Fiction Singapore 2014 - National Arts Council

Transcription

SINGAPORE
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SINGAPORE
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FOREWORD
Fiction Singapore is back with fifteen new contemporary titles from Singapore’s
best authors, writing in English, Chinese, Malay and Tamil.
The writers range from first-time novelists to award-winning stalwarts of the
Singapore literary scene. From traditional kampongs of 1960’s Singapore
to a post-apocalyptic zombie dystopia; from the forbidden love of Chinese
Admiral Zheng He to a test of loyalty in the battlefields of the Vietnam War,
the writers weave together a diverse tapestry to create uniquely Asian stories
that transcend the boundaries of time, language and culture. Many of these
works are available in English for the first time.
We invite you to reach out to the authors or their publishers. The relevant
contact details can be found after each extract.
KHOR KOK WAH
Senior Director
Sector Development (Literary Arts)
National Arts Council
Singapore
integral part of the lives of the people in Singapore. It supports the practice and appreciation of the arts in
Singapore and facilitates the internationalisation of Singapore artists and their works through various initiatives,
programmes and events.
SINGAPORE
The National Arts Council (NAC) is a Singapore government agency which nurtures the arts and makes it an
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NAC’s funding supports the creation of literary content, research, capability and talent development, organisational
development, publishing and translation, production and market development, and the presentation and
promotion of the literary arts.
International publishers and literary agents can tap on grants and other assistance to bring original Singaporean
literary works to the world.
An important event on the literary arts calendar is the Singapore Writers Festival, which has multilingual
programming, with a strong emphasis on Singapore’s four official languages - English, Chinese, Malay and Tamil.
C O N T E N T S
ENGLISH
04
06
08
10
12
14
16
18
20
Amanda Lee Koe
Audrey Chin
Josephine Chia
Krishna Udayasankar
Nicholas Yong
O Thiam Chin
Russ Soh
Suchen Christine Lim
Walter Woon
For more information on NAC’s grant schemes and initiatives, please visit the Council’s website at: www.nac.gov.sg
or email: [email protected]
CHINESE
22 Ai Yu (Liew Kwee Lan)
24 Yeng Pway Ngon
NATIONAL ARTS COUNCIL
Goodman Arts Centre
90 Goodman Road Blk A #01-01
Singapore 439053
T: (65) 6346 9400
F: (65) 6346 1543
E: [email protected]
W: www.nac.gov.sg
MALAY
28 Isa Kamari
32 Mohamed Latiff Mohamed
TAMIL
36 Kamaladevi Aravindhan
40 Suriya Rethnna
Amanda Lee Koe
MINISTRY
OF MORAL
PANIC
04
AMANDA LEE KOE is a
short-story writer and the
fiction editor of Esquire
(Singapore), editor of
creative non-fiction magazine
POSKOD.SG, co-editor of
literary journal Ceriph and
communications lead at design
and communications practice
studioKALEIDO. She was a
2013 Honorary Fellow of the
International Writing Program
at the University of Iowa.
She spearheaded and edited
Eastern Heathens (with Ng
Yi-Sheng), an anthology
subverting Asian folklore,
whilst her first collection of
short stories, Ministry of Moral
Panic was launched at the 2013
Singapore Writers Festival.
She also develops
interdisciplinary projects;
current research interests
tend towards explorations
of diasporic Chinese identity.
She is one half of Chong
& Hicks, an autonomous
curatorial collective interested
in prototyping and
problematising narratives
of feminism, sexuality,
individual agency and queer
relativism in Singapore.
MINISTRY OF MORAL PANIC
Extract from “Love is No
Big Truth”
There was no romance inherent.
And the funny thing was, the lack
thereof didn’t strike us as strange.
When I say us, when I say we,
I believe I speak for a good number
of women my age. Go ask them.
Zhang Yi Mou, Hou Hsiao-Hsien.
Sometimes, the shipping costs more
than the box set, and I sit on the
decision of the purchase for weeks.
When I ask her to help me locate
the item again, my daughter is very
irritated. I save up for these box sets.
I use only one square of toilet paper
when I go to the bathroom. I walk
back from the market rather than
take the bus. Things add up.
I cry at almost everything I watch.
Sometimes I feel like I’m not sure if
I’ve truly grasped the movie, but it
always teaches
We paid fifty
me something.
cents for this on
“NEXT LIFE, I TELL YOU,
I’ve learned
a monthly basis,
I WANT TO BE BORN A MAN.” so much from
to see it transpire
the movies,
between Lin Dai
from eloquence to embitterment.
and Kwan Shan on the big screen,
Florid expressions of love and
weekly if we could afford it. We
tragedy in the Chinese language,
tied handkerchiefs to the seat to
poetic monologues unseemly for a
mark them as taken when we went
woman like me. The stall owners
outside to get kacang putih.
at the market rib me, half-jokingly,
half-admiringly, say I speak like a
We never went with our husbands.
woman of letters. I reply, in a jesting
We went on our own. It was female
tone lest they think me proud,
bonding more than anything else.
Who knows? The opportunities
We were separate beings, but we
that were given to us in our day
sighed at the same parts, laughed
short-changed our destinies. Maybe
at the same parts, cried at the same
you’d have been a philosopher, the
parts. After the credits rolled, under
vegetable stall woman says as she
the dim lights, you could seek out
adds an extra carrot into my bag.
the gaze of another woman and
Like Confucius. She’s been giving
find understanding there, and feel
me something extra ever since the
less alone.
accident—a tomato here, a carrot
there, watercress. I want to tell her
I’ve never seen the world, never
things add up. Confucius believed
known anything else, everything I
that women’s place was below
know is from the movies. This has
men’s, I say. Our lot in this life, she
been my solace, my self-betterment
says, shaking her head. Next life, I
through the decades. From fifty
tell you, I want to be born a man.
cents to eight dollars, from kacang
putih to popcorn. The year I turned
fifty-five, joy: half-priced movie
tickets for senior citizens. Once a
year, I beg my daughter to help
me with the computer, with the
internet, to help me purchase a box
set of one of my favourite directors.
These box sets are my pride and joy.
I dust them daily—Tsai Ming-Liang,
Romance was only the stuff of
the movies.
LANGUAGE
English
PUBLICATION YEAR
2013
FORMAT
Paperback
ISBN
978-981-07-5732-8
NO. OF PAGES
208
FORM
Short Stories
SYNOPSIS
Meet an over-the-hill Pop Yé-yé singer with a faulty heart, two conservative
middle-aged women holding hands in the Galápagos, and the proprietor of
a Laundromat with a penchant for Cantonese songs of heartbreak. Rehash
national icons: the truth about racial riot fodder-girl Maria Hertogh living
out her days as a chambermaid in Lake Tahoe, a mirage of the Merlion as a
ladyboy working Orchard Towers, and a high-stakes fantasy starring the stillsuave lead of the 1990s TV hit serial The Unbeatables.
Heartfelt and sexy, the stories of Amanda Lee Koe encompass a skewed
world fraught with prestige anxiety, moral relativism, sexual frankness,
and the improbable necessity of human connection. Told in strikingly
original prose, these are works that plough, relentlessly, the possibilities of
understanding Singapore and her denizens discursively, off-centre. Ministry
of Moral Panic is an extraordinary debut collection and the introduction of a
revelatory new voice.
REVIEW / AWARDS
“Amanda Lee Koe is mesmerising.
Her characters sleepwalk out of
a Haruki Murakami novel, across
the forgotten set of a Wong
Kar-wai film, before nestling in
a subway with warm paninis of
lust, hysteria, anomie, dissonance
and fresh lettuce. One of the
finest writers in her generation.” –
Daren Shiau, author of Heartland
“Amanda Lee Koe’s melancholic,
often heartbreaking tales of urban
malaise are elegies of individual
yearnings. At her best, tides of
words flow like movements of
music, their cadences aspiring
towards the magic of poetry. In
this debut collection, the author
has distinguished herself as a
competent, lyrical raconteur.” –
Quarterly Literary Review Singapore
AVAILABLE RIGHTS
Worldwide translation, TV and film, and
digital rights available; select English-language
rights available.
Contact Marketing Manager Ilangoh
Thanabalan for more information.
PUBLISHER
Epigram Books
1008 Toa Payoh North #03-08
Singapore 318996
T: (65) 6292 4456
DISTRIBUTOR
APD Singapore Pte Ltd
52 Genting Lane #06-05
Ruby Lane Complex 1
Singapore 349560
T: (65) 6749 3551
05
Audrey Chin
AS THE
HEART BONES
BREAK
AUDREY CHIN was born in
Singapore and grew up in
a bookstore. She has been
addicted to stories all her life.
06
Her first publication, Deep
Pockets, Empty Pockets: Who
Wins in Cook County Jury
Trials?, was a RAND corporation
study of discrimination in
Chicago courts.
Her debut novel, Learning to
Fly (1999) was shortlisted for
the 2000 Dymocks Singapore
Literature Prize. Singaporean
Women Re-presented was a
book Audrey conceptualised
and co-edited with Constance
Singam in 2004.
Audrey is married to Minh and
has been a daughter-in-law of
the Vietnamese diaspora for
30 years. When not writing,
she is a corporate steward
and investor.
As the Heart Bones Break
is distilled from the many
diasporic stories she heard over
that thirty-year period.
LANGUAGE
English
PUBLICATION YEAR
2014
FORMAT
Paperback
ISBN
978-981-4484-07-7
NO. OF PAGES
364
FORM
Novel
SYNOPSIS
A rape, a baby, a bone bangle, and a murder—these are the pieces of a
puzzle that Thong Tran, a Vietnamese man, must decipher to understand
who he is and win his wife back.
As the Heart Bones Break follows Thong Tran, a Vietnamese man, as he
navigates a maze of dubious allegiances, double-dealing intelligence
agents, and a family and country torn apart by war; treacherous territory
he continues to occupy even as he flees to the USA. It is only when Thong’s
American-born Vietnamese wife discovers his double life and demands
full disclosure that the Mekong Delta boy and Viet Cong spy become an
American aerospace engineer is confronted with the true cost of being a man
with no real home.
EXTRACT FROM
AS THE HEART BONES BREAK
The back gate to the villa had
been open, the door to Chú
Hai’s room ajar. All appeared in
readiness for your first lesson after
the Tét New Year holidays. But the
room was in disarray. Chú Hai’s
armchair had been pushed back
in a hurry. A cushion lay on the
floor. The standing lamp, which he
assiduously turned off whenever
he left the room, was still alight
with its lampshade askew. The five
photographs of American fighter
planes fanned out neatly on the
coffee table, the promised subject of
this session, were soaking in the dark
liquid that had spilled from a toppled
coffee filter. Chú Hai was nowhere to
be seen.
He’d left in a hurry. Whatever the
reason, you too should make yourself
scarce. Turning off the reading light,
you slipped out into the narrow back
garden. Someone had kicked over
the basket housing the remaining
bantam and it was wandering
about disconsolately making soft
squawking cries. You stepped over
it, noticing as you did, noises coming
from the villa beyond the servant’s
quarters... Men shouting orders,
doors being kicked open, tinkling
glass, gunshots, a woman’s screams.
Had you seen right? You pressed
your face into the gap between
The sound of boots and dragging
the cabinets to make sure. But the
sandals came towards you.
pot-bellied man had already moved
out of sight. All you could see was
You retreated back into Chú Hai’s
the moss covered garden wall. Then
room and
a squawking
between his
bantam rooster
“QUIET. A WOMAN’S SOFT
two cabinets,
appeared at
KEENING. AND THEN FROM
thankful now for
the threshold.
SOMEWHERE TO THE SIDE OF It strutted into
their American
CHU HAI’S ROOM, KICKS AND the room and
bulk. Outside,
A CRACK, LIKE A TABLE LEG
you heard feet
walked under
OR BONE BEING BROKEN.”
scuffling, a body
the cabinet
slammed against
legs towards
the wall, a woman whimpering,
you. It was crowing, each crow
a man grunting, another man,
rising in volume as it made its way
then the woman begging them to
to your hiding place until it seemed
stop.“What the hell do you think
to you the crowing must not only
you’re doing? And to her of all
fill the room but also spill out to the
people!” someone shouted. “Get
garden. The crowing was all you
your useless asses back here,”
heard, drowning out the screaming
someone else called in a
of the man being beaten on the
familiar voice.
pathway just meters away, the final
sharp whack as the club hit his head
There was more scuttling. Quiet.
and then the muffled sound of a
A woman’s soft keening. And then
gunshot. Your one thought was
from somewhere to the side of Chú
to catch the bantam and put your
Hai’s room, kicks and a crack, like a
hands over its head. To hold its beak
table leg or bone being broken.
shut. To twist its neck around. To
keep it quiet, dead quiet.
Through the gap between the
cabinets you saw a stumbling man
The bird’s neck cracked. Finally the
with his head covered by a sack
bird was still, so still you could hear
pushed into the viewing aperture
Oldest Brother-in-Law say, quite
that was Chú Hai’s open door. He
clearly, quite recognizably, “That’s it
was surrounded by three uniformed
then. Let’s take him away.”
police corporals who shoved and
kicked at him to move on and out of
Months later, after yet another coup,
sight. Next to come in view was a tall when the Army had re-arranged
officer swinging a club.
itself and everything was under
control again, you would realize
Finally a short stout man made his
that the man whose brains were
way across the door frame, one soft
knocked out was Albert, the other
white hand on his holster, the other
man in Chú Hai’s cockfight. Many
gently stroking the beer belly
years later, Chú Hai and you would
hanging over the waistband of his
finally get around to talking about it
policeman’s trousers.
and he would confirm that the man
was indeed the villa’s owner, the
“Get him down there onto the floor,” government official who was also
Oldest Brother-in-Law said, pointing
working for the other side.
with a familiar petulant gesture.
Chú Hai would also say that in
addition to knocking Albert’s face
in and tearing off his balls, the
perpetrators had raped Albert’s sister,
a nun. Somewhere in between, you
would have found the answer to
your blood-father’s question. You
would not fight, but like the dead
undercover agent Albert, you would
do whatever one man could.
In the moment, though, all you
apprehended was that no one
was what they seemed—neither
policemen nor villa owners. Not a
seemingly benevolent Oldest Brotherin-Law. Perhaps not even an admired
English tutor or a much looked up
to sixth brother or a blood-father.
And like them, you too had to create
shades of yourself to survive.
You had witnessed a killing and you
had taken a life. Whether you liked it
or not, you had stained your hands.
You had stepped off the sidelines
and joined the war.
07
REVIEW / AWARDS
“Audrey Chin’s expert weaving of
this many-layered tale admirably
illuminates Vietnam’s complex
history. It gives insight into the
web of divided loyalties and
allegiances, both political and
emotional, that blighted the lives
of so many people in the fight for
independence. This is an absorbing
and enlightening book, and a
tour de force in storytelling.”
– Meira Chand, author of eight
novels, and A Different Sky
AVAILABLE RIGHTS
Worldwide translation and digital rights
available (ex-North America); select
English-language rights available
(ex-North America).
