern Ethiopia.
248 

Indeed, once the reader has grasped this central and contradictory struggle
in Ethiopian society it is as well to hold on, since the book then descends
rather precipitously into several chapters of detailed historical evidence about
the Gondarine period and its tenurial arrangements. Crummey's evidence
from Gondar, in particular marginalia from Church manuscripts of this
period, provides much documentary evidence to counter the theory that the
Ethiopian aristocracy was never able to accumulate landed property, nor able
to pass it on to their descendants. For example the institution called aläqenät
in Gondar is complex and fascinating proof that the Ethiopian nobility did
acquire landed property in perpetuity, and had been accumulating land for
several centuries before the more notorious accumulators of the twentieth
century. The so-called zämänä mäsafent ‘the era of the princes’ was an
expression of this power and demonstrates, according to Crummey, the
irrelevance of the monarchy to the substance of gult, at least in the
seventeenth/eighteenth centuries. For the historian of modern Ethiopia
Crummey's evidence underlines the Herculean task that aspiring autocrats
from Tewodros to Haile Selassie faced in funding a centralized bureaucracy.
Indeed the subsequent chapters on the role of gult in the nineteenth century,
and its eventual decline in the twentieth, offer extremely lucid and persuasive
accounts. However, the primary evidence collected for the Gondarine era is
lacking for later periods and other regions. If there must be a criticism
therefore, it is that the rich documentary evidence about gult in the Gondarine
era seems, at times, to overwhelm the general argument about land and
society in Ethiopia as a whole and at other periods.
This book is the result of a lifetime's study of Ethiopia and more
immediately, a long-term collaborative project funded by the US National
Endowment for the Humanities into the history of Ethiopian land tenure and
its social context. It has involved several generations of Ethiopian scholars
whose contribution Crummey clearly acknowledges. The project undertook a
large-scale programme to record land-related documents in Ethiopia and in
collections around the world. The records collected by the wider project will
greatly enhance access to primary historical material for scholars of Ethiopian
history. The wealth of primary evidence presented in this book alone will be
the basis for the continuing (and in some ways) intractable debate on
Ethiopian land tenure. This evidence is complemented by high-quality
reproductions of Ethiopian sacred art that reflect well and enliven the
sometimes dry evidence from the marginalia. Furthermore as a synthesis of
and commentary on the best historical scholarship on Ethiopia Crummey's
work will provide stimuli for many other deeply fascinating research topics.
Indeed, the book is an example of the best kind of engaged and generous
scholarship that will encourage others to look into Ethiopian history where,
as Crummey says, ‘the fields are ripe, the harvesters few’.
 

  :

A green place, a good place: agrarian change, gender, and social
identity in the Great Lakes region to the 15th century.
(Social History of Africa.) xiv, 302 pp. Oxford: James Currey, 1998.
£15.95.
David Schoenbrun has written an ambitious book, one that encompasses the
ancient history of Rwanda, Burundi, north-western Tanzania, parts of eastern
 249

Congo, and much of Uganda. This is a large-scale study, a ‘history of ideas,

institutions, groups, regions, and centuries’ (p. 262), based primarily on the
evidence of social change contained in language and meaning. This book is
an impressive achievement, and one that should be read by archaeologists,
anthropologists and historians, as well as historical linguists.
Inevitably, Schoenbrun faced problems of evidence, or, more precisely, the
lack of it. This is acknowledged early on: ‘storytellers ... must navigate
the twists and turns of balancing gaps and silences in the evidence
with imagination’ (p. 6). The quality of Schoenbrun's achievement, therefore,
depends on how balanced his account appears to be, and how far readers will
allow his imagination to run. Overall, the story told is generally convincing.
It is likely that readers will feel that they have come away with a better sense
of the form of ancient inter-lacustrine society than they had before.
Nonetheless readers may feel uncomfortable at times with both the nature
and the use of evidence in this book. The evidence used by Schoenbrun comes
mainly from glottochronology, archaeology and anthropology. There is no
doubting Schoenbrun's ability as a historical linguist. His The historical
reconstruction of Great Lakes Bantu cultural vocabulary: etymologies and
distributions, SUGIA, 9 (1997) is of immense value to historians of this region,
and should be referred to when reading A green place, a good place. Yet it is
unclear how one could demonstrate that glottochronology is an acceptably
accurate indicator of when shifts in meanings occurred in the past in non-
literate societies. Equally, readers may feel concerned that many of the
dictionaries that form the core vocabularies for historical linguistic work in
this region were written after, or as a part of the process of, colonial linguistic
homogenization. These points relate more to the rate than the route of
linguistic change in the past.
Schoenbrun has provided a valuable review of literature on iron age
archaeology in the region, one that is imbued with an unusually deep
anthropological knowledge. It may be that the continuing archaeological
research in Buganda and Bunyoro could force a re-consideration of the
directions of change in settlement and language that Schoenbrun proposes.
Nonetheless as it stands, Schoenbrun's use of archaeological and linguistic
evidence to discuss the evolution of specialized agriculture and pastoralism
makes fascinating reading, and in itself justifies the publication of the book.
The bibliography to this book is testimony to the wide-ranging ethnographic
reading on which many of the arguments in this book are based. Schoenbrun
uses twentieth-century ethnography to contextualize major changes in culture
and production that he believes occurred 500 to 1,500 years ago. This
is a problematic concept. At times, Schoenbrun's analysis is convincing.
Occasionally, however, one is left wondering how, for example, he can be
sure that ancient herders ‘learned that their livestock could generate a limited
tolerance to East coast fever and trypanosomiasis if some of their animals
had regular but limited contact’ with the vectors of these diseases (p. 75). No
one has proven conclusively that inter-lacustrine herders knew how to control
the ecology of these diseases even in the nineteenth or twentieth centuries.
This problem of backward extrapolation from limited ethnographic
evidence is perhaps most significant in the discussion of ancient religion. On
pp. 195–207 Schoenbrun provides perhaps the most interesting and compre-
hensive discussion of the religious beliefs of this region available to date, but
his arguments are not of equal strength. His theory (pp. 204–6) that around
the fourteenth century territorial nature spirits were incorporated into or
transformed into named portable temple spirits, such as Mukasa, is fascinating.
250 

