Sharjah: three stories

iOS rules

I went back to my room after my 6.30am breakfast -- yes, I’m one of those disgusting people -- to hang up my clothes (I had checked in only at 12.30am) and returned to the lobby of the Holiday International Hotel at ten to deal with my emails, read some news from home on the Malaysian Insider, and wait for the twelve o’clock bus to take us to the Sharjah Chamber of Commerce for the opening of the professional programme. About eleven-thirty, I saw a crowd forming at the ground floor and guessed these were the other participants -- many hanging about chattering and many others, like me, busy on laptops and mobile devices, many with the bright white Apple logo. I smiled. I wondered, unkindly, how many of them were fashion accessories.

The professional programme on Tuesday, 15 November was revealing. The event was unusual enough, not to mention fascinating, for me. It was speed-dating on steroids: imagine a hundred and fifty publishing professionals from around the world, buyers and sellers, all confined to a room for six hours (generously watered and fed, no doubt), meeting, matching and making deals, many prearranged or match-made, but several spontaneous. On final count I got six requests for ePub (iOS, I assume), two for printed, one for pdf and one for Mobi editions (for Kindle, I think) of my books. Or, in terms of titles: 13 ePub, five Mobi, two pdf and two printed books.

So, in my totally unscientific survey, amongst publishing professionals, iOS rules.

IQ84

This is one book I had decided I was not going to bother to read. The hype was enough to kill it for me. Then, when I saw the book (from afar) in Frankfurt, I said: there's no way I’m going to waste my time on that huge tome. Then it showed up in the shop, at Silverfish, just before my Sharjah trip. The weight of the book, its cheesy page-design and its oh-so-Japanese Mikado: the pop opera dust jacket (Harvill Secker edition), had me resting my head on my hands with a sigh. I was not a great fan of Murakami, although I am not one of those who think it’s cool to exalt the virtues of his namesake, Ryu, like many, even those who have never read him -- I don’t feel that insecure -- but I did like Kafka on the Shore. I’m not taking this to Sharjah, I reiterated. Everything I want to read is in my iPod Touch.

Still, curiosity, go the better of me and I read the first few pages, if for no reason other than to criticise it. I got hooked. The book travelled with me to the Sharjah International Book Fair (SIBF), in the cabin, and was my companion in the hotel through my trip.

What can I say? Haruki Murakami is a master storyteller, and 1Q84 is a masterpiece. A love story in the midst of religious fanaticism, and a literary-fraud sideshow. I love it, and it has earned a permanent (and prominent) place on my shelves (although I kept reaching out for my editors pencil behind my ear throughout Book 1 -- but, surprisingly, not in Book 2&3 -- and it has the appearance of a rushed job), and even if the book is heavy enough to kill a cat if you decide to toss it.

The third-world trap

The professional programme was organise to commemorate the 30th anniversary of the SIBF. All countries want to have book fairs; all countries now have book fairs. Trading rights is the new thing. Sharjah’s professional programme was ambitions. While the SIBF was not a humungous affair like Frankfurt, it was targeted and effective with, I suspect, a higher deal rate. Other countries caught  in a third-world trap with a ‘can’t do’ attitude, could do worse than pay attention.

Sharjah, obviously, has long term plans for this programme: it was too well planned and organised to be a one-shot-wonder. The boldest  move has to be the USD300,000 translation grant in its first year. (Will there be a bigger grant next year? Let’s see.) All deals done during the professional programme on 15 November 2011 are eligible for grants ranging from USD1500 for children’s books and up to USD4000 for general titles, from and to any language. On 17 November, the organisers had already received 135 applications; a total of 500 is expected.

Your move, Malaysian National Book Council.

(The middle income trap is about the pocket, the third-world trap retards the mind.)

The enlightened amateur

At the forum on the opening day of the Frankfurt Book Fair discussing the Trade and Copyright Centre in ASEAN (an initiative mooted by the National Book Council of Malaysia) one of the speakers sees it fit to emphasise: Malaysia is a small country with only 27 million people.

About fifty feet behind the Malaysian stand is the modest exhibition of Iceland, the Guest of Honour at this year’s Frankfurt Buchmesse, a country with a population 318,452 (1 January 2011 estimate) that publishes approximately 1500 new titles and sells 2.5 million books a year (8 books per capita), and Reykjavik has just become the fifth UNESCO City of Literature.

(“They might as well invite Bonn as the next Guest of Honour, it has a bigger population than Iceland,” says one German publisher, questioning the choice of this year guest, and adds, “To date, nothing big has ever happened to any of the previous Guests of Honour.”

Still, I had to visit their stand.

I meet Mr Kristjan B Jonasson, the president of the Icelandic Book Publishers Association, a fit, trim individual who looks like he cleans volcanoes on weekdays and does triathlons on weekends. He says that publishing in Iceland went professional in the late 19th century. Many in the industry have degrees in publishing, he says, although there still are many amateurs involved.

“In Britain, I never heard of anyone taking a degree in publishing, or even taking a course in it ... Despite the revolutionary advances in technology, British publishing remains the last outpost of the enlightened amateur -- but without the protection from predatory market forces that such amateurism is supposed to provide.” David Cornwell (aka John le Carre) in Publishing Perspectives.

He adds, “The German publishing, as I come to know it, is made of stronger stuff. It knows its worth and the worth of its readership ... Nobody knows better the value of free speech than those who have been deprived of it ...”

Interesting. I had to ask the Germans.

RK. Is it true that all publishers in Germany need to have professional degrees?
Sabine. Look around you; what do you think?

What I see around me is impressive, Sabine’s cynicism notwithstanding.

But Mr Cornwell's points did get me thinking. Let's start with worth: do Malaysian publishers know the worth of their products or their readership? Does Random House -- ironically owned by a German company, Bertelsmann, since 1998 -- know the worth of their products or their readership? Do any of the other major publishers?

When I set up shop in 1999 I used to buy my Penguins from STP Distributors. I decided to visit them once to see what else they had in their warehouse, and noticed a large stack of books neatly tied up in bundles in one corner. On inquiry, I was told that these were Penguins to be sent for pulping. Being new in the business, I was horrified. What are they going to do to my babies?!  Can I buy them, I offered? Sorry. They had instructions to pulp them. Thinking about that incident now, I can only conclude that they new about 'worth' of their books, then. Nowadays, you find Penguins in remaindered bookshops in the city.

Jeff Bezos was once famously quoted (during the e-book wars) as saying that every book is a monopoly. Not only is every book a monopoly, every one of them is a designer product -- written by one author, designed and packaged by one publisher (whoever that may be). One doesn't find Gucci devaluing their products. Why do publishers and (more recently) authors?

I live far away from Mr Cornwell's world (although I am probably more acquainted with his, than he is of mine), but freedom is a chord that strikes us wherever we are and we amateurs do know a thing or two about it that professionals can scarcely begin to understand. We live with it everyday. Can we publish this? How far can we push it? Will people understand? Will people care?

