How to write rejection letters

A Silverfish author who was in the shop the other day, spoke of a mutual friend who wanted to submit a manuscript, but was afraid of rejection. Apparently, we have a reputation. Yes, it’s hard to live down a reputation of eating babies at breakfast, but this other person was someone we knew quite well, who had even asked if he could send us his work.

“Sure, send it to us. We’ll have a look at it,” we said. Obviously, that was not good enough. I suppose we could have said, “Yes, certainly, we’d love to publish 10,000 copies your work without even looking at it.”

Rejection is a deep-rooted primal fear. It’s like waiting for exam results, or college application, or driver’s license, only worse. When taking exams, one is either confident and well prepared, or nervous as hell. In the first case, anything less than a full-house ‘A’ will be failure, and in the second, anything better but a full-house ‘F’ would be a reason to celebrate.

But, in writing, something else seems to be at work. In our experience, a person who is nervous like hell, before submitting a manuscript, is probably someone who takes his/her work very seriously, and the chances are it will be quite good.  On the other hand, we have consistently found that the work of people who swagger in with their million-sellers are anything but.

Not good enough for Silverfish, it it?!  All my friends like it. It’s something we hear often, whenever we tell them that more work would be required for their book to work. In writing, it seems the sense of entitlement is inversely proportional to effort. (Move over, Isaac Newton.)

There are exceptions. There’s one Silverfish author who’d produce lovely pieces in relatively short bursts of energy, and be flabbergasted why the ones that took so much longer to write (up to 3 years) were rejected. Interestingly, the writer, although initially disappointed, re-read the pieces a few years later, and realised what was wrong with them, and was suitably embarrassed. What was I thinking?!

Time’s normally a good judge of writing. If one still likes what one wrote six months, or a year, or two years ago, it’s probably good, but if one hates it, that’s clear too. However, there is also the major problem of maya, of illusion; in which case nothing can be done, and publishers who dare reject manuscripts of those afflicted with maya will be called names and flamed on social media. It’s a though life.

Still, the rejection letter is a necessary evil of the profession. Here are some tips for writing them for new publishers.

RL1. “Thank you for your submission. Unfortunately, we find your novel unsuitable for our lists.”  This type of letter is the most common and the safest. It could mean anything or nothing. It could mean it’s the wrong genre, or the wrong sub-genre, the wrong sub-sub genre, the subject is too risqué, too political, too erotic, too gay, too straight, too long, too short, too good, too not-good-enough, too anything the writer wants to think and tell friends. Frankly, you don’t care, and you’re good. Follow-up questions for this type of RL are rare.

Be very careful with the second type of the RL. RL2. “Interesting, but we’re unable to publish it in it’s current form.” This is dangerous, and can be construed as acceptance, so use it judiciously. What one is saying is that rejection is not forever, and that the writer should try harder. Unfortunately, that’s not the message the writer receives. “Yippee, I’ve made it!” But use your discretion, a little encouragement is often helpful. If the second draft is a big improvement on the first, that’s good; you have judged him/her correctly. However, if it’s still not going anywhere, “Cut!” But on the other had, if it turns out to be a gem, you’ll be happy your in this business.

RL3. “Thank you for your submission. Unfortunately we do not publish [this genre]. Perhaps another publisher will be more helpful.” This is a (relatively) safe, until they find out that you have published similar works before, in which case talk fast. You'll have to lie, lie, lie, without telling him/her that he/she is not Pablo Neruda.

RL4. “Thank you for your submission. Unfortunately, we think its bad and you shouldn’t write anymore. Please stop. Also we think you’re ugly and so is your mother, and your baby, and all your children. In fact, from your writing, we think your entire family is ugly and dumb, not clever at all. So, stop, stop, stop! And save the world. My cat write’s better.”

No matter which RL you send, they will all sound like this to the recipient. As a publisher, you have no chance in hell.

Malaysian books as year-end presents

Susan has declared on Facebook Page that all her Christmas presents this year will be Malaysian books!

This is how it started. She sent me a link to a Publishing Perspective story about how Finns (unlike Malaysians) take their home-grown authors seriously, even though theirs is such a small market. I replied saying, “Obviously, the Finns are proud of who they are. Can’t say the same for Malaysians, who either think they are inferior or superior (bodoh sombong) to everyone else.”

Then Ksyatriya Words N Rhymes chipped in, “It’s still very much a feudal mind, methinks. Everything white/Caucasian is celebrated and the idea the local is inferior is very much rooted in that …” (Never mind the native-speaker syndrome.) That’s when Susan decided to do her bit. Good on you Susan, less talk more action is what we need.

It would also help if countries recognised and respect their own writers.

I was in Frankfurt mid-October. I attended as a trade visitor. First, I felt it was way too expensive to take a space at the official Malaysian stand. Second, I preferred the freedom of walking about, observing and learning from other displays, and meeting people.
This year, Thailand, Malaysia and Singapore all had stands in Hall 5.0, and next to each other. (Malaysia was in the middle.) Maybe the organisers thought that ASEAN members would like to stick together. They probably didn’t know that ASEAN does not have a common currency like the Euro, but survives on suspicion, jealousy and envy; with the chances of working together on books and publishing (on a G to G level) ranging from zero to nil.

With the three stands next to each other, it was tempting to compare and contrast; to determine winners and losers. The task was easier than I expected. There were simply no winners. So, which country had the worst stand? Without hesitation, I’d say Singapore. What were they thinking? They had Pearson and Marshall Cavendish promoting 'O'-level English and Mathematics textbooks! And a host of others with their own ‘educational’ books.  (They were probably there on national duty.) Okay, Monsoon Books was there as an indie publisher. I couldn’t help feeling embarrassed. “Where are your general publishers, particularly indie ones?  Where were yours authors and their books?  For God’s sake, this is Frankfurt; show off your best."

It’s difficult to take their own home-grown authors seriously, when the government treats them with such disdain. Yes, authors are dangerous; they can say things the government might not like. But, they are the life-blood of a nation.

Score: D- (Very gomen with focus on KPI, not effectiveness. I expected much more.)

As for the Malaysian stand, let me say the good things first. The design (in black) was minimalist and classy. Then they had one wall for displaying the 50 best Malaysian titles (in Bahasa and English) of the year. This was at least in keeping with the spirit of Frankfurt. Then it was downhill. The cost of participation for publishers was up from RM1000.00 last year to RM6700.00, as a result of which there was only one private publisher present, PTS. The others were government bodies, quasi-government bodies, those who got grants from the government or those who (one way or another) didn’t have to pay to get their space. Less than half of those who took part last year were present. It was sad. (But there were several others with independent stands scattered around that floor.)

Then, they had to bring a wayang kulit performer. I have nothing against him, but why? If the MOT wanted a cultural component, then they should have paid for it. At least, that would have made it cheaper for the rest of us. This was Frankfurt, not a MATTA fair! And what did they expect one performer crouched behind a TV-sized white screen, with a back light, to do? I am unsure if I felt more sorry for him (doing his wayang kulit thing for a totally bored audience), or the uninterested audience trying to be polite at the pathetic display.

Then, they decided not to pay for any writer. Children’s book author and wonderful illustrator, Emila Yusof, who had four or five books on display at the stand, paid her own way, while the wayang kulit man's trip was sponsored. (I was told that three years ago, Pak Samad was knocked off the list for a Mak Yong dancer.)

Score: D+. (Also very gomen. I have learned not to expect too much.)
\
The Thai stand was on the other side. Well, to start with, they gave out nice little elephant key rings. Most of the exhibitors were private, though they appeared to consist of the usual suspects – the big boys. They had a good selection of books on display, some of them interesting. One would guess that they had done their homework well before coming to Frankfurt, and appeared to have a much better understanding of the market, compared to their two neighbours in the South.  They didn’t promote school text books or workbooks and, like the Singaporeans, they threw a party. (Malaysia didn’t.) But their stand design was rather basic and not particularly exciting.

Score: C+. (Also gomen, but less so. Since they don’t have that ‘English’ albatross thing hanging around their necks, they are less pretentious and willing to learn. They will improve.)

I wish representatives of all three countries would simply walk around Hall 5.0 (and hall 5.1 upstairs) to see the Central European and Latin American displays, some of which were stunning. One common theme they’d see would be the way these countries show off their writers and their works, and how obviously proud they are of them.

