Chinese Agent, The

Chinese Agent, The

Michael Moorcock

Language: English

Pages: 160

ISBN: 0583129900

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

Kirkus Reviews -
Ex-con Jerry Cornell, product of the seamiest of London's byways and working under duress for British Intelligence, lands right side up in this spottily funny spoof of the Bond-bred genre. When a Chinese-American jewel thief is by mistake handed a package of Red China-bound secrets in the Tower of London (all Chinese look alike), a crew of unlikely originals give chase--Jerry, a top Chinese agent with a poetic imagination, a fading Mata Hari, gals and gaffers, and an Inspector named Crapper. Somehow Peking is sent packing. Has its moments.

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ignominiously. He just stood there glaring. “What did he say to you?” Jerry asked fuzzily. He wasn’t at all sure he should have involved himself in this, but now he was involved he’d better stick with it and see if he could exploit the situation in some way. “It is unimportant,” hissed Kung. He glared at Hodgkiss again. “A misunderstanding.” “You can say that again!” Hodgkiss said loudly. Kung recovered himself. He motioned with his hand. “Please, sir,” he begged Hodgkiss. “I only asked to

published a few years earlier in NEW WORLDS – is a deliberate solarisation of the albino Elric, who was himself a mocking solarisation of Robert E. Howard’s Conan, or rather of the mighty-thew-headed Conan created for profit by Howard epigones: Moorcock rarely mocks the true quill. Cornelius, who reaches his first and most telling apotheosis in the four novels comprising The Cornelius Quartet, remains his most distinctive and perhaps most original single creation: a wide boy, an agent, a flaneur,

on the social scale. Like rats, they preferred the dark, damp places of the city. Unlike rats, they did not work very hard. Uncle Edmond lived alone. He was so tatty that not even another Cornell would live with him. In an area full of dirty old men, Uncle Edmond was the dirtiest and quite probably the oldest. Jerry Cornell knocked on the door. There was no answer. He bent down and shouted through the letterbox: “Uncle Edmond! It’s me. Jerry — aaaaargh!” The fumes had hit him. He sat down,

recovered himself. He gave one wily cough and said: “Valooble, was it?” “Only valuable to me and one or two other people. It would be no use to you.” A growing suspicion filled Jerry. “Did you find it and open it, Uncle Edmond?” “Me? Nar!” Uncle Edmond took several deep, rasping breaths. “But it wouldn’t be fair to sell yer the suit wivart it ’avin’ wot you wanted in it, would it?” Jerry knew that Uncle Edmond wasn’t so idealistic. “Was there a package in the suit?” “Nuffink — on’y the suit

looked up at her. “Oh, dear!” he murmured. “Ladies — you are not supposed to be out here. You are supposed to be tied up!” “We’re free now, though,” said Shirley practically. And she leaned forward and pushed the top cardboard carton towards Shen Sang. She had expected the carton to be fairly light. It wasn’t. It was quite heavy and it fell on Shen Sang’s head and knocked him out. The carton burst, revealing hundreds of 78-rpm gramophone records which began to roll everywhere. The records had

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