We wish we could sing that (20 years ago today, that is), but no ... we turned nine on the 25th of June. Yes, that's right. We are now into out tenth year. We let the milestone pass more in sober reflection rather than in celebration though. To be honest, we are still trying to wrap our heads around it.
What does nine years mean? That it has been a good fight and we are still around? Or, 'Oh my God, has it really been that long?' Or, is that all? Feels like we have been at it forever? Actually, it feels like all of that, at the same time.
We opened for business in Desa Sri Hartamas on the 25th of June 1999. At that time there were no mega bookstore in KL (MPH Mid-Valley only opened about nine month later). The scene was pretty bleak. There was, of course, Skoob Books -- the only bookstore that could provide us with the type of books we wanted then. The concept for Silverfish Books was pretty simple. We wanted a bookstore with the types of books we personally would want to read, with places to sit and browse through our selection without having to balance them precariously on tiny little horizontal surfaces available in between bookshelves, and possible have some coffee as we sorted them and decided which to buy. It was not based on any bookshop we knew (except maybe one in Melbourne we liked, that had played classical music at low volumes for ambience -- not muzak, not extra loud pasar malam 'One, Two, Three o'clock, Four o'clock, Lock'), it was just something we wanted. But, people have told us that Silverfish Books is like this or that bookshop in other parts of the world, and we'd go, "Oh?" (Two of the best compliments: a gentleman who came in for the first time said, "Oh, this is a real bookshop," and another said "This looks just like a bookshop in India." Wahhh!!! We were really flattered by the second comment. If you have ever been to a bookshop in India, you will understand.)
But book retail in KL is, of course, crazy. 'Dah-lah, we started in the middle of a recession, then mega stores started opening up all over like nobody's business, in a city where no one reads, with thousands upon thousands of imported books (while Singapore was going through a period of consolidation). This is a bizarre country.
We started publishing in 2001 with Silverfish New Writing 1. There was a real buzz around that one. We decided to make a go for it (against the advice 'publishing in Malaysia got no future-lah') in mid-September 2001, sent out the emails end-September requesting for submissions by end-October. We received 200 stories. Amir Muhammad volunteered to do the selection and editing, a whole host of people volunteered to proof it, to do the illustration, to design the cover and everything, and the book was out before Christmas. (There must be a record in there somewhere.) To date it is our favourite.
The rest, like they say, is history. To date we have published 29 titles of which 25 are still in print. Have we made a difference, a dent? We think so but, of course, we could be accused of being a little precious. It will be for others to decide. We have stopped doing the Silverfish New Writing series, as you know, but that's because we want to move-on to the next level. We want to focus on book-length prose from now on. (We already have six authors with previously unpublished books lined up, and they all live in the country.)
Then we have organised two International Literary Festivals -- in 2004 and in 2007 -- with writers from a dozen different countries. It was exciting, it was stressful, it was a little audacious, it was niggly, but ultimately, we have been told, it was fun. (Sometimes, we are too tired to notice).
So, how has the first nine years been? We have been flattered and flamed and called all sorts of names, but we guess, okay-lah. At least, we have not been ignored.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Monday, June 16, 2008
Here we are now, entertain us
Book critics are getting all angsty again. Michael Saler writes in a The Times Literary Supplement story The rise of fan fiction and comic book culture explores the industry from 'book-burning and prohibition to Pulitzer Prizes and prestige'.
One of the lines in the report says: 'If culture is often war by other means, we are finally witnessing a truce in one longstanding conflict: that between so-called elite and mass cultures.' I suppose Silverfish Books would be compared to 'Japanese soldiers fighting the Second World War long after it ended'.
So are we, in Silverfish Books, snobs? I guess we are and will be perceived as such. But we are willing to live with that. I have nothing against genre fiction, really -- I was weaned on them -- but somehow find most of them not quite satisfying anymore, after having read a bit. I mean, it's a bit difficult having caramel coated popcorn for lunch (I could, when I was a kid) after you have tried banana leaf rice. But if you have never had anything but popcorn for lunch, I guess you will not miss anything.
Which brings us to the question: what industry are we in? Not food for sure.