(Malaysian officials often wonder about the total lack of interest by the international publishing industry in some the titles, normally from gomen presses, on display in their stand, of which they are so proud – you can guess which ones. What does one say?!)

Raman

The first 1Malaysia bookshop opens

A Bernama report says: “Prime Minister Datuk Seri Najib Tun Razak today launched the first 1Malaysia Bookstore at the Kuala Lumpur Urban Transformation Centre (UTC) Building, the renamed Pudu Sentral, here.

“The shop is the flagship store, several branches of which will be opened throughout the country, including in Sabah and Sarawak.”

It was a surprisingly low key announcement after all that fanfare leading up to it. Although, we have been expecting it for a while, and many unanswered questions remain. The report in the (print version) of The New Straits Times only mentioned it ‘by-the-way’: “It also houses the Kedai Rakyat 1Malaysia, 1Malaysia Textile shop and the new 1Malaysia Bookshop, which was launched yesterday.”  Readers specialising in in-between-the-lines messages must be having a field day.

According to market talk, this is a joint-venture between ITBM (The Malaysian Institution for Translation and Books) and MPH, a well-known local chain, with the participation of several other local distributors, who appear to have been called up for national duty. Rumours also say that books will be sold at 15% below market price, which brings up two questions.

First, book margins are notoriously small; so how is this 1Malaysia bookstore supposed to make money, when Pudu Sentral is one of the least favourite places for city dwellers -- one to pass through quickly, not to hang-out in.  If run on a pure commercial basis, the overheads will eat up any profit made (never mind the leakages). It’s entirely possible that a long-term sweetheart deal on rentals has been negotiated with the the developers of Urban Transformation Centre (UTC). However, one industry source speculates that they’ll make money ‘some other way’, and that will be the return for their national duty. 

The Bernama report’s last paragraph gives a hint: “Besides books, the shop also supplies school and library stocks.” So, is the 1Malaysia bookshop about to monopolise library and school-supply market? Well, the rest of us in the book trade who have grown up in a decidedly dua Malaysia economy for decades, without expecting anything from the government (except for the occasional crumb through sales by third party vendors), are not shaking with outrage (although we should be), but it remains to be seen how those who have been surviving on this largess, will react.

(It would easy to make money if the government bought everything one published, no matter what quality, and bought all its supplies at a premium, too. It’s a no brainer. But a business is about making ends meet on a level playing field.)

Second, stories are circulating that in future Bauchar Buku 1Malaysia issued to students will be redeemable only at these stores. This will certainly affect many more traders than the first, with far more people will be pissed off. One understands how this whole 1Malaysia bookshop thing is really all about politics; but is it good politics?  (Many friends, more cynical than me, do not expect the 1Malaysia bookshop to survive long after the next GE, but let’s see.)

Still, the core question is: why is the government, yet again, competing with the private sector? First, Dewan Bahasa started publishing books (though they didn’t seem interested in selling any). Then, ITNM (funded by the government, but claiming to be private) became ITBM (although they started publishing before that.) More recently, one hears of Kotabuku (the Book City) going ‘commercial’; that is, competing directly with private publishers whilst having salaries and perks paid by the government.

Yes, the Malaysian book industry is budding, but it’s not exactly thriving, not by any stretch of imagination. We are just picking ourselves up after the collapse of the global ‘mega bookstore’ madness. So, while we do not expect handouts, we would appreciate if the government did not give us the ‘pasang kaki’ either.

The government’s job is policy and governance, not business. Stick to it, and do it well. Don’t meddle in business; your track record is not good.

The English language fixation

"The study of literature in the national education system should not only focus on English literature," said Royal Professor Ungku Abdul Aziz Ungku Abdul Hamid, according toa Bernama report datelined 24 August 2012. "He said the education system should instead promote the study of literature in all of the world’s languages."

Interesting, but not at all surprising coming from the good professor. It is a sentiment I share, and have felt this way for a very long time. (Caveat: it has nothing to do with the 'look East' policy, which was really political and, seriously, quite lame).

Do we have an English fixation? Yes, I think we do. Not only that; some of us even have an England fixation. Ever seen Malaysians supporting the England football team? They can be so vociferous that one cannot help but cringe and feel embarrassed for them. Many English expatriates and tourists (in Malaysia) have expressed the exact same sentiments.

Can the colonised mind ever truly be free?

But that aside, let's examine the question: can the colonised mind ever truly become free? Decades ago during my first trip to London, I was astonished at how Roman everything looked. And a trip to the US confirmed my worst suspicions: why are they trying so hard to look British? Indians love everything English, so much so that South Indian restaurants will try to sell you tomato soup as a side order (or starter) to thosai with chutney meal.

One understands influence, but one also immediately smells worship. Maybe it's the seduction of power, nostalgia, romance, an inferiority complex, a memory of more equal times, or all of that. Whatever the reasons, a large number of Malaysians have a fixation about everything English.

From the technological point of view, it makes no sense at all. England has almost nothing to contribute to the world any more. Their car industry is either German, Japanese or Korean. Sure, the London Olympic's opening ceremony was (surprisingly) well done, but it was all about the past. When Tim Berners-Lee was presented as the inventor of the internet, I cringed and felt more than a little embarrassed for them.)  The closest they got to today was in pop culture, even then the best bits were from the past, from about 50 years ago. The Americans? Ditto. They make great iPhones and iPads, but who else in the USA is making great stuff apart from Apple? Okay, it is too early to write off the Americans, but they are surely not the force they once were. Tech wise, our English fixation is a shackle that prevents us from moving forward; from learning from the Germans, Koreans, Japanese, or even the French, Italians, Russians, Chinese, Indians and Brazilians.

In terms of economics, knowledge of English could (theoretically) be useful for the penetration of Anglophone market, but no mastery is required; ask the Germans, Japanese, Koreans, Chinese, Vietnamese, Cambodians, or anyone else.

Culture wise, there's pop, and there's literature. Regarding the former, there's no a great language requirement (though the Japanese did use The Beatles to teach English in the sixties). As for literature, my opinion is that, this fixation we have with English is a shackle not a boon.

Reading Kafka

The last English novel I read was On Chesil Beach by Booker Prize winning author, Ian McEvan five years ago. (I also read Salman Rushdie's The Enchanteress of Florence the following year, but I'm not counting that because I tend to get this irrational attacks of rushdie-itis whenever his books come out.) And, having had enough of the New Orientalism coming out of the sub-continent, I avoid Indian writers in English. So, all English authors have been off my menu for a while. In the last decade, my authors have largely come from Latin America, Europe, China, and Japan. (I still have customers who declare quite loudly that they do not like to read translations because 'the meaning is lost'. My response? I cannot imagine my life without having read Kafka, and I don't read German.)

Bernama continues, "Deputy Prime Minister Tan Sri Muhyiddin Yassin, who is also education minister, had said the government planned to re-introduce English Literature as a subject in secondary schools." Interesting. My question: what's 'English Literature' the minister is refering to? Would that be the literature of the English people? (No doubt, many parents and academics would think that.) Perhaps, he was thinking of the literature of countries that have adopted English as their native language. Or could it be, simply, any literature written in English? Colonial? Post-colonial? Or could the minister simply mean that English will be taught using literature?

It gets quite complicated only when 'literature' is removed from 'people', particularly, when the latter is replaced with 'market'. A literature without a 'people', or country, regardless of what language it's written in, makes no sense (unless, it's a consumer product -- in which case its study belongs in marketing). It is a record of thoughts and ideas of a people who share a common history and culture. With that in mind, one can only hope that the minister was referring to Malaysian literature written in English, because it makes no sense to have secondary school students slog through the literature of a foreign tribe in a foreign land, unless they are working on a doctoral thesis.

Why do 'English language' departments at universities teach literature?

I am in total agreement with Ungku Aziz when he says, “As a Malaysian, we must understand literature not only in English but also other languages such as Russian, Italian and Japanese to understand their cultures.” Let's start with the universities, where the current situation is quite bizarre. Why do 'English language' departments at universities teach literature? Literature is a by-product of a language (just as an automobile is a by-product of engineering, which is a by-product of physics, maths, chemistry and ingenuity). Literature can be used to teach English, but not the converse. It's a subject that's far more about the culture and history of a people, than language. Perhaps, what the universities really mean is: theirs is a Cultural Department specialising in the literature of the people of England and other Anglophone countries. There's nothing wrong if that's what some people want to major in.  But, let's not call it a language department.