Contact Norjan Hussain for more information.
T: (65) 6213 9381
PUBLISHER
Marshall Cavendish International (Asia) Pte Ltd
Times Centre
1 New Industrial Road
Singapore 536196
T: (65) 6213 9300
F: (65) 6213 9398
Cover design by Cover Kitchen Ltd
Josephine Chia
KAMPONG SPIRITGOTONG ROYONG:
LIFE IN POTONG PASIR 1955 TO 1965
08
JOSEPHINE CHIA is an
internationally published
Peranakan author who has
written fiction, non-fiction
and even a cookbook. She
has contributed to literary
anthologies and has eight
published books to date.
One of her non-fiction works,
Frog Under a Coconut Shell
(2010), has been translated
into Bahasa Indonesia.
2013 saw the publication
of Kampong Spirit, Gotong
Royong, Life in Potong Pasir
1955 to 1965 and a second
edition of her first novel, My
Mother-In-Law’s Son (2013).
Josephine has won awards
such as the UK’s prestigious
Ian St. James awards for short
fiction (1992). She is a soughtafter speaker and has spoken
at international writers’
festivals and conferences.
Josephine lived in UK for 30
years before returning to
Singapore. When she is not
writing, she teaches yoga as a
certified yoga instructor.
LANGUAGE
English
PUBLICATION YEAR
2013
FORMAT
Paperback/eBook
ISBN
978- 981-4398-60-2
NO. OF PAGES
240
FORM
Short Stories
SYNOPSIS
Kampong Spirit, Gotong Royong, Life in Potong Pasir 1955 to 1965 is a
heart-warming recollection of life in the little village of Potong Pasir in
Singapore during the years 1955 to 1965.
In this book, Josephine takes us into the world of her childhood in a
kampong. Though deprived of modern comforts like electricity or running
water, her multi-racial neighbours lived harmoniously with each other in
their attap homes, and had a wonderful zest for life and a strong sense of
community. This vibrant kampong spirit or gotong royong, was a significant
aspect of living in a kampong.
The period 1955 to 1965 was also a dramatic era for Singapore. As the
country struggled towards nationhood, the social and political events of the
time are seen through the eyes of the common folk.
This collection of delightful, real-life short stories will take you through
Singapore’s history and heritage at a human level. For some, it will be a
journey of discovery and for others it will be a time of reminiscing for those
nostalgic years.
EXTRACT FROM
KAMPONG SPIRIT, GOTONG
ROYONG, LIFE IN POTONG
PASIR 1955 TO 1965
The day after the parties, lots of
uneaten food was thrown out.
Of course some food items were
unsalvageable, but food like
cakes could survive if left in tins
or wrapped well in baking paper.
Fruits and vegetables like apples
and carrots, luxury items for us,
were also hardy enough to survive
being chucked into bins. Hunger
meant that you could not afford to
be proud. The positive aspect about
being deprived is that everything
you get is a bonus. So getting even
ordinary or small things can make
you joyously happy.
“Be careful of the Alsatian!” Third
Brother warned me.
child in the family, she had to go
out to work so that she could help
bring in money to buy food for the
Now that I was older, he was
family and medicine for her younger
confident enough to let me go on
brother, who suffered from fits.
my own. One of the English families
Many village children had to work to
kept an Alsatian dog, which guarded help their families. I sold the nonya
the premises vigilantly, and it nearly
kueh and nasi lemak my mother
bit off my arm once when I tried to
made, to get money for me to go
steal its lunch – a huge steak.
to school. Other children helped
out at food-stalls, collecting bowls
My friends and I came back from
and plates after customers had
this particular round of scavenging
finished with them; some washed
with a whole
other people’s
packet of boiled
clothes,
“MANY UNEDUCATED GIRLS worked
sweets, fairy
IN THE KAMPONG WERE STILL in shops,
cakes still in their
SUBJECTED TO ARRANGED
waxed-paper
sweeping
MARRIAGES. AS SOON AS
cups and a train
floors, some
THEY BECAME TEENAGERS,
set with some
at the rattan
THEIR FATES WERE SEALED.” factory,
carriages broken.
But my prize was
weaving
an Enid Blyton book, Five Run Away
baskets or mats. Parvathi worked
Together from her Famous Five
at the paper factory in the village,
series, complete with illustrations. It
folding squares of paper into
was slightly the worse for wear, but
envelopes. The process had not been
I did not care. I enjoyed the stories
mechanised yet. The crisp new paper
in Enid Blyton’s books and dreamt
was so sharp that it often cut her
about the kind of life she talked
hands in many places.
about and the privileges the children
in her books had. It was my dream
“I wish we could run away
to go and live in England where
together,” she said when I read her
I would always have food to eat.
the story. “Then we can have an
Now that I was in school, I could
adventure and I won’t be forced
actually read the words in the books, to marry.”
whereas earlier I could only look at
the pictures. I was overjoyed to be
Many uneducated girls in the
educated. It was the unexpected
kampong were still subjected to
fulfilment of a dream.
arranged marriages. As soon as
they became teenagers, their fates
“Will you read it to me?” Parvathi
were sealed. That was why I was
said, wistfully.
so grateful that my mother had
fought for me to attend school.
She was tall and beautiful, four years Otherwise my fate would have been
older than me. Despite her family’s
like theirs – although my father still
poverty, her hair was silky and
threatened to marry me off as soon
luxuriant, and her eyes, ringed with
as I was eligible. But like Parvathi,
kohl, were large and black. Parvathi
I had planned to run away if my
had never been to school. Since she
father forced me to marry. Except
started menstruating, her father,
that I did not want to hurt my
who was nearly always drunk, kept
precious mother.
on threatening to marry her off to
an older man. As she was the eldest
“What are ham rolls?” Fatima asked
when she heard that Julian, Dick
and Anne, the English children in
the story, ate ham rolls and drank
ginger beer. She was a Muslim and
proclaimed that she would never
drink an alcoholic drink like ginger
beer and weren’t Western children
liberal to be drinking beer at their
age? She, like Parvathi did not go
to school. Of course I hadn’t a
clue either but I did not want to
look stupid.
“Some kind of meat,” I said.
“Hmm, chicken is from hens,
beef from cows, so ham must be
from hamsters.”
“What is a hamster?” Fatima
wanted to know.
“A kind of animal-lah!” I said
exasperated, not wanting to show
my lack of knowledge. “The kind
of animal that lives in England,
obviously! Don’t ask stupid
questions-lah!”
REVIEW / AWARDS
“This is a very well written book
with vivid descriptions that are
believable. It could be a useful
reference book for students of
the history of Singapore.”
– Jennie Lisney, Vice President of
UK’s Society of Woman Writers
& Journalists
AVAILABLE RIGHTS
rights available.
T: (65) 6213 9381
PUBLISHER
Times Centre
Singapore 536196
T: (65) 6213 9300
F: (65) 6213 9398
Photograph © National Archives
09
Krishna Udayasankar
THE ARYAVARTA
CHRONICLES BOOK 2:
KAURAVA
A novelist and a poet,
KRISHNA UDAYASANKAR is
the author of The Aryavarta
Chronicles, a bestselling series
of critically acclaimed mythohistorical novels. The first book
in the series, Govinda (2012),
was nominated for the Tata Lit
Live! First Book Award.
10
Krishna is guest editor of Body
Boundaries: The Etiquette
Anthology of Women’s Writing
(2013), and the author of
Objects of Affection (2013),
a collection of prose-poems
that form the story of a
relationship as seen through
the eyes of everyday inanimate
objects that bear witness to
the silent thoughts and hidden
emotions of the humans
around them.
Her forthcoming collection,
The Innocence of Envy,
explores themes of gender,
identity and violence. She
is also working on a novel
based on the mytho-history
of Singapore’s founding by a
Srivijayan prince. When she
is not writing, Krishna works
as a Lecturer at the Nanyang
Business School, where she
also obtained a PhD in
Strategic Management.
LANGUAGE
English
PUBLICATION YEAR
2013
FORMAT
Paperback
ISBN
935009634X
978-9350096345
NO. OF PAGES
384
FORM
Novel
SYNOPSIS
Emperor Dharma Yudhisthir of the Kauravas and Empress Panchali rule over
the unified realm of Aryavarta, an empire built for them by the cowherdturned-prince: Govinda Shauri. An empire that is now in peril.
As the power of the Firstborn – mighty scholar-priests who serve as the
realm’s conscience-keepers – wanes, their forgotten enemies, the Firewrights,
rise from the ashes of the past. Treacherous alliances emerge and Aryavarta
transforms under the weight of its own flawed, corrupt system till Emperor
Dharma gambles away his empire, the tormented empress is forced into
exile, and the many nations of the realm bid to conquer each other.
His dreams of peace and prosperity shattered, Govinda is left a broken man.
The only way he can protect Aryavarta, and the woman he had trusted to
rule it, is by playing a dangerous political game that may destroy them all.
The Aryavarta Chronicles is a multi-part series that delves into the history
behind the great Indo-Asian myth, the Mahabharata, to present a tale of
political intrigue and social revolution that will appeal to audiences worldwide.
EXTRACT FROM
THE ARYAVARTA CHRONICLES
BOOK 2: KAURAVA
into a cold, clammy, desperate
trepidation that became an
incomprehensible sorrow.
Dussasan’s touch seared, violated.
Panchali felt anger prick the
back of her neck and she pulled
her shoulders back in instinctive
defiance. The sensation lasted for
just a moment and then fell heavily
to the pit of her stomach, turning
It did not occur to her to beg for
mercy. She felt her rage to fight
tamed into numbness by shock
and fear. She willed her hands to
move, her legs to kick and her
voice to scream, but they did not.
Words, voices, images – she was
racing through them, in search of
something. Some meaning, or an
anchor. Lucidity came in torturous
bursts, and she realized that the
screaming in her head was not
against her aggressor but against
her own sense of helplessness and
despair, the petrified stillness that
had taken over. Her being was hers,
every pore of it, to always own and
give as she wished. And that was
precisely why Dussasan wanted it.
His was not an act of lust. It was an
act of dominance.
they came to mind at a time such
as this but she knew why they did.
It was because she felt now what
she had felt when she first heard
them – a debilitating fear that left
her with no strength to fight, no will
to protest, given the futility of it all.
For that which gave meaning to the
world as she knew it had collapsed,
utterly and completely. There had
been law, a system beyond the folly
of human beings and their fickle
minds, but that too had failed, as
had the ultimate fibre of life as
ordained by Divine Order – morality.
She had called on the noble keepers
of the empire to deliver justice, but
they had failed her. Dharma had not
spoken a word, and by their laws she
was a slave.
Pleasure was something any one
of these men could easily have in
greater measure and at a lesser
cost. Dussasan hungered for power,
as did Vasusena and the rest. Over
her body, her will, and over those
they considered the owners and
While Panchali weaved in out of the
protectors of
universe in
her being. To
lightning bolts
“SOME THINGS ARE DEFINED of thought,
take her was to
ONLY BY THEIR PROPERTY TO time expanded,
destroy Dharma,
DESTROY ANOTHER. EVERY
his brothers, the
and the
ANTIDOTE IS DEFINED BY
empire; to burn
single action
ITS POISON.”
to cinders their
of Dussasan
hearts and will
pulling at her
and reduce them into tiny specks
robe spanned many lifetimes. Instinct
of shamed subservience. It did not
told her to resist, reason told her to
matter that she was not anyone’s to
submit.
own or protect. She was no longer
a woman, a person, a human being.
This is not justice, her inner voice
She was simply the embodiment
railed. An unjust law is no law at
of everything they wanted for
all; an unjust monarch is no ruler.
their own, a thing – not unlike the
The realization made Panchali
land they wished to conquer, to
more despondent than before.
plunder in the name of right, duty
Her fingers, which had clutched
and morality in perverse proof of
reflexively at her robe, were weak
domination. There was neither friend and lifeless, and she let go. Like the
nor foe, just one fell, foul creature, a
slow, inexorable movement of the
mindless mob that sought to affirm
planets, Dussasan kept pulling. She
its own being.
did not know if she was smiling but
felt as if she did – a sad curve of the
Some things are defined only by their lips that was worse than tears.
property to destroy another. Every
antidote is defined by its poison.
Is this what death feels like, she
asked herself. The cool marble of
She could not remember where she
the floor was soothing against her
had heard those words or who had
cheek. It reminded her of the spring
spoken them. It was strange that
winds, cool and laced with the
heady smell of jasmine. Then she
was elsewhere. She did not want
to open her eyes, and look, lest she
still find herself here and not there.
As her senses took over, she could
smell the fresh grass, its own crisp
scent mingling with that of the heavy
pollen that dotted its blades. The
wind blew soft but incessant, now
whispering, now singing in tune with
the music of the birds. She waited
for her pulsing heartbeat to ebb,
listening to it with a vague sense
of curiosity. Gradually, it seemed to
slow down. Panchali waited for it
to stop, certain that it would soon
fade away. All that was good and
happy, dreams of an empire, of
glory and prosperity – all of it would
shatter into tiny invisible specks and
disappear forever.
There is nothing left to fight for, she
heard herself say, though it was in
another time and another place.
A voice replied, Then there is nothing
left to lose... It is time to rise.
REVIEW / AWARDS
“Strikes an intriguing balance
between novelty and existing
ideas... Surprises with retellings
that are startlingly different.”
– DNA Daily
AVAILABLE RIGHTS
rights available (except for Indian subcontinent).
Contact Literary Agent Ms. Jayapriya
Vasudevan from Books@Jacaranda LLP for
more information.
PUBLISHER
Hachette Book Publishing India Pvt Ltd
4th/5th Floors, Corporate Centre;
Plot no 94, Sector 44;
Gurgaon-122003 INDIA
Contact Ms. Poulomi Chatterjee, Managing
Editor for more information.
11
Nicholas Yong
LAND OF
THE MEAT
MUNCHERS
NICHOLAS YONG is a freelance
writer, journalist and blogger
based in Singapore. From
2008-13, he covered the
travel and entertainment
beats at the Life! section of
The Straits Times, Singapore’s
largest newspaper.
12
He is co-founder of the
popular culture website Geek
Crusade, and the annual
Singapore Zombie Walk
Someday, he hopes his parents
will reveal that he was actually
sent to Earth in a rocket as
an infant. Land of the Meat
Munchers is his first novel.
LANGUAGE
English
PUBLICATION YEAR
2013
FORMAT
Paperback
ISBN
978-981-4516-13-6
NO. OF PAGES
192
FORM
Novel
SYNOPSIS
In the wake of a zombie outbreak in Singapore, three young survivors must
find their way from the heartlands of Ghim Moh to sanctuary in the hipster
district they call Tiong Bahru. But five million very hungry meat munchers
are standing in the way – and who knows if our dynamic trio will kill each
other first.
EXTRACT FROM
LAND OF THE MEAT
MUNCHERS
The boy bearing the oversized
backpack was pedaling furiously.
