The Critic in the Orient

In Short

This book compiles a series of observations originally written for the San Francisco Chronicle, documenting a voyage across the Orient in 1913. Through a series of essays, the author recounts his experiences exploring ancient temples, colonial ports, and monumental ruins. The work has lasted as a primary record of how a well-traveled Westerner viewed the East on the eve of the First World War. It provides an unvarnished look at the architecture, social hierarchies, and daily lives of the populations the author encountered, punctuated by practical advice for the contemporary tourist.

The Story

The narrative begins in Japan, a country the author approaches with romanticized expectations. He finds a land defined by a profound, universal aesthetic sense, where even the common laborer possesses an artist’s eye for form and nature. He moves through the parks of Tokyo and the ancient temples of Kyoto, marveling at the craftsmanship of the Tokugawa shoguns' tombs. However, his admiration is tempered by anxiety; he fears that Western industrialization and the “new God of Gain” will inevitably erode the Japanese virtues of loyalty, thoroughness, and inherent politeness.

From Japan, the journey turns toward the American presence in the Philippines. In Manila, the author observes the material and social transformation wrought by the United States, noting the stark contrast between the traditional nipa houses of the native population and the new colonial infrastructure. This chapter acts as a transitional piece, shifting the focus from the aesthetic wonder of Japan to the administrative realities of empire.

As the traveler reaches Hong Kong and Canton, the tone shifts again, becoming sharper and more clinical. In Canton, he navigates a city gripped by political anxiety during a period of revolutionary fervor. His descriptions are visceral, moving from the “hotfoot” boats on the river to the grim realities of opium dens and crowded markets. He does not shy away from the squalor, describing the sight of dried rats and the clamor of the streets with a journalist’s eye for detail.

The longest and most intense section of the journey takes place in India. Here, the author grapples with the sheer scale of the subcontinent. He visits the “most beautiful” city of Calcutta before descending into the complex spiritual landscape of Benares, where he witnesses the bathing ghats and the public burning of the dead. He recounts the history of the Mutiny at Lucknow and Cawnpore with a clear sense of colonial perspective, before arriving at the Taj Mahal. He describes the monument as a masterpiece of love, though he is careful to highlight the brutal human cost of its construction, noting the thousands of forced laborers sacrificed by Shah Jehan.

The final leg brings the reader to Egypt. The author is humbled by the colossal scale of the ruins at Luxor and Karnak. He sails the Nile, observing the primitive, difficult lives of the fellahin, whose existence he notes has remained largely unchanged for millennia. He concludes with practical, if dated, advice for the traveler—how to handle tips, what to eat, and how to avoid the water—before providing a curated bibliography meant to help future tourists better understand the vast, complex regions he has just surveyed.

How It Unfolds

The voyage begins The author sets the stage in Japan, focusing on the country’s artistic soul and the contrast between its traditional aesthetic and the encroaching influence of Western materialism.

Colonial observation He transitions to Manila, examining the physical changes brought by American occupation and the daily life of the Filipino people in their nipa dwellings.

Political instability The journey arrives in the crowded, tense atmosphere of Canton, where the author witnesses the chaos of revolution and the stark realities of urban poverty and drug addiction.

Spiritual immersion He enters India, detailing the pilgrimage centers and the brutal, often overwhelming, sights of Benares, followed by a historical accounting of the British Raj.

Architectural grandeur The narrative shifts to the Taj Mahal and the ruins of Northern India, weighing the beauty of the architecture against the forced labor that made such monuments possible.

Egyptian antiquity The voyage concludes along the Nile, where the author reflects on the immensity of ancient Egyptian ruins and the persistence of traditional, often squalid, peasant life along the riverbanks.

The People

The author, George Hamlin Fitch, serves as the primary lens for the journey. He is a man of his time—methodical, prone to passing judgment on social customs, yet deeply appreciative of artistic beauty. He acts as the observant, sometimes weary, guide for his fellow tourists.

In the Japanese chapters, the anonymous Japanese artisan stands as a central figure, representing the author’s ideal of perfectionism and innate craftsmanship. Conversely, the "revolutionist" Chinese figures in Canton appear as symbols of a changing, chaotic world, while the struggling fellahin along the Nile represent the persistent, unchanging, and often neglected backbone of Egyptian society.

The historical figures, such as the Mogul Emperor Shah Jehan and his wife Arjmand Banu, are presented as archetypes. Shah Jehan is the embodiment of the absolute despot—capable of creating the “loveliest building in the world” while simultaneously being indifferent to the suffering of the twenty thousand coolies he sacrificed to build it. British figures, such as the soldiers of the Mutiny, are viewed through the lens of colonial duty and sacrifice. Finally, the American missionaries and colonial officials represent the “civilizing” force that the author views with a mixture of professional interest and skepticism, as they attempt to reconcile the Orient with Western standards of governance and morality.

In Its Own Voice

If you are soft hearted and give to one, then your day is made hideous by a swarm of mendicants, tireless in pursuit and only kept from actual invasion of the carriage by fear of the driver's whip.

The author describes the persistent, aggressive begging encountered on the streets of Benares.

This Mogul despot, who knew many women, spent an imperial fortune in fashioning this noblest memorial to love ever built by the hand of man.

Fitch reflects on the contradictory character of Shah Jehan in the context of the Taj Mahal’s construction.

The young people cannot fail to see that it does not pay their elders to expend so much time and effort to gain perfection, when their foreign rivals secure apparently equal if not superior results by quick and careless work.

The author expresses his anxiety regarding how Western influence threatens the Japanese artisan’s commitment to quality.

What It's Really About

The central argument of the book is that the Orient represents a fragile equilibrium between profound beauty and brutal, ancient hardship. The author is deeply concerned with the "civilizing" influence of the West, frequently questioning whether the distinct cultural traits of the East—the Japanese sense of beauty, for instance—can survive contact with Western industrialism and capitalism. The book is an inquiry into the cost of progress; it asks whether the loss of traditional, localized excellence is a necessary price for modernization. The underlying theme is one of preservation; the author catalogs these sights not just for the tourist, but as a record of a way of life that he clearly believes is rapidly disappearing under the pressure of global trade and cultural homogenization.

Why Read It Today

Readers interested in the history of travel writing or the evolution of Western attitudes toward Asia and North Africa will find this book essential. It is not a polished, modern guidebook, but a raw, impressionistic account that captures the anxieties of a pre-war world. You will feel the heat, the dust, and the frustration of travel in an era before mass tourism sanitized the experience. The author is honest about his own prejudices and the limitations of his perspective, which makes the book a fascinating historical artifact.

However, readers should be prepared for the author's period-specific attitudes. His descriptions of poverty and the "primitive" nature of the populations he encounters reflect the colonial mindset of 1913, which can be jarring and problematic by today's standards. He does not attempt to hide his discomfort with the sights he describes, nor does he offer an objective, detached analysis. Instead, you get the experience of a man who is clearly overwhelmed, sometimes irritable, and constantly trying to fit a vast, alien world into a coherent moral framework. It is a dense, sometimes repetitive, but deeply atmospheric read that leaves you with a vivid, if colored, image of a world at the brink of transformation.