Hence, the argument for a Literature Department at our universities, teaching literature from all continents and all countries, and all languages. It can be taught in any language, and those who want go further could opt to read the material in the original form. Considering the number of translated works there are in English, that would be a good place to start. 

As the professor said, let's not fixate on English literature.

Time for an MAFB Fair -- A Malaysia Alternative Frankfurt Book Fair?

Well, we have the KLAB Fair -- KL Alternative Book Fair -- so why not an MAFB Fair?

The Frankfurt Book Fair is on 10 October 2012, and Malaysia's official Frankfurt Bookfair organisational dance drama has started, and is getting quite tiresome. Again. It appears that the Malaysian pavilion at Frankfurt this year is going to become another event comprising of the usual suspects, for the usual suspects, by the usual suspects. For some it will be junkets: air fares and hotel accommodation, and all other expenses.

Like in the case of anything organised 'officially' by Malaysia, the laws of entropy have long set in.

My first year at Frankfurt was 2010. I was there as a guest of the Book Fair and not the Malaysian contingent, and I had my own stand in Hall 5.  (Many were surprised to see two Malaysian stands there!) Anyway, I decided it would be impolite not to visit the country's official pavilion, and I so did. It was humongous, and some would have even regarded it as pretty.  But where were the books? Then I found them; a couple of dozen hidden in the crevices. It felt like a monumental waste of money.

"A book fair should be about books, not about a manufactured tourism culture," I said to one of the organisers last year. "There are dozens of independent publishers in the country, and they are doing fantastic work."

So last year, we had a real book fair stand, and many visitors and inquiries. The theme was Books Enrich the Mind. (I had no part in making that up!) Books by several independent publishers were displayed, and the stand actually looked good, worthy of a book fair.

Unsubstantiated rumours say that the theme for the Malaysian pavilion this year will be wayang kulit. Don't ask. Is the Malaysian Tourism Board going to pay for it? Again, don't ask. While the cost per exhibitor last year was RM1000.00 (for a 2 sq. m. space), this year (according to usually reliable sources), it will be around RM7000.00. Apparently, it has been decided that publishers are commercial entities, and they should be asked to pay more.

So its back to the usual suspects again. This sum is fine if someone else is paying for it, and for big publishers who have already made it. But for the rest of us, independent publishers, who take our work seriously, who have to account for every cent paid out and received, RM7000.00 is a hefty sum. (This sum does not include airfares and accommodation.)

This gets even more glaring when one considers that a 4 sq. m. stand at Frankfurt (with a tables and two chairs) will cost about RM4500.00, which if shared by two publishers will come to RM2250.00 each. Certainly, it will have no 'pavilion' look, but who needs that if it pushes up costs by over three times?

The idea of a kongsi stand is to bring down costs; so more can participate. It's about sharing. There's no point to a kongsi when some get a free ride at the expense of those who struggle daily to barely survive. With airfares touching the RM4000.00 mark, and astronomical accommodation and subsistence costs, while one does not expect handouts, one also does not enjoy being exploited. Was the budget for the wayang kulit pavilion discussed and approved by all the other participants? How much of the budget allocation is going to be used for airfares, hotel accommodation and subsistence?

So is it time to organise an MAFB Fair for publishers who are tired of subsidising unnecessary and expensive pavilions? With just over RM2000.00 a piece (excluding airfares, hotel and other costs) we can set up a handsome modern stand for books, and only books.

Raman Krishnan
Silverfish Books

The literary fiction debate

I haven't done it in a long time but last week, when I saw a news heading on Pulse that said, 'Man Booker Prize 2012 Longlist announced,' I clicked the link. First, congratulations to Tan Twan Eng on making the list. Second, it has been sometime since I lost interest in the Man Booker lists.

I cannot remember when that happened. Maybe, it was the year Peter Carey's True History of the Kelly Gang won the prize over Matthew Kneale's English Passengers. I read both and, as much as I like Peter  Carey, I couldn't understand the choice. Was it not literary enough? But, it sure was damned good story telling! Perhaps that was the problem; it had a story. Or maybe it was the year Yann Martel's Life of Pi won the Booker. After reading a few pages about a Tamil boy named Patel (What? All Indians are Patels? Do editors no longer check facts?), and a corny dialogue between a (Christian) priest, a pundit and an imam (which was not too many pages into the book), I tossed it aside. After that it was DBC Pierre's Vernon God Little that put me off. I did not even try to finish the book. The proverbial last straw was Kiran Desai's The Inheritance of Loss: '... 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.'

That is literary?

My major problem, of course, is that I am a bookseller. Many years ago, one well-read customer (a senior and native English speaker) asked me about a certain book. After an infinitesimal pause, I described it as 'literary'. Maybe she caught my pause, or maybe she had already made up her own mind about that 'l' word. She said, "You mean boring." I was embarrassed, and she was right.(I don't recall the title of the book, but remember it as one of those prize-winners, and quite excruciatingly boring.)

It is all well and good for barely literate chain-store sales clerks: a 'The Winner of the ... Prize' sticker on the cover is enough information. Let the buyer beware. Unfortunately, that doesn't work at Silverfish Books. Everyone here reads, and widely too. And we are expected to know, and (worse still) to give customers an honest opinion.

Arghhhh!

Prize-winners are not the only books we have difficulty selling. There is nothing in modern Anglo-American literature, to inspire us any more. "Enough about Jewish mothers. Enough," I screamed at Philip Roth's Portnoy's Complaint all those years ago, before tossing the book. Now I scream, "Enough about Indian mothers, enough about arranged marriages, enough about incestuous rape, enough about bound feet, enough about breasts like mangoes, enough about ... oh, hell."  "Enough, Jonathan Franzen; stop whining. You sound like a aeroplane getting ready for take off." (But, I admit, I still have a weakness for Salman Rushdie and JM Coetzee, although they are now merely pale imitations of their old selves.)

So what does an indie bookseller do? Thank God for the Europeans, and the Latin Americans, and the Africans, and the Chinese, and the Japanese, and South Asians who don't write in English, and the Vietnamese, and ... everyone else. Jose Saramago is one of our best selling authors. And we can push Arturo Perez Reverte and (now) Carlos Ruiz Zafon without cringing. If you want to look clever, read Milan Kundera. Garcia Marquez, Vargas Llosa and Jorge Amado are our perennials. If you like the bizarre, try Mo Yan; the kinky, Tanizaki; or exquisite beauty, Kawabata. As for Indians, I prefer authors from Kerala, Kanataka, Andhra and Tamil Nadu -- yes, the southerners. Bengali writers have been a tad overexposed and, besides, they appear to want to write mostly in English now; following the money trail.

So it was not without some amusement that I read the story in Salon.com: English teacher: I was wrong about “Hunger Games”.

"I urge my students to read smart new books. But it turns out that acclaimed literary fiction isn't better than YA," says Brian Platzer an eight grade English Teacher. He continues, "With so many adult readers of the Harry Potter, Twilight and Hunger Games series, journalists are more frequently asking the question, What, if anything, separates literary fiction from genre fiction in general and young adult fiction specifically?" After having convinced his student to read one of those current 'literary' novel, he concludes, "I stole hours from James’ summer vacation when he could have experienced the same kind of pleasure watching a sitcom or thriller."

So there.

A story without good language is still a story. A story with good language is a good one, maybe even a great one. A book with good language, but no story is meaningless. The result is either a freak show (in which case the author should join a circus), or is a substitute for valium.

So, dear reader, don't be ashamed of a book you like just because it has a story. But, seriously, try one of those books in translation. Remember, translators need to have extremely good language skills to pull it off. And, considering how much money they make (compared to authors), they can only be doing it for the love of it, and because they think it's important.

Raman Krishnan
Silverfish Books

Myth and history

I read somewhere: history is what guides you and a myth is what misguides you. The 'learned' dismiss myths as irrational beliefs, quite unable to withstand the rigours of logic, while history is a verifiable and objective record of events that took place at sometime in a time past and is ... well ...  cast in stone; that no matter who the reader is, regardless of his class or creed, it will remain the same, immutable and unalterable. That's the theory. Unfortunately, the world is more complicated than that. In an ideal world populated entirely by impartial scholars, history will be written objectively, uninfluenced by political forces, the writers own subjectivity and his own personal subscriptions to private prejudices and beliefs. In reality, every country has its own version of history, with modifications ranging from mere ornamentation and embellishment, to total rewrites. (China and Japan -- and they are not the only ones -- appear to have an annual festival of contested histories).

