KLILF 2007 is finally over. I was feeling like a truck driver after his last delivery at the end of a 7000-mile journey with no co-driver, only an attendant, as I sat alone in the Kopi Thiam staring into the kopi-o-kow. "At least the customers are happy." And I don't have a 7000-mile drive back.
The second one will be easier, they all said. After all you have already organised one. The sponsors will be queuing up.
Six weeks before the event I get a call, "Is it true that the Lit Fest has been cancelled?" Four weeks before the event we have thirty participants and zero sponsors. Only the registration fees paid up. There was no coverage in any of the media. I am wondering if we will have enough money to print fliers. Posters? Too late for that. We must push ahead. "Don't worry, it will fall in place." Right.
Quite a few weeks worth of sleep has already been lost.
Then we get the first cheque. Not much, but it will have to be enough. Enough gas to get the truck to the destination if we coasts downhill and get down and push it in the flat areas. The media launch is held at the cost of used shoelaces. The event is part-sponsored (and rescued) by Dato' Shahrizat. (She has no idea how desperate we were. Rumours were running around that we had raised millions.) The media came in numbers for the launch, but all they were interested in was the news about the 800 non-virgin schoolgirls. (What can you say? Malaysian journalism.)
Then stories started appearing in some newspapers. More participants inquired and signed up. On the 14th of March we still had only 80 registrations. "Don't worry Malaysians are always late." Try telling that to the truck driver who hasn't slept at all for three months.
15th of March: the phones will not stop ringing, and the emails boxes fill up. One hundred people registered. Then with the help of Rose, another sponsorship cheque is received, ten days before date of delivery. Phew!
Then the badgering starts: goody, goody, goody ... now that you have more and you won't have push the truck, can we have the two elephants ... please, please, please ... and lions ... how about the lions ... four lions at least ... surely there cannot be a show without lions ... all we have now are dogs ... and while you are at it can you pick up the performing Prussian cats ... please, please, please, please, please ...
I cannot believe my ears: "You want me to drive back 6800 miles to pick up your pet Prussian cats in time for the show next week? Where have you been all these months?" I want to kill somebody, and so does my attendant. She wants to do it with flying chopsticks. But we decides that it will have to wait until after our work is done. I simply say that there is no more room in the truck, which is also true. "Why don't you drive back and pick them up? I will deliver them, once you get them for me. I am a little bit busy right now, not that you would have noticed."
Sulk. Sulk is a four-letter word. So is work. And talk. Especially talk.
The truck driver looks at the clouds in his black coffee as he stirs. He wishes he was smoking something.
Monday, April 02, 2007
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Censorship
From The Independent:
In another related article, in conjunction with the announcement of special hardback editions of Banned Books by The Independent, Censorship: Still a burning issue Boyd Tonkin asks if the 'thought police will ever learn. Sorry, no sign of it in this country. The good news is that everybody else is in the same boat. The bad new is that everybody else is in the same boat. Earlier his week Amir Muhammad's Apa Khabar Orang Kampong was 'banned', Amir's second movie to suffer that fate. In a telephone conversation, he was not sure if he was looking forward to a hatrick.
Tonkin quotes Bernard Shaw: ' ... assassination is the ultimate form of censorship.' Alexander Litvinenko found out how true that was, as did Turkish-Armenian editor Hrant Dink, and author/journalist Anna Politkovskaya who was shot in the lift of her Moscow apartment. And everyone knows the Orhan Pamuk story.
'Censorship is as old as civilisation itself - and the drive to suppress as strong today as ever.' In the case of Amir's movie, what is being suppressed? The opinions expressed by people interviewed by him? That there are such people as Muslim Communists - no matter how bizarre that sounds? Is the 'official' version of our history really that fragile? Was the decision to ban the movie taken even before it was viewed? After all, two cops from the Brickfields Police Station did cover Amir's talk on the making of AKOK at Silverfish Books some in October 2006. (They were polite, they asked permission.)