How does one teach a people who have never known free speech understand its value it after it is no longer deprived? How would one teach an elephant brought up in captivity how to run when its shackles are removed? How will it feed itself? These are extreme examples, no doubt, but what is common -- and far more dangerous -- is the illusion of freedom: you can have any colour you want as long as it's black. Everyone professes freedom; as long as he controls the colour scheme. And, what is this thing about freedom in degrees: freaky.

Malaysian publishing models itself largely after the Anglo-American industry, and quite unthinkingly at that. The only professionals in sight here are accountants. It is an industry still generally propped up by the textbook largesse and political cronyism.  For a long time, there was little room for the professional, and the enlightened amateur survived like a cockroach, by avoiding being crushed by a heavy foot. There have been some changes though, particularly in the last ten years. It looks encouraging, although still a little fragile, but one can only live in hope. Interesting work is emerging, even if a little wobbly at times. (I heard that Martrade now considers the Malaysian book industry to be mature, and thus requires no more assistance. Are they kidding?)

No, Mr Cornwell, Britain is not the last outpost of the amateur, gifted or otherwise. One understands your concerns of predatory business destroying entire industries, leaving behind nothing but piles of sucked oranges. Perhaps, the German professional (read unionised) approach could alleviate some bloodshed but, in most of the world, it is the idealistic amateur who keeps the flag flying against tyranny, oppression, harassment, (self or state) censorship, cronyism, political correctness, chronically uneven playing fields, apathy, ignorance and prejudice, often in the face of isolation, loss of freedom, friends and family, sanction, detention, arbitrary imprisonment and (in some extreme cases) death.

It is only the idealistic amateur who continues to slog, long after the accountants and MBAs have changed their horses.

Are you Malaysian or Malaysiana?

We were at the tail end of our question and answer session after my talk: Malaysian Writing in English – the Silverfish experience, at the MalaysiaKu event on the 16th of September at the Bangkung Row, when Farish Noor joined us. After listening to the discussions for a while he asked what I thought about the label ‘Malaysiana’ commonly used by local bookshops to designate books from and about the country. I told him, I thought the term was insulting. One does not find local books in an Indonesian bookshop labelled Indonesiana, or in the Philippines as Filipiana, or whatever in Thailand. (Said one wag after the event: bookshops in India don’t have an Indiana section either.) In most countries, the majority of books in their bookshops would be those by their own authors, unlike Malaysia where most of our titles are Anglo-American! It has been said before: this is a bizarre country.

After 50 years of independence, we are still being told that we are Malaysianas. Watch the Malaysia Truly Asia tourism commercial or look at the giant pitcher plant at Dataran, and you’ll understand. We are told we are an exotic species; that we live in this Fantasy Island, this theme park; that we should constantly grin like ninnies, be perpetually in costume, and dance. Welcome to the Brown and White Malaysiana Show. (Farish A Noor quotes from a sixties tourism brochure in his book From Inderapura to Darul Makmur: Berserah, situated a few miles away from Kuantan is a typical fishing village of the East Coast. Seeing these brown fishermen (sic) in their colourful boats returning with their catch is a sight that only the East can offer.)

I went to the finale of a dance festival a week ago. The last time I saw something like this half a century ago on the TV (and not much has changed). Okay, imagine: Awang, Ah Kow and Mutu prancing about the stage in costumes and face-paint. I am aware that shows like this still exist on TV and in tourism events, but I didn’t think I’d see it at a dance festival. One mat salleh woman gave the performance a standing ovation, while her (embarrassed?) husband sat next to her. I thought I had seen her before; having her photograph taken next to that giant plastic pitcher plant. Maybe she was a tourist. (Look, if they can believe that Juliet was a real person who had a house in Verona, they’ll believe anything.)

Going back to the Bangkung Row session, the one before mine was a book launch with a panel discussion. Except that, it was not much discussion. It was a session with lots of vociferous agreement -- ‘I agree with you more than you agree with me’; lots of righteous outrage – ‘I am more outraged than all of you;  and rants that flew across the room in such rapid fire that I took cover behind the seats (and into Milan Kundera’s essays). The topic they were so worked up about? Malaysians  and Malaysianess. (I was there for the last 30 minutes while waiting for my turn.) It was nothing new. Pretty much the same old, same old; I am more outraged that thou; speaking to the converted, and all that.

Three Malaysias were thrust into my face last month: one, (apologies Farish Noor) an exotic multi-culti eastern paradise with pineapples thrown in for effect; two, a country in state of rage-filled dystopia; and, three, the Undilah video by Pete Teo, which the Minister of Information has declared ‘offensive’. I know which one I enjoyed the most.

Here are more stories about the Malaysia we all think we know. Browsing through big Malaysian chain-bookshops could make visitors wonder which country he or she is in; as could some of our national newspapers. A story I have told before is about my acute embarrassment when asked about our Malaysian collection (of English books) by an American academic when we first opened shop in 1999. (It was one of the reasons we decided to start our own publishing imprint.) We had about thirty titles on our tiny shelf; ten of them, part of the Black & White Rhino Press series. Now, we have a collection of over 1250 Malaysian titles, an increase of over 4000%, the largest collection of any bookshop in the country, and growing.

The Malaysian publishing industry in the country is experiencing a minor boom, but one will not get an inkling of this from reading our local newspapers. One excuse: we receive so many books from the publishers and distributors, that our cupboards are full. Our reviewers only pick what they like to read. That’s about right. Many are still reluctant to give local books a chance. Another commonly heard theme from local authors is that they do not like to read local books. Why? Do you think Malaysian publishing is not good enough? If you don’t read them, why should anyone read yours? (This is a strange sentiment indeed, considering how much writings from this country are being recognised and sought after internationally.)

Once, back from a short holiday in Sarawak, I met a gentleman (a good friend) who asked if I visited the cultural village in Santubong where they hold the Rainforest Festival every year. When I said yes, he went on and on about how wonderful he thought it was. When he finally let me get a word in, I said, “Did you notice that the Iban long houses in the show-village are built using steel nails?” He didn’t quite get it, and I was surprised that he didn’t. I thought the whole show-village was touristy and tacky, including the ‘Malaysiana’ cultural show that was complete with face-paint and polyester costumes.

Maybe, the problem is me. My wife says I get insulted too easily. I guess I do, but I can’t see why that’s a fault, though.

Anyway, watch the Undilah video and enjoy. We do take ourselves much too seriously; this is 'a laugh a minute' country.



 

Translations

“We English-speakers are not interested in translations,” says translator Edith Grossman, in a story in Publishing Perspectives (translated from Spanish by Fred Kobrak, that was originally published in La Nación, a daily newspaper in Buenos Aires.)

As a bookseller, I have heard my fair share of this: customers insisting that they do not like books in translation because of what is lost. I have wondered about that, and I have to agree that it would be almost impossible to translate every nuance of one language to another. Let’s take the Malay word merajuk, which is generally translated as ‘sulk’, although the English word does not quite capture all the different shades of meanings it implies. Try translating another Malay word jeling, with all its loaded meanings!