His legs ached and his lungs were
burning as he urged the bicycle
forward, swerving past the rotting
corpses and overturned buses that
littered the road. The afternoon sun
beat down on him and the handles
of the bike were slick with sweat.
Panting and grunting, the boy
pushed on, further and further into
the west, never daring to look back.
Behind him, amidst a trail of severed
limbs, abandoned briefcases,
torn backpacks and cracked
handphones, they were closing in. It
was a Saturday.
As he tore down Commonwealth
Ave West past the chain link fence
that surrounded New Town Primary
School on his right, he could see
the train just ahead. It was dangling
from the elevated tracks between
Commonwealth and Buona Vista
stations. Several carriages had
come to rest on the road like a
giant metallic and fibreglass snake,
almost completely blocking off
the three lanes. The rest of the
carriages perched serenely on the
tracks, the cracks on their windows
forming spidery webs that almost
seemed to move as the boy got
closer and closer.
On the opposite side of the road,
rows and rows of abandoned
cars, representing literally millions
of dollars in COEs, were packed
tightly together. They spilled onto
the pavement as well as the road
divider directly beneath the tracks,
making the way almost impassable
for the boy. But there was still a tiny
gap between a carriage, lying at
forty-five degrees to the road and
the row of railings, just big enough
for a man to fit through. Though he
usually negotiated the little entrance
carefully, the boy did not even
pause this time as he veered to the
right and pedaled through, ducking
his head just in time.
handsome features were hard and
skeletal. As his bony arms stretched
out towards the boy, he uttered
a shrill, fractured sound like an
animal in its death throes, making
the boy shiver.
Preparing to pedal again, he heard
a sudden creaky sound that made
Before he was even aware of it, he
him stop. The stupid bastards were
began tumbling to the ground. His
trying to get through the crevice
speed and the sudden swerve had
between train and railing all at
unbalanced the bike, bringing him
once, a frenzy of thrashing grey
crashing to earth moments after he
limbs and decomposing flesh. But
had sped through the gap. The boy
they only succeeded in jamming
slid along the ground, tearing a hole
up the way and as they struggled
in his cargo shorts and leaving long
against the underside of the train,
bloody marks on his left leg. His
the remaining carriages that still
left arm, which he had instinctively
clung to the tracks were starting to
thrown out to
tremble. In an
break his fall,
instant, they
“OTHERS WERE LITERALLY
felt the impact
came down
CUT IN HALF, WITH THEIR
too. The boy
to earth with
UPPER BODIES LEFT SLOWLY a deafening
got up at once,
CRAWLING IN CIRCLES
ignoring the pain
crash of
ON
THE GROUND, THEIR
of the abrasions.
metal and
ENTRAILS LEAVING A BLOODY glass, landing
He had been
MESS BEHIND THEM.”
tempted to wear
directly on the
sandals that
maddened
morning, but he knew that sneakers
crowd. Some were flattened,
were always the safer choice, in
making a sound that reminded
case he had to run or pedal quickly.
him of the time he had dropped a
Now, the choice had saved him from watermelon on the kitchen floor.
further cuts on his feet.
Others were literally cut in half,
with their upper bodies left slowly
As he struggled to mount the bike,
crawling in circles on the ground,
he stole a peek behind him. The
their entrails leaving a bloody mess
first of them came through the gap,
behind them.
snarling and sniveling and limping
at speed towards him like some
The boy got ready to take off again,
badly controlled marionette. He
expecting to see the survivors
has obviously been a professional
climb over the train carriages. But
of some sort – the remnants of his
to his surprise, the few who had
Armani shirt and tie, caked with
made it through – the ones who
mud and blood, clung to his torso.
had not been severed in half –
Anyone might have thought he had
looked confused and disoriented.
recently been in a car accident, or
Even the once and former office
perhaps gotten into a fight. But
employee was stumbling away from
his skin was a deathly grey pallor,
the wreckage of the MRT train in
and his eyes were bloodshot and
random circles, like some passenger
lifeless. Not to mention the fact that who couldn’t understand why his
his lower jaw was no longer where
train was taking so long. It was the
it should have been, and his once
first time he had seen them show
fear or confusion, and all it needed
was for an entire train to fall on them.
13
REVIEW / AWARDS
“It is refreshing to see familiar
landmarks being reduced to
detritus and local characters
trapped in an apocalyptic world.”
– The Sunday Times
“Land Of The Meat Munchers is an
easily digestible novel(ette?) that
moves at a fast clip. From the MRT
to HDB flats, the familiar sights of
Singapore – especially the Tiong
Bahru region – gets fleshed out
vividly.” – Here Be Geeks
AVAILABLE RIGHTS
rights available.
T: (65) 6213 9381
PUBLISHER
Times Centre
Singapore 536196
T: (65) 6213 9300
F: (65) 6213 9398
O Thiam Chin
LOVE,
OR SOMETHING
LIKE LOVE
14
O THIAM CHIN is a short
story writer who has been
twice longlisted for the
Frank O’ Connor Short Story
Award- first for Never Been
Better (2009) in 2010 and
subsequently for The Rest Of
Your Life And Everything That
Comes With It (2011) in 2012.
His other works of fiction
include Free-Falling Man
(2006) and Under The
Sun (2010).
O Thiam Chin’s short stories
have appeared in several
literary anthologies as well as
international literary journals
and websites. His short stories
have been translated into
Swedish and German, and a
mash-up of two of his short
stories- “The Yellow Elephant
and The Girl Who Swallowed
The Sun” was adapted for the
stage for Singapore Writers
Festival 2012.
He was an honorary fellow
of the Iowa International
Writing Program in 2010,
and a recipient of the National
Arts Council’s Young Artist
Award in 2012. Thiam Chin
is currently working on his
first novel.
LANGUAGE
English
PUBLICATION YEAR
2013
FORMAT
Paperback
ISBN
978-981-07-7671-8
NO. OF PAGES
116
FORM
Short Stories
SYNOPSIS
A woman reminded of her past through the acts of her grandson. A band
of swordsmen on a failed mission. The forbidden love of Zheng He, the
great Chinese Admiral. A young daughter forming a strange bond with her
deceased father’s cat. Presenting ten stories in his fifth collection, O Thiam
Chin plumbs the joy and despair, hopes and fears of men and women caught
up by their past and confounded by lost loves. Taut, dark and visceral, these
stories reveal, once again, the mysteries that lie in the heart of man.
EXTRACT FROM
LOVE, OR SOMETHING
LIKE LOVE
Some of us wanted to sleep with
her just for the sake of sleeping
with someone. Some wanted to do
it because they wanted something
different in their lives. Some had
been doing this for a long time,
in their early teens, when they
were in the army, when they were
courting their girlfriends, and later
their wives. Some of us had children
– one even had four (three girls,
one boy), but he was already in his
late fifties, and of course, no one
mentioned any of this when we
slept with her. Some of us really
liked her, found her cute, sweet,
warm, while others liked the way
she looked with her long dark hair,
full sensual lips and the firm grip of
her slender hands when she held
us. Yes, she was many things to all
of us, and we wanted to believe we
were special, and special to her, and
that she really liked us back, too.
Some of us found ourselves
questioning whether it was the
right thing to do, being first-timers,
though it never stopped us from
making our first booking with the
agency, one we discovered online
late at night when our wives and
children were sleeping. Some of us
did it with our eyes closed, having
slept with a girl – or woman – just
last week, a weekly affair. Some
of us chose to meet her at cheap,
nondescript hotels at Bencoolen
Street or Balestier Road, while others
preferred to splurge extravagantly,
unheedingly, on six-star hotels and
expensive suites. A few of us met
the girl in our own homes in the
were she made us.
suburbs – Ang Mo Kio, Tampines,
Jurong – and did it on the beds
Some of us were concerned, when
where we slept with our wives every
we first saw her, at how young she
night of our lives after we were
looked, but none of us asked to
married, and one of us even went as
find out more. Some women look
far as to do it on his daughter’s bed
like young girls, even when they
surrounded by
are in their
her Hello
twenties, we
“MOST OF US WERE GENTLE told ourselves.
Kitty dolls.
WITH HER, TREATING
A few of us
HER
WITH RESPECT AND
Most of us were
chose her
POLITENESS, WHILE OTHERS exactly because
gentle with her,
WENT INTO IT LIKE A BRUTE, she was young,
treating her
AN ANIMAL IN HEAT,
with respect
and there was
IN HUNGER.”
and politeness,
something
while others
about a young
went into it like a brute, an animal
girl that stirred the thick blood in
in heat, in hunger. Some of us held
us, that made us breathless, even
the girl like how we held our wives,
helpless, at the bare sight of her.
adopting the same position and
All of us closed our eyes and went
rhythm, making the same grunts
along with what we had decided
and moans. Some wanted to try
to do, no point chickening out. She
new things, with toys and restraints
might look young, but her body was
and punishments. A few of us
all ready, ripe for the reaping. When
wanted to be stepped on, spat at
she sat on top of us, rocking back
and insulted; one even wore the
and forth, some of us tried to kill
girl’s underwear (he gave a huge tip
the images of our own daughters
afterwards, he claimed). And always, sitting astride our bodies, wanting to
the girl, already seasoned in her role, play aeroplane, or ride a horse, and
a professional, professed to feel so
almost instantly we got soft. Some
good (did we feel good too? she
of us, when holding her breasts (too
would ask us), yes, no one had ever
big for a young girl, just nice for a
made her feel so good, yes, so good. woman, we felt), would think about
And all of us wanted to believe this
our wives’, how different (or similar)
was true, even for those who had
they were, the weight, the softness,
barely started and were done in
the shape, and secretly took comfort
three or five strokes.
in the familiarity (or foreignness). To
most of us, a woman’s body would
No one knew her real name, though
always be a foreign country with
it never bothered us, well, some of
its own laws, customs and secret
us. She could be anyone we wanted
passageways, and no matter how
her to be, someone with a clean
many of them we slept with, we
slate, no history, no complications,
would always be visitors, looking in,
no burdens of responsibility or duty.
curious and fascinated, but always
She was Linda, Jessie, Yvonne,
lacking local knowledge, left out.
Madeline, Sarah, Jenny. She was
a projection of our desires, a girl
Most of us didn’t want to think
that came to us fully formed, fully
about the implications, or
desired, a fantasy in real flesh, and
consequences. Fear was contagious,
we went in deep, unmoored, and
and we didn’t want any of it. We
for a very brief moment in our lives,
weren’t thinking with our head
unfettered, free, alive. Whatever we
(or we were just thinking with the
second head, one of us joked), and
because we were careful (though
some of us gave our real names and
phone numbers, stupid bastards)
and diligent in covering our tracks,
we thought we could get away, like
masked robbers after a heist, and
get on with our jobs and families.
And some of us did, already putting
the girl behind us, moving on, while
others chose to go back for seconds
and thirds, raising the stakes. A
few even wanted to keep her as a
regular, a girlfriend of sorts, which
sounded ridiculous to some of us.
Yes, it’s true, some of us did really
love the girl, even after what
happened later, when all of us were
revealed for what we had done. We
believed we finally had a chance
at love, or something like love. We
really did.
15
AVAILABLE RIGHTS
rights available.
Contact author for more information.
PUBLISHER
Math Paper Press
No. 9 Yong Siak Street
Singapore 168645
Contact Kenny Leck for more information.
T: (65) 6222 9195
W: booksactually.com/mathpaperpress.html
for falling into the trap.”
Russ Soh
“Trap? There you go again. Will you
please, for goodness’s sake, stop
beating about the bush and tell me
what is this trap she’s referring to?”
I could feel the temperature in the
room rising.
NOT THE
SAME FAMILY
16
About a decade ago, RUSS
SOH swopped his corporate
career for an unfashionably
early retirement. Although
he thrived and excelled as a
senior corporate executive,
Russ yearned for more time to
spend with family and friends,
and to indulge his passions for
traveling, reading and writing.
Having dabbled in non-fiction
prose throughout his school
days and business career, Russ
felt he could no longer ignore
the call of his muse to start
putting into words some of the
many stories long percolating
inside him. This collection of
stories is the first instalment of
this long overdue endeavour.
“Sit down, then I’ll tell you.”
PUBLICATION YEAR
2013
FORMAT
Paperback
ISBN
978-981-07-7696-1
NO. OF PAGES
188
FORM
Short Stories
SYNOPSIS
Not The Same Family is a collection of 10 short stories that engage an array
of families—both conventional and unconventional.
Though the families depicted in each narrative are expectedly different in
circumstance, it is often through the honest, genuine dialogue between
characters that we find the almost-too-familiar sense of home. Settings
spanning from as far as Boston, USA and Perth in Australia to the local
neighbourhoods of Singapore, Not The Same Family brings difficult issues
confronting the modern Singaporean family to the forefront—navigating
many facets of this volatile landscape we call family while uncovering the
individual so often buried under its weight.
“She said she wished she could call
the whole thing off.”
“SHE SAYS SHE FEELS trapped.”
I was telling Boon about the
conversation I had with our
daughter in the car the night before,
on the way home from running
some errands.
“The wedding?” His voice was rising,
but was contained within the library
by the closed doors. “Isn’t it a bit
late for that?”
“What?” he sat up from his armchair in the library, “What do you
mean ‘trapped’?”
“No, no, not that, my dear,” I know I
shouldn’t, but I couldn’t help letting
out a chuckle. Nudging him to sit
down, I told him. “She means the
dinner reception.”
“That’s the word she used.”
“But what did she mean by that?”
He had stood up now, “How’s she
trapped? Who trapped her? Didn’t
she want to marry him?”
pissed!” I knew he was. He seldom
used strong language like this.
“But that’s not a condition. I was
merely stating a preference.”
“Same thing. Anyway that’s how she
sees it.”
“I’m seated. Go on, tell me. Please.”
LANGUAGE
English
EXTRACT FROM
NOT THE SAME FAMILY
“In a sense you did. You asked me
to tell her that you would be very
disappointed if she wore a sari for
the occasion.”
“I don’t know what you are talking
about.” He stood up again.
“She said she’s so angry with herself
“Oh, Zheng, you of all people!” He
brushed my hand away, rose and
“Our trap. The
went behind
trap that we laid
the armchair,
“SHE SAID SHE WISHED
for her.”
both hands
SHE COULD CALL THE
gripping the
WHOLE THING OFF.”
“What?” he shot
top of its
up again. “What
back. “You
in the world are you talking about?
know that’s absolutely not true!
What trap did we lay for her?
There never was any condition. You
know that! The whole thing was
“Our offer to host the dinner
planned and decided by her from
reception.”
the beginning. She chose the form,
the date, the time, the place, and
“Sorry, I’m lost.” He looked lost.
even the menu. We didn’t interject
ourselves until she called on us
“She said she had accepted the
for logistical help. We didn’t even
offer for what she thought it was - a
develop a guest list until she showed
sincere generous gesture. She said
us hers, so that we can fit ours to
she feels stupid now to have believed hers. Every decision that needed
it. She said she didn’t know it came
to be made was made by her. “It’s
with strings attached. “
her wedding. It’s her reception. She
should have it the way she wants it.”
