When We Were Orphans

is what I'm reading now. It's pretty good. It's written from the point of view of a detctive investigating the disappearance of his parents in Shanhai some twenty years previously. Oddly enough, he seems to hold out some hope of actually finding them, which strikes the reader, or should strike the reader, as completely ludicrous. But then perhaps we all hope to see our parents again, even after we haven't seen them for twenty years. At least I think that's the point. Or maybe he's just supposed to be transparently unreliable. Something along those lines, I think.

Some of the later descriptions of the famous Warren in Shanghai during the Japanese invasion of the 30's are somewhat more than somewhat in the style of Kafka, and some of the reunions throughout the story are kind of funny. Here's the very beginning:

It was on one such leisurely walk that I encountered quite by chance an old schoolfriend, James Osbourne, and discovering him to be a neighbour, suggested he call on me when he was next passing. Although at that point I had yet to receive a single visitor in my rooms, I issued my invitation with confidence, having chosen the premises with some care. The rent was not high, but my landlady had furnished the place in a tasteful manner that evoked an unhurried Victorian past; the drawing room, which received plenty of sun throughout the first half of the day, contained an ageing sofa as well as two snug armchairs, an antique sideboard and an oak bookcase filled with crumbling encyclopaedias -- all of which I was convinced would win the approval of any visitor. Moreover, almost immediately upon taking the rooms, I had walked over to Knightsbridge and acquired there a Queen Anne tea service, several packets of fine teas, and a large tin of biscuits. So when Osbourne did happen along one morning a few days later, I was able to serve out the refreshments with an assurance that never once permitted him to suppose he was my first guest.

For the first fifteen minutes or so, Osbourne moved restlessly around my drawing room, complimenting me on the premises, examining this and that, looking regularly out of the windows to exclaim at whatever was going on below. Eventually he flopped down into the sofa, and we were able to exchange news -- our own and that of old schoolfriends. I remember we spent a little time discussing the activities of the workers' unions, before embarking on a long and enjoyable debate on German philosophy, which enabled us to display to one another the intellectual prowess we each had gained at our respective universities. Then Osbourne rose and began his pacing again, pronouncing as he did so upon his various plans for the future.