There is also a thought-provoking discussion of the development of the

concept of heirlessness, and how fear of losing family property fed into
religious forms that became centred around fertility (p. 196). Schoenbrun's
original research has significantly increased understanding of how ancient
inter-lacustrine societies may have worked.
Unfortunately, the overall effect of the book is weakened by an occasional
tendency to rely on arguments about the distant past that are based on rather
limited and uncertain ethnographic evidence. Thus Schoenbrun accepts the
argument that the Cwezi religion was a form of social protest that particularly
appealed to women, despite the fact that the role of gender in these religious
forms appears to have been much more complex than some previous models
have acknowledged (as Schoenbrun himself is clearly aware (pp. 234–5)).
Similarly Schoenbrun's argument (p. 237) that Wamara dominated the
northern sphere of kubandwa religion in the nineteenth century, appears to
have been influenced by the standard model of southern kubandwa, where one
spirit, Ryangombe, was dominant. The ethnographic evidence relating to
Wamara in nineteenth-century Uganda, moreover, does not appear to support
Schoenbrun's thesis that this spirit ‘served to organize resistance to expanding
state structures’. Wamara is reported to have been the clan Mucwezi of the
ruling Babito in Bunyoro, for example.
These are imperfections in a useful and important book, one that tells the
story of how Bantu speakers came to dominate the inter-lacustrine region,
that discusses their ancient political ideologies, and that concentrates on the
internal evolution of their societies. It is to be hoped that in the future the
last five centuries of inter-lacustrine history will also benefit from David
Schoenbrun's consistently thought-provoking research.
 

 :
Memoirs of Giambattista Scala, consul of His Italian Majesty in
Lagos in Guinea (1862).
(Translated by Brenda Packman and edited by Robert Smith.) xvii,
155 pp. Oxford: Oxford University Press for the British Academy,
2000. £27.50.

Giambattista Scala was the youngest son of a merchant mariner who was
born in 1817 near Rapallo, then part of the Kingdom of Sardinia. Like his
father and older brothers he qualified as a master mariner in Genoa. From
his late teens he sailed on merchant ships in the south Atlantic. During this
early part of his career he was to visit West Africa in the mid-1840s. It was,
however, his experience of the cruelty of the slave trade in Brazil which, he
claimed, had turned him against the slave trade despite the suspicion of others
that he might very well have engaged in that trade before 1850. But things he
saw and heard in Bahia convinced him of the wickedness of the trade and he
thereafter resolved to commit himself only to legitimate commerce with West
Africa. In early 1852 he arrived in Lagos and his subsequent career there and
in Abeokuta is chronicled in this unusual and important memoir.
It is unusual because there are all too few accounts by any of the numerous
‘palm oil ruffians’ who sought to ‘get rich quick’ by buying and selling goods
 251

and produce on the West African coast in the period after Britain's abolition
of the slave trade. It is moreover unusual in that it is, of course, an Italian
account by an observant man who was eventually appointed Italy's Consul
and thus became the first representative of the Italian state in what was to
become Nigeria. The memoir is a translation—and a very readable one—of
a partly polemical volume Scala published in 1862. Very few copies of the
original seem to have been published and this particular translation is based
upon one of the very rare surviving copies which has since disappeared from
the library of the University of Ibadan. The importance of the text has little
to do with Scala's general argument which resembles in many respects the
self-serving and occasionally moralistic belief of many coastal traders in the
curative properties of ‘legitimate trade’ for an area and for peoples long
ravaged by the viciousness of the newly illegal trade in humanity. But
fortunately for us Scala's period in West Africa was unusually significant in
that it immediately followed Britain's attack on Lagos in 1851 and his account
allows us to witness the development of trade between Lagos and Abeokuta.
While the memoir provides a modern reader with an especially well textured
account of trading in palpably ill-understood cultures whose politics had to
be mastered, Scala is also a decent informant on a wider West Africa with
which he traded. His major contribution is, however, to our understanding of
the volatile politics of Yorubaland in the 1850s.
In common with many memoirs, Scala reveals his strong belief in his own
agency and importance. A careful translation allows us to see around the
bombast and self-regard. Good editing by Robert Smith adds to the value of
this volume as even specialist readers can be easily misled by Scala's accounts
which like many of their sort are marred by poor recollection, mis-recorded
names and dates and, oddly for a master mariner, an extremely idiosyncratic
understanding of the geography of south-western Nigeria. The inclusion of
some helpful maps goes some way (but not always all the way) towards
resolving some of Scala's complex itineraries. Readers are further in the
editor's debt when it comes to recognition that this rather bluff, matter-of-
fact Italian mariner was also capable of occasional passages of sheer invention.
There is no doubt about the overall value of this volume. It is not just a
curiosity but is a useful addition to the available primary material on pre-
colonial West Africa. The British Academy deserves the thanks of scholars
for supporting the editing and publication of this vary rare source.
 