Photo-shopped history

Malaysia might be unique in the way different versions of history exist simultaneously in writing and in the minds of people, many of whom are convinced they are being hoodwinked by the powers, while their children are being ruthlessly indoctrinated and exploited in an attempt to reshape the past to conform to a predetermined model. It could be merely a reflection of the confidence (or the lack thereof) that those people have in the readiness, willingness and ability of the administration to speak the truth, or at least not bend it too much. We could consider ourselves singularly fortunate (if we can call it that) to have the opportunity to, actually, see the process of the mythification of history by selective omission, inclusion and embellishment, all in real time; if not (yet) the complete mythologisation and total fabrication.

Hence the irony: history is the primary source of myths. (Superstition is something else.)

Sejarah Melayu

The current collection of Malaysian Classics by Silverfish Books, Marong Mahawangsa, Sejarah Melayu and The Epic of Bidasari, are generally considered 'useless as history', mere myths (note the tone of derision). Are they an important part of our lives, or merely a diversion? There are interesting passage in Sejarah Melayu, some of which made me laugh out loud:

"It was the custom of all the young gentlemen, when they wanted money, to go and represent to the bandahara that the market place in their quarter of the town was not placed even, and had a great many shops irregularly projecting, and that it would be proper to adjust it, for would not His Majesty be in a great passion if he should pass by and see? 'Well then,' said Tun Hasan, 'go all of you with a surveyor and make it all even by the chain.' Then, the young gentlemen would go and, where they saw the houses of the richest merchants, there would they extend their chain and order the houses to be pulled down. Then the merchants, who were the proprietors of the ground, would offer them money, some a hundred and some fifty, and some ten dollars. Such was the practice of the young gentlemen, who would then go away with the surveyor and divide the money."

Nothing much has changed, has it?!

Makota Raja-Raja

Another one, this from Makota Raja-Raja (one of the other tales in The Epic of Bidasari):

"King Harmuz received one day a letter from his minister in which he said, 'Many merchants being in town with a great quantity of jewels, pearls, hyacinths, rubies, diamonds and other precious stones, I bought all they had for Your Majesty, paying 200,000 tahil. Immediately afterwards, there arrived some merchants from another country who wanted to buy these and offered me a profit of 200,000 tahil. If the king consents, I will sell the jewels and later buy others.'

"King Harmuz wrote to his minister the following response, 'What are 200,000 tahil? What are 400,000 tahil, profit included? Is that worth talking about and making so much ado? If you are going into the operations of commerce, who will look after the government? If you buy and sell, what will become of the merchants? It is evident that you would destroy thus our good renown and that you are the enemy of the merchants of our kingdom for your designs would ruin them. Your sentiments are unworthy a minister.' And for this he removed him from office."

Touche.

There are many good stories in these old classics: the one about Raja Bersiong (in Marong Mahawangsa) is interesting in more ways than one; read it and see what you think. Re-editing and publishing these books was immensely educational for us; and, in these days of interesting times, they are good starting points for the lay reader who wants to begin to understand who we are. (It was a challenge to retain the original language and structure as far as possible, and still make it accessible to the modern reader.)

Genetic or memetic

Myths, in many ways, are far more than history and are fundamental to the development of ideologies, religions and cultures. The conventional wisdom says: myths are created to convey a message; history is a record of actual events. Myths are the roots of thought pattern, the foundation of beliefs, and the basis of decision making.

It is far too common to hear the dismissive, "Itu semua mythos," in this country; meaning that they are worthless knowledge. Some have made a career of relentlessly ridiculing them, but they refuse to go away (and even instances when they do, they leave behind a huge vacuum in the culture readily filled be any other passing fad -- benign and malign). I used to be a believer in the separation of the genetic and the memetic, that while the former is biologically driven, the latter is essentially cultural and, therefore, an 'optional' extra, 'apps' that could be added to the basic operating system for personalisation and enhancement. But I am beginning to wonder about that. While myths, per se, are memetic, are we somehow genetically hard-wired to render us incapable of living without them? Can you imagine a world where no one speaks, tells stories or listens to them? How long will we survive? Are we genetically programmed to create myths? Is that why we are such good storytellers?

Only others believe in myths

To those who believe, myths are real and even 'alive'. But for them to remain so, they have to be believed -- totally. Myths of others are not believed because they are considered false. Only the myths of one's own creed are true and, since they are true, they cannot be myths. Besides, to acknowledge one's own beliefs as myths, would be an admission of the creed's belief in falsehood, and that their judgement was really based on a false premise. A creed does not base its decision on falsehood; only others do.

Suicide bombers believe they will go straight to heaven (never mind the virgins); they don't believe that's a myth. The American pioneers 'won' the West against enormous odds because they believed in the myth that it was their destiny, and still celebrate it, although an entire civilisation was annihilated in the process.

As the good poet said, "For you don't count the dead, When God's on your side."

Censorship madness in Malaysia

At 11.30am, on the 29th of May, a publishing house in Petaling Jaya was raided by 20 officers of The Selangor Islamic Religious Department (Jais). 180 copies of a book by liberal Muslim Sudanese-Canadian activist Irshad Manji were seized, and the director of the publishing house Mr Ezra Zaid was arrested and then released on a RM1800.00 (USD600.00) bail with one surety over the publication of the controversial book.

Yes, it sounds like the plot from a movie by Sacha Baron Cohen, but it happened in real-time in Malaysia. During the ISA period, people lived in fear of doing or saying something wrong, or even fraternising with someone not 'approved' of, terrified of the the 2am knock on the door and the sudden removal and total disappearance (for a few days) of a loved one, and a prolonged incarceration at our equivalent of the Gulag. Now, that law has been repealed, and we can breathe (and sleep) a little easier; or at least, so we thought.

Black cloud

The book business in the country, however, has seen no such reprieve. All booksellers and publishers live in constant fear of being raided, having our books seized, and personnel detained (or worse). Any of your customers could be a Special Branch agent prowling through our aisle for contraband material, and you’d have no idea what is not allowed until he (or she) seizes it and deems it so. A daily occurrence? No. How many times have I been raided? None. How many visits have I received from the Special Branch? I have no idea. Like Sauron’s dark forces, they are formless, but everywhere. The fear is real and constant. It is like a dark cloud that permeates and poisons the air, and infects everyone who breathes. Sometimes it's so thick that one feels one can cut it with a knife. Perhaps, we have been conditioned by genetic memories, several millenniums old, of cattle raiders, invading armies and burning villages; of rapine, pillage and plunder. Then, when we hears of twenty-burly-men raiding parties, it all leaps to the surface again, because they can strike you any time, anywhere and from any direction, and they (the dark raiders) want you to know that they can. Irrational fear? Maybe. Paranoid? Hey, which country do you think we live in?

I watched on television, a BBC correspondent interviewing a well-to-do Libyan family at their home during their recent war. The journalist kept asking the mother of the children, why she was against the government when they had every material need, and all the food they wanted. Her English was not good, but I understood immediately what she was trying to say. Malaysia is not Libya. But when a twenty-man raiding party descends on one's premises, it is enough to scare the shit out of most. What the woman was trying to say was that the most important freedom, for her, was the freedom from that constant fear. I understood that.

Intimidation and harassment

Why twenty men? Wouldn't a polite phone call have been sufficient for Mr Ezra Zaid to 'surrendered' himself for questioning? Wouldn’t one or two persons have been enough to carry off 180 books?

Not in a civilised society, one would think. But it all becomes perfectly clear when one considers the intimidation factor of twenty men at your door. Intimidation is the tool of those not interested in discussions, or debate; a tool of those that is intended to demonstrate naked primal power, and its maintenance. Intimidation and harassment is also the tools of choice for those who wish to control this country by censorship.

In the case of the raid on the office of ZI Publictions, publishers of the book Allah, Kebebasan dan Cinta (Allah, Liberty and Love), it has been in the news for over a week, with the author even allowed to come into the country for the book launch on 19 May (though some of her other events were cancelled). Earlier, in 2009, Malaysia banned her book, The Trouble With Islam Today. With this in the background, one is all the more surprised at the treatment meted out to the Mr Ezra Zaid. I speak out for him, not only, as a fellow publisher and a friend, but a remark I expect to be thrown in my direction is, “Why are you so concerned; you’re not a Muslim. Stay out of Islamic affairs, or else ...”
 