“Strings? What strings? I don’t
Wasn’t that what I said to you? Isn’t
know of any strings? Do you?”
this the position you and I adopted
since the beginning? You know that!
“No.” I pulled him down into his
There had never been any string
seat again. Holding one of his arms
attached. So what in the world string
to make sure he remained seated, I
is she referring to? Tell me!”
added slowly, “But she said there’s
this thing about the gown…”
“The sari.”
“What about it?”
“You said you didn’t want her to
wear the sari.” I said that slowly.
“The sari? The sari. But that, as
I’ve said is only a statement of
preference, not a condition.”
“She sees it as one.”
“No, I didn’t!” I felt him rising again,
and restrained him. I knew he wasn’t
going to be pleased with what I was
going to say next.
“Damn! After all the care we took
not to interfere or impose. And all
the money we are going to spend.
And it’s come to this. I am really
17
AVAILABLE RIGHTS
rights available.
Contact publisher for more information.
PUBLISHER
Ethos Books
Pagesetter Services Pte Ltd
28 Sin Ming Lane #06-131
Midview City
Singapore 573972
Contact Mr. FONG Hoe Fang for
more information.
W: ethosbooks.com.sg
Suchen Christine Lim
THE
RIVER’S
SONG
18
One of Singapore’s most
distinguished authors, Suchen’s
third novel, Fistful of Colours
(1992), was awarded the
inaugural Singapore Literature
Prize. Her subsequent works,
A Bit of Earth (2004), and short
story collection, The Lies That
Build A Marriage (2007), were
shortlisted for the same prize.
Suchen was also a recipient of
the prestigious South East Asia
Write Award (2012).
In 1997, Suchen was awarded
a Fulbright grant. She is a
Fellow of the International
Writers’ Programme at
the University of Iowa and
returned to the university
in 2000 as the international
Writer-in-Residence. She has
also held writing residencies
in Myanmar, the Philippines,
South Korea and at the
University of Western Australia
in Perth. In 2011, she was the
Visiting Fellow in Creative
Writing at the Nanyang
Technological University (NTU)
in Singapore.
In the UK, she has regularly
been Writer-in-Residence
at the Arvon Foundation
and has been a guest
speaker at the Edinburgh
International Festival.
LANGUAGE
English
PUBLICATION YEAR
2014
FORMAT
Paperback
ISBN
978-1-906582-98-2
NO. OF PAGES
306
FORM
Novel
SYNOPSIS
Ping, the daughter of Chinatown’s Pipa (a Chinese string instrument) Queen,
falls in love with Weng, the voice of the people. Family circumstances drive
them apart, and Ping is forced to leave suddenly for the USA, while Weng is
sent to prison for his part in local protests.
Years later, Ping returns to a country transformed by prosperity. Gone are
the boatmen and hawkers who once lived along the river. In their place, rise
luminous glass and steel towers proclaiming the power of the city state. Can
Ping face her former lover and reveal the secret that has separated them for
over 30 years?
A beautifully written exploration of identity, love and loss, set against the
social upheaval created by the rise of Singapore.
EXTRACT FROM
THE RIVER’S SONG
My memories are stirring up a
storm. The girl is slipping in and out
of my head as I pack the old pipa
into its worn leather case, its faded
red string still tied to the handle. I
had never thought of cutting it off.
I see my six year-old self holding Ahku’s pipa. Sunlight was streaming
down from the skylight in the roof.
It lit up the pipa in my arms. My
fingers stroked the glowing beauty,
its body curved like a golden brown
pear. I touched its four strings
gently, and plucked one of them.
A soft ‘ping!’ uttered my name
scattering silvery dust across that
room above Old Kim’s coffee shop.
I plucked it again. An arrow hissed
across the sky. An emperor cried,
‘Ambush!’ His cry pierced my heart.
I hugged the pipa tight against
my chest. The cry of the betrayed
emperor is the start of the most
complex piece of pipa music in its
ancient repertoire. Starry-eyed, I
dreamt of playing it some day.
– Rat’s Shit! A violent kick sent the
pipa flying cross the room.
– Did I send you to school to play
this damn thing? Ah-ku’s cane
flamed my arm; her knuckles almost
cracked my skull.
When Ah-ku was living in the big
house in Juniper Garden, she was
full of songs and stories of these
pipa girls, stories that she trotted
out whenever the tai-tai, the wives
Shocked, I blink away my sudden
of the rich and famous, visited her.
tears. Half a century has passed,
They used to sit by the swimming
yet the memory still hurts. There’s
pool, sipping their iced jasmine tea,
something cruel,
and feasting
violent and lyrical
on the piping
“HALF A CENTURY HAS
in the music
hot dim sum
PASSED, YET THE MEMORY
of the pipa, I
that Kan Jieh,
STILL HURTS. THERE’S
often tell my
her amah, had
SOMETHING CRUEL,
freshmen class
made.
VIOLENT AND LYRICAL IN
in UC, Berkeley.
THE MUSIC OF THE PIPA [...] Pipa girls used
Originally
THE PIPA SINGS OF WAR
designed for
to sing in the
AND HEARTBREAK.”
strumming on
teahouses
horseback, the
and music
pipa sings of war and heartbreak.
halls along the Singapore River and
Plucking its strings, Chinese military
in Chinatown. Thousands would
musicians had led thousands to
come each night to gawk at these
their death in the snowy plains of
girls. They floated like butterflies
the Yellow River. Like flies they fell
in their silk qipao, gliding up the
building the Great Wall in the bitter
stairs. Just to see and listen to
snow, while the Son of Heaven and
these girls sing was heaven to me
his concubines played their pipas
when I was a child. Such sweet
to serenade a lonely moon in the
joy and sorrow in their songs I tell
Forbidden City. Once, an imperial
you! She embroidered and gushed
maid playing the four-string lute
as if she had never been one of
caught the Emperor’s eye. In a fit of
these gilded butterflies. A load of
violent jealousy, the Empress ordered rubbish, of course. My research as
the maid’s hands chopped off and
a musicologist has shown that pipa
her eyes gouged out and served to
songstresses were nothing like what
the Emperor on a golden platter at
she described. Those pubescent girls
the imperial banquet.
were often locked up in pleasure
houses and forced to learn the pipa
Do you know of any scholar who’d
and the art of pleasing men from a
kept count of the number of women very young age. Nothing as romantic
killed, abused or sold into slavery
as Ah-ku likes to paint, now that
in the history of the pipa? Find out
she’s a respectable matron.
and tell me after the summer break.
It’s the signature assignment for my
course on Asian music each year.
Sometimes, I play them a song that
Ah-ku used to sing:
‘O, we scale the stars,
and climb the moonshine,
Fight with dragons fierce and wild.
We ride the ocean’s waves,
We, the pipa girls,
the weavers of a hero’s dreams.’
REVIEW / AWARDS
“A touching story that retrieves
Singapore’s fast disappearing
past and gives its famous river
the depth and colour of a
people’s history.” – Romesh
Gunesekera, author of ‘Reef’
and Booker-prize finalist
“Just as the best novels should
be but rarely are: like immersion
in a vivid dream.” – Jill Dawson,
author of ‘The Great Lover’
AVAILABLE RIGHTS
Worldwide translation rights available.
Contact Literary Agent Helen Mangham from
Books@Jacaranda LLP for more information.
PUBLISHER
Aurora Metro UK
67 Grove Ave
Twickenham TW1 4HX
United Kingdom
T: (44) 20 3261 0000
W: www.aurorametro.com
DISTRIBUTOR
Consortium Books
For librarians: [email protected]
For academics: [email protected]
Cover design by Alice Marwick
19
Walter Woon
THE DEVIL
AND THE
DEEP BLUE SEA
20
A Professor of Law and former
diplomat, WALTER WOON
was educated at Raffles
Institution, National University
of Singapore and Cambridge
University. Walter’s short story
“Sinclair’s War” placed third
in the Asiaweek Short Story
Competition 1983. He was also
awarded a prize in National
Short Story Competition 1985
for the story “The Body in
Question” and was a featured
author at the Singapore
Writers Festival 2012.
Walter is a Baba (a Straits
Chinese male), and is also
the author of the Peranakan
quartet The Advocate’s Devil
(2002); The Devil to Pay (2005)
and The Devil’s Circle (2011).
LANGUAGE
English
PUBLICATION YEAR
2014
FORMAT
Paperback
ISBN
978-981-4561-02-0
NO. OF PAGES
300
FORM
Novel
SYNOPSIS
The British have been comprehensively beaten and Singapore is now a
Japanese colony. Dennis Chiang finds himself torn between his anglophile
Baba identity and his new loyalty to the conquerors. He is taken under the
tutelage of a Japanese aristocrat who is determined to make him a proper
Nippon-jin, a loyal subject of the Showa Emperor. Meanwhile, his old
employer d’Almeida has gone underground as a British agent and calls on
Dennis to help him find a job with the Japanese. Complicating matters, an
old flame re-appears – Siew Chin, the Communist agitator – bringing with
her Comrade Number 1, the head of the Malayan Communist Party, seeking
sanctuary from the Kempeitai. Dennis finds himself walking on the edge of
a samurai sword between the devil and the deep blue sea. Things come to a
head when the Japanese suddenly surrender and the Communists take over
before the British can re-occupy Singapore.
This is the fourth book in Walter Woon’s Baba quartet, and sits third
chronologically in the series.
EXTRACT FROM
THE DEVIL AND
THE DEEP BLUE SEA
The thing that struck me was the
sound of nightjars. The firing had
stopped for the moment. My ears
were still ringing. At first I thought
that the metallic toc-toc cries of
the nightjars were just part of the
general buzzing in my head. It took
me a couple of minutes to realize
that it came from the birds. There
were crickets too. The peaceful
sounds seemed strangely out of
place after the carnage.
Someone plucked at my sleeve.
“Chiang-san, it is time to go.
We fall back.
Come.”
Communist resistance fighters of
the Malayan Peoples’ Anti-Japanese
Army had a certain way of dealing
with collaborators. Their war
with Japan was fought with the
ferocity and barbarity of a medieval
crusade. They hated the Japanese
– any Japanese, all Japanese. Any
Chinese on the wrong side deserved
a death of the most dreadful sort.
I pushed the thought away.
The night was dark. There was no
moon but Orion was up, his belt
shining clear against the black sky.
I gazed upwards. It was comforting.
Betelgeuse, Belatrix, Rigel, Saiph;
familiar guides reminding me of
charcoal-black
nights catching
“THE FACES OF THE
fireflies among
SURVIVORS WERE IMPASSIVE. the mangroves
I nodded and
DID THEY FEAR DEATH,
around the
followed like an
LIKE
THE REST OF US?”
kampong in
automaton. We
a different
left the corpses
lifetime. Alnitak, Alnilam, Mintaka.
where they lay. My head felt as if it
Memories of that lost age washed
was stuffed with kapok. I couldn’t
over me: lying on the beach with
think. Hojo led the way. With his
the lullaby of the waves in my ears,
eye-patch and face blackened
watching the stars slowly wheel
with smoke he looked even more
overhead.
piratical than usual. I didn’t know
where we were going and didn’t
Something stirred in the black
much care. We pulled back to the
void ahead. The present intruded.
dubious shelter of the machine-gun
Around us the trees pressed in
emplacement. The remnants of
closely. I peered intently, trying to
Hojo’s platoon were already there.
separate shadow from shade.
The faces of the survivors were
There was nothing to be seen.
impassive. Did they fear death, like
It seemed that the Communists
the rest of us? I couldn’t tell. They
were leaving us alone. Perhaps they
were completely inscrutable.
had gone away, to hunt some other
I knew that they would remain
quarry. I put down my rifle and
at their posts whatever the odds.
rested my head on my arms for a
Japanese warriors didn’t surrender.
moment. It was a long time since I
If relief didn’t come before we ran
had slept. I just needed to shut my
out of ammunition, Hojo would
eyes for a minute, only a minute…
give the order for one final banzai
charge. No one would hold back.
I wasn’t sure when the moment
came that I would be able to join
that last suicidal wave with them.
But the alternative of capture didn’t
hold any attraction. The Chinese
21
AVAILABLE RIGHTS
rights available.
T: (65) 6213 9381
PUBLISHER
Times Centre
Singapore 536196
T: (65) 6213 9300
F: (65) 6213 9398
Cover design by Cover Kitchen Ltd
Heavens he would return covered in
glory. He wanted to have his name
engraved on the Liew family lantern
in the God of Medicine Temple,
where it would remain lit forever.
Ai Yu
海魂
THE SOUL
OF THE SEA
Liew Kwee Lan, who writes
under the pen name AI YU
(艾禺), is an award-winning
poet, short-story writer,
novelist, story-planner, and
award-winning screenwriter of
over 80 television drama serials.
22
She began writing in the late
80s and won the Singapore
Golden Point Award for Poetry
in 1999. Since then, she has
ventured into other forms
writing such as poetry,
micro-fiction and fiction.
She has published 11 books,
including young adult fiction.
A freelance writer, she is
currently the Vice President
of Singapore Association of
Writers, Vice Secretary of
World Chinese Mini-Fiction
Research Association, and a
member of Overseas Chinese
Women Writers Association.
LANGUAGE
Chinese
PUBLICATION YEAR
2014
FORMAT
Paperback
ISBN
978-981-07-8096-8
NO. OF PAGES
168
FORM
Short Stories
SYNOPSIS
The Soul of the Sea is a collection of eight award-winning short stories, such as
“Snake Girl”, “The Soul of the Sea”, “September Sky”, “Out of Fate”, “Red
Lotus”, “Tu Long Niao”, “Trapped” and “Knots in Life”. Set in the 1940s to
current times, each unique story reflects the hardworking and resilient spirit of
the underclass in Singapore. The stories seek to evoke emotion and empathy in
readers, through tales of hardship and universal struggles.
EXTRACT FROM
THE SOUL OF THE SEA
Translated by Jeremy Tiang
The year she turned seven, Mummy
and Daddy decided to bring the
family to Nanyang.
Where was ‘Nanyang’? She had no
idea. All she knew was that Daddy
said they couldn’t survive in the
village, and their only escape route
was travelling to ‘Nanyang’.
Was ‘Nanyang’ really such a
good place?
The day they left, Mummy made
her put on a brand new set of
clothes, and kept stroking her head.
Mummy’s eyes were full of tears.
Xiuying didn’t understand why
Mummy was crying so much.
Maybe she couldn’t bear to leave
the other people in the roundhouse!
Everyone came to say goodbye,
bearing gifts of preserved vegetables
and salted eggs, to sustain the
family in Nanyang.
It was a long walk to the harbour,
where a small boat waited for them.
Hearing that this would only take
them a short way before they had to
change to a bigger boat, Xiuying’s
heart filled with happiness. She’d
lived all this time without ever taking
any kind of boat, and now she’d get
to try both a small and a big one in
the same day – what an adventure!