Chin Peng has been banned from entering the country. The ban still stands. He is probably the most banned person in the country. He is so banned that uttering his name was almost a crime for a very long time. But the English edition of his book sold 7000 copies, almost a Malaysian record, outsold perhaps only by Shanon Ahmad's Shit. I don't know how the Chinese edition did. Would that many people have watched Amir's movie? Sorry, you lose again.
Back to the article in The Independent: There are some wonderful quotes there, which you use on your blogs to impress your friends, and try and influence people. Also see a list of books that have offended someone in power or other in the past.
Full report: http://enjoyment.independent.co.uk/books/features/article2294384.ece
In another related article, in conjunction with the announcement of special hardback editions of Banned Books by The Independent, Censorship: Still a burning issue Boyd Tonkin asks if the 'thought police will ever learn. Sorry, no sign of it in this country. The good news is that everybody else is in the same boat. The bad new is that everybody else is in the same boat. Earlier his week Amir Muhammad's Apa Khabar Orang Kampong was 'banned', Amir's second movie to suffer that fate. In a telephone conversation, he was not sure if he was looking forward to a hatrick.
Tonkin quotes Bernard Shaw: ' ... assassination is the ultimate form of censorship.' Alexander Litvinenko found out how true that was, as did Turkish-Armenian editor Hrant Dink, and author/journalist Anna Politkovskaya who was shot in the lift of her Moscow apartment. And everyone knows the Orhan Pamuk story.
'Censorship is as old as civilisation itself - and the drive to suppress as strong today as ever.' In the case of Amir's movie, what is being suppressed? The opinions expressed by people interviewed by him? That there are such people as Muslim Communists - no matter how bizarre that sounds? Is the 'official' version of our history really that fragile? Was the decision to ban the movie taken even before it was viewed? After all, two cops from the Brickfields Police Station did cover Amir's talk on the making of AKOK at Silverfish Books some in October 2006. (They were polite, they asked permission.)
Chin Peng has been banned from entering the country. The ban still stands. He is probably the most banned person in the country. He is so banned that uttering his name was almost a crime for a very long time. But the English edition of his book sold 7000 copies, almost a Malaysian record, outsold perhaps only by Shanon Ahmad's Shit. I don't know how the Chinese edition did. Would that many people have watched Amir's movie? Sorry, you lose again.
Back to the article in The Independent: There are some wonderful quotes there, which you use on your blogs to impress your friends, and try and influence people. Also see a list of books that have offended someone in power or other in the past.
Full report: http://enjoyment.independent.co.uk/books/features/article2294384.ece
Friday, February 16, 2007
Libraries and Bookshops
I read two interesting stories this week. My interest was not so much what was in the stories as what was not.
The first one: 'I like my libraries stable, durable, serene. I am looking for adventure in the books, rather than in the building,' says Germaine Greer in The Guardian in a story titled Flashy libraries? I prefer to get my adventure out of the books not the building, and that if there was a lovable word for her it would be 'library'.
Even if my favourite when I was growing up was 'library' (I cannot remember what my favourite was then, to be honest), it was a word that was used often. There was a school library, of course, not big but interesting with lots of books donated by USIS at that time. Do they still do that? Then there was the Johore Bahru town library, a 15-minute bicycle ride from where I lived, next to the post office. It a simple boxy two-storey structure, packed with books. Whoever stacked the shelves knew how to buy them. Then every weekend we would drive into Singapore to use the National Library on Stamford Road. We were all card carrying members - my parents, my three siblings (the youngest was less than ten at that time) and me. And every weekend we would come back with at least two books apiece - they had a Tamil section for my mum.
I am going to tell you a story of Gay and Peter. (I may have told it before, but I think it is worth repeating.) When Gay married Peter and moved to Malaysia in the early seventies, they lived in a plantation in Teluk Anson. She says boredom almost killed her. Then she heard of the Kuala Lumpur library and became a member. The KL library at that time had a simple arrangement. Periodically (I cannot remember if it was weekly, fortnightly or monthly), the library would send Gay a selection of books (according to a list of preferences provided by her) locked inside a wooden box, by train. Gay would, on its arrival in Teluk Anson, pick out about twelve books that interested her, return some of the earlier ones, lock the box and return it to the Kuala Lumpur library by the return train.