Right to freedom from fear

Do Muslims have fewer rights in the country by virtue of their religion? Do they not deserve to be treated with the same human decency as everyone else; do they not deserve to expect, and receive, that polite phone call? Or, is a twenty-man raid a non-Muslim publisher just as likely? That black cloud spreads while the emperor fiddles.

Back to censorship (this is an old story): I had a shipment of Khalil Gibran books detained by the Customs at KLIA. When I tried to explain that only The Prophet by that author has been proscribed by the government and not all his titles, the officer retorted, saying of the government, “Apa dia tahu, apa PM tahu.”  (What do they know; what does the prime minister know.) There was no point in  further talk. I never saw my books again. (One officer told me that someone in the Ministry didn’t like the way some of them were written, and so they decided to seize the lot. Everyone is a critic.)

Yes, it does appear that I am willing to compromise and live with censorship. Let me assure you, that’s not true; but I’ll have that debate on another day.

First, let’s establish some civility, human decency and freedom from fear in this country.

Raman Krishnan
Publisher
Silverfish Books

Panflation: the devaluation of everything

I read this story in The Economist recently, and was quite amused. Panflation is described as a ‘virulent monster’ that is ‘dangerously out of control’ and ‘” needs to be recognised for the plague it has become’. I had to read on a little more to see where this doomsday scenario was leading.

World traveller

The first example quoted is the size of women’s dresses: ‘Estimates by The Economist suggest that the average British size 14 pair of women’s trousers is now more than four inches wider at the waist than it was in the 1970s. In other words, today’s size 14 is really what used to be labelled a size 18; a size 10 is really a size 14.’ The reason for this is obvious: marketers have decided that women feel happier buying dresses in smaller sizes. I have heard this before but I still don’t get it. They do have mirrors at home, don’t they?

Another example is super-sizing: what used to be small, medium and large, is now regular, large and very-large, which may soon give way large, very-large and humongous. (Hold your breath; it is going to happen – in some form – sooner than you think.) Then there is the ‘deluxe and luxury’ that used to be ‘standard and deluxe’; and one would no longer need to endure the ignonimity of the ‘economy class’ because some airlines are already calling it the ‘World Traveller’ class.

Six times cleverer

Then, there is the scary bit; grade inflation. The story says, ‘In Britain the proportion of A-level students given “A” grades has risen from 9% to 27% over the past 25 years. Yet other tests find that children are no cleverer than they were. A study by Durham University concluded that an A grade today is the equivalent of a C in the 1980s. In American universities almost 45% of graduates now get the top grade, compared with 15% in 1960.’

I have always wondered about that during the ‘PMR (School Leaving Certificate) exam result season’. During my time in the 60s, the best a top student could score was 8 ‘As’. Now, we have a handful of students scoring 20 ‘A’ all over the country. If these results are a fair reflection of today’s generation, the top student now is two and half times cleverer than those in the sixties, and since there are two and a half times as many in the top bracket, and the entire younger generation is more than six times cleverer than the old. Scary, right? But, walking around Bangsar, I wonder where they all are. Facebooking? Building nuclear powered rockets in their backyard? Attending Bersih rallies? Maybe, they’re all living abroad. (Utusan story for picture on the left: Seramai 4,117 atau 7.69 peratus pelajar di negeri ini berjaya memperoleh semua A -- 4117 students score As in in all subjects in the PMR exams in Johor.)

Literary super-sizing

Naturally, this brings me back to the book world. I read another story in The Daily Beast, ‘Are Books Becoming Too Long to Read?’ Says Marc Wortman, ‘We read books by the word. But lately publishers seem to sell them by the pound. For a book to win recognition as BIG these days, it must be weighty.’

So, is there a case for literary supersizing?

Certainly, we have had customers who value books by the kilo (perhaps keeping future resale value to the paper-lama man in mind). ‘Aiyoh, why the book so expensive, one. So few pages only, what?’ That's not an uncommon reaction. Parent’s balk the most when buying books for their children. “Before we go home, she already finish reading in the car, lor.” So they make their children read the same book fifteen times, and then they fight.

Incarnation

Still, I don’t get Marc Wortman’s beef. Are big books only a modern phenomenon? War and Peace comes to mind, and so does Crime and Punishment; and Gone with the Wind. And  A Suitable Boy. Methinks  Mr Wortman has forgotten (though I agree with his view of the Steve Jobs book by Isaacson which could have easily been halved: what a waste of paper).

In the seventies, I don’t recall Catch 22 by Joseph Heller being a small book, nor Alex Haley’s Roots. The eighties had John Fowles and John Irving who both didn’t write too many small books. In the seventies and eighties, big books were ‘in’ if one wanted to look erudite, or impress chicks. So, nothing much has changed. I now balk at big books for a different reason: not enough time left in this incarnation, lor.

New way to impress friends

If there was supersizing in the book world (note the past tense) it was in the mega store business. Whatever the chains may say, blaming the e-book for their woes, the collapse of the mega bookstore was due to poor business plans: too many large bookshops (sometimes on the same street), renting very  expensive real estate, and undercutting one another on prices, particularly of best sellers (where the meat is).

Big books will always be around; but with the advent of the e-reader, they may no longer be necessary to impress friends.

Mommy porn on the Kindle

When I first read a report that said paperback sales were down by 25% year to year, but hardback sales were holding its own, I was surprised. I thought, it would be the other way round because e-books do cost substantially less than first editions, but not the cheaper paperbacks. Then I read another story, Ebooks are rekindling women's x rated reading, it all began to make sense. The Kindle is the perfect device for consuming pornographic media, especially 'mommy porn'!

I am surprised I didn’t see it earlier, although I did have a nagging feeling of a piece missing from the logic puzzle, somewhere. How could I not have seen it? Porn has always driven technology. Let’s go back to the VCD and VHS craze from the mid-seventies to the mid-eighties. The explosion in the sales of these devices was mind-blowing. Was there really that much media to consume, even taking into account the addictive Hong Kong soaps. One day (I was living in Puchong at the time) a neighbour invited my wife and me for drinks because we were new there. Maybe, there was little to talk about after the niceties were over; maybe, it was because the men and the women were having different conversations; maybe he thought, since I am a man, I was constantly horny, he decided to show me his collection of video tapes. He had about thirty of them and every one was porn, with nothing left to the imagination in the cover art. Being neighbourly and all, he offered to let me borrow them. I declined, saying that I didn’t have a VHS player, a declaration that had him gaping at me in disbelief. He offered to let us watch it on his player in his house, to which I said, “Yes ... maybe ... one day,” but never brought that subject up again.

Bad press

Porn has always had a bad press, but if one dares to look at it objectively, it has been the game changer, the killer app, in more industries then we care to admit. Almost overnight, the VCD/VHS phenomena facilitated the consumption of porn in the privacy of living rooms (and bedrooms). I’m not going to be judgemental about this, but some disturbing stories did emerge: a close friend, who used to send her son to a baby-sitter in our neighbourhood, was shocked to find him watching porn with the family in the living room of their house when she went to pick him up early one day, unannounced. (We used to wonder where he learnt some of his more colourful vocabulary -- he was in kindergarten --  though we tried not to make too much of it.)

Next, came the DVD revolution; porn in high definition -- don’t even try to visualise it, or you will be struck down by a thunderbolt. One only had to ask the sales staff of the electrical appliance stores which brand and which model was good for pirated media and, in particular, porn. (There was one major international brand – no names mentioned here – that insisted on being ‘kosher’, but found its market share dropping so fast that it quickly released a jail-broken model for the local and regional markets.)

The next major game changer was the internet browser, Netscape. “Wah! Fantastic man; just type ‘xxx’ and you can watch all the porn you want,” drooled a colleague. I dare say I was one of the early adopters of the computer – from the IBM 1130 in the university, to the LSI desktop at work and the Apple 11e at home. But I was so far behind the loop on this one: the entire office was talking about porn on the net, and I was still fiddling about with spread sheets.

Mommy porn

Then, Amazon.com became a favourite place to buy porn magazines -- Playboy, Hustler, you name it -- and have it delivered to your home discretely wrapped in brown paper, eliminating the risk of being spotted procuring them from magazine stands at railway stations like a perv.  Next stop: Android, of which Steve Jobs famously said, “Folks who want porn can buy an Android phone.” Guess what? They did. But with Apple keeping porn off the iPhone, it's a win-win situation : buy your kids iPhones and iPads for Christmas, and get yourself an Android for private use.

