Noel Langley wrote many novels, plays and screenplays, but his fame rests largely on two of them. One is this children's novel, originally published in 1937 with illustrations by the author. The other is the screenplay for the 1939 feature film version of 'The Wizard of Oz', a gig he obtained because of the success of this book. He wrote the original screenplay and the final version, though a pair of other writers did work in between. It seems likely to me that much of the humour in the film came from Langley, while the more cutesy aspects came from the other writers.

Frankly, I prefer this novel to that classic film, because it's very much a children's book without the dumbing down that so many children's authors indulge in. Langley plays with language with every expectation that kids will be able to read what he wrote and both understand and appreciate it. I like that he includes complicated words and long, playful sentences. The very first paragraph is an epic, running ten lines on the page with a phrase enclosed in em dashes, a semi-colon and a couple of italicised phrases that are written on banners. The second feels very deliberately short at only eighteen words.

That first paragraph tells of the birth of the primary character, Abu Ali, though he doesn't acquire the name until the end of the chapter. He's Son and Heir to the Emperor Aladdin and the Empress Bedr-el-Budur, who rule in Pekin, in China. If that seems odd, then I'll happily echo that sentiment as few of the character names match their expected locations. We expect Aladdin and especially Bedr-el-Budur to be Arabic not Chinese, but we expect Tintac-Ping-Foo to be Chinese not Persian, but he's the son of the Shah. The Arabian here is Rubdub-Ben-Thud and I don't think Langley had a very good atlas. Either that or he just wrote down every location in fable then picked one out of a hat whenever he needed it.

Before we get to Tintac-Ping-Foo and Rubdub-Ben-Thud, two Wicked Princes who have been rivals for a long while and will soon become rivals to Abu Ali, we have to wait for him to grow up, which doesn't take long. At a ripe old age of one day, he calls his grandmother, the Queen Mother, a "Button-nosed Tortoise". Then he clarifies, after being asked, that he didn't do that at all, he just said she looked like one. Clearly, he's either a prodigy or he's under a spell, so Aladdin calls for his lamp so that he can consult with Abdul, the Slave of the Lamp. He hasn't used it forever.

Abdul thinks for a while, because his own son only says "Boomalakka Wee" and eventually comes up with the Land of Green Ginger. It's actually a forest and it was made by a Magician, but he got the final Spell wrong and it turned him into a Button-nosed Tortoise. While his friends did all they could to help, the Land of Green Ginger wandered off and it's been equally as unpredictable in its movements ever since. It causes a lot of trouble. Anyway, it's this connection that allows Abdul to name the Son and Heir because it's been foretold. He's the one who will break the spell to restore the Magician.

As you can imagine, this is fundamentally rooted in the 'Arabian Nights', which I really must dive into properly at some point. I have a nice Routledge edition of 'The Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night' in four volumes on the shelf. However, it's not the only source here, as we know in this first chapter through the presence of the Widow Twankey as the Queen Mother, though she's turned into a Decorative Ornament by accident and stays that way, I believe, throughout.

So, half of this is an exotic fantasy built out of the timeless stories of Scheherezade, but the other half is good old fashioned English pantomime, right down to the inevitable "Oh no he wouldn't!", "Oh yes he would!" back and forth between two minor characters (and, in any stage version, the audience). I could easily see this staged, though there are neat challenges within it for anyone in the mindset of adapting it, like the statuesque Widow Twankey, the magic carpet and the speed at which some of these scenes would need to be choreographed, but those could be met. I'd love to be in it too.

Anyway, we end chapter one with Abu Ali only a day old and start chapter two with "So the young Prince Abu Ali grew up", so we can happily be thrown right into whatever story is waiting for him.  The only clues we have are provided by Abdul, after a fresh rub of the lamp, namely to watch out for the Wicked Princes Tintac-Ping-Foo of Persia and Rubdub-Ben-Thud of Arabia and to drop by a jeweller in Samarkand called Sulkpot-Ben-Nagnag and meet his daughter, Silver Bud. So, there's the story in a nutshell, set out on page twenty-eight, with a hundred more to go.

I really don't need to say anything else because you're already set in one of only two directions. I could imagine that you're already seeking out a copy, on the basis that this sounds so joyous that you're shocked that you've never heard of it before. And I could imagine that you have no idea of the joys that pantomime can bring and so wonder why you would put yourself through this. Well, I am firmly in the former camp. I hadn't heard of this book, though I'd heard the phrase for which it was named, and I firmly wish I'd read it forty-five years ago.

If you're somehow still unsure which of those two camps you count in, let me just ask whether you would want to read a book that boasted characters named Nosi Parka and Sulkpot-Ben-Nagnag. I was sold as soon as I saw those names within chapter headings in the contents. Oh, and I chose to use the word "book" there without "children's" in front of it, very deliberately. Just because this is thoroughly accessible and could be read by young children (or perhaps, read to young children, in a variety of silly voices), doesn't mean that it isn't just as enjoyable if read by adults.

No, it's not the great American novel, or even the Great South African novel, and everything in it is glorious hokum, a sequel to 'Aladdin' that's recycled out of old stories and given very little new but the delightful sense of snark of the unseen narrator. There's a conversation between the two Wicked Princes, after they both arrive at the very same oasis on the way to Samarkand—if you're surprised by that, don't ever let on—that starts out as extraordinarily polite diplomatic nudging but then descends into schoolyard insults. The pair are compelled to outdo each other with every opportunity, even if it's for how they were both taken for a ride by a witch in Timbuktu.

Abu Ali finds his way to that same oasis, of course, but gets to Samarkand first and, after meeting the forgetful tent seller and part-time Omar Khayyam, stirs up the story in swashbuckling style. A confrontation ensues and a task is set for each of Silver Bud's suitors—yes, all three of them—and we're off and running. If you can't write the rest of the story at this point, then you aren't paying attention, but few would be able to write it with the sheer Joie de Vivre of Noel Langley. This isn't great because it's new or substantial or at all innovative. It's great because it's told with such an Effervescent Style. And yes, I'm capitalising Important Things like Langley does. He does it A Lot.

Long story short, if you haven't read this, go out and read it. It's easily available commercially and can be borrowed from the Internet Archive if that's your preference.  ~~ Hal C F Astell