Until I read this book, I knew nothing about cricket except that it exists. I still couldn't tell you much about it in spite of having now passed my eyes over words describing many matches, strategies, accoutrements, and people pertaining thereto. It was all of this detail that led me to struggle through a lot of this book. I can imagine that someone who has never cared for baseball might struggle with the glorious opening 80 pages or so of DeLillo's Underworld or a great deal of Harbach's The Art of Fielding. So I felt about much of Chinaman.

Yes, there is sort of a mystery story afoot here too, and there's humor and occasional dips into what feels like authentic pathos (I dog-eared a couple of these), but for most of the book, I found these not worth all the miscellany about cricket. For much of my reading of the book, I continued because a friend recommended it and I wanted to be able to affirm that I had in fact read the book.

But then I got to the last 60 - 80 pages of the book, which I glided through effortlessly and, at times, raptly. The turn here at the end makes the book probably worthwhile, though not masterful through and through. I give it four stars because in the end it is nicely carried off, a sort of modern day Sri Lankan Tristram Shandy.