Both Richards and Empson were enthusiasts for something called Basic English, an educational tool that limited the language's vocabulary to 850 words and, as far as possible, only its more regular verb forms. Empson believed in this system because he wanted his students to have the dignity that came from being able to speak English fluently as soon as possible. He himself never made much progress with either Chinese or Japanese, so he understood the humiliation that could result from being tongue-tied when attempting a foreign language.
Empson taught at the Peking National University again, from 1947 to 1952, this time under the auspices of the British Council, and there observed the coming to power of the Communists. This crucial period, and Empson's reactions to events, will be covered in the next volume.
Earlier, from 1931 to 1934, Empson taught in Tokyo. Here he had at least one romantic affair with a woman, to add to the string of handsome youths he attempted to befriend at the swimming-pools. He left Japan in mysterious circumstances -- Haffenden judges that a (probably) drunken sexual approach to a taxi-driver, plus an attempt to help a New Zealander suspected of Communism leave the country, don't quite add up to a complete explanation.
Empson continued to be concerned with waste -- the waste of possibilities that characterizes many people's lives. Haffenden is over-kind to Empson's largely forgettable poetry, but his most famous poem, Missing dates, is very striking on just this topic.
But Empson avoided the waste of his own talents that his early setback might have led to. He wrote his books anyway, taught abroad when the way was barred to him at home, and in the end came into his own as a grand old man of English letters. That he was in essence a radical figure was by then almost forgotten. But he believed poets ought to be shocking, and critics too. That he managed this while resisting the pervasive Marxism of the era was very creditable, and John Haffenden serves his subject well with an assured biography that Empson himself would have enjoyed reading, mumbling to himself as he tried to fix his broken spectacles, and taking another gulp of Tiger Bone liquor.
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