That argument is, certainly, not without merit, but consider what we gain, what our lives would be if we never read Kafka, or Borges, or Saramago, or Kundera, or ... God, the list is endless! There, definitely, is a case for the half-loaf.

Slumdogging

Salman Rushdie, famously (or notoriously) said in his foreword to the Vintage Book of Indian Writing, 1947-1997 that the only writing he considered worth including in this anthology were those originally written in English (apart from Toba Tek Singh by SH Manto). He drew plenty of flak for that, and you can read all about it on the internet, so I do not wish to go there.

Frankly, for me, I am tired of Indian writing in English and have stopped reading them (apart from those by Salman Rushdie and VS Naipaul -- I know, I know) for several years now. Sometimes I forget why. Then, I come across a passage like this (verbatim): Bomanbhai’s wife’s earlobes lengthened with the weight of South African diamonds, so great, so heavy, that one day, from one ear, an ear-ring ripped through, a meteor disappearing  with a bloody clonk into her bowl of srikhand (Kiran Desai’s Inheritance of Loss), and I am reminded why, and I toss the book. (By the way, that sentence also put me off all books on the Booker (and other prize winning) lists. It was waiting to happen.

‘Slumdogging’, is one way of becoming a millionaire. New orientalism sells. Schadenfreude owns the market. (Imagine this dialog, “Ooooh ... it’s so-oo Indian,” said with music score by AR Rahman in the background. Sorry, Daphne.) For me, I’ll take Shivshankar Pillai, NT Vasudevan Nair, OV Vijayan, Asokamitran, UR Ananthamurthy, Bibhuthibushan Bandapadhyay, etc, any day; they are not afraid to tell stories. RK Narayan was not afraid to tell stories.

Is ‘literary’ a synonym for ‘boring’?

Fact is, I am struggling to count the number of books originally written in English, from the UK and the US, that I have read in the last ten years, which has left any impression in my mind -- I have too many fingers. That is not to say there are no good anglophone writers. I am sure there a hundreds of them. Unfortunately, unearthing them is no easy task, given an industry on a death spiral that clings on desperately to the usual suspects. (At one time, I used to buy books by imprints, but even that is not safe anymore.) I had a customer come in once -- anglophone, expatriate, senior with a fair amount of books under her belt -- ask me about a certain book. I said that one could describe it as literary, to which she replied, “You mean boring ...” She was spot on, of course, although I did try to defend the book as I liked the author.

Anglophone writings come in a few broad categories: good story, lousy writing (The Da Vinci Code, Dan Brown), good writing, lousy story (On Chesil Beach, Ian McEwen), lousy story, lousy writing (the vast majority) and good story, good writing (like hen’s teeth, like Diane Setterfield’s The Thirteenth Tale). (Guess the winner.) In other words, I am trying to justify why I prefer books in translations. Edith Grossman says that only three percent of the books published in the United States, Great Britain and Australia are translations, whereas in Europe and Latin America this percentage number is between 25% and 40%. Sounds glum, but I look at the positive side: 3% of 300,000 new titles per year works out to 9000, that’s much more than the Anglophone titles I’d like to read!

When I pick up a European, Japanese, or South American title (I am now working towards the Chinese and African), I can be almost guaranteed a good story told in decent English, because most translators have good language skills, too. (Which is more than you can say of some editors in the big houses -- later-day Harry Potters should have been edited down by 30-50%.) No verbal gymnastics, no showing off, no pretensions, and no earrings or meteors. One may argue, it’s because the translated titles have already been curated, but I don’t care.

Imprints

It’s strange that I should say this, given that I am a publisher of English language books. Malaysia is not an Anglophone country, and English is the second or third language of most Malaysians, which means the authors do not necessarily think in English, hence giving their stories a ‘translated’ flavour, which is fascinating.

Ultimately, this question must be raised: how is Anglophone writing to save itself? Go back to imprints, I’d say. Let a genre or title be identified with an imprint that defines its quality. The sci-fi, fantasy, horror people already know that. The rest of us can do worse than watch and learn.

You know, I used to bristle at one time if anyone suggested that I was reading ‘story’ books; mere story books! Ah ... but, I was so much older then; I’m younger than that now.

And, the fat lady sings

Or, so says MobyLives. The end of an era? Not quite, I think. After all, the story of the modern book is 600 years old, while that of Borders (at least its predatory incarnation) is about fifteen (forty, if you take it back to its origins). I first heard of Borders when they set up shop in Singapore in 1997, its first store outside the US. In 2003, Borders had 1249 stores worldwide under its own name, and Waldenbooks, which it owned. The Australian, New Zealand and Singaporean stores were sold in June 2008, all the stores in UK and Ireland were shut on December 22, 2009 and on July 22, 2011. Borders started closing its remaining 399 stores in the US, with business operations expected to cease by September 2011.

Harry McCracken, in his story , Borders is toast, But don’t blame the E-books in PC World says, MacCraken also says, "Until late 2010, San Francisco had four Borders stores-three of which were within a mile and a half of each other. I'm no retailing genius, but I couldn't figure out how the city could support so many giant bookstores in so little space ... Borders' smarter rival, Barnes & Noble, only had one store in San Francisco, although that, too, is now gone; there will be no major chain bookstores in the city once the last Borders is history."

(I have written before about the bizarre situation in the Klang Valley when we had twelve mega-bookstores here when Singapore had two. And Bangsar Baru had three MPH branches with their huge Mid-Valley store a kilometre away. Go figure. Then, when there is a financial crisis, the banks will get bailed out while the rest of us pay for it.)

He adds, “If e-books didn't exist, I'm pretty positive that Borders would have still collapsed in much the same way. It might have cratered even if the Internet had never been invented ... Borders is dying (dead?) because it simply wasn't very good at selling books in the 21st century.” I thought it sounded a tad defensive, but I am more inclined to agree with this view rather than with all those others who blame the demise of the chain (no, the entire book industry) squarely on e-books. 

It has been a long time coming, and (to me, at least) a certain inevitability was always part of the script. One could feel the tiredness. It was as if Borders did not want to continue despite the quote in The Detroit Press by defense attorney, Paul Magy, ‘Borders really does want to continue, and I think they really do care about their employees.’ But, is this the end of the physical bookstore, as Laura Bartell, a bankruptcy law professor at Wayne State University says (in the same story)?

What are the implications of Borders closing shop? "The chain's demise could speed the decline in sales of hardcover and paperback books as consumers increasingly turn to downloading electronic books or having physical books mailed to their doorsteps," says the Wall Street Journal.’ So, is Amazon.com, with almost every title in print on its list, the winner? Or, will e-books rule? Or, both? Or, neither?

