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The Glorious
Deception: The Double Life of William Robinson, aka Chung Ling Soo, The “Marvelous
Chinese Conjurer,” by Jim Steinmeyer. Published by Carroll & Graf,
2005.

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Twin gunshots rang out onstage at London’s Wood Green Empire, 10:45
in the evening of March 23, 1918. Two Chinese riflemen pulled the triggers
of two muzzle-loader rifles while across the stage, their master, Chung
Ling Soo, stood holding a plate over his chest. Impressive and impassive
in tunic and silk pants, Chung ruled sovereign over British magicians. This
was his “Condemned to Death by the Boxers” illusion, rarely
performed and fraught with terror for the audience and oftentimes the performers
too. The trick usually ended to tumultuous applause as Chung displayed the
two rifle bullets seemingly caught on his plate. That night, though, one
of the trick guns malfunctioned. The platter shattered and the Marvelous
Chinese Conjurer crumpled to the boards. A dark stain spread over his torso — a
corporeal metaphor that manifested the spillage and spread of his many
secrets.
The man who died early next morning had no Asian blood leaking from his
pierced heart. He began life as William Ellsworth Robinson in New York
state, though in almost 57 years of life, the world knew him successively
as “William
Robinson, Man of Mystery”; Achmed Ben Ali, an hirsute Arabian wizard
in white robe and Egyptian headdress; the similarly bearded Nana Sahib, “East
Indian Necromancer in Oriental Occultism”; Hop Sing Loo; and finally
Chung Ling Soo, a Scottish-Chinese spellbinder.
Much of his act came from an actual Chinese magician, Ching Ling Foo
(born Chee Ling Qua), who became his fiercest competition (and mysteriously
failed to show up for a magician’s duel). Soo spoke not a word onstage,
pretended to understand only Chinese and employed a revered Japanese assistant
as his “translator” for press conferences. He left one wife
for a female assistant, married his assistant, then left her for a mistress
and raised three children with that last woman. As the Marvelous Chinese
Conjurer, he ruled music hall entertainment in England, Australia and Europe
over 18 years, replete in hastily assembled Chinese costumes sometimes obliviously
worn backward, or fetched from a woman’s wardrobe.
In our modern era of authenticity and (rightful) pride in ethnicity,
Chung Ling Soo manifests as an embarrassment. In his own much more slippery
time, the disguised Robinson found himself not only accepted as authentic
by largely uninformed audiences, but also praised by nonwhites who knew
his Caucasian core. “At the Queen’s Theater,” Steinmeyer
writes, “... Chinese immigrants cheered the performances and sent
gift baskets of food backstage. ... They were not fooled, but they were
satisfied. ... Chung Ling Soo was proud and artistic on stage ... and the
Chinese community pragmatically accepted the prestige he brought to the
role.” —Andrew Hamlin
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