Second Uncle came to see them
off. He told Daddy over and over to
take care, to achieve great things
before coming back, to honour
their ancestors. Daddy swore to the
海魂
七岁那一年，阿爸和阿妈决定带他们
去南洋。
“南洋”是什么地方？她不懂，只知
Her brothers and sisters got on
道阿爸说乡下日子待不下去了，唯一
board. Xiuying, the oldest, stood
的出路就是去“南洋”。
on the jetty, handing the luggage
to Mummy, who loaded it onto the
“南洋”真是个好地方吗？
boat. When it was her turn to get
on, though, Mummy suddenly said,
要走的那一天，阿妈给她换了件新衣
‘Aiyah, there’s still one more bag
服，不断的抚着她的头，眼眶里盈满
left at home. Ah
了泪。秀英不
Ying, run and
明白阿妈为什
“HE WANTED TO HAVE HIS
get it.’
么要哭得那么
NAME ENGRAVED ON THE
凄惨，想必是
LIEW FAMILY LANTERN IN
She was
舍不得圆楼里
THE GOD OF MEDICINE
startled. ‘Is it so
的人吧！
TEMPLE, WHERE IT WOULD
important?’
REMAIN LIT FOREVER.”
大家都来道
‘V-e-r-y
别，咸菜干和
important.’ Mummy stretched out
咸蛋就收了不少，说是给一家人去到
the word ‘very’.
南洋吃的。
‘Wait for me!’ Xiuying called out
走了好远的路才到码头，一只小船等
trustingly, before turning around.
着，听说坐了小船还要换大船，秀
英心里很高兴，长到这么大，连船都
‘We’ll wait for you – promise!’
没坐过，现在还要大小船一次过全坐
了，多威风啊！
Daddy’s voice was choked with
tears. She didn’t notice at the
二叔公来送船，再三叮嘱阿爸要保
time, and it was only later that
重，做一番大事业回来光宗耀祖，阿
she realised this had all been
爸对天发誓一定会衣锦还乡，还要把
planned beforehand.
自己的名字写在保生大帝庙里的罗氏
灯笼上，长明不灭。
Running as fast as she could, she
made the difficult journey home,
弟妹们都先上了船，她是老大，站在
but the bag Mummy said was on
小码头上把行李传到阿妈手里，再由
the table didn’t seem to be there.
阿妈搬进小船去。终于轮到她要上船
She looked all over for it, then finally 了，阿妈却突然对她说：
dashed back to the harbour with an
uneasy heart.
“哎呀，还有个包袱留在家里，阿
英，你回去拿。”
But the boat was no longer there!
她楞了楞：“很重要吗？”
“很……重要。”阿妈把“很”字拖
了很长才说。
“要等我！”秀英相信的折了回去。
“一定……等你！”是阿爸带啜泣的
声音，当时没在意，是后来回想才明
白一切都是预先安排了的。
飞快的跑啊跑，好不容易跑回家，可
是阿妈说的桌面上的包袱并不在，她
四处找，最后只能怀着一颗不安的心
跑回码头。
可是船却已经开了！
23
AVAILABLE RIGHTS
digital rights available; select Chineselanguage rights available.
Contact publisher Denon Lim Denan
for more information.
PUBLISHER
Lingzi Media Pte Ltd
48 Toh Guan Road East #16-106
Singapore 608586
Contact Denon Lim Denan for more
information.
T: (65) 6293 5677
F: (65) 6293 3575
Yeng Pway Ngon
不存在的情人
THE NON-EXISTENT
LOVER
24
YENG PWAY NGON (英培安)
is a poet, novelist, playwright
and critic who has published
25 books: five novels, two
collections of short stories,
three volumes of poetry, two
collections of stage plays,
11 volumes of essays and
a collection each of social
critiques and literary critiques.
His novels, A Man Like Me
(一個像我這樣的男人; 1987) and
Tumult (騷動; 2002), won the
National Book Development
Council of Singapore’s Book
Award in 1988, and the
Singapore Literature Prize in
2004 respectively. Trivialities
about Me and Myself (我與我
自己的二三事; 2006), won the
2008 and was also named one
of the Ten Best Chinese Novels
of 2006 by Asia Weekly
(亞洲周刊). Art Studio (畫室;
2011) was named one of the
Ten Best Chinese Novels of
2011 and won the Singapore
Literature Prize in 2012.
He received the South East Asian
Write Award in 2013 and the
National Arts Council’s Cultural
Medallion for Literature in 2003.
His works have been translated
into English, Malay, Dutch
and Italian.
LANGUAGE
Chinese
PUBLICATION YEAR
2014
FORMAT
Paperback
ISBN
978-981-0785-94-9
NO. OF PAGES
160
FORM
Short Stories
SYNOPSIS
A man who falls in love with a character he creates; another who goes to
great lengths in an attempt to get to USA but ends up in the mental hospital,
and yet another unemployed man who becomes close friends with a white
bird. A character who worries he might turn into a flower; a parrot which has
been sued for libel; an ant who falls in love with himself.
Penned by Yeng Pway Ngon between the 1960s to 2000, the stories capture
absurd situations in life through its black humour and surrealism.
EXTRACT FROM
A MAN WHO FALLS IN LOVE
Translated by Jeremy Tiang
‘But what about my wife and kids?
I can’t bear to leave them behind.
How will I explain this to her? Even
if we forget how I’ve betrayed her,
what could I possibly say? That
I’ve fallen in love with one of my
own fictional characters, so I’m
abandoning her, a real life person?’
‘Your personality and mentality are
completely unsuited to this world,
so you don’t exist here – you’re the
one who’s not real. In other words,
you’re a fictional character too. Your
wife is a real person. Think about it.
How long could a real person remain
in love with a fictional one for?’
‘I admit, my wife’s always
complaining that I’m not realistic,’
I conceded sadly. ‘But, even if I were
to leave her, how would she explain
this to other people? She could
hardly tell them her husband’s run off
with a character he created himself.’
‘Listen – it’s not your wife’s problem,
it’s yours. She’s right, you are
unrealistic. Not only that, but you’ve
actually been avoiding reality. You’re
unwilling to get real. Mark my
words, you’re just like me, we don’t
exist in this realm, therefore we
can’t stay here for long. We need
to find somewhere suitable for us,
where we can exist, where we can
make a life for ourselves.’
‘I can’t stand the thought of losing
everything I have here.’
dim. I looked at my melancholy
‘Everything? That’s just your
bookcase, my lonely typewriter,
delusion. What you can’t bear to
the half-finished manuscript it
face is sorrow. What does that
contained. In a daze, I touched the
mean, “everything”? You have
bookcase and every book on it,
nothing. I’ve already decided to go,
feeling as if my feet were stepping
whether you come or not. You’ve
on air, as if I were plummeting
seen how I’m getting weaker and
endlessly down, down. Flailing my
weaker. If I remain here, I’ll soon
arms, I caught
vanish altogether.
hold of a small
Come, come
“I WAS A FICTIONAL
mirror on the
away with
CHARACTER WHO COULD
shelf, like a
me. We’ll find
EXPERIENCE HUNGER.”
man tumbling
somewhere
into the abyss
we can live.’
might, in his confusion, grab onto a
stone or dead tree branch in mid-air.
I stared blankly at her.
In the glass, I saw a pasty, fragile
face, and felt momentarily flustered,
After this, Peipei came two or three
uncertain what to do next.
more times, her body and voice
visibly losing strength which each
My bookcase, the books on it, my
visit, colour draining from her face,
typewriter, the words contained in it,
so pale it broke my heart. But my
my fragile face (I knew it would, like
mind was in disarray, by heart full
Peipei’s, grow paler and paler each
of scattered feelings, and I simply
day, more delicate, even withered,
couldn’t make the decision to
before vanishing altogether). My
abandon my wife and kids, to leave
tiny office, my whole life, all of this
everything before me and go off
actually did seem to grow unreal, as
with her.
if it were a work of fiction.
‘I knew you wouldn’t come,’
If I hadn’t felt a pang of hunger just
she said sadly, her voice light as
then, reminding me it was lunchtime,
gossamer, her whole self practically
I might really have believed that I and
withered away. ‘I can’t wait any
my surroundings were completely
longer, I’m going.’ Her eyes were
shining with tears, her unhappy gaze fictional, non-existent. But my
stomach rumbled, adding to my
directed at me.
confusion and sadness.
I lowered my head with guilt,
I was a fictional character who could
avoiding her fearful stare. She
experience hunger.
turned around and firmly pulled
open my office door.
I roused myself instantly from my
stupor, and raced after her.
The corridor outside my office was
empty, no sign of her anywhere. I
knew that I had lost her. She would
never appear in my life again.
Like a sleepwalker, I stumbled back
into my office. This room now
seemed unnaturally desolate and
25
AVAILABLE RIGHTS
digital rights available; select Chineselanguage rights available.
Contact publisher Denon Lim Denan
for more information.
PUBLISHER
Lingzi Media Pte Ltd
48 Toh Guan Road East #16-106
Singapore 608586
Contact Denon Lim Denan for more
information.
T: (65) 6293 5677
F: (65) 6293 3575
不存在的情人
“但是，我的妻儿呢？我可舍不得离
开他们啊！我怎么向我太太解释？
我对她的背叛行为姑且不谈了，告
诉她说，因为我爱上了一个自己虚
构的人物，所以放弃她这个现实的人
物么？”
“你的思想和性格完全不适合这儿，
所以，你在这儿是不存在的。在这
儿，你是个不现实的人。换句话说，
你也是个虚构的人物。你的太太是个
现实的人，你想想，一个现实的人会
长久爱上一个虚构的人吗？”
“我承认，我太太常埋怨我不现
实。”我颓丧地说：“但是，即使
我离开她，但她怎么向其他的人解
释？说她丈夫和他创作的人物一起逃
走了？”
26
“主要不是你太太的问题，是你自己
的问题。你太太说得对，你不现实。
不但如此，你也逃避现实，不愿把自
己现实起来。听我说，你和我一样，
在这儿只不过是个不存在的人，是不
能长久活下去的，只有一个适合我们
生活的地方，我们才能存在，才能活
下去。”
“我舍不得我这儿的一切。”
“一切？这只不过是你的幻觉，是你
不敢面对的悲哀。什么一切？你一切
都没有。不管你走不走，我是决定走
了。你也看到，我越来越衰弱，如果
我在这儿待下去，我很快就会消亡。
走吧，跟我走吧，到一个适合我们活
下去的地方。”
我木然地望着她。
过后，培培再来了两三次，身体和
声音更加衰弱，脸色也更加苍白；
衰弱苍白得令人心碎。但我总是千
头万绪，心乱如麻，一直决定不下
来，抛开妻儿，抛开目前的东西，随
她离去。
“我知道你是不会跟我走的。”她哀
伤地说，声音细得像游丝一样，整
个人简直完全枯萎了。“我不能再等
下去了，我走了。”她的眼睛闪着泪
光，凄然的凝望着我。
我愧疚地垂下头，避开她可怕的目
光。她转身，毅然地打开我办公室
的门。
我立刻从愧疚惊醒，紧追出门。
办公室外的走廊空荡荡的，她完全消
失在我的视野内。我知道，从此，她
是不会再在我的生活里出现了。
像梦游般地，我恍惚地回到办公室
内。我的办公室变得出奇的寂廖，灰
暗。我怅然地望着书架上书，寂寞的
打字机，打字机上未完成的书稿，迷
茫地触摸着我的书架，架上的每一本
书，整个人像突然踩空了似的，不断
地往下陷落。我挣扎着，猛然抓起架
子上的一面小镜子，犹如一个往深渊
中陷落的人，在慌乱中紧抓住半空中
的一块石头，枯木一样。在镜中，我
看到一张苍白憔悴的脸。我顿时仓皇
失措起来。
我的书架，我架上的书，我的打字
机，我打字机上的文字，我憔悴的
脸（我知道，它将会像培培的脸一
样，一天比一天苍白，憔悴，甚至枯
槁，然后完全消失），我这个小小的
工作室，我整个生活，这一切，仿
佛真的都不是现实的，而是一部虚构
的小说。
如果不是因为肚子饿，提醒我吃午餐
的时间到了，我真的会相信：我，包
括我这小小的空间，的确是完全虚构
与不存在的。但是，因为肚子饿，使
我更加的惶惑悲凉。
我是个会肚子饿的，虚构的人物。
27
Isa Kamari
RAWA
28
ISA KAMARI is a prominent
poet, short-story writer and
novelist who also writes for
stage and television. Many
of his works have been
translated into English from
the original Malay, including
One Earth (Satu Bumi; 1998),
Intercession (Tawassul; 2002),
A Song of the Wind (Menara;
2002), The Tower (Memeluk
Gerhana; 2007), Nadra (Atas
Nama Cinta; 2009), Rawa
(Rawa; 2009), and 1819 (Duka
Tuan Bertakhta; 2011). He has
also published two collections
of poems, Sumur Usia and
Munajat Sukma, a collection
of short stories, Sketsa Minda
and a collection of theatre
scripts, Pintu.
Isa was conferred the
prestigious South East
Asia Write Award in 2006,
Singapore’s highest Arts
honour, the Cultural Medallion
for Literature in 2007, and
Singapore’s highest Malay
Literary Award Anugerah Tun
Seri Lanang in 2009. An avid
lover of the arts and a talented
musician, Isa is an architect at
the Land Transport Authority
of Singapore.
LANGUAGE
Malay
PUBLICATION YEAR
2013
FORMAT
Paperback
ISBN
978-983-3221-43-1
NO. OF PAGES
172
FORM
Novel
SYNOPSIS
“Rawa is the name of the island and its waters. Rawa is the wind. It is also
the name he has lived with for seventy years. He is Rawa, in name and
essence. He’s now returning to the land, to the waters. He is coming back to
the winds after more than thirty years.”
Spanning three generations from 1950s to 1980s, Rawa is a stunning
portrayal of how the Orang Seletar, the boat-living aboriginals of Singapore,
became refugees from their own land during an era of modernisation and
socio-political flux in sixties- Singapore through the quiet observations of the
titular character.
Part of a trilogy of novels published by Silverfish Books, Rawa provides a
powerful discourse on the relationship between culture, nature and modernity.
EXTRACT FROM RAWA
Rendered in English from
original Malay by R Krishnan
When they got to the Pulai River in
the afternoon, Rawa looked for a
suitable mangrove where the current
was not too strong to secure this
boat. Mother and daughter awoke
with a start when he shook them
and looked around at the beautiful
serene quietness of the Pulai estuary.
Temah smiled blissfully while
Kuntum started to babble excitedly.
They looked at Merambong Island
far in the distance, opposite the
river mouth, and the large bed of
seaweed between it and the estuary,
rich in dugongs, seahorses, turtles
and all sorts of fish amongst
the corals.
Much to Temah’s surprise, Rawa
dived into the chest-high water
right away and began swimming.
Mother and daughter laughed as he
swam and dived, and swam again.