 :
Women writers in francophone Africa.
ix, 193 pp. Oxford and New York: Berg, 2000. £42.99.

 :
Nomadic voices of exile: feminine identity in francophone literature of
the Maghreb.
xii, 255 pp. Athens: Ohio University Press, 1999. $36.95.
Both of these books are concerned with notions of feminine voice, and both,
in different ways, encounter the question of the adequacy of ‘Western’
discourse, including literary-theoretical discourse, to non-‘Western’ cultures.
252 

Early in her study Nicki Hitchcott quotes Achebe's recommendation that the
European critic of African literature adopt the ‘habit of humility’ (p. 11),
and remarks quite rightly that ‘the Western reader cannot assume his or her
limited academic values to constitute a universal system’ (p. 3). It does not
follow, though, that ‘every effort’ should be made ‘to eliminate value
judgements’ (p. 3), even on the aesthetic grounds under discussion at this
point in her text. Fortunately it turns out in practice that she does not shy
away from evaluation, and proves at once assured and culturally sensitive in
what she later describes as her ‘dialogue’, as a Western feminist reader, with
her chosen authors.
After an introduction to her theoretical framework, the next two chapters
of Hitchcott's book provide contextual material, including considerations of
genre and a brief history of the evolution of writing by francophone women
in sub-Saharan Africa—material that will be very useful to new students of
the field. Subsequent chapters focus on autobiography and on individual
authors including Mariama Bâ, Aminata Sow Fall, Werewere Liking and
Calixthe Beyala. ‘Whereas Sartre describes the black poet affirming his
authentic self through an introspective journey back to his African roots,’
Hitchcott remarks, ‘feminine identity in francophone African women's writing
is initially expressed as a tension between the two apparently contradictory
poles of "‘modernity’' and "‘tradition’', poles which often become translated
as an opposition between the individual and the community’ (p. 153). Arguing
against any simplistic identification of feminism with Western individualism,
she makes a persuasive case for the pertinence of feminist theory and of the
experience of female solidarity to the authors and texts on which she focuses,
showing how at least some of them implicitly call into question conceptual
oppositions between the individual and the collective, and between modernity
and tradition.
Though Hitchcott's handling of the encounter between the theory and the
literature is in general insightful and secure, in places she seems insufficiently
attentive to the knot of problems involved in speculating on the relationship
between literary form, referentiality, politics and readership. She assumes too
readily, I think, that the relative popularity of Beyala's ‘Loukoum’ novels
‘relies on their Parisian context’ (p. 25), or that, to give a different sort of
example, ‘innovative, experimental fiction’ is ‘inevitably progressive rather
than reactionary’ (p. 109). Perhaps the notion of ‘voice’ is not always the
most serviceable one in addressing these issues, even though it has always
been an important part of discussions of so-called ‘francophone’ literature.
Indeed Hitchcott's treatment of Liking and Beyala is especially appealing in
the context of the horizon d'attente conjured up by that label, hingeing as it
does on the analysis of a properly literary gap between the author's spoken
opinions and the sort of work that the texts themselves can be said to perform.
Valérie Orlando's study also focuses on the figuration and/or pursuit of
feminine identity in the ‘francophone’ literary text, and is concerned with
questions of agency, approached primarily through Deleuze and Guattari. ‘It
is my objective’, she writes, ‘to demonstrate how the becoming-woman
philosophy of Deleuze and Guattari frees woman from a subjugated position
as an appendage of man, releasing them [sic] to new modes of self-discovery
and individualism’ (p. 6).
The literature she discusses, including works by Tahar ben Jelloun, Assia
Djebar, Leı̈la Sebbar, Malika Mokeddem and Hajer Djilani, provides a rich
field for such a topic, and she brings out ways in which the texts engage with
issues of feminine subjectivity and ‘embrace the negotiation of difference and
 253

diversity’ (p. 73). Despite her theoretical misgivings about ethnocentricity and
‘Western theoretical, essentialized, postcolonial depictions of the Other’
(p. 63), however, in practice she tends to ascribe her own agenda to others
and to overgeneralize about the ‘ultimate objective’ of ‘contemporary
Francophone writers’. For me, too much of the texts’ specificity has been
lost, not only historically and politically but also literarily, when Orlando
advances the argument that their aim is ‘to transcend Western stereotypes
designed for the Other by the West’ (p. 153) or ‘to reach a site of
multiculturalism accessible and relatable to all readers’ (p. 190). The former
claim is not necessarily wrong, but a writer such as Djebar, in particular,
seems sufficiently alert to issues of cultural hegemony, and the place of
literature within different cultures, to remain more sceptical and more subtle
about literary ‘transcendence’ than is Orlando. At least since Kateb Yacine's
Nedjma, some francophone literature of the Maghreb has experimented with
forms of inaccessibility, not least as a way of elaborating defences against
pseudo-universal values and critical appropriation.
 

