This 1930s travelogue is, at times, a frustrating read. It's obvious that Quennell plays favourites with Japan and China - Japan wins out - but his snobbiness sometimes has a way of occluding possible insight.

By today's standards, it's quite a racist work, and one that seems unfairly dismissive of Japan. However, that could just be the inability of the author to make up his mind, or his confusion over the contradictions of the culture; there's plenty of instances where he's agog at an aspect of Japanese life.

Most of the book focuses on the Japanese constituent of his travels. China is presented as a place to escape to (albeit a crumbling refuge) when the nature of Japan becomes too much. He's particularly critical, yet his fish-out-of-water observations of a trip to Yoshiwara (a pleasure quarter) and a kabuki performance are important. Also noteworthy is his ready acceptance of a blast of opium - according to this superior European, it's not addictive - so puff away!

I suppose that I was equally interested and irritated by Quennell's journey, but a lot of that has to be chalked up to generational difference. It's an interesting tome, but perhaps not essential as far as China/Japan travelogues go.