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Monday 12 September 2011

Ten Years Ago Today...

...I was getting off the bus at the Taman Tun Dr Ismail bus stop, just after the traffic lights. My workplace was just a couple of minutes away by foot. That's the only detail I remember with clarity.

I'm not sure anymore whether it was the 11th or the 12th.

The front page of The Star looked different. It was spread out over two pages, and on it was the image of one of the burning New York World Trade Center towers.

I was still at my first job in IT. I was, at the time, based in the unfortunately named Plaza IBM.

I don't remember how many bomb threat alerts we received, but I'm sure there was at least one. I recall my colleagues streaming out of the building, some getting into their cars one day.

Did I stay behind on that occasion? I can't be certain. But I do remember the petulant voice on the other end of the line, chastising my department for not having someone on standby to take phone calls in case of emergencies - and I don't mean bomb threats.

The days afterwards just passed by. CNN kept replaying footage of the burning, then collapsing WTC Towers for days. The enormity of the event and its aftermath took a while to sink in. A very long while.

But the Islamic terrorism thing hit a lot closer to home with the Bali bombings in... 2002? And was I in a Jakarta food court, eating rice with beef in pepper sauce when the TV played footage of the incident, or was it some other date? Or was it all a dream?

I should've started blogging when the writing bug started twitching. I had lots to write about when I started travelling to Indonesia to work, but I can't accurately place names, addresses and events within the time frame anymore.

I remember seeing pictures of what appear to be Palestinians, cheering the collapse of the WTC. Many Arab governments, I was sure, could barely contain their glee. Iran didn't seem to bother.

Lessons were learnt, all right. Mostly the wrong ones. And it didn't take ten years to prove that bloodshed has done little to advance the misguided causes of everyone involved. But some still try. It's all so absurd.

The world will eventually tire of the fighting. Whomever will be chosen to lead will one day be ushering a war-weary generation into a peaceful but faraway age. This bunch with us right now won't cut it. And it'll be a long while before the fires burning right now will die.

...Ten years. Feels like last year. I've switched jobs twice since then. Plaza IBM is now Plaza VADS. I hardly hear about IBM these days; it's all Google, Twitter, Facebook and Apple now.

Those days get hazier by the day, retreating into the far corners of my mind. I suppose it's because I didn't experience it first-hand: the explosions, the fires and smoke, the falling debris and the ensuing chaos.

It's just as well. There's no point in "remembering 9/11" anyway.

Not anymore.

Saturday 10 September 2011

Moore Trouble Ahead

When I first read Stupid White Men, I thought, well, this is refreshing. But my interest in Michael Moore cooled somewhat after flipping through some of his subsequent books.

I stopped reading Counterpunch years ago because of similar feelings, though Moore's leftist Kool-Aid is less toxic; haven't they heard about the chill pill?

Cover of Michael Moore's "Here Comes Trouble" - I like this one better
However, his films Bowling for Columbine, Fahrenheit 9/11 and Sicko were interesting and entertaining. You can't say that Moore doesn't know how to push his audience's buttons. At times I feel like he's that cartoon character standing in front of a shiny electronics panel bent on pushing every button, flicking every switch and turning every knob or dial until something finally breaks.

With the exception of Mike's Election Guide which I reviewed in my previous job, I never bothered with his other books. After a while, they all sound the same. At least he's consistent.

Then the Guardian published this excerpt from his upcoming book, Here Comes Trouble, just in time for the tenth anniversary of 9/11. Perhaps no other title aptly describes the memoir about America's most hated man, who panned his president when the nation was at war.

Given his uncanny button-pushing talents, the backlash was tremendous. He'd been verbally, digitally and physically assaulted; his property trespassed; and a whole lot more. It got to a point where he had to hire bodyguards, most of whom were former soldiers and SEALs - a bit ironic, considering his circumstances.

Then came the day someone was arrested for allegedly plotting to blow up Moore's house. Moore despaired over this for a time.

For me, it was the final straw. I broke down. My wife was already in her own state of despair over the loss of the life we used to have. I asked myself again: what had I done to deserve this? Made a movie? A movie led someone to want to blow up my home? What happened to writing a letter to the editor?

Yeah, why don't they write letters to the editor anymore? After all, not everybody is comfortable with the idea of parading and stepping on cow heads, burning churches, or throwing rubber snakes and newspapers into a possibly illegal bonfire.