 . c:
Green land, brown land, black land: an environmental history of
Africa, 1800–1990.
xv, 201 pp. Oxford and Portsmouth, NH: James Currey and
Heinemann Press, 1999. £12.95 (paper).
Despite a growing number of publications in the field, Africa's recent
environmental history still remains little understood. James McCann's book
goes some way towards redressing this problem, but as he admits, he ‘has
offered only a few examples of the continent's great complexity’ (p. 179). The
book's encompassing title aside, it should be viewed more as a suggestive
departure than a conclusive treatment, a selection of essays rather than an
extended argument. What McCann has done is highlight the glaring need for
considerably more research in all areas of African environmental history. For
this he should be commended.
McCann is well aware that any synthesis is bound to encounter criticisms
and acknowledges that he relied heavily on select secondary literature. The
book's greatest strength is its general accessibility—ideal for undergraduates—
and the two opening chapters, which attempt to provide an overview of
‘Africa's physical world’ and its precolonial states and kingdoms (moving,
incidentally, much further into the past than the dates in the title). In Part 1,
McCann orients the reader to particularities in Africa's soils and climates, its
geomorphology and biodiversity, and its human demography. He also begins
to explore just how specific features of African environments, such as the
presence or absence of water, weather patterns, agricultural fertility, and
disease ‘set a context for social and historical interaction’ (p. 29). Avoiding
environmental determinism he, in turn, examines how human activities in the
distant past (100 ..) involving, among other things, ‘the plow, iron tools,
and concentrated labor’, ‘transformed’ African landscapes and enabled dense
urban settlements, such as the State of Aksum in the Ethiopian highlands, to
emerge and be sustained (p. 42).
Part 2 of the book concentrates on four issues that have preoccupied
social and natural scientists for much of the last century: forests, soils, climate
254 

and population growth. For anyone familiar with these debates and their
complex histories, McCann's summaries provide little new evidence or fresh
interpretation. Many of the texts he draws upon fall within a genre that has
attempted to challenge ‘degradation narratives’ that had their origins in the
colonial period. Whether in the context of desertification, deforestation or soil
erosion, McCann wants to avoid what he characterizes as a simple-minded
‘neo-Malthusian’ argument. Advocates of this perspective, who include both
scientists and policy makers, believe rapid population growth combined with
‘poor land management’ in arguably ‘fragile lands’ has produced ‘resource
exhaustion’ in many parts of the continent (pp. 56 and 82). Testing the
evidence in Ethiopia, McCann's area of expertise, and drawing upon case
studies in Guinea, Kenya, Tanzania, Ghana, and Lesotho, McCann rejects
such claims and instead embraces an increasingly common view in the
secondary literature: that Africans—particularly farmers and pastoralists—
have been as responsible for the maintenance and amelioration, as for the
destruction, of Africa's natural environments and that change in these
‘biomes’ has been ‘neither fixed nor unidirectional’ (p. 75).
McCann's desire to counter ‘degradation narratives’ at times detracts
from some of the other points he makes regarding the social history of
Africa's environments. His discussions of the ‘biology of Asante state power’
and of Basotho ideas of their natural surroundings, which draw attention to
the complex and highly contingent interactions between the social and the
natural, are unfortunately situated within an ‘interpretive template’ designed
to undermine historical assumptions concerning forest loss and soil erosion
(p. 110). This emphasis not only reinforces an over-simplified view of the
colonial past—which has not, in fact, been adequately examined—but it also
suggests that ecological changes in Africa are either illusory or inconsequential.
Both points of view are disconcerting.
No book could be expected to cover all the issues now included within the
genre of African environmental history, yet McCann's still has surprising
omissions. This seems to be a direct consequence of his emphasis on an
arguably narrow array of issues relating to land, biodiversity and natural
resources. Even within such a framework, one would have expected an
analysis of national parks, game reserves, and the role of wildlife, which
receive virtually no mention. Likewise, more attention to the centrality of
certain endemic diseases, including malaria, rinderpest, and African trypanoso-
miasis, would have provided a more complete picture. Moving outside this
framework, the time also seems ripe to include processes like industrialization
and urbanization within the field of African environmental history. An area
that has thus far been entirely neglected in this literature is the mining and
petroleum industries. These are extractive economies that often have severe
effects on regional ecologies and populations; historical research in this area
would certainly reveal new patterns and complicate our understanding of
environmental change, African agency and international political economy.
In his opening and closing remarks McCann shows that he is sensitive to the
need for this kind of analysis. One can certainly hope that his book will
stimulate further research in these areas and prompt closer scrutiny of the
recent historical record.
 
 255



 - (ed.):