This over 30 years ago and you may well ask, "What happened?" Well what happened, indeed. The last I heard the Johor Bahru library has been moved out of the city - to some place quite inaccessible, I would assume. The National Library on Jalan Tun Razak is a fine example. What were they thinking?! After spending millions, the book collection is sad, it is completely inaccessible, the wide open spaces inside the building could be converted to skating rinks and the roof into ski slopes. The Kuala Lumpur library at Dataran is an imposing structure, but was told it is open only during office hours, the last time I tried to get in. What is the point?
Going back to Germain Greer, 'I am looking for adventure in the books, rather than in the building.' What's wrong with a library in a rented bungalow, a shophouse or a even a mall. We are MallAsia, after all. (Sorry, couldn't resist that.)
Then the second story: In a story called World class marketing Neal Hoskins writes in The Guardian weblog: 'Foreign titles tend to get hidden away in bookshops, but I think their relatively exotic provenance could be a real selling point.'
Jees! How completely opposite to the situation in Malaysia, is that? Here it would read: 'Malaysian titles tend to get hidden away in bookshops, but I think their relatively exotic provenance could be a real selling point.'
An American couple that used to visit Silverfish Books often (they are back in the US now) used to be amazed at what a bizarre country this is. We have humungous bookstores all over Klang Valley (eight, the last I counted, Singapore has only two) in a country that, the government acknowledges, does not read, choker-block with books from the US and the UK. Malaysian titles, if stocked at all, would be in a bottom shelf, at the back of the store.
(They would also ask me why Malaysian newspapers don't review local book? I shall not go there, nanti merajuk pula with me - for my 'big mouth' - as I suspect at least one of them (or a group within) already is. Yes, this is a bizarre country.)
The first one: 'I like my libraries stable, durable, serene. I am looking for adventure in the books, rather than in the building,' says Germaine Greer in The Guardian in a story titled Flashy libraries? I prefer to get my adventure out of the books not the building, and that if there was a lovable word for her it would be 'library'.
Even if my favourite when I was growing up was 'library' (I cannot remember what my favourite was then, to be honest), it was a word that was used often. There was a school library, of course, not big but interesting with lots of books donated by USIS at that time. Do they still do that? Then there was the Johore Bahru town library, a 15-minute bicycle ride from where I lived, next to the post office. It a simple boxy two-storey structure, packed with books. Whoever stacked the shelves knew how to buy them. Then every weekend we would drive into Singapore to use the National Library on Stamford Road. We were all card carrying members - my parents, my three siblings (the youngest was less than ten at that time) and me. And every weekend we would come back with at least two books apiece - they had a Tamil section for my mum.
I am going to tell you a story of Gay and Peter. (I may have told it before, but I think it is worth repeating.) When Gay married Peter and moved to Malaysia in the early seventies, they lived in a plantation in Teluk Anson. She says boredom almost killed her. Then she heard of the Kuala Lumpur library and became a member. The KL library at that time had a simple arrangement. Periodically (I cannot remember if it was weekly, fortnightly or monthly), the library would send Gay a selection of books (according to a list of preferences provided by her) locked inside a wooden box, by train. Gay would, on its arrival in Teluk Anson, pick out about twelve books that interested her, return some of the earlier ones, lock the box and return it to the Kuala Lumpur library by the return train.
This over 30 years ago and you may well ask, "What happened?" Well what happened, indeed. The last I heard the Johor Bahru library has been moved out of the city - to some place quite inaccessible, I would assume. The National Library on Jalan Tun Razak is a fine example. What were they thinking?! After spending millions, the book collection is sad, it is completely inaccessible, the wide open spaces inside the building could be converted to skating rinks and the roof into ski slopes. The Kuala Lumpur library at Dataran is an imposing structure, but was told it is open only during office hours, the last time I tried to get in. What is the point?