And now, it’s Kindle time! When Silverfish first opened shop, a major distributor, who deals primarily in best-sellers, brought us a box of then popular romance novels to choose from, but we declined for fear of being hammered by our customers because there were too many visuals of bursting bustiers on the covers. Now, if you are a Jackie-O look-alike, sitting at the lobby of a five-star hotel, in your leopard-skin pillbox hat, reading from a Kindle while waiting for your appointment, and he walks in in his business suit, what’s going to be his first comment? About what you are reading, or about your Kindle? Would he care if you are reading Dostoevsky or mommy porn? Okay, fast forward three years later: still same coffee shop, still same hat, the novelty has worn off, and you are reading the latest collection of essays by Milan Kundera. Would prefer to  read that in public on a Kindle, or a ‘book’ book? One thinks, you would rather be caught holding the latter, a hardback if possible for, now (as before), it’s about bragging rights. Second, you don't want anyone to assume you are reading ‘mommy porn’.

Evolution

Men would be in the same boat too, of course, but one suspects our nether regions are more readily titillated by visual imagery than by prose. That would probably explain why, while the earlier tech revolutions were led by men, this one, with the e-book, will be dictated by women.

Blame it on evolution.

Indie survival guide in the post tsunami book world

(for authors, publishers and retailers)

Small guys are zilch

I read a story some years ago in Time magazine, about why big businesses are better than small ones. There was a story of a Japanese convenient store business in a small town where the owner knew all her customer; chats with them for a while and serves them tea before they depart with some groceries. Moral of the story: it is nice customer experience, but inefficient. Imagine the number of burgers McDonald's would have flipped within that half hour! I read another similar story in the Economist recently. The bottom line: economics is important, culture is not (except for tourists -- and that's economics). And small inefficient businesses, no matter how much cultural cache they hold, have no business existing.

Biodiversity

I am no economist, but I'm a believer in biodiversity. Don't put all your eggs (not that kind, you filthy mind) in one basket, every child is taught. Wrong advice? When a big guy (like Borders) goes down, the entire industry is shaken up. Books are returned, remainder-book dealers are overstocked, retailers dealing in them have a great time and, consequently, more major stores wobble. It's happening in Malaysia; just ask anyone in the industry. If a few small guys go under, they'd be replaced by others with hardly a ripple. The new bogeyman in that universe is the e-book. A major chain in the city that halved the size of its largest outlet recently and moved one floor down, gave the e-book excuse in a newspaper story. Please, who are you kidding? You had a bad business plan, one that could only succeed with a backer with infinitely deep pockets.

A lecturer in my engineering school would say, "When in doubt, go back to first principles." The era of the major book store is over. It was an aberration to begin -- huge floor spaces in expensive down-town malls, selling low margin bestsellers at crazy discounts (ostensibly for market share) was a doomed strategy from the start. That formula didn't last a decade. So, now, we have to get back to basics.

Vermin survive holocausts

Books are culture. Bookselling is part of that culture. As much as the Harvard types want to reduce it to a commodity, the only hope for the book (dead-tree or digital) lies with the indies, the small guys -- authors, publishers and retailers. Particularly, in the last two decades, authors have been blinded by the dazzle of that big fat advance. I read in the newspapers recently that the chances of winning a certain American lottery is one in 176 million. About the same for authors who want to get on the international bestsellers' list, maybe less. Many Asian authors who publish in UK and the US, disappear after the second book, if that. The reality is grim, but that does not mean authors need to despair. Few authors can be all things to everybody. (It is not a surprise that there is only one JK Rowling in the entire population of the world.)

How is the book going to survive, then? By going small. Authors, keep your day jobs and become the champion of your town, your province, your country, your part of the world, in your genre. Enrich your community, your culture; you will be remembered for a hundred years because nobody worships  heroes like small towns. With e-books, your work can still be made available worldwide at a relatively low cost. Let Amazon work for you, not you for them. However, treat any income from that source as a bonus. Your gravy will come from those who live with you, who identify with your writing. Do the local circuits; it costs a lot less. Visit schools, colleges, universities, libraries, clubs, and give talks at indie book stores, rotary meetings, at any place that will have you. Do your social thing. You have to push your book yourself. The publisher who helped you get it out there is probably too poor to do much. Publishers, promote your local writers; forget about the big hitters unless you specialise in translations. Be disciplined, stay focussed on your niche and be the best that you can be. Don't let the temptation of riches lead you astray. Enjoy what you do. Publish different formats. Have multiple revenue streams. Go into retail. Get thrilled when someone from across the globe recognises what you do. Retailers, what is there to say? I have never felt more impersonal than in a chain store; I have never felt impersonal at an indie. Indie retailer, ever thought of going into publishing? Become the Shakespeare & Co of your town. Do your thing. Host your town authors; be the nerve centre of your town.

Little guys are like vermin. And, like cockroaches, we will survive a nuclear holocaust. Hundreds of small indie publishers and retailers were trampled on and destroyed by the behemoths in the first decade of the new millennium. Now that the invaders have left, or self-destruct, it's time for us to rise again. (Sounds like a sci-fi movie; War of the Worlds? Listen to the soundtrack!)

It's the product, stupid

And, indie authors, publishers and retailers, embrace technology, technology, technology. You know the best part? There is so much free stuff on the internet, its crazy. Beware some bloodsuckers offering 'free' software; they can be damned sneaky. But most are genuinely good people. Search for 'open source'. These are the angels. (I still haven't found a good free alternative for inDesign and Illustrator, though.) Visit the Silverfish Books website that has been entirely built for free (not counting sweat and tears). A CEO of a major chain recently boasted that he spent a million ringgit on their on-line store. I remained quiet. I paid zilch. But then, one can only do the free stuff if you are small and don't have a Board of Directors hovering. If there is one thing I have learnt, it's that the PC and the web are the great levellers, a boon to all indies, no matter what trade you are in. In particular, they have brought  down the cost of entry into the book industry. Silverfish Books would not have been possible without the computer and the internet. Be careful; let technology work for you, not the other way round. Go at it with a vengeance.

As Steve Jobs would have said, "It's the product, stupid!"

PARAH or HARAP?

As we were walking towards our car after the last performance of Alfin Sa'at’s PARAH, at Pentas 2 in KLPAC in early February, a friend said about her relative, “My sister won’t get it lah. She’ll say … see, see, see … I told you so!” I guess that would be the reaction of more than a few in the audience. (One person in the audience asked it the book, Interlok, is real.)

 Alfian’s play was like a punch in the stomach, designed to wake one up, to get a grip. But I felt there were many things that were not there. Certainly, the writer and the director would have had to decide what to leave out, or we would have been in Pentas 2 for a week. And as an editor, I understand that the most difficult task a writer faces is what to leave out. This is no criticism of Alfian’s play or Jo Kukathas’s direction -- they both did fantastic jobs, as did the actors. And I liked the way the play was produced in Malay (move out of the way DBP, the language belongs to the people, not to bureaucrats and politicians); English would have sounded so elitist and condescending.

I remember my first awareness of racism. We (my family) used to live in Johor, and we were visiting relatives in Bukit Timah in Singapore. I was sitting with the ‘men’ in the living room, while my mother, sister and my younger brother were in the kitchen. I was about thirteen, I think. My uncle was complaining to Father about his children running around with 'all those Chinese boys'. I dared not breathe. I stole a glance at Father, and saw him keeping a studious silence. He did not say anything apart from a ‘hmm’, which could have been interpreted either as acceptance or rejection.

I had never kept my Chinese and Malay friends a secret, nor did I try too hard to suppress my over-exuberant teenage hormones. My Chinese friends satisfied my nerdy needs, while my Malay friends -- many of whom were from the Police quarters on Jalan Masjid -- were simply great fun. (We loved music, but we also did many naughty things on the side, but in secret.)

During the drive home, I didn’t know if I was going to ‘get it’. I kept very quiet, trying to be as polite as I possibly could without throwing up. (That might have helped -- or not.) Father did not say a word either -- not in the car, not at home, not for weeks, months or years. He never did.