Glimpses of empire: a Corona anthology.
xxvii, 302 pp. London: I. B. Tauris, 2001. £24.50.
The Corona Club was the dining club for Colonial Services officers founded
by Joseph Chamberlain in 1900 and Corona was the official journal of the
colonial service and was published monthly from 1948 to 1962. The foundation
of the journal was one of several measures introduced at that time, all of
which had as their object the spreading of knowledge of good administrative
practice and the promotion of debate about the direction of colonial
administration in the post-Second World War era. The journal also served as
a forum for the dissemination of practical information of use to individual
colonial officials and their families. Glimpses of empire is a collection of
articles which originally appeared in Corona and is designed to introduce
readers to the contents of the publication, which is a valuable source for
colonial administrative developments in the last years of the colonial empire.
Anthony Kirk-Greene has made the selection with a view to illustrating
the variety of the activities of colonial government and has also tried to draw
his material from as many colonial territories as possible. As far as
geographical coverage is concerned Africa inevitably predominates, given its
overwhelming importance in the colonial empire, but one can also find pieces
relating to the West Indies, Malaya, Sarawak, Fiji, the Gilbert and Ellice
islands, the Solomons, Hong Kong, Cyprus and the Falklands. And the
colonial activities include those of adminstrators, medical and veterinary
officers, officials responsible for development and co-operative schemes,
education and trade union organization, engineers from the public works
departments, scientists from the geological survey and the meteorological
service, police and prison officers, and many more. Altogether the anthology
succeeds admirably in giving a picture of the way in which the colonial service
had developed since the nineteenth century from the all-purpose, Sanders of
the River, district commissioner to a host of specialized officials. Whether this
change was entirely to the liking of the older district officers is another matter:
one does pick up hints that some of the broad brush administrators regarded
such of their colleagues as community development officers as something of
a luxury.
Doubts about the direction of colonial development were rarely expressed
in the journal. Although Corona was intended to promote debate and
discussion it was also clearly intended to have a positive, optimistic message.
Colonial policy and practice were moving along the right lines; colonial
government was getting better and better; and the lives and conditions of
work of colonial officials and their families were steadily improving. The lady
who complained bitterly of the way her early life had been damaged by her
parents leaving her in Britain when they returned to Africa (pp. 260–2) was
quickly reproved by another wife more loyal to the Colonial Service. And
some mild scepticism is expressed about the benefits of mass education
(p. 131). But, leaving aside the inevitable expressions of nostalgia for simpler,
freer, less complicated youthful experiences, the message is serious and
uplifting.
The message, expressed most openly in the earliest selections on policy,
which include a report of a speech by Sir Ralph Furse, the grey eminence of
256 

Colonial Service training, is, however, not the chief merit or attraction of this
collection. The greatest interest is in providing a picture of day-to-day life in
the Colonial Service with occasional broader glances at particular issues or
processes. Clearly, for those concerned with the history of the Colonial
Services this is a useful introduction to a valuable source. For those who
enjoy a stroll through the rose garden of nostalgia there is also much pleasure
to be derived from these memoirs, particularly in the contributions of the five
senior officials from an earlier era, which are included at the end of the
volume and which prompt the reflection that humour seemed to play a much
larger part in the early Colonial Service than it did during the last years of
that institution when life seemed too real and too earnest. One wonders
whether the Romans left Britain with a laugh or a frown.
Anthony Kirk-Greene has written an informative introduction to the
volume although one was disappointed to read a reference to ‘the School of
Oriental and African Languages’ (p. xviii). Not that one should be surprised:
Colonial Service training had an Oxbridge bias. The selection of articles is
good but the usefulness of the volume could have been improved if the editor
had indicated the dates of the volumes of Corona in which the chosen articles
originally appeared and if he had included some biographical details, even
simply the career facts, about the writers.
. . 

 . ,  . ,  .

 and  .  (ed.):
Morphological analysis in comparison.
(Current Issues in Linguistic Theory Volume 201.) 253 pp.
Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 2000. $65.
Morphological analysis in comparison is a collection of eleven new papers on
a wide range of topics in morphology which has been put together, thoroughly
reviewed, revised and edited, from talks originally presented at the Seventh
International Morphology Meeting in Vienna, in 1996. This volume follows
on from two similar proceedings of earlier international conferences on
morphology hosted in Austria and Hungary which were published by Mouton
de Gruyter under the titles Contemporary morphology and advances in
morphology. Like the earlier volumes, Morphological analysis in comparison
includes papers representing a broad range of approaches to morphology, e.g.
distributed morphology, natural morphology, optimality theory, minimalism,
etc., and should therefore be of interest to a wide readership. The volume not
only presents a wealth of new data and observations, but also includes much
high-level theoretical debate and comparison of different approaches to
morphology. Generally all the papers in the volume are well-written and easy
to understand even for those with little expert knowledge of morphology, and
there is nicely balanced discussion of languages from Europe, Africa, North
America and East Asia.
Probably the most theoretically challenging of the eleven chapters are
those by Andrew Spencer (‘Agreement morphology in Chukotkan’), Edwin
Williams (‘Three models of the morphology-syntax interface’) and Marianne
Kilani-Schoch and Wolfgang U. Dressler (‘Are fillers as precursors of
morphemes relevant for morphological theory? A case story from the
acquisition of French’). Spencer carefully investigates patterns in the ergative
 257