Miles of bookshelf space have been wiped out. More will disappear if Barnes and Noble goes under, or is sold. There will be less space for new titles and new authors, and one can’t see independents taking up the slack in the short term. Still, in contrast to dozens of blogs and websites I’ve read, I’m not unhappy to see them go. Borders was an aberration; a bull in a China shop. I can live with a bookshop that has every title in the universe, as long as they play fair. Borders didn’t. They undercut the market, sold books below cost and made hundreds of independents bankrupt. The good news is, they are gone. The bad news is, Amazon is now a virtual monopoly.

I have no sentimental attachment to Borders. When I was in school, I loved the MPH on Stamford Road in Singapore. Later, in KL, I became very fond of the MPH in Bangsar Baru. I would be sad to see MPH go, although they are nothing like what they used to be.

Says the New York Times, ‘The news exposed a deep fear among publishers that bookstores would go the way of the record store, leaving potential customers without the chance to stumble upon a book and make an impulse purchase. Publishers have worried that without a specific place to browse for books, consumers could turn to one of the many other forms of entertainment available and leave books behind.’

Help! The sky is falling!

We have moved

Okay, so this is not an opinion piece as much an announcement. Our new address is 28-1, Jalan Telawi, Bangsar Baru, Kuala Lumpur. Yes, we are still on the same street but a few shops up.  (Right next to the Subway sandwich place). When we first moved from Sri Hartamas in the year 2000, we packed everything in one day, moved the next, unpacked everything the next day and were in business the day after that. When we shifted in 2007, the entire process took about five days. This time around it is ten days and we are still in a mess -- not that it has stopped customers from coming in. We sure have accumulated plenty of stuff, mostly books. (I am posting some photos here, including one of a swollen finger.)

We like our new address. It is bigger (a little), has a view (of the street) and there is no upstairs. We have moved our phones. Telekom insisted on appointing two different contractors to move the two lines -- since one of them is being used for Streamyx, never mind that it also had a phone on it. The two came at different times and it took them much longer than necessary. (Don't try to figure it. Telekom logic defies human common sense, and there is more of it later.) Then we got the keyphone and security cameras done. (Painless.) The signboard is up; a new drama will begin. Maybe, I will simply get a runner to kow thim the deal. I don't have the stamina anymore, what with Bomba wanting a piece of the action, as well.

And, it's going to be a busy July:

1. Saturday, 9th July 2011, 2.30 pm. Silverfish Writer's Forum. For this session we will be joined by a critique group of SCBWI (Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators). Linda Tan is the Regional Advisor for SCBWI in Malaysia and president of the local chapter. SCBWI is the largest  organisation dedicated to people who write, illustrate and are involved in children's books, covering various mediums from print to TV. Their HQ is in Los Angeles. There are more than 70,000 SCBWI members worldwide. The critique group is one of SCBWI's key activities in many countries. Many have found such groups to be supportive and helpful. The forum is open to anyone, especially those interested in children's books. Admission free.

2. Saturday, 16th July 2011, 5.30pm. Book Launch. The Amok of Mat Solo by Salleh ben Joned (a book that no one dared to publish or perform on stage for over twenty years) will be launched by Royal Prof Ungku Aziz, with a few songs (unplugged) by the talented Anna Salleh to celebrate her father's recent 70th birthday.

He was no rebel,
no avenger he,
the cause of his anger was a trivial thing,
a manhood insulted was a trivial thing.

The Ballad of Mat Solo (1981) -- Poems Sacred and Profane.

We will also celebrate Silverfish Books' 12th Anniversary on that day -- yes, we have been around that long -- and hold our grand shop-warming party (at the new premises) at the same time. Admission free.

3. Saturday, 23rd July 2011, 5.30pm. Readings from 2 books, Anarki di Kuala Lumpur by Mohd Jayzuan (Sang Freud Press) and Kasino by Saifullizan Tahir (Fixi). If you have never been to a frinjan event, you have to come to this to redeem your faith in the Malay writing scene. This is where it is all happening.

4. Saturday, 30th July 2011, 5.30pm. Book launch of DUKE by Rozlan Mohd Noor, another Inspector Mislan mystery in which he solves the twin Dukexpressway Murders, by the author of 21 Immortals. Here is a synopsis:

A married man and his young woman companion, whom he is planning to marry in Thailand shortly, are found dead in a car locked from the inside, with gunshot wounds, during Ramadan, on the DUKExpressway leading out of the city. It looks like an obvious case of murder-cum-suicide to all but Inspector Mislan, who is surprised by the amount of political interference and pressure he gets to close the case quickly, and at the attempts to frame him up for the fall.

Another great Malaysian crime novel by Rozlan Mohd Noor, with an ending that will surprise even the most ardent fan of the genre.

Admission is free to our last bash before Ramadan starts.

5. Silverfish Writing Programme that starts on the 16th of July, 2011 has been fully subscribed. Participants are encouraged to attend any or all of the events above to get themselves aquainted with the KL literary scene, and the standards to expect.

(I am not putting up any other post this month, so it is all summarised here. (Too busy moving, lah.) Raman 

Wisdom of crowds (or not)

Read this report by Brandon Keim in Wired Science and you can download a free pdf file of the full paper from here. Although it is not directly related to book publishing (or selling) it is a phenomenon that has puzzled me for decades.

In a paper titled How social influence can undermine the wisdom of crowd effect, (edited by Burton H. Singer, University of Florida), authors Jan Lorenz, Heiki Rauhut, Frank Sweitzer and Dirk Helbing found that, “Although groups are initially “wise,” knowledge about estimates of others narrows the diversity of opinions to such an extent that it undermines the wisdom of crowd effect in three different ways. The “social influence effect” diminishes the diversity of the crowd without improvements of its collective error. The “range reduction effect” moves the position of the truth to peripheral regions of the range of estimates so that the crowd becomes less reliable in providing expertise for external observers. The “confidence effect” boosts individuals’ confidence after convergence of their estimates despite lack of improved accuracy." The recent global financial crisis is given as an example.

In lay language: In the study, members of one group used their own mental capacity to arrive at answers, and they got it mostly right. In the other group, when members are allowed to be influenced by answers of others, the answers became skewed, less accurate.

The authors say, “When individuals become aware of the estimates of others, they may revise their own estimates for various reasons: People may suspect that others have better information, they may partially follow the wisdom of the crowd, there may be peer pressure toward conformity, or the group may engage in a process of deliberation about the facts.”

This is something I have wondered about for a long time. (It is also for this reason we do not promote self-help and management books, though we sell a few. Please read the primary sources and make up your own mind, we’d say.)

One only has to visit any social networking site to witness the phenomenon, the hysteria of misinformation, everyone trying to influence everyone else. Social networks are neither good nor bad, they merely mirror society. While the mathematical model is fascinating (and does agree with many of my lay observations), I am more interested in the ‘why’. Are we hardwired that way? Is it part of our survival or coping mechanism? Are we merely being manipulated? (My assumption here is that the truth is better than the lie, though I am not interested in a Socratic argument about it. Am I being biased?)