Going back to Germain Greer, 'I am looking for adventure in the books, rather than in the building.' What's wrong with a library in a rented bungalow, a shophouse or a even a mall. We are MallAsia, after all. (Sorry, couldn't resist that.)
Then the second story: In a story called World class marketing Neal Hoskins writes in The Guardian weblog: 'Foreign titles tend to get hidden away in bookshops, but I think their relatively exotic provenance could be a real selling point.'
Jees! How completely opposite to the situation in Malaysia, is that? Here it would read: 'Malaysian titles tend to get hidden away in bookshops, but I think their relatively exotic provenance could be a real selling point.'
An American couple that used to visit Silverfish Books often (they are back in the US now) used to be amazed at what a bizarre country this is. We have humungous bookstores all over Klang Valley (eight, the last I counted, Singapore has only two) in a country that, the government acknowledges, does not read, choker-block with books from the US and the UK. Malaysian titles, if stocked at all, would be in a bottom shelf, at the back of the store.
(They would also ask me why Malaysian newspapers don't review local book? I shall not go there, nanti merajuk pula with me - for my 'big mouth' - as I suspect at least one of them (or a group within) already is. Yes, this is a bizarre country.)
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Write if you must, only if you absolutely must
Read an interesting story in The Australian by Jenny Sinclair. Okay, I can hear some of you saying already, "Yeah, yeah, yeah ... heard it all before." Absolutely true, but I like her beginning and her ending.
Beginning: 'EVERYWHERE I turn, it seems, I see advertisements for writing courses, writing workshops, writing weekends, writing holidays. All of them promise to help participants polish their prose and carve out their characters ...'
Ending: '... It's not writing that should be encouraged but reading, widely and voraciously, reading the classics, reading the modern masters. That, if my university lecturers are right, is what will bring out the real writers among us. Magazine editors, publishers and writing competitions are groaning under the output of all those writing courses and I want to say stop. Stop if you can. And if you can't stop, write.'
Like in all stories different people will take away different parts from it to call their own. Here are some vignettes.
'What they (the multiplicity of courses) do is provide toolboxes, and with those toolboxes the vaguely talented often turn out the equivalent of high school carpentry projects: a procession of by-the-numbers breakfast trays and carved wooden animals.'
'Writing is not a good in itself that everyone should be encouraged to attempt, such as cycling to work or eating more broccoli ... Training and encouragement will not bring out the real writers. The threat of not writing will.'
And then I got cancer. Death threatened ... I had an epiphany: it didn't matter to me if I was any good as long as I wrote.
I know what you are thinking: "Wah, so drama ..." Nevermind. Read the article at: http://www.theaustralian.news.com.au/story/0,20867,21105051-5001986,00.html
Beginning: 'EVERYWHERE I turn, it seems, I see advertisements for writing courses, writing workshops, writing weekends, writing holidays. All of them promise to help participants polish their prose and carve out their characters ...'
Ending: '... It's not writing that should be encouraged but reading, widely and voraciously, reading the classics, reading the modern masters. That, if my university lecturers are right, is what will bring out the real writers among us. Magazine editors, publishers and writing competitions are groaning under the output of all those writing courses and I want to say stop. Stop if you can. And if you can't stop, write.'
Like in all stories different people will take away different parts from it to call their own. Here are some vignettes.
'What they (the multiplicity of courses) do is provide toolboxes, and with those toolboxes the vaguely talented often turn out the equivalent of high school carpentry projects: a procession of by-the-numbers breakfast trays and carved wooden animals.'
'Writing is not a good in itself that everyone should be encouraged to attempt, such as cycling to work or eating more broccoli ... Training and encouragement will not bring out the real writers. The threat of not writing will.'
And then I got cancer. Death threatened ... I had an epiphany: it didn't matter to me if I was any good as long as I wrote.
I know what you are thinking: "Wah, so drama ..." Nevermind. Read the article at: http://www.theaustralian.news.com.au/story/0,20867,21105051-5001986,00.html
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