languages Chukchee and Koryak and shows how it can be argued that aspects
of the split ergativity present in these languages can pose potentially serious
problems for current versions of distributed morphology. The chapter is very
clearly written and also provides a very useful overview of distributed
morphology (Halle and Marantz, 1993) for those unfamiliar with this model.
Williams's paper re-examines how a very influential syntactic approach to
morphology, minimalism (Chomsky, 1995), formally deals with inflectional
morphology, pointing out a number of perceived weaknesses in the model,
and then goes on to argue for a rather different interpretation of the principal
patterns which have inspired the minimalist approach. Presenting a number
of interesting new observations concerning adverbs and their scope and also
the relation of affixes to free morphemes which have similar meanings,
Williams's paper is both original and highly stimulating. The third paper
mentioned above, which is particularly challenging from a general theoretical
point of view, by Kilani-Schoch and Dressler, also presents intriguing new
data and analysis of ‘fillers’ and their role and interpretation in child language
acquisition (essentially reduced syllables filled in to a prosodic structure where
adults would often have full grammatical or lexical morphemes present).
Kilani-Schoch and Dressler show how the patterns observed can be used as
arguments for the integrated model of natural morphology and constructivism,
a model which assumes that internal grammatical modules are not innate but
constructed by children, and that the construction process encompasses the
two first acquisitional phases of pre- and protomorphology (where it is argued
segmental and prosodic phonology are not clearly distinguished from other
morphology). The paper will be informative and provocative not only for
morphologists, but also for all those who are more generally interested in the
continual debate about (assumptions of ) innateness in language.
In addition to the three papers outlined above, excellent contributions
were also written by many other authors. Henry Davis (‘Salish evidence on
the causative-inchoative alternation’) provides a first-rate discussion of the
proper analysis of causative-inchoative alternations which is both extremely
instructive and introduces important new data and insights from Lilloet
Salish. Vladimir Plungian (‘Agentive nouns in Dogon’) offers a stimulating
overview of an interesting grammatical marker in Dogon which seems to be
neither affix nor clitic and neither an inflectional nor a derivational marker,
and which raises again the problem of how the inflectional/derivational divide
should be made in morphology. Finally, Lluisa Gracia and Miren Azkarate
(‘Prefixation and the head-complement parameter’) show how prefixes in VO
languages can be analysed as either simple modifiers or heads in a head-
complement relation (as in Lieber, 1982). They then point out that such an
analysis can be used to account for the general typological lack of prefixes in
OV languages; such languages are assumed to be head-final in both syntax
and morphology and will therefore only allow for prefixes that are modifiers.
Affixes which are heads will instead follow their complement as suffixes.
In general this volume from John Benjamins includes a very satisfying
range of topics, is well edited and will be instructive for those interested in
morphology at all levels. Certain chapters could be easily recommended to
students during an introductory course in morphology as more challenging
background readings (e.g. the chapters by Gracia and Azkarate, Davis, Kilani-
Schoch and Dressler, and Plungian), while other chapters could be used for
discussion in more advanced morphology seminars (e.g. those by Spencer,
Williams, and McDonough). Overall the book is indeed highly successful in
its aims of presenting cutting-edge work in a variety of different approaches
258 

to morphology, and most definitely can be recommended as a highly useful

resource.
 

 

 :
The man in the panther's skin. (Translated from the Georgian by
Marjory Wardrop).
(Oriental Translation Fund XXI.) xviii, 273 pp. Richmond, Surrey:
Curzon, 2001. (First published 1912 by the Royal Asiatic Society of
Great Britain.) £12.99.
Marjory Wardrop and her brother (Sir) Oliver can be credited with laying the
foundation for Georgian studies in Great Britain. In her short life (1869–1909)
Marjory contributed a number of English translations, of which the present
work is the most substantial, being a rendition of what can simply be regarded
as the defining work of the Georgian nation. Great fanfares have traditionally
greeted the publication of any translation (though woe betide any advocate
of rendering it into any of Georgian's three sister languages!—the two existing
Mingrelian renditions are derided rather than praised), and this one holds a
special place in the hearts of most Georgians. The poem, a tale of courtly
romance and adventure consisting of some 1,600 end-rhyming quatrains, was
composed c. 1200 when Georgia was at its zenith under the great queen
Tamar (r. 1184–1213). The poet is otherwise unknown but, on the evidence
of this creation, endowed with a genius for language and literary invention.
This translation first appeared posthumously in 1912 with a first reprint
in 1966. The present paperback contains a short introduction from Donald
Rayfield, whose own history of Georgian literature was published in a second
edition by Curzon in 2000. Though two other prose-translations are now
available (by Katherine Vivian and the late R. H. Stevenson), neither seeks
to remain as close to the original as the version produced by Wardrop, which
feature must make hers first choice for any linguist keen to understand the
often demanding original, though refinements in textual criticism and
interpretation of medieval Georgian might require a modicum of alteration in
some places.
Now that Curzon seem to have seen the value of reprinting worthy titles
long unavailable, perhaps they could be persuaded to add to their Caucasian
list the other translations from Georgian published in their day by both
Wardrop siblings.
 

 :
Indische Handschriften. Teil 13. Die Sammlung Ms.Or.Fol. der
Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin—Preussischer Kulturbesitz.
(Verzeichnis der Orientalischen Handschriften in Deutschland, Bd.
, 13.) 200 pp. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1999.
 259

  (ed.):

