The Hall of Uselessness

A new paperback edition of this essential collection of essays from an eminent critic.

Simon Leys' cultural and political commentary has spanned four decades, with no corner of the arts escaping his sharp eye and acerbic wit.

The Hall of Uselessness forms the most complete collection yet of Leys' fascinating essays, from Quixotism to China, from the sea to literature.

Leys feuds with Christopher Hitchens, ponders the popularity of Victor Hugo and analyses the posthumous publication of Nabokov's unfinished novel. He offers valuable insights into Mao's Cultural Revolution and the Khmer Rouge, and discusses Orwell, Waugh and Confucius. He considers the intertwined nature of Chinese art, culture and history alongside the joys and difficulties of literary translation.

The Hall of Uselessness is an illuminating compendium from a brilliant and highly acclaimed writer - a long-time resident of Australia who is truly a global citizen.

'one of Australia's superlative essayists ...... with wit and uncommon clarity' - Geordie Williamson, The Australian

'This is the best collection of essays I have ever read: beautifully crafted, clever, funny, and moving.' - The Daily Telegraph

'Pierre Ryckmans is a writer of enchantment and erudition; or charm and whimsy and, now and then, controlled rage ...... the writing is full of delicate turns, parenthetical asides and jousts ...... he combines the ...... virtues of love and intelligence, wit and humour, courage and cosmopolitanism.' - Luke Slattery, The Australian

'The Hall of Uselessness is a handsome monument to its author's intellectual omnivorousness ...... a rich and richly rewarding book.' - The Sydney Morning Herald

'Simon Leys is a singular figure among contemporary world authors ...... The Hall of Uselessness ...... is the powerful expression of a mind that is tightly focused yet supple and transcultural' - The Age

'The Hall of Uselessness ...... is an elegant mansion of many rooms, connected by ingenious pathways, carpeted with wit and perfumed with what the Chinese call shuxiang - the scent of learning.' - Linda Jaivin, The Monthly