From Thesaurus online:

TRUTH: accuracy, actuality, authenticity, axiom, case, certainty, correctness, dope, exactitude, exactness, fact, facts, factualism, factuality, factualness, genuineness, gospel truth, gospel, honest truth, infallibility, inside track, legitimacy, maxim, naked truth, nitty-gritty, perfection, picture, plain talk, precision, principle, rectitude, rightness, scoop, score, trueness, truism, truthfulness, unvarnished truth, veracity, verisimilitude, verity, whole story

LIE: aspersion, backbiting, calumniation, calumny, deceit, deception, defamation, detraction, dishonesty, disinformation, distortion, evasion, fable, fabrication, falsehood, falseness, falsification, falsity, fib, fiction, forgery, fraudulence, guile, hyperbole, inaccuracy, invention, libel, mendacity, misrepresentation, misstatement, myth, obloquy, perjury, prevarication, revilement, reviling, slander, subterfuge, tale, tall story, vilification, white lie, whopper

Below are two short stories which may or may not be related but have made me sit up and think.

One. When I was in college (more than forty years ago) I witnessed an incident. I lived in Block E of the Fifth College (yes, they were not very creative in naming the blocks or colleges). It was custom (a strange one, admittedly) to jeer any visitor from another block. This was normally done in good humour. Once, however, it turned ugly. The visitor was initially jeered and called names, as usual, which he acknowledged with a smile and a wave, as usual, then someone threw something. Soon an entire mob descended on him and proceeded to beat the poor chap as he ran to safely. I looked on from the third floor, where my room was, in shock. I was helpless. Although I was a senior member of the block, there was nothing I could do. That was my first introduction to a mob.

Two. I was in Trengganu in the seventies when I heard about the death of a close friend. I only heard it this morning, I said when some friends met in Kuantan that evening. Then someone else said, he heard it the night before, and, so, started the combative conversation, louder and more insistent. Someone else insisted she had heard it the morning before that, until it reached a point when one person claimed she heard of the incident the day before the death actually occurred! I could only sit and admire. It was a combative conversation at its finest!

Raman

Weirdoes and nut-jobs

Not too long ago I wrote about publishing being a weird business and that, ‘In none other will one meet so many weirdos and nut-jobs.’ Many of my customers were quite amused by that thinking, perhaps, I was referring to them. None of my them seemed offended (not to with me, anyway). I suspect that people who read books do entertain (and even celebrate) the notion that they are somewhat different from the herd. Truth is, they are. Readers are a minority in any country. The book industry of the past two (or three) decades was just that: an industry. It lived in an alternate reality. Books are not dead, they said. More titles were published every year (though one wonders why). But, nevertheless, books were dying, smothered by the very hands responsible for keeping them alive.

‘Readers’ became mindless consumers herded by cynical, relentless mass marketing pressure. It became all about books that ‘must be read’, complete with midnight queues. ‘Book discovery’ and real reading moved to the fringes. The fanboy (and girl) took over. One customer said she felt manipulated. Indeed, she was, we all were; manipulated to the point where we admitted we liked something when we didn’t -- like believing ‘Coke’ is good for health, or ‘... he can't be a man 'cause he doesn't smoke the same cigarettes as me’. It felt dirty. It was dirty.

Does all this sound elitist? Some use that word, without fully understanding its implications of power, influence and (worst of all) class. ‘Intellectual’ is close but not its implications of superior mental capacities. It’s about knowledge. Since the 80s intellectualism (in this country, for sure) has been taking a beating and has been cowering in ‘shame’ against the onslaught of the ‘common man’, and mediocrity; a swing to the right, of unbridled capitalism that gave nothing back (all, ironically, in the name of democracy). Greed was good, a virtue. ‘It’s not my fault if people are stupid and want to give me all their money.’

(Some years ago, when I first set up shop) I was having a long conversation about the media with a newspaper person ... about newspapers insulting the intelligence of readers ... yada, yada ... when I asked him at what level newspapers were pitched. He hesitated for a moment, and then said that in England the newspapers were typically pitched at 16-year-olds. (I was taken aback and I hoped he was speaking of tabloids, otherwise it would be too depressing.) “How about Malaysia?” I asked. He hesitated again before saying softly, “Lower.” It was scary, but sort of explained the level of intellectual debate (or the lack of it).

Question: “Would you rather have a discussion with someone coming from a position of knowledge, or someone coming from a position of ignorance?” Would you consider the two positions be exactly equal and valid?

Anyway, coming back to weirdoes and nut-jobs, I think I have mentioned (in earlier columns) about the father who wanted his school-leaving daughter to take up writing because JK Rowling made so much money. (The girl was not particularly interested.) Then there was this father who grabbed his daughter and bolted out of the shop and down the stairs when Phek Chin asked if he was going to buy the book the child just tore. (He had the audacity to come back, but still refuse to buy that book.) And we have had so many customers who looked like taxi drivers or Bandaraya workers, who’d quietly browse through every shelf for hours and, just as we think they are not going to buy anything, bring a stack of books to the counter worth RM300.

We once had this customer when we were in Desa Seri Hartamas who, on his first day, spent about two (or three) hours going through our shelves. He came back the next day and spent another two hours. He didn’t buy anything. On the third day I got a little nervous and I decided to talk to him. He said he was a labourer with Tenaga and that he liked books but he couldn’t afford them. I told he could browse as long as he wanted and that he could even sit at our tables and read them. I suppose I must have made him very happy from the way he smiled. He said, “Thank you sir, thank you sir,” repeatedly, until I started feeling a little embarrassed. The next day was Sunday. We were open and he spent eight hours in the shop. (He declined tea) We saw him a few more weeks after that, then he stopped coming.

At the other end of the spectrum is that loud know-it-all customer who will talk your ears off, drop names, try to impress you with his knowledge (God know why) and then leave without buying anything, only to repeat the performance on another day. Some will go through all your shelves and ask you for an author or title they know is not there. (Sometimes I will have it in another place, but when I get it for them he (almost always a he) will say that he prefers the ‘other’ cover -- whatever.)

I am sure I have mentioned the oily ones who'd throw their manuscripts on the table and tell you it is a sure bestseller, and the indignant ones who will shout at you and call you names when you decline to publish theirs (for whatever reason).

Still, when you come across a manuscript that works, you become so delirious it makes everything worthwhile.

The book industry tsunami

When I decided to retire from engineering twelve years ago to open a bookshop, the thought of a world of gentlemen and gentlewomen engaged in intellectual discussions, in soft dulcet tones, about good books, current affairs and ideas over coffee or glasses of red wine was immensely pleasurable compared to all the argy-bargy, the barely legal (and often downright illegal) activities and the thuggery of the construction world I was leaving (despite some severe financial adjustment I had to make). About a year after I opened the doors of Silverfish Books, the invasion of the mega-bookstore in Kuala Lumpur started. With their infinitely deeper pockets, they could order every book in the list, whether they knew anything about it or not.