Let's go back to basics -- which I do whenever I have an issue to deal with. Let us imagine living in caves fifty thousand years ago. The first need would be food. We would have got that from the nuts, fruits, roots, stems, seeds, leaves, and the occasional rabbit or squirrel or wild boar. Then we would need to reproduce; hence some wild sex. After this would come communication, or story telling. This would have been absolutely essential to keep us alive, especially good story telling. Can you imagine coming home after an encounter with a tiger and not telling everyone about it? Or, I mean, the difference between, "Oh, I saw a tiger on the way home," and, "There is a bloody tiger, big as a house, out there and it is eating people! I just escape being eaten!" said with the lots of dramatic and, appropriate, special effects to communicate the danger (although you actually saw the event from a safe distance from the top of the hill). Then, came entertainment.
Fast forward to the 21st century. Food is aplenty, we fornicate ourselves silly and security is seldom an issue. So, what else is there? Entertainment. Never before in our entire history have people demanded so much entertainment every time, all the time. It is one long continuous bop till you drop fun-fest. Food is entertainment. Shopping is entertainment. Sex is entertainment. And dressing. And talking. And everything. Even colleges advertise as if their courses are all entertainment. We, fucking, blow our minds to find ways to entertain ourselves, maxing out at every bloody opportunity, which is all the time. Since the end of the Second World War, the most rapidly growing industry has been entertainment -- from the radio, to television to computers to everything. Remember the 90s anthem, Smells like Teen Spirit?
Here we are now, entertain us,
I feel stupid and contagious.
So, what industry is the book in? (Let's leave out the educational and academic books for the moment -- they are going to be taken over by the internet and e-readers soon, anyway.) Surprise! Entertainment. If in the past, storytelling has been part of entertainment, or entertainment has always had storytelling as a part of it, now storytelling is all entertainment. And books are about story telling. Books compete directly with music, movies, television, shopping malls, mamak shops and even telephone calls, it appears. Write it well and it will be read. Write it badly and people will not, no matter what the critics say. Storytelling is about communicating information, 'the tiger' in the case above and the danger associated with it.
So, Silverfish Books is an insufferably snobbish bookstore. We are only interested in books we (and our friends) like, and they generally tend to be good stories well told. We don't really bother too much about genre. Love in the Times of Cholera is a romance after all..
Friday, May 30, 2008
Is the Malaysian malaise contagious?
We are all quite familiar with the Malaysian malaise -- from electric hibiscus (is that a nice name for a rock and roll band, or what?) and steel bunga mangga to instant nirvana and grotesquely fake Rococo furniture. (Jonathan Kent called this a-laugh-a-minute country. Another American couple thought we were simply bizarre.)
I was telling Anna that if I could invent a pill for writers -- you know like blue ones for prose, or pink for poetry, and so on -- I would be rich in no time. "No effort required, simply take one or two in the morning and two before retiring at night, and become a writer in no time, and claim your very own fifteen minutes of fame. For the Nobel Prize increase dosage to eight a day, but continuous usage may be required for at least six weeks. Maximum dosage: twelve a day. Proven side effects include stark raving madness, but that will qualify you to become a member of parliament." And while we are at it we could work on a pill for our footballers. "No training required. Take two in the morning and two at night for an Olympic medal. Guaranteed." Actually, I can think of pills for almost anything, though we probably have to beware of imitations. We are Malaysians after all. (I have absolutely no idea how we can possibly come up with a pill to cure our government officials of that dreaded electric hibiscus disease, though.)
You all have heard this before from this crabby uncle -- why are Malaysian's living overseas able to achieve so much more than those at home, be they writers or dancers or musicians or anything, why do we spend 3.5 million a month on a Philharmonic Orchestra comprising of (Mainly) foreigner mucisians for (mainly) foreigner audience, when that 42 million a year could be used to promote music education in a 1000 schools or build 100 mini KLPacs. (Can you imagine where the country would be now, in the ten years we have been wasting our time with The Malaysian Phil? God knows, I am not xenophobic.)
Anna, who has been in this country for 15 years, will be going to London for a bit before coming back. She hopes to do some work -- that is writing -- while she is there. She says she feels so lazy when she is here!
I was shocked.
"No, it's not so shocking. So many of my expatriate friends tell me the same thing. Being here makes them lazy," she said. "When they first come here, they like the sun so much, they spend all their time in the swimming pool. Then they get fed up, and try to look for other things, but there is nothing ... or they say there is nothing ... everything is so sensitive ... except shopping ..."
"Yes, yes, yes ... but why do you become lazy? Is it the weather, or is there something in the drinking water, or is it the air, or ..."
"I don't know ... except that when I am in London I will have plenty of time to write. When I was in Singapore, I used to help out in the National Museum like many other expatriate wives -- they gave us six months training -- but here they are not interested in us ... I had so much to do in Singapore."