Sanskrit-Handschriften aus den Turfanfunden. Teil 8. Die
Katalognummern 1800–1999. Beschrieben von Klaus Wille.
(Verzeichnis der Orientalischen Handschriften in Deutschland, Bd.
, 8.) 289 pp. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 2000.
Begun in 1959, the date 2015 has now been set for the cataloguing of Oriental
manuscripts in Germany to come to an end. To meet this target, following
the loss of select photographic reproductions as an economy measure in the
1980s, the descriptions are to be yet further attenuated in Indische
Handschriften; and the complete glossary of words contained in the edited
fragments is to be dropped from Sanskrit-Handschriften aus den Turfanfunden.
Janert and Narasimhan Poti compiled first a fully descriptive catalogue of
2,250 manuscripts, mainly Sanskrit (IH, , 1–6 and 10), and latterly a
simplified description of a further 2,131 items (IH, , 7–9 and 11). This was
then further ‘rationalized’, as well as computerized, in Gerhard Ehlers's
continuation, which described a further 264 manuscripts in Göttingen
collections (, 12, 1995) and now adds a further 252 that are housed in Berlin
(, 13). All are, however, still provided with an expert factual description,
citation of start and finish, and with references to IH, New cat. cat., etc., by
way of bibliography.
Teil 13 contains mainly F. O. Schrader's collection of a wide variety of
undated palm-leaf texts, primarily Sanskrit, in Grantha, etc., together with
E. Hultzsch's five palm-leaf texts (in Grantha), and a number of epic, puranic,
and miscellaneous paper manuscripts (in Nagari and Bengali script), mainly
of the eighteenth or nineteenth century. The catalogue is more attractively
and economically formated in Teil 13 than it was in Teil 12. As the manuscripts
are now arranged purely in order of current location and catalogue number,
so that access is solely via the index of titles (and, where appropriate, the
index of authors), it would seem appropriate to repeat details of genre,
authorship, date, and acquisition within the title index. After all, there is
plenty of space available on the page; and a lemma like Ka: rika: valı: gives very
little away, while the lemma Bra: hmapura: n1 a gives no warning that its four
entries are but individual Ma: ha: tmyas.
Waldschmidt and Sander's magnificent catalogue of the Sanskrit fragments
that were salvaged from Central Asia at the beginning of the twentieth century
comprised some 1,200 major items of known provenance (in ST, 1–5).
Thereafter, with Bechert as the volume's editor, and aided by the main
collection's eventual reunification in Berlin, Klaus Wille, who already made a
substantial contribution to part 5 (1987), has brought the total to nearly 2,000
items (in ST, 6–8). As before, the catalogue offers full diplomatic transcription
and, where possible, identification of the fragments: only the facsimile
reproduction is lacking. Wille has had to deal virtually entirely with isolated
and war-damaged paper fragments of unknown provenance, supplementing
provisional transcriptions and identifications previously made by Schlingloff,
Sander, and many others involved in related projects. Meanwhile, upwards of
5,000 fragments remain uncatalogued, plus birch-bark manuscripts awaiting
restoration, etc.
In his Foreword to part 8, Wille draws attention to a fresh addition to
Uda: navarga attestation, and to his own identification of hitherto missing
Abhidharmadı:pa Ka: rika: s, portions of two Abhidharma texts otherwise known
only from Hsüan-tsang's translation, and traces of specific recensions of
260 

Vajracchedika: and Prajña: pa: ramita: hr1daya. The importance of the project is
emphasized by the large collection of further addenda and corrigenda to
parts 1–7 that have been supplied by scholars from most corners of the world.
The bibliography is brought up to date, and the index of titles and topics is
accompanied by a list of the relatively few representatives of Maha: ya: na
literature that have been recovered from the northern monasteries. A complete
index of Sanskrit words used in the fragments appears in this issue for the
last time.
The meticulous scholarship and accurate and attractive presentation of
these volumes remain a joy and an inspiration for the future, as well as a
lasting tribute to the rigorous methodology of Walther Schubring in the one
case and to the pioneering palaeographic endeavours of Else Lüders in
the other.
. . 

 .  (ed.):

Subodha: laṅka: ra Pora: n1 a-t1:ıka: (Maha: sa: mi-t1:ıka: ) by Saṅgharakkhita
Maha: sa: mi. Abhinava-t1:ıka: (Nissaya) (anonymous).
xix, 315 pp. Oxford: The Pali Text Society, 2000.
Subodha: laṅka: ra is a Pali treatise on rhetoric in 367 verses that has been
attributed, like the treatise on prosody Vuttodaya, to a twelfth-century
Sinhalese author Saṅgharakkhita Maha: sa: mi. G. E. Fryer originally edited the
Subodha: laṅka: ra verses alone (in JASB, 1875, 91ff.), with only a summary of
contents in lieu of commentary. He failed to observe the close affinity of the
text, above all, with Dan1 d1 in's Ka: vya: darśa, but also with Dhvanya: loka.
Fryer's text being unreliable, and his paraphrase unverifiable, the work
can only now be given the attention it deserves, thanks to Padmanabh Jaini's
inclusion in his edition of the Maha: sa: mi-na: mika: Pora: n1 a-t1:ıka: commentary,
and a so-called Abhinava-t1:ıka: (which an oral tradition assigns to fifteenth-
century Burma). He attributes the former to Saṅgharakkhita as an auto-
commentary (but there are instances where the Pora: n1 a misrepresents the text,
as when it fails to recognize that v. 338f. is a distich). As Jaini explains, the
so-called Abhinava is no independent work, but has the appearance of an
inflated, but more helpful version of the Pora: n1 a. The Abhinava can be seen to
have been Fryer's source, for it corresponds with ‘the T1 :ıka: ' which he quoted
in JASB, 1877, 410.
Jaini's texts reproduce a rare Burmese edition of 1964 (preserving its
orthography), together with collation of another almost unknown edition of
1928. There is, however, no reference to Fryer's readings that were based on
two Burmese manuscripts, nor any information about the Ceylon edition of
1910, which was ‘with (pura: n1 a)sannaya’ according to Helmer Smith in CPD,
, 60*. Manuscripts known to exist in Sri Lanka have yet to be evaluated.
After defining composition (bandha), the Subodha: laṅka: ra discusses rhetor-
ical faults and their avoidance in vv. 17–115; then rhetorical merits in
116–163; and finally figurative and emotive speech in 164–367 (artha: laṅka: ra
and rasa, including santa). Acknowledging the ‘fine old Alam 1 ka: ras’ of
Ra: masamman and others, it illustrates rhetorical faults in traditional terms,
but depicts heroic and romantic imagery in terms of Buddhist eulogy (Jaini,
p. xvii). Such training, combined with inspiration (pratibha: ), makes the poet,
and not the imitation of traditional Ka: vya and Na: t1ya (v. 6f.).
 261