The first half of the last decade saw the establishment of so many of these giant bookstores in the Klang Valley, that at one point we had more than twice as much book retail space here than in Singapore, an island with twice the population. Every new shopping mall insisted on a mega bookstore of its own. The most coveted name on the list was Borders, the store that had made reading sexy in Singapore where it was established in 1997. Borders was, probably, single-handedly responsible for making books hip-and-happening all over the world.

But that didn't last long. The second half of the decade saw a gradual downsizing (euphemistically called consolidation) of several chain outlets. The romance was over. Borders is gone. Barnes and Noble could be next. And Waterstone’s might be sold. So what happened? It is common to hear people blame the demise of these chain stores on the Kindle and e-books, etc, etc. Really?

Unfortunately, the truth is simpler. The book industry shot itself in its foot, and has no one to blame for it, but itself.

Book buyer fatigue

First, there was this humungous oversupply of books. Anglophone countries were churning out more than 300,000 new titles a year in UK, USA, Australia and India. A report in The Telegraph in August 2007, announcing the Booker shortlist for the year gave figures of copies sold: On Chesil Beach (Ian McEwen), over 100,000; The Reluctant Fundamentalist (Mohsin Ahmad), 1519; Mister Pip (Lloyd Jones), 880; Animal’s People (Indra Sinha), 231; The Gathering (Anne Enright), 834. (These figures were for sales just after the shortlist was announced.) It was a clear sign that book buyers were getting tired, but the industry was not listening and continued to produce books that nobody wanted.

Second, chains and supermarkets started selling books as loss leaders. Everyone knows how small the margins on books are. Supermarkets can afford loss leaders because they sell all sorts of other merchandise with high margins. When bookstores start giving away their profits on their bestsellers, however, one senses something amiss. Bestsellers are where bookstores make the profit to stock up on other titles. Most customers who go into a bookshop to buy a bestseller buy nothing else, unlike people who go to a supermarket. Amazon is able to get away with it because apart from books, it sells music CDs, videotapes and DVDs, software, consumer electronics, kitchen items, tools, lawn and garden items, toys & games, baby products, apparel, sporting goods, gourmet food, jewellery, watches, health and personal-care items, beauty products, musical instruments, industrial & scientific supplies, and groceries. (Instead of recognising this, the industry was more concerned about Amazon calling itself the 'world's largest bookshop'. Amazon is a mega hypermart, get it? The game has changed. Amazon and hypermarts reduced books to the level of soda water, and the industry went along foolishly.)

Third, the book is a monopoly. A book retailer, in most cases, is able to obtain a particular title from only one supplier, the publisher, and on the latter's terms. Period. The bookseller has no option of buying his merchandise at a lower cost from China, Vietnam, Cambodia, or manufacture it himself in one of those places, unlike hypermarts that are able to buy a garment for 15 cents and sell it for 15 dollars.

Million dollar advances

Fourth, poor management. (The internet has many examples of bad management at Borders but I shall stick to my experience.) When Borders opened its first store at the Berjaya Times Square in Kuala Lumpur in 2005, I went to over to see if they had copies of the hardback edition of Freakonomics. Their system showed three copies. I kept myself occupied with their CD collection while the sales staff went about looking for it. After forty-five minutes, they told me they couldn’t find even one copy. (Honestly, I don't know why I waited that long.) Another case:  Border's Singapore used to buy Silverfish publications through my distributor there, but they used to take forever to confirm -- apparently, they had to get the approval of their office in Australia before they could buy a local book. That would take months. Meanwhile other bookstores would have the title on their shelves the same week of publishing!

Fifth, the industry believed its own spin. The last decade was the era of the million-dollar advances and billionaire writers, if you believed the hype (and many did). All one had to do was to pick up a pen (or sit in front of a word processor) to get rich. It was bizarre. I remember headlines in local dailies calling Tash Aw the 'RM3.5 million dollar man'. When I asked him about it, he was totally embarrassed. (Tash said he has never mentioned a figure, so how reporters came up with that number is anyone's guess.) The industry lived on the hyperbole. Big numbers were good. It made good stories, good copies and helped sell books. Publisher, wholesalers and distributors, retailers, the media and the consumers, all loved big numbers (even if they were blatant lies). Reports started coming out that many titles were unable even to recover advances given; still, the numbers kept going up. It was the perfect bubble.

Sixth, over-printing to wallpaper chain shops. There was a report that the first print run of a particular popular book was 35 million. Sales figures released some time later showed 10 to 12 million. What happened? Was the original figure not true? Did the publisher pulp the remainder? Or did the publisher print the additional copies for reasons other than sales? If so, who paid for it? Did they print that number of copies to meet wallpaper demands of the chain bookstores?

Selling potatoes

Seventh, books retailers had no idea what they were selling. One of the reasons given for the demise of Borders in Australia was the way they sold books like potatoes. Taking it from the top, one has to wonder how some books even get published. (The head of Random House said in an interview with Spiegel Online that he had no time to read.) So who makes publishing decisions? Agents?  Then, there is the layer of wholesalers and distributors for whom potatoes, or books, makes no difference. After that, come the retailers. The book is probably the only commodity sold by people with zero product knowledge. (Independents not included.)

Eighth, everyone is now blaming the e-book. The e-book is still new. The Kindle is only three years old, and there are dozens of competitors in the market. The iPad is only a year old. Although many early adopters have downloaded ebooks, there are no real numbers to work on. How many of these books were downloaded for free? How many were paid for? At what price? The favourite number thrown about by device manufacturers is 'millions' (with no substantiation) and the media is lapping it all up and regurgitating it without question. (I have downloaded about a dozen free e-books books so far, mostly classics. Ironically, I find it more comfortable to read them on my little iPod Touch screen than on my iPad. I haven't tried a Kindle, yet.) Right now we don't even know what an e-book is. The Kindle defined one. Then the iPad turned it upside down in just a short while. Things are changing rapidly. Expect many more permutations before something firms up, still a long way to go before forms take shape and a market is established. Until then, many devices already purchased have a good chance of ending up on shelves.

Ninth, lesson not learnt from the music industry. A recent story in The Brave New World says: "... global recorded music sales fell by some USD1.5bn (GBP 930m) last year."

Will anyone learn from the music industry

"The UK music business physical sales dropped by almost 20% with the overall performance down some 11% and although digital sales continued to rise by some 20% it did not offset the equivalent loss in physical sales ..." it continues, and that US economist Joel Waldfogel does not agree with the music industry bodies and major labels that creation of new music has been hurt by piracy, and that with "... new and cheaper recording technologies, digital music outlets and social networks, many of the tasks that were previously fulfilled by the big labels could easily be taken over by independent labels, or even the artists themselves."