He approached his boat and asked
Temah to hand Kuntum over to
him, which she only did after a little
persuasion. He lowered Kuntum into
the sea with care. The child shivered
a little in the cool waters, but soon
got accustomed to it and grinned
excitedly with joy. She babbled as
she swam with her father, and, it
was at times like this that Rawa
realised how close he felt to his
child and how much he loved her.
Rawa hugged his daughter and was
surprised when she ran her fingers
through his hair. He kissed her on
her cheeks as Temah watched from
the boat. He waved to his wife, and
she waved back, tears of happiness
streaming down her cheeks.
Then, Rawa heard the sound he
knew well. He turned around to look
upriver and saw a herd of dugongs
coming down the river swiftly. There
were eight of these mammals,
which the locals sometimes called
sea elephants, in the group, one
of them a cute baby dugong. The
crystal river water ensured that the
three could see the animals clearly.
Temah grinned. Kuntum struggled
and babbled to free herself from
her father’s grasp so she could swim
with the dugongs. Rawa loosened
his grip a little and let her.
It was over quickly, this miracle
of nature, but he knew that the
impression would last for a long
time. This is what Rawa had rowed
an entire day for his daughter to
see. He felt well-rewarded.
But that was not the only show for
the day. Just after the school of
dugongs passed, they witnessed a
show by a family of otters, bantering
as they waddled over a sagging
branch before they dived into the
water to fish. Kuntum burst into
new squeals and babbles, as she
clapped joyfully, seeing the antics
of the young otters chasing and
tumbling over one another.
After Rawa handed their daughter
back over to the mother, who dried
her with a towel and wrapped her in
a kain for warmth, he dived into the
water again and did not surface for
only the Tebrau Straits and the
a while. And when he did, Temah
accident of birth that separated them.
saw him holding something in his
palm. Rawa approached his pau
The three sat on the pau watching
and showed Kuntum the seahorse
the sun drop out of sight in the
he had caught, but pulled his hand
horizon. The family spent the night
away when she tried to touch it,
in the Pulai estuary under thousands
and made her cry. He tossed the
of stars in the moonless black sky,
seahorse back into the water and
and watching the thousands of
hauled himself onto the boat and
fireflies twinkling on the berembang
tried to pacify
trees on the
his daughter, but
coast. They
“HE WAS AT FAULT. HE
she would not
heard cicadas
SHOULDN’T HAVE CAUGHT
be, and bawled
screeching in
THE SEAHORSE IN THE
for her mother.
the distance,
FIRST PLACE. THEN HE SAW
Only then did
the occasional
TEMAH’S FACE BREAK INTO A barking of wild
she stop, in
SMILE. ALL WAS FORGIVEN.” dogs and the
her mother’s
embrace.
hoots of owls.
Temah glanced at Rawa sideways,
They slept well that night.
accusingly. Rawa felt guilty and
looked down. He was at fault. He
Rawa picked mussels and clams the
shouldn’t have caught the seahorse
next morning to take with them
in the first place. Then he saw
on the trip, just enough for their
Temah’s face break into a smile. All
meals on the way. Then he started
was forgiven.
paddling for Seletar, navigating his
pau close to the Johor coast.
Rawa dried himself with a towel and
was sitting cross-legged on the deck
He looked back in the direction
when he saw a troop of monkeys
of the Pulai River and thought of
chattering as they swung from
Ayong. His friend would have had to
branch to branch. He pointed them
paddle a long way, not to mention
out to Kuntum who bounced and
through difficult stretches, to visit
babbled excitedly. She was all right
Seletar, to visit him. He remembered,
again. He took her from Temah and
too, Ayong’s challenge. But when
they played, as his wife went into
would he do that?
the ‘cabin’ to prepare their dinner of
steamed tapioca and dried fish, and
He rowed the rest of his way slowly,
the wind continued to sing.
as if he had a great weight hanging
As they were having their meal, they
from his neck.
saw a group of aboriginals by the
river, some with spears and others
with blowpipes. Rawa waved to
them, and, seeing the pau kajang
they waved back, after which they
AVAILABLE RIGHTS
went on their way in peace.
The Orang Seletar and the aboriginal
tribes who lived on land had much
in common. They had common roots
and both lived in harmony with the
jungle and the rivers. They shared
the same values and beliefs. It was
digital rights available; select English and
Malay-language rights available.
PUBLISHER
Silverfish Books Sdn Bhd (483433-K)
28-1 Jalan Telawi
Bangsar Baru
59100 Kuala Lumpur
29
RAWA
Tidak lama kemudian sampailah pau
kajangnya di muara Sungai Pulai
sebelum petang menjelang. Rawa
memilih untuk menambatnya pada
dahan bakau pada bahagian kiri
muara di mana arus sungai tidak
begitu deras. Dia mengejutkan Temah
dan Kuntum daripada tidur. Mereka
bangun dan melihat sekeliling. Alam
di muara sungai itu begitu segar dan
subur. Temah tersenyum gembira.
Tubuhnya terasa segar semula.
Kuntum kembali mengoceh-oceh.
Dekat dengan muara tersebut
kelihatan Pulau Merambong. Dasar
laut antara pulau tersebut dengan
muara Sungai Pulai merupakan
kawasan padang rumput laut yang
terbesar dan paling subur di negara
itu. Dugong, kuda laut, penyu
dan pelbagai jenis ikan menghuni
terumbu karang yang terdapat di situ.
30
Tanpa jangkaan Temah, Rawa
kemudian terjun ke dalam air yang
sedalam paras dadanya dan mula
berenang-renang sejenak. Terasa
segar dan nyaman. Kedua-dua
Temah dan Kuntum kelihatan begitu
gembira melihat Rawa menyelam dan
berenang di situ. Beberapa ekor ikan
tembakul berenang jauh daripada
Rawa kerana ketakutan.
Sejurus kemudian Rawa menghampiri
pau kajangnya dan meminta Temah
menyerahkan Kuntum kepadanya.
Pada mulanya Temah berasa
ragu-ragu, tetapi setelah dipujuk
Rawa beberapa kali, akhirnya dia
menyerahkan anak kesayangan
yang dalam keadaan bogel itu
kepada suaminya.
Dengan perlahan-lahan Rawa
membiarkan tubuh anaknya
direndami air sungai. Tubuh
Kuntum menggigil sejenak kerana
kedinginan, tetapi kemudian dia
berhenti meronta-ronta. Senyuman
lebar terukir di bibirnya. Kuntum
semakin ligat mengoceh-oceh dan
merenung wajah bapanya dengan
tajam dan dalam. Di saat itu Rawa
dapat berasakan bahawa jiwanya
dan jiwa Kuntum telah bersatu dalam
penyerahan secebis kepercayaan
dan kasih sayang yang sangat
mendalam. Rawa terus mendakap
Kuntum dengan lembut. Rawa
terkejut gembira apabila Kuntum
mula mengusap-usap kepala dan
rambutnya. Dia lantas mencium pipi
Kuntum dengan lembut. Semuanya
diperhatikan Temah dari pau kajang.
Rawa melambai-lambaikan tangannya
kepada Temah. Temah membalas
lambaiannya dengan riang. Matanya
mula berkaca dengan air mata.
Jiwa mereka bertiga telah bersapa
dan dibelai kemesraan yang lembut
dan hangat.
Kuntum pula begitu girang dan asyik
menggoyang-goyangkan tangan
dan kakinya seolah-olah memberi
isyarat kepada ayahnya bahawa dia
mahu berenang juga. Rawa lantas
melepaskan Kuntum agar dia dapat
mengapung dengan gerak kaki
dan tangannya sendiri, tetapi Rawa
sentiasa memastikan agar kepala
Kuntum tidak sampai tenggelam di
dalam air. Begitulah bapa dan anak
bergurau senda sambil disaksikan ibu
yang kini asyik tergelak ketika melihat
gelagat mereka berdua.
Tiba-tiba jiwa Rawa disinggahi
firasat. Sejurus kemudian dia
terdengar bunyi yang dia kenal betul.
Dengung dan sahutan tersebut
timbul daripada dasar sungai. Dia
tersenyum kegirangan.
Rawa menoleh ke kiri seolah-olah
menyambut ketibaan pembawa
firasat tersebut. Dia terlihat sekawan
dugong berenang dengan pantas
di dasar sungai. Dugong juga
dipanggil gajah laut oleh orang asli
di situ. Ada lapan ekor kesemuanya
termasuk seekor anak dugong
yang agak comel. Air sungai yang
jernih membolehkan ketiga-tiga
mereka menyaksikan pemandangan
tersebut dengan jelas. Rawa terlihat
Temah tersenyum. Kuntum sekali
lagi mengoceh-oceh kegembiraan
dan meronta-ronta daripada
pautan Rawa, seolah-olah dia mahu
berenang bersama kumpulan dugong
itu. Rawa lantas merendamkan
tubuh Kuntum dalam air sungai
sekali lagi dan membiarkan anaknya
berusaha berenang-renang serpeti
kumpulan dugong tersebut. Tetapi dia
memastikan pautannya pada Kuntum
tidak terlepas.
Peristiwa alam yang ajaib tersebut
hanya berlaku untuk beberapa ketika,
namun keistimewaanya terlekat
pada jiwa mereka. Alam memang
berupaya menimbulkan ketenangan
dan kegembiraan kepada jiwa yang
rela menjadi sebahagian daripadanya,
Augerah sedemikian tidak putusputus dipersembahkannya.
Setelah kumpulan dugong itu
berlalu, mata mereka dihadiahkan
pula dengan adegan senda gurau
antara beberapa ekor memerang
yang terkedek-kedek berjalan di atas
susuk pohon kayu yang telah rebah
sebelum terjun ke dalam sungai
untuk menangkap ikan. Anak-anak
memerang berkejar-kerjaran dan
bergelut-gelutan mesra sesama
sendiri. Melihat keletah mereka,
Kuntum bertepuk tangan dan
mengoceh lagi. Temah tertawa kecil
melihat keletah Kuntum pula.
Rawa kemudian menyerahkan.
Kuntum yang kembali menggigil
kepada ibunya. Temah mengesat
tubuh Kuntum yang basah dengan
tuala dan kemudian membungkusnya
dengan kain lepas agar anaknya itu
tidak akan terus kedinginan.
Kemudian Rawa mula menyelam ke
dasar sungai dan tidak timbul untuk
beberapa ketika. Apabila timbul dia
kelihatan seperti menekap sesuatu
dalam telapak tangannya. Air sungai
berkucuran antara jari-jemarinya.
Dia menghampiri pau kajangnya
dan menunjukkan Kuntum seekor
kuda laut yang menggelepar
di telapak tangannya. Kuntum
mahu menyentuhnya, tetapi Rawa
mengelak daripada terkaman anaknya
itu. Kuntum lalu menangis dan Rawa
menjadi serba salah. Dia melepaskan
kuda laut itu kembali ke dalam
air lalu memanjat pau kajangnya.
Kemudian dia mendukung Kuntum
lalu cuba memujuknya. Kuntum
masih menangis lalu disambut Temah
pula. Barulah tangisannya reda sedikit
setelah tubuhnya dapat berasakan
kehangatan dakapan ibunya. Temah
menjeling kepada Rawa seolaholah menyalahkan suaminya kerana
membuat Kuntum menangis tadi.
Rawa menganguk-anggukkan
kepalanya perlahan-lahan. Dia akur
terhadap kersilapannya. Temah
tersenyum manja kepada suaminya
pula.
Rawa mengesat tubuhnya dengan
tuala lalu duduk bersila di atas
pau kajangnya. Dia meninjau
pohon-pohon di tebing muara.
Beberapa ekor monyet sedang
berlompat-lompatan dari sebatang
dahan ke dahan yang lain. Rawa
lantas menuding ke arahnya dan
mengarahkan Kuntum agar melihat
monyet-monyet tersebut. Melihat
keletah monyet di atas pohon,
barulah Kuntum kembali ketawa
dan mengoceh. Rawa menyambut
Kuntum daripada dukungan Temah
dan bergurau senda dengan anaknya
sekali lagi. Temah pula masuk ke
dalam bilik untuk mendapatkan
ubi rebus dan ikan kering sebagai
santapan petang. Angin sepoi-sepoi
bahasa menambahkan rasa nyaman.
Sedang mereka makan, Rawa
terpandang beberapa orang asli
mendekati tebing sungai. Ada yang
memanggul tombak dan ada yang
membawa sumpit. Rawa mengangkat
tangan dan melambai-lambai ke arah
mereka. Melihat pau kajang Rawa,
kumpulan orang asli itu melambaikan
tangan mereka kepadanya pula.
Tanpa sebarang gangguan, mereka
kemudian berjalan pergi setelah
meneguk air sungai.
kelecehan ini demi bertemu
dengannya di Sungai Seletar. Dia
sedar kini bahawa cabaran Ayong
kepadanya terpaksa dilaksanakannya
juga pada suatu hari kelak. Tetapi
bilakah agaknya?
Dayungannya dibebani perasaan dan
amanat yang berat.
Memang Rawa berasa akrab dengan
orang asli yang lebih suka hidup
di daratan. Bagi Rawa mereka
serumpun dan sama-sama hidup
melalui hasil hutan dan sungai.
Selat Tebrau yang secara lahiriah
telah memisahkan antara Singapura
dan Johor sebenarnya telah
mempertautkan kehidupan batin
dan budaya antara mereka.
Tiga beranak tadi berehat dalam pau
kajang mereka sambil memerhatikan
matahari terbenam di kaki langit.
Malam itu mereka sekeluarga
bermalam di tebing Sungai Pulai
sambil menyaksikan bintang-bintang
bergemerlapan di langit luas yang
hitam. Di tebing sebelah sana
kelihatan kunang-kunang berkelipkelipan di atas ranting beberapa
pohon berembang. Cengkerik
berdesingan sayup-sayup di kejauhan.
Sesekali terdengar salakan anjing
hutan dan sahutan burung hantu.
Mereka tertidur dengan nyenyaknya
kerana jiwa mereka terasa begitu
tenteram dan bahagia.
Pada keesokan paginya, Rawa mula
mengutip remis dan kupang untuk
dibawa pulang. Setelah penuh satu
bungkusan kecil bagi keperluan
makanan mereka bertiga pada hari
itu, barulah Rawa mula berdayung
perlahan-lahan menyusur pantai
Johor untuk kembali ke Singapura.
Sampai ke Tambak Johor, Rawa
mengeluh panjang. Dia menoleh ke
arah muara Sungai Pulai yang baru
ditinggalkannya. Dia terkenangkan
Ayong yang rajin menjengahnya
dahulu. Dia sanggup mengalami
31
Mohamed Latiff Mohamed
CONFRONTATION
32
MOHAMED LATIFF MOHAMED
is one of the most prolific
writers to come after the first
generation of writers in the
Singapore Malay literary scene.