That wannabe Guy Fawkes' plan was almost as sickening as former Fox News rabble-rouser Glenn Beck announcing his "urge" to kill Moore (and it seems, getting away with it), and Fox's Sean Hannity hosting a trespasser of Moore's house.

Are these are the kinds of freedoms that Dubya Bush said the "terr'ists" hate, the kinds that should be defended by toppling governments who don't like you - by force?

A decade after 9/11, Moore must feel vindicated. He'd been, at least, right about the Iraq war. But I find the closing anecdote in that Guardian extract a bit incredible.

As I do this over-the-top blurb on the book on the web site:

Moore is his own meta-Forrest Gump, at one moment he's an 11-year-old boy stuck on a Senate elevator with Bobby Kennedy, and the next moment he's inside the Bitburg cemetery with a dazed and confused Ronald Reagan. Changing planes in Vienna, he escapes death at the hands of the terrorist Abu Nidal.

In search one day for a bag of potato chips, he ends up eliminating racial discrimination in private clubs across America. He founded his first underground newspaper in the fourth grade. He refused to be on the CBS Evening News with Walter Kronkite at 16. And he became the youngest elected official in the country at age 18 by enlisting an "army of local stoners" as his campaign staff.

All of this makes for great fiction — but every one of these stories is true and from the life of one Michael Moore who became an iconic voice for progressives everywhere. But before Michael Moore became the Oscar-winning filmmaker and all-round thorn-in-the-side of corporate and rightwing America, he was the guy who had an uncanny knack for just showing up where history was being made.

Trouble, says Moore, is coming to you on 13 September. I might keep an eye out for it. With button-pushers like him, however, I'd do the pinch-of-salt thing because what he dishes out can be hard to swallow.

Monday 5 September 2011

Big and Black

This morning, I replied thus to a colleague's e-mail:

Received it. It is heavy. It is black. It smells good. It's very long. It's interesting.

Make the phone call.

Though I could be talking about the Old Spice Guy, it's actually this:


Big, black, heavy, smells good and very long - Neal Stephenson's latest, "Reamde"
Big, black, heavy, smells good and very long - Neal
Stephenson's latest, Reamde


Sorry to disappoint. I'm not like... that.

Won't be reviewing it for the papers, after all. They found someone else to do it. I get to keep my copy, though, so expect to see my own take on the book ... whenever.

More new books are coming out of MPH Publishing. Updates soon.

Sunday 4 September 2011

Another Stupid CSS Experiment

Whatever possessed me to go and drag these home with me during the long, long weekend?

Boredom and bravado, mostly. Never a good combination.

The Secret History of Elizabeth Tudor, Vampire Slayer
Lucy Weston
Gallery Books (2011)
304 pages
Fiction
ISBN: 978-1-4391-9033-3

The Facebook Effect
David Kirkpatrick
Virgin Books (2010)
374 pages
Non-fiction
ISBN: 978-0-7535-2275-2

State of Wonder
Ann Patchett
HarperCollins (2011)
353 pages
Fiction
ISBN: 978-0-06-207471-3

A Decade of Hope
Dennis Smith, with Deirdre Smith
Viking (2011)
356 pages
Non-fiction
ISBN: 978-0-670-02293-9

Columbus
Laurence Bergreen
Viking (2011)
417 pages
Non-fiction
ISBN: 978-0-670-02301-1


So yes, I'm trying a different way of presenting this. For the sake of symmetry, I've omitted the subtitles. It's always the heavy non-fiction books that have the longest subtitles, isn't it?

But this format also involves a lot of inline CSS code, which is quite messy when incorporated into normal posts. Maybe I should add new CSS definitions for this format into the blog template....

20/10/2014  I've abandoned this idea; too complicated. And I've also stopped publishing items from my reading list, which is probably longer than both my arms by now. But the CSS code might be useful for something else.

Sunday 28 August 2011

Not Quite Paradise

Overall, pleased with this, as I'd taken several days to draft and finalise it.

The title for this post was the original title of the piece; who knows why it was changed. Nor was the standfirst, shown below, used for the final versions. Perhaps I'm not obliged to provide either, but from my brief stint in journalism, both can be hard to come up with.

The review copy was not the one the bookstore wanted to promote, but the hardcover movie-poster version which you can buy online.