I felt something there, because I remember a time when expatriates were quite active in the drama circles -- I mean in the production, acting, directing, music, lighting and so on. (We didn't learn all that living in a vacuum, you know.) Now, the only place we seem to find expatriates in are expensive coffee places, supermarkets or upmarket shopping malls. Still, Anna's answer was not entirely satisfactory.
"But that still does not explain why one becomes lazy when one comes here."
"Well, here everyone is satisfied with small things. If they go for pottery classes, they are happy if they can make a little pot for themselves. They are not interested in finding out more, in improving further, for excellence. There were many pottery classes before. Now, most of them are shut. When it comes to shopping they want the best, they don't mind spending twenty bucks on a cup of coffee, or a few hundred on a dress so they can look good. But they do nothing to improve themselves. They write a small story, they are happy. They make a small film, they are happy. Direct a bad play, and they are happy."
She went on and I kept trying to pull her back. "Yes, but what makes expatriates become like the locals?"
She tried to explain, but she couldn't put her finger on it, not to my satisfaction in any case. Anna has promised to write me an essay on the subject (which I shall post on this column as soon as I get it). But in the mean time one wonders what other expatriates out there think about this? And, are we really in serious danger of finding electric hibiscuses in Piccadilly Circus?
I was telling Anna that if I could invent a pill for writers -- you know like blue ones for prose, or pink for poetry, and so on -- I would be rich in no time. "No effort required, simply take one or two in the morning and two before retiring at night, and become a writer in no time, and claim your very own fifteen minutes of fame. For the Nobel Prize increase dosage to eight a day, but continuous usage may be required for at least six weeks. Maximum dosage: twelve a day. Proven side effects include stark raving madness, but that will qualify you to become a member of parliament." And while we are at it we could work on a pill for our footballers. "No training required. Take two in the morning and two at night for an Olympic medal. Guaranteed." Actually, I can think of pills for almost anything, though we probably have to beware of imitations. We are Malaysians after all. (I have absolutely no idea how we can possibly come up with a pill to cure our government officials of that dreaded electric hibiscus disease, though.)
You all have heard this before from this crabby uncle -- why are Malaysian's living overseas able to achieve so much more than those at home, be they writers or dancers or musicians or anything, why do we spend 3.5 million a month on a Philharmonic Orchestra comprising of (Mainly) foreigner mucisians for (mainly) foreigner audience, when that 42 million a year could be used to promote music education in a 1000 schools or build 100 mini KLPacs. (Can you imagine where the country would be now, in the ten years we have been wasting our time with The Malaysian Phil? God knows, I am not xenophobic.)
Anna, who has been in this country for 15 years, will be going to London for a bit before coming back. She hopes to do some work -- that is writing -- while she is there. She says she feels so lazy when she is here!
I was shocked.
"No, it's not so shocking. So many of my expatriate friends tell me the same thing. Being here makes them lazy," she said. "When they first come here, they like the sun so much, they spend all their time in the swimming pool. Then they get fed up, and try to look for other things, but there is nothing ... or they say there is nothing ... everything is so sensitive ... except shopping ..."
"Yes, yes, yes ... but why do you become lazy? Is it the weather, or is there something in the drinking water, or is it the air, or ..."
"I don't know ... except that when I am in London I will have plenty of time to write. When I was in Singapore, I used to help out in the National Museum like many other expatriate wives -- they gave us six months training -- but here they are not interested in us ... I had so much to do in Singapore."
I felt something there, because I remember a time when expatriates were quite active in the drama circles -- I mean in the production, acting, directing, music, lighting and so on. (We didn't learn all that living in a vacuum, you know.) Now, the only place we seem to find expatriates in are expensive coffee places, supermarkets or upmarket shopping malls. Still, Anna's answer was not entirely satisfactory.
"But that still does not explain why one becomes lazy when one comes here."
"Well, here everyone is satisfied with small things. If they go for pottery classes, they are happy if they can make a little pot for themselves. They are not interested in finding out more, in improving further, for excellence. There were many pottery classes before. Now, most of them are shut. When it comes to shopping they want the best, they don't mind spending twenty bucks on a cup of coffee, or a few hundred on a dress so they can look good. But they do nothing to improve themselves. They write a small story, they are happy. They make a small film, they are happy. Direct a bad play, and they are happy."
She went on and I kept trying to pull her back. "Yes, but what makes expatriates become like the locals?"