His many accolades include the
Montblanc-NUS Centre for the
Arts Literary Award (1998), the
SEA Write Award (2002), the
Tun Seri Lanang Award, Malay
Language Council Singapore,
Ministry of Communication,
Information and Arts (2003), the
National Arts Council Special
Recognition Award (2009), the
2004, 2006 and 2008, and the
Cultural Medallion in 2013.
The original Malay edition
of Confrontation, titled
Batas Langit, was awarded
Consolation Prize in 1999 for
the Malay Literary Award
organised by Singapore
Malay Language Council, and
selected in 2005 for the READ!
Singapore nationwide reading
initiative organised by National
Library Board.
His works revolve around
the life and struggles of the
Malay community in postindependence Singapore,
and have been translated into
Chinese, English, German
and Korean.
LANGUAGE
Malay
PUBLICATION YEAR
2013
FORMAT
Paperback
ISBN
978-981-07-5557-7
NO. OF PAGES
192
FORM
Novel
SYNOPSIS
Adi loves his life in the kampung: climbing the ancient banyan tree, watching
ten-cent movies with his friends, fetching worms for the village bomoh. The
residents of Kampung Pak Buyung may not have many material goods, but
their simple lives are happy. However, looming on the horizon are political
upheaval, race riots, gang wars and the Konfrontasi with Indonesia.
Mohamed Latiff Mohamed, three-time winner of the Singapore Literature
Prize, brilliantly dramatises the period of uncertainty and change in the
years leading up to Singapore’s merger with Malaya. Seen through the
unique perspective of the young Malay boy Adi, this fundamental period
in Singaporean history is brought to life with masterful empathy. In the
tradition of Ben Okri’s The Famished Road and Anita Desai’s The Village By
the Sea, Confrontation is an incredible evocation of village life and of the
consequences that come from political alignment and re-alignment.
EXTRACT FROM
CONFRONTATION
Translated by Shaffiq Selamat
When Adi and his friend Dolah
Supik arrived at the Chinese school
the following week, they found
many students preparing to walk out
in a procession. Each student had
a placard, inscribed with Chinese
characters, in their hands. It had
been several days since the students
had begun to boycott their classes.
They had gathered in the school
compound and remained there;
their parents brought them their
meals , and showed anxiety and
fear on their faces when they left
the school compound. Outside the
school, posted all around the school
compound, police officers kept a
watchful eye. Adi noticed that the
policemen were no ordinary cops;
they had helmets and carried shield
and truncheons. Many students
of the Chinese High School had
gathered and formed a line. Their
leader, a student with curly hair was
giving instructions.
Adi had earlier heard news that
students of the Chinese school had
launched a demonstration. But at
that time, they had not dared go
out on the streets. They had only
gathered in the school compound
and held their demonstration there.
In the current crowd of students,
Adi noticed the coconut-husk
peeler’s son. The pink-faced young
man appeared enthusiastic about
joining his friends in boycotting
their classes, and he was carrying
a red banner inscribed with some
Chinese characters in white paint.
The students were shouting at the
policemen. Later, they sang some
Chinese songs. Their voices echoed
down Tanjong Katong road. A huge
crowd watched their activities from
outside the school. Adi imagined
that if the students surged forward,
the police would not be able to
contain them; there were less
than twenty policemen, compared
to the more than five hundred
students. The students continued
singing. Once in a while, they would
shout out in unison. Adi could not
understand what they were shouting
and singing about because it was all
done in Chinese.
The coconut-husk peeler’s son
tried to provoke the policemen
by pretending to lunge at them.
He then went back inside the
compound and joined his friends.
Adi had heard from Abang
Dolah that the Chinese students
were demanding that the British
government acknowledge the
importance of Chinese education
and use Chinese as an official
language. The group inside the
school was getting bigger. They
formed several rows. The coconut
-husk peeler’s son appeared to
be the busiest. He was giving out
instructions. They seemed to be
ready to storm out. Adi and Dolah
Supik anticipated that something
spectacular was about to happen.
The students were now very close
to the school fence. The police
prepared to face them. And then,
the students stormed out.
was not allowed to go see the
demonstrations. He spent his time
climbing the banyan tree and
A gunshot was heard. Adi saw the
listening to stories from Abang
coconut-husk peeler’s son collapse.
Dolah at night. Abang Dolah told
His friends helped lift him up. He
him that bus drivers and workers
appeared to have been shot in the
too had held demonstrations.
stomach. The students carried him
The situation had worsened. A
and continued in a procession along
policeman had been killed, burnt
Geylang Road. The police stepped
alive by the protestors. Many buses
back. Many
also had been
Chinese people
toppled over
“THE STUDENTS WERE
gathered, looking
and set alight.
NOW VERY CLOSE TO THE
angry. They
It was very
SCHOOL FENCE. THE POLICE chaotic. Secret
hurled abuses at
PREPARED TO FACE THEM.
the police. The
societies took
AND
THEN, THE STUDENTS
coconut-husk
advantage of
STORMED OUT.”
peeler’s son
the situation
was in severe
to rob and
pain. His head was drooping. The
kill. The police seemed unable to
procession was now in front of
control the situation. Many Gurkha
Happy World amusement park, just
policemen were brought in to keep
ahead of the Lorong 3 crossroads,
the peace. Adi listened attentively to
and an awed Adi and Dolah Supik
Abang Dolah’s reports.
followed behind. Adi noticed the
coconut-husk peeler’s son was no
According to Abang Dolah, a
longer moving. His friends placed
reporter from America had also
him down on the road and took him
been killed. Students of the
into their laps. They screamed and
Chinese school had destroyed
yelled, taunting the police. When the
dozens of lorries near City Hall.
police came at them, some of them
They had covered their faces
scampered away. The coconut-husk
with handkerchiefs and gone on
peeler’s son lay sprawled on the road. a rampage.
An ambulance arrived and carried
him to the hospital. The police were
“The Communists influenced these
now coming in droves. The students
immature youngsters!” said Abang
were gradually dispersed, many of
Dolah. Adi did not quite understand
whom had bleeding heads. Groups
the word ‘Communist’. He imagined
of students were escorted into police
them to be evil and fierce. Abang
trucks and transported to the police
Dolah had said the Communists did
station. About an hour later, the
not believe in Allah. Adi was afraid
situation returned to normal. There
when he heard this.
was not even a single student on
the road. The crowd had also gone
home. Adi rode pillion on Dolah
Supik’s bicycle and went back to
Kampong Pak Buyung.
The following day, the situation
became worse. Other students of
the Chinese school conducted a
demonstration. Pak Mat prohibited
Adi from leaving his house. He
33
BATAS LANGIT
34
Apabila Adi dan Dolah Supik
berada di hadapan sekolah Cina itu,
ramai penuntut sedang bersedia
untuk keluar berarak. Di tangan
masing-masing ada sepanduk.
Sepanduk tersebut penuh dengan
tulisan Cina. Sudah beberapa hari
penuntut sekolah itu memulaukan
kelas. Mereka berkumpul dalam
perkarangan sekolah. Tidak pulangpulang ke rumah. Ibu bapa mereka
sibuk menghantarkan makanan.
Wajah penuh kebimbangan dan
ketakutan, bergayut di anak
mata ibu-bapa yang keluar dari
perkarangan sekolah. Di luar sekolah
polis berjaga-jaga. Adi nampak
polis-polis itu bukanlah polis biasa.
Mereka memakai topi perisai dan
membawa pongkis, serta belantan di
tangan. Polis-polis itu berkeliaran di
luar perkarangan sekolah. Penuntut
Sekolah Tinggi Cina itu semakin
ramai berkumpul. Mereka
beratur. Ketua mereka seorang
pelajar berambut ikal sedang
memberi arahan.
Sebelum itu, Adi telah mendengar
berita yang pelajar sekolah Cina,
melancarkan tunjuk perasaan. Tapi
masa itu, mereka belum berani
keluar ke jalan raya. Mereka hanya
berkumpul, di dalam perkarangan
sekolah. Di tengah-tengah penuntut
yang ramai itu, Adi Nampak anak
Cina Ketuk Sabut. Pemuda yang
merah sebelah mukanya itu, nampak
bersemangat menyertai temantemannya memulaukan bilik darjah.
Adi nampak anak Cina Ketuk Sabut
sedang mengangkat sepanduk kain
rentang warna merah. Di tengahtengah kain itu bertulis tulisan Cina
berwana putih. Penuntut-penuntut
itu sedang bersorak-sorak kepada
polis di luar perkarangan sekolah.
Kemudian mereka menyanyi lagu
Cina beramai-ramai. Suara nyanyian
mereka bergelombang memecah
suasana jalan raya di Tanjung
Katong Road. Ramai juga orang
melihat telatah mereka dari luar
sekolah. Adi bayangkan, jika pelajarpelajar itu merempuh keluar, polis
tidak akan terdaya mengawalnya.
Bilangan polis tidak sampai 20
orang. Sedangkan bilangan
penuntut-penuntut yang berkumpul
melebihi 500 orang. Mereka terus
menyanyi-nyanyi. Sekali –sekali
mereka memekik serentak. Adi
tidak faham, biji butir pekikan dan
nyanyian mereka.
Anak Cina Ketuk Sabut mengacahngacah polis. Dia pura-pura
merempuh keluar. Kemudian
dia masuk semula, berkumpul
dengan teman-temannya. Adi
dengar daripada Abang Dolah,
penuntut-penuntut sekolah Cina
itu, menuntut agar kerajaan Inggeris
member layanan yang baik kepada
pelajaran Cina. Mereka menuntut
supaya bahasa Cina digunakan
oleh pemerintah dan pemerintah
harus mengakui kepentingan
pelajaran Cina. Itulah yang Abang
Dolah ceritakan kepada Adi
malam kelmarin.
Kumpulan di dalam sekolah semakin
ramai. Mereka beratur sebarissebaris. Anak Cina Ketuk Sabut
nampak paling sibuk. Dia memberi
arahan itu dan ini. Nampaknya
mereka telah bersedia untuk
merempuh keluar. Adi dan Dolah
Supik menanti-nanti, sesuatu
yang hebat akan berlaku. Mereka
kini, telah hampir benar dengan
pagar sekolah. Polis telah bersedia
menghadapi mereka. Dan mereka
pun merempuh keluar.
Satu das tembakan kedengaran.
Adi nampak anak Cina Ketuk
Sabut gugur. Rakan-rakannya
menolong mengangkat. Dia
nampaknya tertembak di bahagian
perut. Mereka mengusung dan
mengaraknya sepanjang Geylang
Road. Polis tidak merempuh lagi.
Perarakan mengusung anak Cina
Ketuk Sabut, mendapat simpati
orang ramai. Ramai orang Cina
kelihatah marah dan memakimaki polis. Anak Cina Ketuk
Sabut, nampak terkulai kepalanya,
diusung dalam kesakitan yang
amat sangat. Mereka kini sudah
sampai di hadapan Happy World
depan simpang Lorong 3. Adi
dan Dolah Supik, masih mengikut
perarakan tunjuk perasaan itu,
dengan penuh kekaguman. Adi
nampak anak Cina Ketuk Sabut
sudah tidak bergerak-gerak lagi.
Kawan-kawannya meletakannya
di atas jalan raya. Beberapa orang
temannya sedang memangkunya.
Mereka memekik dan berteriakteriak mencabar polis. Apabila polis
mengejar mereka, ada yang lari
bertempiaran. Anak Cina Ketuk
Sabut nampak bergelimpangan di
atas jalan raya. Sebuah ambulan
datang, membawanya ke hospital.
Polis kini, semakin ramai tiba.
Penuntut-penuntut sekolah Cina
itu, semakin berpecah barisannya.
Banyak yang berdarah kepala, ramai
yang dimasukkan ke trak polis,
diangkut ke balai polis. Kira-kira
satu jam kemudian, suasana kembali
tenang. Tidak terdapat seorang pun,
penuntut sekolah Cina di jalan raya.
Orang ramai yang menyaksikan
peristiwa tunjuk perasaan itu,
juga sudah beredar pulang. Adi
membonceng basikal gentlemen
Dolah Supik dan pulang ke kampong
Pak Buyung.
Esoknya suasana menjadi bertambah
buruk. Pelajar-pelajar sekolah Cina
lainnya juga turut melancarkan
tunjuk perasaan. Adi tidak
dibenarkan oleh Pak Mat Keluar
dari rumah. Adi tidak dibernarkan
menyasikan tunjuk perasaan
lagi. Adi hanya menghabiskan
masa, memanjat pokok jejawi
dan mendengar cerita dari Abang
Dolah pada malamnya. Kata Abang
Dolah, pekerja-pekerja bas juga
melancarkan mogok. Pelajar-pelajar
sekolah Cina menyokong mereka.
Suasana menjadi bertambah buruk.
Sudah ada polis yang mati. Sudah
ada polis yang dibakar hidup-hidup
oleh pemogok-pemogok. Banyak
bas yang dibakar dan diterbalikkan.
Suasana sungguh tidak aman.
Kumpulan haram mengambil
peluang merompak dan membunuh.
Polis nampaknya, macam tidak dapat
mengawal keadaan. Ramai polis
Gurka didatangkan untuk menjaga
keamanan. Adi dengar Abang Dolah
bercerita dengan asyiknya.
Menurut Abang Dolah, seorang
wartawan dari Amerika juga turut
terbunuh. Pelajar-pelajar sekolah
Cina, datang dengan berpuluhpuluh lori. Di City Hall, kata Abang
Dolah. Mereka merusuh, mereka
tutup muka dengan sapu tangan.
“Komunis Berjaya menghasut
budak-budak mentah, tuuu!” kata
Abang Dolah. Adi tidak begitu
faham dengan perkataan komunis.
Tapi, dia membayangkan komunis
itu pasti jahat dan garang orangnya.
Kata Abang Dolah komunis tuu,
tak percaya Tuhan. Gerun juga Adi
mendengar cerita Abang Dolah itu.
REVIEW / AWARDS
“The book charms immediately
with prose in the vein of the idyllic
village stories of Indian writer R.
K. Narayan, written in the 1940s.
Like Narayan, Mohamed Latiff can
turn the backbreaking labour of
fetching water from a well into
a lyrical adventure. [...] For nonMalay readers, Confrontation is an
engrossing exploration of history
from a different perspective,
as it makes readers share Adi’s
dawning awareness of his family’s
social position and then his heady
delight at the notion of a state
where everyone will speak his
language. Even for readers who
know what happened next, the
ending of the book comes as a
shock, followed by a strong urge
to read more from this disarmingly
powerful voice.” – Akshita Nanda,
The Straits Times
AVAILABLE RIGHTS
rights available.
Contact Marketing Manager Ilangoh
Thanabalan for more information.
PUBLISHER
Epigram Books
1008 Toa Payoh North #03-08
Singapore 318996
T: (65) 6292 4456
DISTRIBUTOR
APD Singapore Pte Ltd
52 Genting Lane #06-05
Ruby Lane Complex 1
Singapore 349560
T: (65) 6749 3551
35
Sengodan used to fear going to the
fields with his father, just because
of Muthannan.