… there’s no success like failure

 On 12 February 2011, I woke up to two bits of very exciting news. I switched on my iPad first thing in the morning (at about 6.00am) and read that Hosni Mubarak was no longer president of Egypt.  It took a while for that elation to subside. Then, when I opened my Facebook, there was a congratulatory message from Susan about Rozlan’s 21 Immortals – it had been shortlisted for the (SEA/Pacific) Commonwealth Prize for best first book! Wahhh! This is the second Silverfish publication since 2009 to be on the shortlist of an international award. (Shih-Li Kow was the first, of course).

It has been a bumpy 10 years of publishing for Silverfish Books. I distinctly remember the euphoria when Silverfish New Writing 1 came out in December 2001. I was excited, but I guess not in the same way as the writers who had contributed. I remember the stern review by Antares in Kakiseni: ‘limp biscuits’ and ‘self-indulgent’ were the terms he used. Many, especially writers whose works were included, were outraged. Some of them urged me to respond or, at least, read the review, which I finally did about a week later. In truth, I was amused, more than anything else, by the review and comments, though some of them started getting personal and ugly towards the end. I thought about it for a while and a week later I sent Antares a private email saying that I did agree with his review, knew where he was coming from and that although I was not entirely happy with the book either, it was a start. I didn’t tell the writers anything, though, because I was still hopeful.

I continued with Silverfish New Writings 2 to 7 after that, producing one book a year. The formula was repeated, as was the response. Then, I decided enough was enough, and stopped the charade. Many (especially writers) were disappointed. Why, why why? Many asked, and still do. It was their only chance of getting published, they said. Some suggested that the reason for stopping the series was because it was not commercially viable anymore. While it is true that we sold far more SNW1s (maybe due to Amir’s foreword) than SNW7, that was not entirely correct. Fact is, I considered it a failure. Yes, seven books and more than 250 writers later, we were still not going anywhere; not one Malaysian writer went on to become an author (except for Matthew Thomas, but that is another story), which was the purpose of the exercise.
In 2008, I changed strategy; I decided to start the Silverfish Writing Programme and to work, intensely, with individual authors. Although I was confident that there are Malaysians who are serious about their writing,

I was nervous like hell, and for long periods I thought I’d fall flat on my face. Fast-forward to March 2011: from August 2008 to now, Silverfish has published five individual works of fiction (Rumaizah Abu Bakar’s collection of short stories, Liver Box, will be out this month). Hardly prolific, it is true. It works out to one book in six months, which is about right, considering the amount of work that has gone into each. We are a tiny publisher and we have to make every shot count; there is no point in putting out anything short of our (and our writer’s) best. And, besides, I had to be certain these are not authors who will be resting on their laurels, or wait twenty years for their next book. I had to know how hard they are willing to work.

Results count, talk doesn’t.

Publishing is a weird business. In none other will one meet so many weirdos and nut-jobs. One woman writer of a self-published book asked, “Why Harry Potter can sell, mine cannot?” Another guy came in with two essays he had written (that would have made a chapbook of about thirty pages) and insisted on using the Silverfish imprint, and stormed out after a long argument with me when I tried to explain why we didn't ‘rent’ out our imprint, saying, “You don’t think my work is good enough, isn’t that it?” Another gentleman who threw his manuscript on the table saying that it was a sure ‘best seller’, was so ‘oily’ I thought I’d have to shampoo the carpets and take a shower after he left. Yet another lady wanted me to rewrite all her stories. Many have called me names, accused me of not helping Malaysian writers like I said I would (particularly, when I reject their manuscripts – a mere coincidence, perhaps, although it does look like a pattern) and flamed me in their blogs. I guess it goes with the territory. I am a publisher not a school teacher. While the latter’s concern is (and should be) with those at the bottom of the class (since ‘the top students will take care of themselves’), a publisher can only spend his time on the best -- the rest will take care of themselves.

Still, publishing is such a buzz when you meet writers who are not afraid of hard work, not afraid to be the best, and not too thin-skinned to take criticism. Working with these future cultural torch bearers is such a pleasure; it makes up for all the weirdos.

I have several more manuscripts in my hard disk, but I will not be rushing them. They deserve my best, and that’s all I can give. An editor can make a good story better, but nothing can make a bad one good.

As the good minstrel said:     She knows there’s no success like failure
                                            And that failure’s no success at all

Raman Krishnan

(In response to Polly Szantor's query as to why Silverfish Blog postings have no bylines, I am signing this blog with my name.)

Interlok revisited

I was going to write about something else, but two things happened that made me change my mind. First, was this gentleman I met who asked me what I did for a living? Then when he heard that I was a publisher, he immediately asked my opinion on the Interlok controversy. I started cautiously by saying that I had read the book, both the Malay and English versions, but before I could continue he asked:

“You mean you have read the book?”

I stopped in my tracks. It was a bizarre question and a bizarre moment. Why was he asking for my opinion if he thought I hadn’t read the book? If he wanted a hysterical uninformed opinion, there was plenty going around. Perhaps, he thought I would abandon scholarship for tribal loyalty and salute the flag he was waving, without a second thought. Perhaps, he was surprised that I could read Malay and, worse still, admit it. Perhaps, he was shocked that, in these days of self-righteous chest-thumping, I dared to look at an issue from another angle.

Second, was this email from one person (whom I shall leave him unnamed): DOES A LOYAL MALAYSIAN INDIAN DESERVE THIS KIND OF INSULT IN A COUNTRY HE CALLS MOTHERLAND ?????????? (Yes, all in capitals, 18 point fonts and in red colour, to boot).

My opinion of the book in question is that, though wobbly in (many) parts and a little naïve, it is certainly one of the better Malaysian books I have read. It is, basically, a story of the human spirit. Abdullah Hussain’s empathy with his characters (whether it is Seman, Cing Huat or Maniam) is quite admirable. Read the following, for example:

Kadang-kadang dia masih lapar. Bau roti yang dibakar dan disapu serikaya menimbulkan rangsangan dalam kepalanya untuk makan, bau makanan yang di masak oleh penjual nasi di sudut kedai itu menimbulkan nafsu untuk makan dan kadang kadang dia melihat daging babi yang tergantung dengan lemaknya yang berminyak-minyak itu, menggoda dia untuk makan. (Interlok, page 156)

(Sometimes he (Cing Huat) remained hungry. The smell of bread being toasted and spread with serikaya would stimulate his brain to eat, the smell of rice being cooked by the food seller next door triggered his appetite and sometimes when he saw the  (roast) pork hanging with its fatty oil dripping, it would entice him.)

A Malay writer talking about the smell or lard from roast pork? No, Abdullah Hussain is not afraid to go where no one else dares, if it serves his art. I hugely admire his research, his craft and his courage. And he is, certainly, no racist.

As for the offending “p” word it appears twice in the book:

Satu perkara besar yang membuat mereka senang bergaul ialah mereka itu tergolong dalam satu kasta Paria. Mereka tidak takut mengotori sesiapa kalau bersentuhan dan mereka bebas lepas bergaul. (Interlok, page 251)

(One thing that made it easy for them to mix around was the fact that they were all from the same Pariah caste. They had no fear of polluting anyone they touched and were free to mingle.)