She tried to explain, but she couldn't put her finger on it, not to my satisfaction in any case. Anna has promised to write me an essay on the subject (which I shall post on this column as soon as I get it). But in the mean time one wonders what other expatriates out there think about this? And, are we really in serious danger of finding electric hibiscuses in Piccadilly Circus?
Thursday, May 15, 2008
In praise of alterity
The Kuala Lumpur Alternative Bookfest earlier this month was a nice experience. No, seriously. It was small, cozy, friendly and, most of all, I liked the buzz. There was no fear of it becoming another orgy of commercial bookselling -- it was not large enough to be noticed by the 'big boys'. With not a textbook in sight, not one workbook, not one management book, nor one 'teach-others-how-to-live-their-lives' book, it was a breath of fresh air. Most of the books were Malaysian, in Malay and in English, though there were some books from Indonesia and Singapore, which was good given the way our bookshops are overflowing with imported books. It was nice to see book social groups participating. There was also a 'free books' booth, a book charity, apart from indie and self publishers. (Silverfish Books paid for one of the tables that was used to sell books for charity, and supplied the books as well.)
Congratulations to the organisers. Hope you will do this regularly. I am sure there are other publishers who should have been there. Maya Press comes to mind. I understand the necessity to stop somewhere, or this could end up like any other fair. What is alternative? Alternative to what? Sometimes it is easier to define what we don't want, than what we want. I wouldn't want a book fair selling mainly school textbooks and workbooks like the recent KL International Book Fair, so that is one. That was easy. Secondly, it would be nice to be a place that featured only Malaysian books so we don’t get swamped with imported books. How about books from the other ASEAN countries, then? It is nice to have them around. No? Let us leave that out for the moment and stick to local books. Non-fiction books are fine but do I really want to go to a fair with tables full of books on management, self-help and recycled 'wisdom'? Ultimately, it is up to the organisers to decide. For me, I like the mix of the first KLAB -- eclectic but not high-brow, and fun.
I attended only one session, the one by Sisters In Islam on book censorship, Wacana on book banning. Pretty good turnout, I thought. On the panel were V. Gayathry (Centre for Independent Journalism), Astora Jabat (former Chief Editor of Al-Islam and columnist on Islamic affairs in Utusan Malaysia) , Norhayati Kaprawi (Sisters In Islam) and a phantom representative from Home Ministry. (He was not visible to anyone, nor did he say anything.) The debate went along pretty much predictable lines (we have all heard it before -- they went to the ministry, spoke to some furniture and came back disappointed, how dare that chair tell me what I should read!) but I liked Astora Jabat's presentation on censorship within Islam -- seemed pretty much about power. The poster and the postcard SIS organized for the event was nice.
So will the issue of book banning ever go away? I think not. We will probably have to wait for a gomen baru, lor.
Congratulations to the organisers. Hope you will do this regularly. I am sure there are other publishers who should have been there. Maya Press comes to mind. I understand the necessity to stop somewhere, or this could end up like any other fair. What is alternative? Alternative to what? Sometimes it is easier to define what we don't want, than what we want. I wouldn't want a book fair selling mainly school textbooks and workbooks like the recent KL International Book Fair, so that is one. That was easy. Secondly, it would be nice to be a place that featured only Malaysian books so we don’t get swamped with imported books. How about books from the other ASEAN countries, then? It is nice to have them around. No? Let us leave that out for the moment and stick to local books. Non-fiction books are fine but do I really want to go to a fair with tables full of books on management, self-help and recycled 'wisdom'? Ultimately, it is up to the organisers to decide. For me, I like the mix of the first KLAB -- eclectic but not high-brow, and fun.
I attended only one session, the one by Sisters In Islam on book censorship, Wacana on book banning. Pretty good turnout, I thought. On the panel were V. Gayathry (Centre for Independent Journalism), Astora Jabat (former Chief Editor of Al-Islam and columnist on Islamic affairs in Utusan Malaysia) , Norhayati Kaprawi (Sisters In Islam) and a phantom representative from Home Ministry. (He was not visible to anyone, nor did he say anything.) The debate went along pretty much predictable lines (we have all heard it before -- they went to the ministry, spoke to some furniture and came back disappointed, how dare that chair tell me what I should read!) but I liked Astora Jabat's presentation on censorship within Islam -- seemed pretty much about power. The poster and the postcard SIS organized for the event was nice.
So will the issue of book banning ever go away? I think not. We will probably have to wait for a gomen baru, lor.
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