Tale of human courage
From above, the hidden valley seemed like the Garden of Eden. Then the plane went down...

first published in The Star, 28 August 2011


Once upon a time, the US media went nuts over the abduction and eventual rescue of one Private Jessica Lynch in Iraq in 2003. But hers was not the only dramatic one of a female soldier in American history.

Professor of journalism Mitchell Zuckoff was doing some research when he stumbled upon an article about a rescue operation that took place towards the end of World War II. He eventually came back to it, did some reading and leg work and put it all into a book.

Zuckoff's Lost In Shangri-la: A True Story Of Survival, Adventure, And The Most Incredible Rescue Mission Of World War II – breathe, soldier, breathe! – also features a female member of the US Armed Forces. Corporal Margaret Hastings of the Women's Army Corps (WAC) was part of the Far East Air Service Command (shortened to "Fee-Ask") based in Hollandia in the Dutch half of New Guinea (the island is now split into West Papua and Papua New Guinea). But the circumstances from which she needed rescue were quite different from Lynch's situation.

On May 13, 1945, Hastings and over 20 crew members and passengers boarded the Gremlin Special, a C-47 transport plane, for a sightseeing tour of a remote jungle valley surrounded by mountains. Colonel Ray Elsmore, also based in Hollandia, supposedly discovered this valley which was later dubbed "Shangri-La" by two war correspondents, George Lait and Harry Patterson. Sightseeing tours of Shangri-La, inhabited by supposedly savage, spear-wielding Stone Age tribes, became a treat for those stationed at Fee-Ask.

At that time, the only way into Shangri-La was by plane, which was a risky undertaking. Mists often hid nasty surprises for unwary or inexperienced pilots. On the day of the crash, Zuckoff writes, such a pilot may have been at the helm of the Gremlin Special. Of the passengers and crew, which included nine members of Hastings' WAC unit, only three would ultimately survive: First Lieutenant John McCollom, Tech Sergeant Kenneth Decker, and Hastings.

Though meant to be a journalistic record, this book feels a bit like a documentary or film. A series of events come together to form a credible historical narrative of not just the rescue and the profile of the key figures, but also of the natives, the valley and those who were there before, and the war raging around them.

Among other things, we learn of C. Earl Walter Jr and his Filipino-American paratroopers who were sent to rescue the three. We discover that Colonel Elsmore was not the first to discover Shangri-La, now called the Baliem Valley. We observe breathlessly as the daring rescue plan unfolds. We look on in horror as a drunk rogue filmmaker parachutes out of a plane. We are also given a glimpse of the lives and cultures of the Papuan natives, who are more than what the reporters say they are.

And as more and more Yankees and their allies pour into the valley, a whiff of danger arises as the natives' regional leader feels threatened by the foreign presence and begins plotting....

Just as it was in the tale of Jessica Lynch, Margaret Hastings is very much the heroine and pivotal figure here, even though other key figures are given more or less equal time. The book starts and ends with Hastings. She was even crowned "Queen of Shangri-La" by the press then, a title she would come to loathe. Another edition of this book, Lost In Shangri-la: Escape From Another World, is done up with a movie poster of a cover (pictured here) that rubs that fact in.

One could perhaps sigh at the author's apparent sexing up of a dramatic rescue operation by centring the whole thing on the attractive female survivor. But Zuckoff keeps the narrative chaste by sticking to the historical and journalistic aspects of the rescue. And there's lots of history, with bits of anthropology and anecdotal accounts. However, some attempts at philosophising, like how the act of war is more crucial to the natives' way of life than ours, sound laboured.

It could've been written with a bit more dramatic flair, but judging from the extensive bibliography, one supposes that the author may have been worn out by all the research he'd done – look at all those notes at the back!

Then again, perhaps not. Poignant, gritty, engaging and occasionally comic, Lost In Shangri-La can stand on its own as a compelling tale of human courage, camaraderie and survival without any embellishment.



Lost in Shangri-La
A True Story of Survival, Adventure, and the Most Incredible Rescue Mission of World War II

Mitchell Zuckoff
Harper (2011)
Non-fiction
384 pages
ISBN: 978-0-06-209358-5

Friday 26 August 2011

Too Much Information

Now that this review is out, here's a bit more information.

The Democratic Republic of the Congo in Central Africa was formerly known as the Congo Free State, Belgian Congo, Congo-LĂ©opoldville, Congo-Kinshasa and Zaire (1971-1997).

It's not to be confused with the Republic of the Congo aka the Congo Republic, Congo-Brazzaville, Little Congo or simply the Congo, another state in Central Africa.