One feels for Maniam. Yes, this is how he would have felt, coming from a background of centuries of oppression and suppression. Abdullah Hussain got it right. (Mulk Raj Anand would have applauded, too.) Taking the “p” word out would be doing injustice to the Maniams of the world. It would have been precisely because of his caste that he would have been considered untouchable and unclean, and he would have had every reason to be nervous.

Di sini, Maniam dapati perbezaan perkerjaan menurut kasta, seperti yang masih berlaku di negerinya, tidak ada.

Pertama kali inilah yang ditanya oleh Maniam kapada Muthu, seorang kawan dari desanya yang sudah lama tinggal di Pulau Pinang. Muthu seorang dari kasta Paria, seperti Maniam juga, dia berkerja sebagai kerani di sebuah gudang orang putih dekat perlabuhan. (Interlok, page 257)

(Over here, Maniam noticed that working according to one’s caste was not in practice.
That was the first thing that Maniam asked Muthu, a friend from the same village who had lived in Penang for a long time. Muthu was from the Pariah caste, just like Maniam, and he was working as a clerk at the godowns belonging to the white people near the port.)

There is nothing negative about this section either. It is a statement of fact. To a person like Maniam, this would have been a big deal indeed. He could do any work he wanted, even become a clerk like his friend Muthu, his Malaysian Dream, his ticket out of hell.  According to an article in the Malay Mail on Monday 24th August, 2009, 65% of MIC members belong to this caste although they now refer to themselves as Namavars – our people. Again, Abdullah Hussain’s research cannot be faulted.

Interlok is the story of three people and their trials. Seman is devastated when he learns from his father on his deathbed that the land they have been tilling all these years does not belong to them but a Chinese towkay, Cina Panjang. Chin Huat leaves his mother to come to Malaya with his father to escape an impending famine in China. Maniam travels to Malaya, the land he keeps hearing about, leaving his wife behind to escape crippling poverty. And in the end, they all get together and live happily ever after (which, in hind-sight, is the actual fairy tale).

The first part about Seman is, probably, the best written. Cing Huat’s section is good, too, though Abdullah Hussain does not say how or why this personable Chinese lad transforms himself into the predator businessman, Cina Panjang. The Maniam section is the weakest part and is riddled with minor and major errors. It is as if the author, tired of research, resorted to watching a few Tamil movies for the right cliches -- complete with the long suffering hero, the unfaithful wife, the totally evil villain (Suppiah), the mandatory rape scene followed by the suicide of the victim, and the long lost son who discovers that the prisoner in his police lockup is really his father. Corny to the max.

Then, the final scene is all Malaysian TV during elections: sugared to the hilt to induce terminal diabetes in the entire population of a small country.

But, one thing remains unclear, though. By some accounts, the version to be used in school is an abridged one (and not the 503-page original). If that is the case then all my comments above could be completely off the mark, because I have no idea what has been taken out and what remains. Knowing the track record of our gomen pen-pushers over decades past, I am aware that they are capable of being quite jahat about it.

Anyway, the cabinet has appointed a committee to look into the matter. This, normally, means that nothing will happen. Some new crisis will emerge and we all forget about Interlok. We are, after all, Malaysians.

The one good thing to come out of this crisis is that many people are reading the book, and Interlok is sold out in most bookshops. Good on you, Abdullah Hussain.

Lies that bind

First of all: Happy New Year. Joe Klein wrote in the Time magazine recently about 2010 being the year of the leaks: from the massive leaks in the Gulf of Mexico to the Wikileaks. It was a leaky year, all right, though most people I have spoken to wonder what the big deal was. Was the BP disaster totally unexpected given the way ‘big oil’ (or any other major corporation obsessed with the bottomline) go about their business? Was anyone surprised that diplomats often have to lie through their teeth to clean up the mess left behind by their political masters?

Many are getting their knickers in a knot, “How could they?” Welcome to the real world, darlings. In the internet, nothing is sacred and nothing is secret. Anything you say can and will be used against you. Cry what you want for Assange to be tried and jailed, but he is only the messenger. This is the 21st century, you hide stuff and people will find it. Maybe, diplomacy has to grow up? As Robert Zimmerman says:

You're invisible now, you got no secrets to conceal

We have plenty of experience with that in this country: hiding stuff. It is called censorship. We hide books on religion and politics to protect our people from deviant teaching, not that people can’t get whatever they want off the internet, or a hundred other sources. Brilliant is the way we ban sex from adults (but not babies -- wonderful contradiction that), ostensibly to protect our young who still believe that pregnancy is caused by sneezing. If you are gay, please keep it a secret: we will send an entire ministry after you and, yes, the minister has nothing better to do. (It would be interesting to find out how many people think the Official Secrets Act is designed to protect nations, and not to cover-up the misdemeanours of the rich and powerful.)

So, we come back to the point of lying. The curious thing about lying is that we can’t live without it. We lie everyday, almost every time we open our mouths, actually. Think about it. Call them white lies, green lies, blue lies, whatever; but they remain lies. Like the false laugh when we speak on the phone; or the way we’d claim, “She wouldn’t let me put down the phone,” after a three hour conversation. Remember the time you drove 25 miles into the boondocks to get a packet of cheese biscuits for your sister’s cat in Ipoh, swearing all the time, and then saying to her afterwards that it was no problem (when what you really wanted to do was kill her)? Is lying a human condition, then? 

I have customers who will come into Silverfish and declare very loudly (for everyone to hear) that they didn’t read fiction. I would feel like saying how sorry I felt for them, but I wouldn’t. Silence is another form of lying. But, coming back to the point, is fiction a lie? If it is the truth, why disguise it as a lie?

I will tell you a story. This was in the early seventies, just after I graduated. I was on a ‘guru’ trip like many others; one of those tantric yoga groups. I didn’t feel out of place because everyone was friendly and everything. Then, they decided on a retreat to Fraser’s Hill to which I went along as a driver. At this retreat was a young man from Thailand, very personable, but with only a stuttering command of English. He had just returned from India after meeting ‘Baba’. He was asked for an account, and this is how it, more or less, went:

How was it? (Excited.)

It was okay.

How was the Baba? (Still excited.)

He was okay. He was nice.

That’s it? Did he not materialise a flower for you? A watch? A radio? (Disappointed.)

No. (Laughs.) But Baba likes to joke.

What did he say?

He asked about my folks. I told him that my mother was okay, that she has recovered from her illness ...

Was your mother ill?

Oh, that was two years ago. She had a minor stroke, but she has recovered almost completely ...

Were you a devotee at the time?

Yes, yes. I have been a devotee for five years ...

Hah! A miracle! Don’t you see? Baba cured your mother. (Loud noises of approval, group excitement.)

I watched the performance, stunned. I was speechless. Baba had cured someone’s mom of cancer.

I stopped going to the centre after that.