The editor has identified passages with close parallels in Dan1 d1 in and
A9 nandavardhana (but the list could have been extended), and he provides
indispensable indexes of names, verses, and quotations. The discrepancy
between the text's pagination and the page references given in the Introduction
and critical apparatus, not to mention the wealth of misprints, must be a
function of the Pali Text Society's computerization of Jaini's original
manuscript (p. xix, n. 2). No doubt some crass misreadings in the basic
Burmese edition are also involved.
Yamaka has suffered above all, the one basic example of vyapeta yamaka
being differently misprinted and wrongly labelled as avyapeta in both
commentaries (p. 48f.). The specimen of dukkara avyapetavyapeta Yamaka
has yato natena te nate pi 'to (Pora: n1 a, p. 50) for yato nate 'nate pi 'to (Abhinava,
p. 52). Here Fryer, 1877, had yato na tena te pi 'to, useless as a casting vote;
and the Abhinava also has a misprint (sammunnatena). This, together with the
omission of Fryer's readings, means that once again a new, valuably improved,
and user-friendly publication by the Pali Text Society, intent on bringing
Burmese versions to the fore, cannot be said to supersede its predecessor.
. . 

.  :
Guanzi: political, economic, and philosophical essays from early
China. Volume 1, Revised Edition
(C&T Asian Translation Series.) xii, 491 pp. Boston: Cheng and Tsui
Company, 2001. $35.
Those who welcomed the completion of Rickett's translation of the Guanzi
published by Princeton in a second volume in 1998 may be surprised to see it
followed not by the third volume of studies originally announced but by a
revision of the first volume of the set, which first appeared in 1984, in
paperback and from a different publisher. The new preface explains all: the
third volume has been abandoned, due to the loss of Rickett's intended
collaborators, Angus Graham and Robert Hartwell, but the willingness of
Cheng and Tsui to take on a paperback reprint of Volume 1 has allowed for
some changes to be made, primarily bringing the revised version into line with
the less fussy typographical format of Volume 2.
In other respects changes have been minimal. New material in the
introduction now cross-refers in the section on early printed editions of the
Guanzi to the work of Harold Roth on the Huainanzi, which has some bearing
on the identity of one edition, and also expatiates on the translation of two
of the technical philosophical terms queried by William Boltz in review of the
original Volume 1. Together with some remarks on recent East Asian
scholarship on the Guanzi this lengthens the introduction by two pages,
though some Chinese characters have also been removed. But throughout the
translation itself, though some minor errors are corrected, the pagination is
not substantially further disturbed until the final essay, the thirty-third, on
the Four Appraisals (pp. 433–9; 431–5 in the 1984 edition). This is due to the
inclusion here of more information on the rhyme scheme of the piece—a type
of study that in Rickett's original plans would have been deferred until the
third volume, had circumstances allowed.
As it is, the revisions made here fully justify the appearance of this edition,
especially in the cheaper format of paperback. Sinologists who have fallen on
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hard times since 1984 may well hestitate to purchase a volume which appears
at first glance very similar to that which it is designed to replace; librarians
(even of institutions which have fallen on harder times), and individual
scholars who have prospered even modestly, should harbour no doubts. With
any luck good sales of this publication will encourage Cheng and Tsui to
bring back into print similar worthy works in need of minor updating.
Rickett's readiness to make the changes which conscientiousness demanded at
a time when he might well have decided to rest on his laurels should also
serve as an example to others.
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 . :
Essays on Tang and pre-Tang China.
(Variorum Collected Studies Series, CS711.) xii, 286 pp. Aldershot:
Ashgate, 2001.
Though much of Edwin G. Pulleyblank's career has been concerned with
philological questions, as a glance at his bibliography to 1990 in T'ang
Studies 7 (1989) demonstrates, his original career at this School and initially
at Cambridge emphasized historical matters. Indeed, his inaugural lecture at
Cambridge, the first item reproduced here, remains almost a half century later
a challenge to those history departments not only at Cambridge but
throughout virtually the whole of the rest of the British Isles which, while
conceding a certain place to China in the modern world, act as though the
lavishly documented historical experience of such a large segment of the
human race remains for reasons unexplained, and indeed inexplicable, none
of their business. Many of the other items relate to his superb study of the
origins of the rebellion of An Lushan, another publication which retains its
value and which surely deserves reprinting as much as Pulleyblank's early
articles from this journal and elsewhere. One, his study of neo-Confucianism
and neo-legalism in the wake of the rebellion, which was unaccountably left
out of the bibliography mentioned above, formed the starting point of several
doctoral studies, including my own. A brief introduction by the author alas
modestly glosses over the influence of his research, mentioning only the later
work that has been done on the more technical historiographic matters
covered in some of the early essays. Yet his incarnation as a Tang historian is
but one of the avatars of this remarkable scholar. In Japanese Buddhist
philology, for example, he is credited together with John Brough and Sir
Harold Bailey with having established the study of Indian materials in Chinese
transcription on an entirely new foundation. The Variorum enterprise could
clearly fill a number of volumes with his writings, and though he has long
been absent from these shores, they would certainly be welcomed here, in his
first sinological home.
. . 