Rhylan's Reviews > Bridge of Birds

Here's my dirty literary secret: I don't like Sherlock Holmes. I wasn't intrigued by the mysteries, and the characters "ejaculating" everywhere with their 19th century speech and stuffy manners bored me. (I enjoy the Brontës, Austen and other writers from the same period. For some reason Doyle's particular brand of stuffy didn't connect.)

While it's often compared to a Holmesian caper, I was pleased to find Bridge of Birds doesn't suffer from the same sense of propriety. Indeed, one of the protagonists is brilliant but has a "slight flaw in his character," meaning he's an unrepentant drunk who steals, stabs and swindles his way to success.

Now there's someone who can hold my attention!

The rogue in question is Master Li Kao, a scholar for hire whose skills are bought for booze and congee by a young man dubbed Number Ten Ox. (He's really strong and the 10th child in his family.)



Ox comes from an idyllic farming village that's been struck by a plague, and when local wisdom runs dry, he's dispatched to find help in the city.

The rest of the story is not so much about Ox and Li Kao determining the cause of the sickness or its cure, both of which are revealed early on, but the hijinks they get into while seeking the remedy.

The tale takes place in an "ancient China that never was" full of bumbling criminals, dangerous dukes, cursed ghosts and magical ginseng spirits. To me it reads something like a cross between a zen koan and a Stephen Chow movie. I loved it.

Stories like this sink or swim by the strength of their framing, since there's no shortage of books founded on "quirky duo goes on adventures." But readers are in for a treat, because Bridge of Birds has a frame made of pearls and precious jade.

Hughart's prose can be breathtakingly lovely, and it brings to life a landscape full of vibrant green ricefields, windswept mountains and tantalizing marketplaces. He also offers one of the most charming and succinct summations of China I've ever read:

" 'Take a large bowl,' I said. 'Fill it with equal measures of fact, fantasy, history, mythology, science, superstition, logic, and lunacy. Darken the mixture with bitter tears, brighten it with howls of laughter, toss in three thousand years of civilization, bellow kan pei—which means 'dry cup'—and drink to the dregs.'

Procopius stared at me. 'And will I be wise?' he asked.

'Better,' I said. 'You will be Chinese.' "

Hughart's writing is all the more admirable for its sense of economy. His turns of phrase dazzle in their simplicity, never veering into excess. This beauty is counterbalanced by a predilection for casual violence and delightfully juvenile humor, often involving bodily fluids:

"... I hugged a few dogs as I solemnly chanted the sacred vow of the Seven Bloody Bandits of the Dragon Bones Cave.

'Bat shit, rat shit, three-toed sloth shit, bones and blades and bloody oath writ—'

'Now that has real merit,' A voice said approvingly. 'It beats the scholar's oath by a mile and a half.' "

And so it goes. Nobles and peasants. Sarcasm and slapstick. The high and low. Bridge of Birds is as timeless yet playful as a nursery rhyme.

Although the book doesn't shy away from humanity's dark side, things never feel oppressively grim. Hughart approaches every situation with tongue in cheek, dampening the blunt force of cruelty and murder with a sparkling wit. No matter how bad things seem, the comedy is palpable and you're sure to enjoy a hell of a ride.

The story keeps you on your toes, thanks in part to the unique way Hughart structures scenes. You'll often be halfway into a problem's resolution without ever realizing it.

Imagine: Cat is stuck in tree. Cat is suddenly flying through the air? Li Kao has devised a giant paper kite so it can ride to safety.


Li Kao rides on Ox's back, and I feel like that has to be a nod to a common depiction of Laozi (founder of Taoism)

In the hands of a less adept writer this could feel like blindsiding, but instead it kept me in anticipation of Li Kao's unconventional solutions. I actually had to re-read scenes, not because I was confused, but because I was giddy with a sense of, "Wait, they did what!?"

Bridge of Birds was fast on its way to becoming one of my favorite books, and I'd say it still holds that position, but with one notable reservation.

Most of the female characters are horrible.

And that's fine! BoB's cast is almost entirely made up of horrible people. Their glaring vices are what make them so entertaining. However, the women's shortcomings are all cut from the most stereotypical cloth: gold diggers, castrating crones or vapid beauties.

"Night rain is falling on the village of Ku-Fu, glinting through moonbeams that slide through thin clouds, and the soft splashing sound outside my window blends with the drip of ink from the mouse-whiskered tip of my writing brush."

The few shown in a positive light are wholly incapable, relegated to damsel status so the heroes can save them. Although I don't hear this issue brought up often, author Cat Valente noticed the same thing. There is one chapter where the heroes arguably help a female character save herself, and I liked that scene best.

Considering BoB is meant to be a light-hearted romp, it was all the more jarring to be chuckling one moment then cringing the next, because I couldn't believe a father murdering his wife and her sisters, and a bandit's propensity for rape both got played for laughs.

There's a quote from Trudy Cooper, creator of the comic Oglaf  (NSFW), that's always stuck with me. When an interviewer asked why her female characters tended to be bullies, she responded:

"It’s just that jerks are funny. Girl jerks are… well, they’re no funnier... [but] the other option is woman-as-victim. Doing that and not having it bleak and horrible would need a delicate touch, and hey! Fuck that! That sounds waaaaay too hard. Girl jerks. Easier than working."


Can we get some ladies who don't suck up in here? While she's par for the course, I do admit I loved Lotus Cloud. Girl is hilarious.

I'm on board with her. It's near impossible to make violence toward women an effective punchline when gender-based violence is an all-too-real issue, and in that respect Hughart had all the delicacy of an elephant stampeding through a tea shop.

I forced myself to reserve judgment for most of BoB, partly out of respect for Hughart's storytelling and partly out of a feeble hope. Maybe, I thought, this was just his schtick.

Maybe he wanted to shock his audience, get them laughing before pulling the rug out from under them. "Wow, this situation actually isn't funny at all! Revelation!" Except I'd have been more inclined to believe he'd written all the sexist portrayals ironically (or at least impartially) if he'd included a single nuanced or redeemable woman. Sadly, such a character never came.

I still deeply recommend Bridge of Birds. It's one of the most unabashedly fun books I've read in a long time, with a big heart at its core.

I think the appropriation, which has become something of a dirty word, was done in an even-handed and respectful way. It's no more irreverent or wacky than many modern Chinese movies, and Hughart incorporates real folklore in addition to his own creations.

My hope is that the two sequels, The Story of the Stone and Eight Skilled Gentlemen, introduce better female representation. Still, if you're a fan of cheeky humor, mythology and great writing, Bridge of Birds deserves a place in your treasure room.


First image by Stephanie Law.