Another time was at the school padang, during the rugby season. I was with the field hockey crowd, and our season was over, but that didn’t stop us from knocking the ball around on the periphery, while watching the rugby game in progress.  Before long, the rugby ball rolled (or tumbled) in our direction, and one of my friends, Yoges (not his real name), decided to be helpful and tried to kick it back. Unfortunately, being aerodynamically challenged, the ball flew off at a tangent. Halim (not his real name), who was running towards us at that time, let out a tirade of swear words in several languages, complete with pariah, keling and 'descendants of slaves', questioned the legitimacy of our citizenships and our births. I was stunned because, first, I thought Halim was my friend and, second, because I had never heard the words being used with such venom. He was quickly escorted away by his friends (all Malay) and we, still stunned, decided to call it a day.

But, it was not until I arrived in KL in May 1969 that I saw how ugly it could get. On the first day in campus, I was forced to choose a side, and if I was seen with someone of a different colour, I'd hear, “Are we not good enough for you?” If you were Indian and you couldn’t speak Tamil you had it (even if you spoke Malayalam or Telugu or some other language at home). My Chinese friends (some of whom were Hokkien or Babas) had to live with the constant snide remarks, “Chinese also cannot speak Chinese,” because they didn't speak Cantonese. One (now a prominent politician) told me, "My parents say I can marry any girl I want as long she is not Kek (Hakka)." The Malays didn’t know what hit them -- yes they were referred to as ‘them’ when one was polite and many other things when one was not. I had never seen such ugliness in Johor.

Coming back to Alfian’s play, I couldn’t help feeling that he was a little unsympathetic towards the Malay character. While Kahoe and Mahesh were subject to racism, Hafiz only freaked out because he didn’t know who his parents were. (It could have been the playwrights metaphor for the Malay condition; having destroyed so many of their roots, they no longer know who they are, and that bothers them.) How about the constant taunts and slights Malays face: Melayu bodoh, Melayu malas, Melayu balek kampong, etc? The polite term in Tamil for a Malay man is Malai-karan, and the derisive reference is normally natukaran -- countryman -- a pretty benign term.  But the Hokkien term, huan-na, savages, is anything but. I have been told by my source that it has similar connotations to the term 'nigger', but she thinks the speakers don't realise how offensive the word is. That might be the case, but it's still a horrible, horrible thing to say. My source also says, she thinks, there is no other word for the Malay people in Hokkien! True? Someone, please, please, please, say it's not. (Indian's are referred to as keling-a, but increasingly the term In-toh is used.)

Two stories:

One, I was giving a ride to two of my wife’s friends. They were talking about this and that and, as usual, it veered towards social justice (or injustice). “It is all for their kind only lah. They can do anything they want, they still get everything.” (I asked my wife when we came home, “Why did they speak like that? They don’t even know me.")

Two, I was driving with three friends towards Pudu looking for bak-kut-teh along the crowded Jalan Tun Perak when I swore, “Aiyah, I wish they’d watch where they are going.” This friend, who was at the back, said, “Never mind, you can run over and kill a few. There are too many of them, anyway.” I was shocked. Sometimes, I think I should have stopped the car and told her to get out. But she was laughing. Did she think it was a joke? Did she think she was being clever? Did she think the rest of us would have agreed with her? Did she speak that way because all her other friends did? Did she think it was fashionable to be a racist? Is racism merely a fashion?

Why the hell did the rest of us tolerate that?

Why are UK books so crappy?

When I finally got my hardcover copy of 1Q84 some two months ago, I was appalled. It was the UK edition – the paper was coarse, the printing uneven, typography chunky and the cover design cheesy. I kept drooling over the American editions I saw online. You can accuse me of being fussy or call me a “Yankee lover’, but facts are facts. I have been selling books for over 12 years, and I have never understood why UK editions of the same titles are so crappy. Britain produces more titles per capita than any other country in the world.

Some years ago, when we were selling the Faber & Faber edition of Orhan Pamuk’s My name is Red, in A-format, another distributor imported an American edition of the same title (albeit in the larger B-format) with a selling price of RM39.90 (that is, 5sen less than the British edition). We took 20 copies immediately, not because it cost 5sen less, but because it was far better designed and manufactured. The difference was so apparent, it was embarrassing. Why are you still selling that crap edition, some customers asked? Yes, the British edition really did look bad. The book was twice as thick, threatened to scream like a vestal virgin if one opened it out by more than 15 degrees (wtf… how does one read it?), had schoolboy typography, was printed on cheap yellowing bulky newsprint, and looked as if it was cyclostyled using a 1950s Gestetner.

Have you ever seen the UK Vintage edition (also-A format) of JM Coetzee’s Disgrace? I will toss it even if it comes with a free magnifying glass. Don’t even ask about the page layout, text margins and alignment, typography, binding and printing. Okay, the A-format is really meant for us poor third-world country cousins; the natives should be grateful. But how does one explain the difference in quality in the B-formats? Take an American edition of a Vintage, place it side by side with a UK edition of the same title, same format, and you will see the difference – quality of paper, design, typography, printing and binding. And you know what? The American book would often cost less. (Even if it cost more, I’d prefer to pay the extra – the book will open smoothly and comfortably to at least 150 degrees, will not threaten to break its spine, be easier on the eyes and will not yellow so easily.)

One can also compare American and UK Penguin paperbacks (or any other common imprint) side by side. UK editions fare less badly in the case of hardbacks, but they still cannot compare with the ones from the US: more stylish, better printed and bound and, usually, cheaper.

Some years ago, Silverfish published a book by an Englishman (who was in Kuala Lumpur for the 2004 literary festival). He bought several copies of his book to give/sell to friends and to place in a local bookshop. He later sent me an email saying how surprised most people were at the quality. In Frankfurt, too, I’ve got very favourable comments (though, to me, the East – the Czech ambassador insists it’s Middle -- European books are to die for).

Recently, I had an interesting exchange of emails with a publisher in the UK. When he was here last year, I had suggested that he print the books in Malaysia to save costs. He had also been impressed with the quality of our books. He sent me an email recently, saying that he was finally ready and asked me to get him a quote. I gave him a list of things I’d need for a proper quote, including a cover design in Adobe Illustrator with proper crop/registration marks and colour bars. The text document he had attached (pdf) was in A4 size and appeared to have been done on a word processor. (I didn’t even bother to comment on the typography.) His return email asked why I wanted all those things – he had his cover design only in Photoshop. When I suggested that Photoshop might not be the best design tool, he threw a hissy fit, saying that’s how it was done in the UK, how they’d simply give printers the pdfs of the text and covers for them to sort out, how what I was asking seemed like a lot of ‘faff’, and that ‘these are book covers, not works of art!’ implying that it was about time tree-dwellers learnt how the modern world worked.

I told him he could do it himself. Sheesh.

A joke, albeit a cruel one, often heard, in the shop is about the quality of books from India – with their crooked layout, ‘potato-printing’ text with missing words/lines/paras and the recycled ‘toilet-paper’ pages. But, the quality of books from India is improving rapidly and, the way things are going, will soon be better than those from the UK.

First, they forgot how to make nice cars. Now, they can’t even make nice books.

Hang Tuah lives

"Hang Tuah was not Malay."
"Are you trying to pick a fight with me?"
"It is the truth."
"How could you say that? That’s the most absurd thing I have ever heard," Subuh stares at Angeh.
"He was not a Malay man."
"What else was he? A lost Arab?"
Jumaat laughs. SiTumi remains quiet and observes his friends.
"Hang Tuah was an aboriginal man like me. He was Semang."
"What?" Jumaat and Subuh say in unison.
"His name was SiTuah, not Hang Tuah; that was the name Malays gave him in Malacca. SiTuah is a common name among the Semang people. It is common to put a prefix Si in front of one’s name in our community, like SiTumi."
"I seriously doubt that," Subuh shakes his head.
"It is the truth. When Malacca fell to the Portuguese, Tuah escaped to Perak. He lived with the aboriginal tribes here and was elected as their leader. He became the chief of a village called Suah Padi Village near Changkat Melintang in Perak. He later died in Lambor Kanan, a town half a day’s journey from his village."
"I very seriously doubt that," Subuh says again.
"Tuah was not only a hero for the Malays, he was a hero for all."
Jumaat and Subuh look at one another.
SiTumi smiles, but says nothing.