Kamaladevi Aravindhan
A DARK STREET
36
KAMALADEVI ARAVINDHAN
is a prolific, bilingual writer,
working in Tamil and
Malayalam. She has written
over 162 short stories, 18 stage
plays, and 300 radio dramas
in Malaysia and Singapore.
Her short stories, articles and
literary essays have been
collected in well-regarded
Tamil periodicals, including
Kanaiyazhi, Uyirmmai and
Yukamayini. She has also
written radio and television
plays for Singaporean and
international audiences.
She is the three-time winner
of the Tamil Nesan short story
competition and has also
received numerous awards
for her plays at the Kairali
Kalaanilayam Awards. In 2011,
her short-story collection,
Nuval [Speak], won the
Karikalan Award, conferred
by the Mustafa Tamil Trust
and Tanjore’s Tamil University.
The same collection was
prescribed as a curriculum text
in the University of Kerala
and University of Malaysia,
and has also been translated
into English.
LANGUAGE
Tamil
PUBLICATION YEAR
2012
FORMAT
Paperback
ISBN
978-81-8379-591-3
NO. OF PAGES
120
FORM
Short Stories
SYNOPSIS
Set against the backdrop of Singapore, A Dark Street is a collection of
13 critically acclaimed and award-winning short stories that explore love,
revenge, justice, retribution, and redemption. From the victims of sex
trafficking to the consequences of escaping Singapore’s compulsory military
service, Kamaladevi uses her pen to tear into society stereotypes and give a
very human face to the fringes of society.
A DARK STREET
Extract from “That One Day”
Translated by Kavitha Karuum
Though it was true that that they
had come to Singapore to earn a
living, the desire to return to India to
settle down became stronger when
Sengodan turned 12.
The main reason was that male
Singaporeans had to serve National
Service after the age of 18, and
completing National Service was
no easy feat. Many of those who
had moved to Singapore from Tamil
Nadu had sent their sons back home
after hearing stories of boys who
struggled to complete their National
Service; they couldn’t leave halfway
either. Ramanathan went one step
further than most– he and his wife
decided to move back to India with
their son.
“How could we even think about
living luxuriously in Singapore,
with our son back there?” His wife
Shenbagam could not bear to part
with Sengodan for even a single day.
What else could one expect? He was
their precious child, born after eight
years of marriage.
There was much fanfare and
celebration when they resettled in
the village. What a grand life they
lived! Sengodan couldn’t even walk
to the paddy fields with his father,
without being stopped at the village
tea stall.
The tea stall owner, Muthannan
used to force them into visiting his
stall, crying “Make a special tea
for Singapore Macchan 1! Look,
Maapillai 2 is hesitating! Seems like
the boy from foreign shores is shy.”
Singapore, and rubbed it on his
forehead, neck and all over his chest.
She also gave him two Panadol pills.
He was alright after sleeping for a
while. By then, everyone from the
Athai 5 who lived across from their
house, and Panchatchram Maamaa 6
from next door, to Ledi Maamaa
who lived all the way on the other
side of the village had gathered in
their hall to pay Sengodan a visit.
Shenbagam served all of them
lemon juice. That was kin for you.
Even Ramathilagam the vegetable
seller would say “I’ll only make
some profits if Singapore Akka 3 is
my first customer!”, brandishing
the ugly brown purse which was
normally wedged between her hip
and saree. Shenbagam wouldn’t just
buy vegetables from Ramathilagam.
She would even make steaming
thosais for
Ramathilagam,
“HOW COULD WE EVEN THINK
and serve them
ABOUT LIVING LUXURIOUSLY
with coconut
IN SINGAPORE, WITH OUR
chutney.
Things were
going well till
Ramanathan
signed as a
SON BACK THERE?”
guarantor for a
Once, Kasandi
huge loan that
came to the house to build a mud
Seenithandu Sithappa 7 took out. Ill
wall in the back. Ramananthan
fortune came upon them just three
asked him caringly, “Have you eaten, months later when Seenithandu
Thambi 4?” Kasandi was overcome
died of a heart attack. It turned out
with emotion. No one from such a
that Seenithandu Sithappa was up
wealthy family had ever addressed
to his neck in debt. He had even
him as Thambi.
mortgaged his house just to feed
his family.
Ramanathan and Shenbagam
would also make sure that the
It was Ramanathan who paid
women they employed in the paddy the price. The creditor didn’t let
fields were well cared for, cooking
Ramanathan off the hook even after
them curry with vegetables. The
he sold most of his land to pay the
women were delighted with the
debt, only keeping a small piece of
luxurious treatment.
land for his family’s sustenance. The
creditor had been all smiles when
Ramanathan and family never
Ramanathan had signed on as a
regretted leaving Singapore.
guarantor, but turned nasty when
Everyone in the village welcomed
demanding repayment. Ramanathan
them warmly, addressing them as
was shattered. He had never faced
if they were –family – Singapore
such humiliation. How could he get
Akka, Singapore Machan, Singapore
such a huge sum of money? He had
Maapillai. Who would treat them
to wipe out the life savings he had
with such warmth and respect in
put aside for his son’s future.
Singapore? The entire village would
visit their home if anything out
It was then that Shenbagam’s mind
of the ordinary happened. They
became disturbed. She would
couldn’t get that affection and
neither talk nor eat for days on end,
friendship anywhere else.
staring into space. She refused to
sleep even for a while. She often
Once, Sengodan came down with
stayed up the whole night, not
fever. Shenbagam reached for the
sleeping a wink. It was painful to
eucalyptus oil, all the way from
even look at Shenbagam, as she
sat unmoving, unable to bear the
emptiness and ennui of the days
that passed. Ramanathan wouldn’t
sleep either, staying up to watch
over Shenbagam. However, he fell
asleep one night, tired.
When the next day dawned,
Shenbagam’s corpse was floating in
the village well.
37
REVIEW / AWARDS
A Dark Street is a prescribed
curriculum text at the University
of Kerala, India. Three of the
short stories, including the title
story, have won Malayalam
literature prizes.
AVAILABLE RIGHTS
digital rights available; select Tamil-language
rights available.
Contact writer for more information.
T: (65) 9043 1341
PUBLISHER
Palaniyappa Brothers
“Konar Maligai’
25, Peters Road
Royapet, Chennai – 14,
Tamilnadu State, INDIA
38
39
1
Macchan – a kinship term used to address
a male cousin or brother-in-law. It is also
commonly used to addressed a contemporary.
2
Maappillai – a kinship term used to address
a son-in-law, brother-in-law or nephew. It is
also commonly used to address a younger
male friend.
3
Akka – a kinship term used to address
an older sister. It is also commonly used to
address an older female out of respect.
4
Thambi – a kinship term to address a
younger brother. It is also commonly used to
address a younger male.
5
Athai – a kinship term used to address a
paternal aunt or mother-in-law. It can also
be also used to address an older female out
of respect.
6
Maamaa – a kinship term used to address a
maternal uncle. It can also be used to address
an older male out of respect.
7
Sithappa – a kinship term used to address
a a paternal uncle. It can also be used to
address an older male out of respect.
Suriya Rethnna
NAAN
40
A former school teacher,
SURIYA RETHNNA has written
for Singaporean and Malaysian
Tamil newspapers, as well as
for local radio and television
stations. Her works include
fiction, non-fiction, plays and
translated works. She has
won several competitions in
Singapore and Malaysia, and
was awarded the MontblancNUS-CFA Young Writers’
Fellowship in 1998.
Suriya’s debut novel, Merkkey
Uthikkum Sooriyan (The Sun
Rises in the West), holds the
distinction of being the first
Tamil novel published by a
female in Singapore.
LANGUAGE
Tamil
PUBLICATION YEAR
2013
FORMAT
Paperback
ISBN
978-981-07-6293-3
NO. OF PAGES
128
FORM
Short Stories
SYNOPSIS
Naan, translated as “I”, is a collection of 15 short stories that explore what it
means to be human through a combination of real and imagined incidents.
From a model housewife who grapples with an increasingly abusive husband
to a jailed drug dealer who has barely avoided Singapore’s death penalty“I” can be anyone’s story- yours, an acquaintance, a stranger, a loved one.
Traversing everyday characters in the midst of life’s challenges, Rethnna’s
stories of hope and empathetic portrayal of the human spirit’s resilience will
strike a chord with any reader.
NAAN
Extract from “An Old Rubbish Bin”
Translated by Kavitha Karuum
We have all read about Rakshashas 1
and Asuras 2 in the Puranas 3, but
how many of us have ever seen
them? Father didn’t have ten heads,
sharp fangs, huge threatening eyes
and he didn’t have a hulking build.
Still, to us, our father was a monster
and demon put together. His mantra
was, “I am the head of this family.
You all live on my charity.”
Father would get together with fellow
debauchees and discuss politics in the
coffeeshop. You should have heard
them speak. It was all worthless
chatter. And when the coffeeshop
closed for the night, he would
head home and bang on our door,
completely drunk. Mother would
sleep in the hall, just to wait up for
him. It was a double bind. If she
opened the door immediately after
he knocked, he would shout “Which
man are you eagerly expecting?” If
she were fast asleep and late to open
the door, he would scream, “Which
man are you hiding in this house?
Why did you take so long to come?”
After all this, he would order her
to fry chicken. The chicken was
always kept in the freezer, specially
marinated for him. We weren’t
allowed to even touch it. We could
only watch enviously as Father loudly
relished the chicken. As Mother
prepared the chicken, he would
berate her with obscenities, usually
about her “infidelity”. We would
pretend to be fast asleep, because
we knew if he thought we were
awake, he would flog us with his
belt. Mother would continue to fry
chicken, quietly weeping. I think
Mother’s feelings slowly died over
time. Perhaps she rationalised that
it was natural for an animal to act
according to its nature.
because you are eating such good
food? All of you should just starve
to death!” He then grabbed a 5
kilogramme packet of rice that
Mother had just bought and flung it
down the rubbish chute.
Mother wailed. “How could you
throw away the children’s rice? The
Sometimes, we wondered if beating
Goddess Mariamman 6 will make sure
Mother was Father’s hobby. There
that you don’t even have a grain of
were occasions when our neighbours
rice to eat!” That was when I heard
lost their patience with Father’s
her curse him for the first time. And
behaviour and
I remember,
called the police.
clearly, his reply,
“FATHER DIDN’T HAVE TEN
Father would
“I will only die
HEADS, SHARP FANGS, HUGE after living like
immediately be
THREATENING EYES AND HE a King. Are you
on best behaviour
DIDN’T HAVE A HULKING
when the police
some Nalayini 7
BUILD. STILL, TO US, OUR
arrived. The
for your curses
FATHER WAS A MONSTER AND to come true?”
police knew
DEMON PUT TOGETHER.”
that Father hit
Mother and that
The garbage
he flogged us. But they couldn’t do
from the older housing flats went
anything because Mother always
straight to the bigger rubbish chutes
refused to lodge a complaint. “My
located at the ground floor. Mother
husband is tipsy. I will talk to him
and the rest of us went down and
once he is sober”, she would say, and
rummaged among the decaying
send the police away, like a modern
rubbish for the packet of rice.
day Kannagi 4.
Mother had brought along some
water to wash the packet clean.
Once the door slammed shut, he
When we returned, Father was
would shout at my mother. ”Did you
sleeping, snoring loudly. After this
tell the man next door to call the
incident, Mother started working a
police? How long have the two of
part-time job. Father didn’t stop her.
you been involved? Is that why he
It suited him, gave him an excuse to
feels so much for you? Do you think
reduce the amount he contributed
you can send me to jail and fool
to the household.
around with him? If that’s what you
want, take these cursed children of
All of us had deep emotional scars
yours and go to his house. This is
from Father. I remember once when
my house.”
he returned home, inebriated, with
biryani he had bought from a popular
It became regular for our neighbours
restaurant. The delicious aroma of
to complain about my father’s violent
biryani wafted through the entire flat.
behaviour and for the police to come
down to our house. We eventually
Mother had gone out to buy
got to know the policemen so well
something; Father headed to the
that we began addressing them
toilet. Second Brother, then twelve,
as ‘Uncle 5’.
quickly ripped open the packet and
started frenetically gobbling up the
Once, in the middle of an argument,
biryani. Eldest Brother warned that
my father shouted, “Are you arrogant Father would beat him with the
belt, but Second Brother’s hunger
prevailed. I don’t know what insanity
had gotten into his head. Father
emerged to behold Second Brother
shoveling rice and chicken into his
mouth. In his rage, he gave Second
Brother an almighty kick- Second
Brother flew across the room, hit the
wall and wet his pants in fear. I quickly
hid behind the sofa. Eldest Brother ran
forward to help Second Brother and
got flogged by Father for that.
When Mother returned, Father railed
at her about the way she had brought
us up. Second Brother must have
been another man’s son and that was
why he had behaved in that manner!
Mother cowered, humiliated, unable
to do anything but hug Second
Brother and cry.
Mother and the lot of us would only
get a respite from Father’s beatings
on the day of Deepavali 8. That was
because Father and his drunkard
friends needed someone to cook
chicken, mutton, crab and prawn
while they drank from dawn to dusk.
When we asked Mother to come and
light fire sparklers with us, she would
say, “It will only be Deepavali for me
when this Narakasuran 9 dies.” We
didn’t understand then how deep
rooted her hatred for Father was.
REVIEW / AWARDS
“Iraivanin Kuzhandai” from this
collection was selected for the
National Library Board’s nationwide reading initiative, READ!
Singapore 2013.
AVAILABLE RIGHTS
digital rights available; select Tamil-language
rights available.
PUBLISHER
Goldfish Publications
325B Sengkang East Way #14-655
Singapore 542325
Contact Mr. Balu Manimaran for more
information.
Cover design by PR Rajan
41
42
43
1
Rakshashas are generally considered to be
demons in Hindu mythology.
2
Asuras are sometimes called demigods
or demons in Hindu mythology, constantly
battling the Devas.
3
Puranas are ancient Hindu texts, containing
myths, legends and divine stories.
4
Kannagi is the central character of the Tamil
epic Silappathikaram. She is generally held up
as the embodiment of chastity.
5
The term ‘Uncle’ is commonly used in
Singapore to address someone older, as mark
of respect. The person need not be a relative.
6
Goddess Mariamman is a Hindu deity,
commonly worshipped by Tamils.
7
According to Hindu mythology, Nalayini was
the chaste and devout wife of an ancient
sage. Curses or words uttered by such
virtuous women were believed to come true.
8
9
Deepavali or Diwali is the Hindu festival of lights.
Narakasuran was a tyrannical demon king
in Hindu mythology. His slaying, and the
resulting freedom of his oppressed kingdom is
commemorated on Deepavali.
NOTES
44
45
46
National Arts Council
90 Goodman Road, Goodman Arts Centre
Blk A #01-01 Singapore 439053
T: (65) 6346 9400 W: www.nac.gov.sg

Fiction Singapore 2014 - National Arts Council

Transcription

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