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134 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1000
I read a version translated by Chandra Rajan, based primarily on the original Sanskrit text written by Śivadāsa. I don’t usually highlight the translator (perhaps I should do that more), but I am here because of some strange translation decisions. First comes a highly opinionated, literary-style exploration of the text in the introduction, replete with spoilers and quotes from the coming tales. It occupies almost a fifth of the book’s pages, and I wished I had at least left it for the end, so I could better appreciate the text for itself. After a lengthy explanation of the difference between oral storytelling and written storytelling, which doesn’t hold a candle to Zolbrod’s essay on the topic, Rajan proceeds to wax eloquent over Śivadāsa's writing decisions, highlighting how superior they are to the other written versions of the tales we have. Perhaps it is inevitable that, when you labor over a single text for so long as much be required to translate it from Sanskrit to English, you become biased towards it, but I have not found other introductions and forwards so assertively opinionated.
The translation itself is, overall, of high quality, although there are a few modern turns of phrase I found off-putting scattered here and there throughout the text. While I cannot speak authoritatively on the subject, I suspect that translating from Sanskrit to English is a less direct process, requiring more interpretation and rephrasing on the translator’s part, than is the case when translating from, say, Latin. Enough, though, about the translation. The story itself was an enjoyable and interesting read. It reminded me a little of The Way of Kings – not the epic fantasy book, but the in-world book for which Sanderson named the first installment in the series.
If that seems like a strange comparison, consider the core of Five and Twenty Tales of the Genie is what it means to be a good king, conveyed through a series of parables delivered by the titular mythological figure. The inciting incident for the affair might seem odd to our modern sensibilities, as do some of the answers made about what constitutes a good king, but the storytelling is strong enough to overcome that, because it forms a cohesive idea within itself. It is intriguing to me that so many ancient cultures expected, almost demanded, largess, munificence, lavishness, even a certain indulgence from their kings. This is in stark contrast to our modern expectations of our leaders, whom we expect to be thrifty, hardworking, and responsible…not that most of them come anywhere close to that ideal.
Rajan spends much time explaining why “genie” is the best descriptor for the mythical being who relates the parables to the king; those arguments are more convincing before reading the text, at which point one wonders why we need to slot this being into a category at all, rather than referring to it as a wild spirit by a translation of the Sanskrit name for such beings. The text’s footnotes helpfully explain some of the basics of ancient Indian beliefs, for the tales are situated within a complex cosmology involving various levels of spirits, gods, and other supernatural beings. Indeed, the whole affair begins because of a necromancer’s trick and a ritual by which said necromancer wants to obtain the eight Sidahs, magical powers that can render one able to rule over the whole world. This framing story adds a delightful tension to the individual tales, and helps the collection feel like a story itself, rather than a list of vaguely related stories.
Each parable requires an answer from the king, and it is obvious how different a world these stories inhabit from how few of the “right” answers you are likely to guess (at least, I guessed very few of them). More interesting than the answers are the parables themselves, which provide a fascinating glimpse of the time and place, its mores, values, and customs. A theme that emerges repeatedly across the twenty-five tales is the woman as temptress leading to man’s downfall. The biblical story of Adam, Eve, and the apple is typically blamed for the frequent Western portrayal of women in such capacities, but here it is again, in a completely different setting, where it is highly unlikely any notion of Adam and Eve had penetrated at the time. That this theme arises so often and in so many different, isolated places across diverse ancient cultures leads me to wonder what truth about their worlds or about human nature at the time could have motivated it, but I’ve yet to come to any insight on the matter.
This really does read like a fairy tale, with its parables and morals, but it is certainly not a sanitized, modern fairy tale such as Disney might portray. I thoroughly enjoyed it, and I hope to spend more time soon immersed in the world of ancient India. I might even be inclined to write a story involving the eight Sidahs, or something like them, because they seem like they would be a perfect concept to drive a fantasy story. For an ancient work, this one was remarkably approachable, and I would recommend it even if you’re not inclined towards other pieces out of literary history.