The Beruas Prophecy by Iskandar Al-Bakri, Silverfish Books, 2011

Hang Tuah is a great story; so strong that even the Chinese and the Orang Asli want a piece of it. It is a good Malaysian story; unfortunately, it cannot be taught in schools because it is not history; it is a myth, or so says Emeritus Professor Khoo Khay Kim. He is right, of course. Not only is there no historical evidence, the story has many contradictions. (Was it Hang Kasturi he fought or Hang Jebat?) But the Hang Tuah story has far deeper roots than the good professor gives credit, emotional roots, which are not surprising, given that his interest is in history. One dismisses myths at one’s own peril, although it has become increasingly fashionable to do so in some circles (especially in this country).

The power of the myth

An interesting demonstration of the power of the myth was provided by the Sethusamudram project in India that began in 2005, involving dredging the shallow waters of the Palk Straits known variously as Adam’s Bridge, Ram Sethu or Ramar Palam, to reduce navigation distance between east and west of the country by some 650 km. In May 2007, Subramanian Swamy of the BJP challenged the dredging of the Adam’s Bridge arguing that it is a man-made structure going back to Hindu mythology despite Archeological Survey of India (ASI) and the Geological Survey of India (GSI) both having conclusively proved that it is a natural feature. Finally, in July 2008 the Government was compelled to withdraw its submission from ASI due to political and religious sensitivities.

That is the power of the myth. Rama and Hanuman may have been merely products of a fertile imagination (or imaginations), but try telling the 800 million Hindus in India that the Adam’s Bridge was not built by Hanuman, and a horde of monkeys, for Rama. The Ramayana has been a part of the daily life of Hindus for milliniums, and is, on top of that, a great story. Also, one could try telling 1.8 billion Christians that, since there are no historical records currently, Jesus or Moses and other biblical characters are not real. Some may be willing to accept the absence of hard records, but that would hardly diminish the relevance of these stories in their lives for over two thousand years (with minor variations).

“There should be no question that we should pursue the truth” said the headline in the New Straits Times on Sunday 29 January over an op-ed piece. (The rest of the story was not worth reading.) Really? Are you ready for the truth? How much of history is about the truth, whatever the good professor says, or believes it should be. He would protest that history is not perfect, but the shocking reality is how imperfect it is. But is that really a problem? "Western societies remembers its historical figures and separates legend and history ..." Khoo was quoted in the NST interview on the same day. Unfortunately, reality has a way of upending statements like that.

Agincourt

(There are hundreds of examples, but this is a good one): The Battle of Agincourt, which was the centrepiece of the play, Henry V, by William Shakespeare, has been taught for centuries in schools in Britain as a major English victory against a numerically superior French army in the Hundred Years' War. (It was also part of my school curricullum in the early sixties.) According to that version of history (or legend, depending on who you ask), Henry V deployed his exhausted English army of 1500 men-at-arms and 7000 longbowmen,  against a French army of 8000 men-at-arms, 4000 archers and 1500 crossbowmen in the vanguard, and two wings of 600 and 800 mounted men-at-arms, and, complete with a rousing speech, defeated the enemy. This victory of "the band of brothers" became the stuff of popular legend, complete with folk songs. Not so, say modern historians, especially the French (and there is enough information on that on the internet for the reader to check out). The truth is more complicated. But, so what? That victory at Agincourt, that myth, that legend, that lie, played a huge part in making Britain what it became; it gave the Brits self-belief, that cocky confidence that made them the greatest imperial power the world has ever known (whether one likes it or not).

That story alone should be enough to discourage devaluation of legends. I have always been fascinated by the influence of myth, however patently false they are, and how history and science remain powerless it their presence. Is it only a matter of time before myths are broken down and replaced with truths? What would happen then? No more stories and no more storytellers? Imagine living in such a world; will we even remain human? We can live without food for a while, but once we stop telling (or listening to) stories, we're dead, even if there's still a pulse.

Hang Tuah may be a myth, but that does not in any way take away its relevance and power. Khoo, in dismissing its value (albeit only with respect to history) has stepped on an emotional minefield. One can take away Hang Tuah (or Hang Jebat) from the Malay ethos as much as one can attempt to remove the Ramayana from Hindus, or Journey to the West from the Chinese. Myths give us our aspirations and inspirations; our rights and wrongs; our prides and prejudices. But I agree;  they should not be part of the history syllabus. Their content is cultural and should be part of the humanities. Literature would be a good place. Unfortunately, this subject is either not taught at all, or chucked under language. (Literature with a small 'l'; what the hell is that?!)

Why do language departments in universities teach Literature, with all their provincial interpretations? Literature studies should be open and not subject to language limitations. One should be able to study and analyse Hang Tuah, Ramayana or the Journey to the West in the same class, or even Kalidasa, Cervantes and Shakespeare (or any other combination). But that calls for enlightenment minds, a commodity in extreme short supply at the moment in this country. 'Parochial' is the best we've got.

On a parting note: The late Professor Lim Chee Seng told us how he was taken on a tour to visit Juliet's house in Verona. Yes, that same Juliet of Shakespeare's fiction. If the Italian tourism officials can do that, surely it's not too much for the museum authorities of Melaka to pass off a fake tomb as Hang Tuah's.

Raman Krishnan
Silverfish Books

Living in interesting times

It was the best of times, and the worst of times for the book industry in 2011; a year of living dangerously. Borders finally shuttered its stores after a long terminal illness. It seemed like the end of an era when, in fact, it was not. The international age of the superstore started only in 1999, when the super chain store opened shop in Singapore. Within 12 years, it was all over. Twelve years is not an era; it is an aberration. It was bizarre to any thinking person: how could bookstores that operated on such small profit margins, most of which they were giving away as discounts on bestsellers, afford to rent such large expensive real estate in prime locations in major cities throughout the world? After killing off thousands of independents over the decade, the romance with the mega bookstore has ended, leaving the landscape looking like Japan and Germany after the second world war.

A war zone

If book retailers tried to defy gravity, the 'big four' publishers were involved in a weird outer-space ballet in the first decade of the second millennium. By some accounts, out of 300,000 new titles published by Anglo-American industry, 3,000 or one percent made it to bookstore shelves, given three months to perform before being axed. Most books sold in double digits, many of those shortlisted for the Man Booker doing no more than three digits. Add to this overprinting and the SOR terms for book retail, it was waiting to be exploited and it was (by the major chains). The wreckage in the aftermath of this disaster looks like another war zone.

In Frankfurt, I decided to walk around Hall 8, the international hall, on Friday afternoon of the Bookfair after most business transactions had been concluded. In the last -- or was it the first -- row, I came across the stands for remaindered book dealers from the US and the UK. I was browsing through one, The Book Depot, and speaking to the bloke who was there, who asked me where I was from. You should have seen his face light up when I told him that I was from Malaysia. He has several Malaysian customers, he said happily, and rattled off a few names. I was not surprised to hear the name of one independent remainder-books shop, but when I heard the names of the other two, both major chains in the country, I was taken aback. So the big boys are in it, too. It’s no wonder The Book Depot guy’s face lit up. Looks like I've got another live one, here!

The Yellow Submarine

2011 was also the year of the e-book and print-on-demand (POD). The e-book is of the future, and is still work-in-progress (as anyone who’s looked at the free download of The Yellow Submarine from the iBook store can see). How big it is going to be? That depends on how creative the products become. Something is bound to happen, there are too many talented people out there for it not to. As for POD, we have always had vanity publishing. It has now gone high-tech, although most sales numbers are still in single or double digits. POD is good for keeping publisher’s backlists in print, but that’s not the only reason to support it.

I read this in a Publishing Perspective’s story, What is the ‘New’ Publisher? : ‘The “new publisher” is a creative intermediary between the author and reader, and not merely a gatekeeper.’ Strange. That’s what I used to think all publishers were about -- to be creative intermediaries. As a bookseller, I was frustrated when local distributors (who don't read) decided what books the people got to buy. Life was bad enough with government censorship, only to discover later that big Anglo-American publishers subscribed to the same ethos. POD is, in part, a reaction against this hegemony. It is a little sad, because there are many talented writers out there who will have to be satisfied with double digit sales because they do not avail themselves of the ‘creative intermediary’ role good publishers can provide.

Maybe, like Borders and super stores, that hegemony will break. After all, they are run by MBA’s and, if there is more money in watered down syrup, they’ll shift. Despite the unrelenting cry in the media in 2011: the book is dead; the book is dead, we say, “Long live the book.”

Happy New Year.

Raman Krishnan
Silverfish Books