A quirky, often humorous approach allows New Zealand newspaper columnist Joe Bennett to take readers on an enjoyable international tour in a sensible, understandable book about world trade. He reduces global commerce to its skimpiest in Where Underpants Come From, From Checkout to Cotton Field – Travels Through the New China (2008, Simon and Schuster, London, 259 pages).
An English teacher turned columnist and travel writer, Bennett may be the first author for whom underwear shopping inspired a popular book. Pondering the mystery of his new underpants and their modest price, he decided to trace their origins to a Chinese factory and the raw materials (cotton from Xinjiang Uighur Autonomous Region, waistband rubber from Thailand).
“...I tell him about my underpants, explaining that they are effectively a metaphor for commerce and industry and in particular the huge imbalance of trade between China and the West, and that on a tiny scale I am trying to understand one aspect of the way we live now, the way the globe has organized itself. At the same time I am testing my preconceptions of all things Asian, and in particular all things Chinese.”
Some of what Bennett learns proves surprisingly precise. “My underpants left the factory of Kingstar Light Industrial Products in Quanzhou on 17 October 2006, grouped into packs of five, labeled and ready to go on sale.”
Soon the author's initial phone calls and emails lead to substantial journeys to Shanghai (China), to Urumqi (Xinjiang) and to sweltering Bangkok (Thailand). These destinations make sense. Most clothing and consumer products come from Asia, especially the massive factories in China.
No one doubts the efficiency of such factories or their workers. “I watch a girl sew on a waistband. The waistband is yellow, the trunks black. Her fingers whiz like the flashing components of the knitting machine downstairs. The action she performs takes longer for me to describe than it does for her to perform.”
Bennett battles culture shock. “From the plane Shanghai's invisible. It's smothered by a pall of grey stuff. Not cloud, just grey stuff, tinged with brown. Shanghai's official population is 17 million. Its actual population is anyone's guess. The only guess that no one makes is less than 17 million. Seventeen million is four New Zealands.”
No matter what complexities arise, Bennett nicely simplifies them. “The history of China is the history of everywhere. It is the endlessly repeated four-phase story of power: the revolutionary bid for power, the assumption of power, the gradual corruption of power and the loss of power. Each story is an imperial dynasty. Some dynasties lasted a decade, others half a millennium, and their stories are dotted with extraordinary characters and events. But in essence the story of each dynasty is the same. Viewed from a distance, Chinese history resembles a pattern of waves.”
This non-fiction writer shows skills with details that most novelists would envy. “In a corner sits a robed monk, immobile, his hands joined on a plain wooden desk, his head bent over his hands. He is intent, unaware of my presence. I go closer. He is paying devout attention to his mobile phone.”
Even on an ordinary highway, the author excels with details. “A mile up the road we flag down the truck. It pulls over, stops, and a small man climbs out of the two-man cab. Then six more small men climb out of the two-man cab.”
By finding humor in most situations, like his inability to understand Chinese or to use chopsticks neatly, Bennett makes readers chuckle. “A uniformed youth with more teeth than face holds the hotel door open for me, says ‘Hellogoodmorningsirhowareyouwelcome’, takes my dirty rucksack and leads me to reception where I have the undivided attention of three girls who take my details, photocopy my passport and by pooling their resources speak excellent English.”
Bennett's woes with chopsticks become a repeating theme. “Within 30 seconds I've received the novel-length menu and half a dozen paper towels in anticipation of scattered food and excess perspiration. And my jacket, which I've placed on the back of my chair, has been sheathed in plastic, presumably in case my ungovernable chopsticks, in addition to scattering food about the table, start biffing it over my shoulder.”
At one point, a photographer shoots images of Bennett standing in a cotton field dressed only in the “inspirational” underpants. Luckily, none of those pictures grace the book's cover – which shows underpants minus the author in them.
An honesty-works-best attitude prompts him to comment on poverty, ugliness, perversions and destructive deeds, of which he sees plenty. “The headlong rush towards prosperity is unsustainable. No amount of window-dressing for the Olympics, no string of international agreements, no battery of environmentally friendly projects opened by Hu Jintao and other toadies, can disguise the obvious truth that China is soiling itself and using itself up.”
Even on religious matters, the author shows a delightful disrespect. For example, in Thailand, “An old woman threads marigolds on a string, votive offerings to be bought and given to Buddha. Shrines abound, privates ones in shops and alleys, public ones in squares. Most carry the standard statue of the cross-legged fatso....”
Ditto for politics: “At the school gate the security guard sits in a sentry box with a screw-top jar of cold tea. The kids in the playground beyond him have been marshaled without difficulty into lines. They face the school. Over a PA system an anthem blares. You don't have to speak Chinese to guess the lyrics. ‘O motherland, we will work hard for you. Duty, honour and obedience are pleasures. My country before my life. Long live whoever happens to be our current immortal leader.' The kids sing along and raise one arm in a Nuremberg salute. It's effective and ugly and transparently totalitarian.”
The best passages appear when the author forgets about his underpants and simply shares what he sees and hears on his travels, together with comments and conclusions. “...a digger is scooping into the road. Men with shovels help on the tricky bits. Traffic edges round the digger. Pedestrians and bikes worm between the digger's monstrous metal claw and the hole it is digging. There are no barriers, no cones, no hi-viz vests, no earmuffs, no hard hats, no safety notices and no apparent problems.”
Born in England in 1957, Bennett now lives in Lyttelton, New Zealand. He has written many books, including Hello Dubai, Alive and Kicking, The World's Your Lobster, Mustn't Grumble and A Land of Two Halves.
Despite the vital underpants, this book's best bits have more typical sources. They come from the author's eyes, ears and thoughts.
Approval rating: 76 per cent.
For more information: www.joebennett.co.nz
(June 20, 2011)
ARCHIVES |
Joe Bennett finds a humorous
'metaphor for commerce and industry'.
|