So, there is no "Zaire and the Democratic Republic of Congo". At present, there is, however, a "Republic of the Congo" and "Democratic Republic of the Congo".

I got confused. My bad.



Too much info

first published in The Star, 26 August 2011


What an iPad of a book, I thought, as I ran my hands over the cover that was tastefully done in white, black and red. And just like a real iPad, you will either get sick of it after a short while or be lost in it for hours, maybe days.

The Information is James Gleick's attempt to enlighten the masses about the subject of "information": its history, theories, and how technology that bloomed in the last 50 years has redefined our relationship with information.

Gleick kicks things off with the story of early forms of texting, which includes fire signals and African talking drums. While highlighting the latter we are introduced to Kele, a Bantu language spoken in parts of Zaire and the Democratic Republic of Congo. Inflections in speech can give the same Kele word or phrase different meanings, resulting in comical and potentially tragic consequences. For instance, one can end up saying "he boiled his mother-in-law" instead of "he watched the riverbank". Several revelations arise from this: language is complex; such complexities can form a basis for some kind of encryption; and it seems that mothers-in-law are hated everywhere.

The book explores other aspects of information, such as communication (telegraph and telecommunications), processing (19th century English mathematician and mechanical engineer Charles Babbage's difference engine, transistors and logic circuits), encryption (WWII's famed Enigma machine), and finally, "the flood" (social networks and Wikipedia).

The book gets harder to read as one goes along, however. Some parts are like a textbook or encyclopaedia, with diagrams, math equations, foreign words and special symbols. All that, plus the dry tone and inaccessible language clutter up and bog down what would have been an interesting book that might explain and contextualise, among other things, phenomena such as Fox "News", LOLcats, and Charlie Sheen. Digging up such gems, however, is like going through a mile of Google search results. One wonders if this is actually the sequel to Gleick's previous book, Chaos.

Those with the determination, patience and stamina to wade through the entire book will likely be rewarded with a clearer understanding of what we read, why we seek it, why we read some things more than others, and why we have that urge to "spread the word".

Some points to ponder: Our hunger for information can lead to an information hangover and apathy, so how do we sate the hunger while avoiding the side-effects? If DNA code is "information", does that make us "living machines", and gene-based treatments a form of programming?

For me, "information" connotes something that's shiny, intriguing and that invites exploration, but the task of unravelling the complex relationships between us and the information we produce and consume is much, much harder.

Though I feel Gleick has done his utmost to do this, I also fear he has been too successful. The Information may help us understand the origins of information and our ties to it, but it may also end up a victim of its author's apparent success – a book that's too smart for the casual reader, afflicted by some of the problems it highlights and tries to explain.



The Information
James Gleick
Fourth Estate
526 pages
Non-fiction
ISBN: 978-0-00-742311-8

Thursday 25 August 2011

Calling For Weird Things

Jen Campbell, who blogs at This is Not the Six-word Novel, is calling booksellers all over for weird things they've heard their customers say for her book, Weird Things Customers Say in Bookshops.

What began as a single post about said topic eventually grew into a series. Weeks ago, Campbell accumulated enough weird things for a book. The latest edition will be published in the UK, Ireland, Australia and New Zealand.

Later on, Campbell opened up contributions from several Commonwealth countries, including the aforementioned ones. What she got was so enjoyable, she decided to lengthen the list and include weird things from booksellers worldwide.

"If you have a bookshop in space, you may enter too. Extra kudos to you," she adds.

Alas, I'm a deskbound editor who's dream job (one of several) is to run a book nook one day. And there aren't a lot of indie booksellers in this country; fewer still, I think, have the knack for remembering the weird things their customers say.

Anyway, please send in your best "Weird Things Customers Say in Bookshops" to weirdthingsuk[at]gmail[dot]com.

Set the conversation out in a chat window format as seen in these posts.

Please include your name, contact number, and the name and location of your bookshop (bookshop name, address, city, country).

Submissions should be sent to the said e-mail address before 30 September this year.

Non-booksellers can help spread the word about this call for submissions. Check Campbell's blog for more information.

I wonder if the bookstore people will bring it over here...

Tuesday 23 August 2011

Rise Of The "Raviews"

Today, let me introduce a made-up word: "raview". This portmanteau of "rave" and "review" is the only way to describe the US$5 "reviews" that might be offered by a web site mentioned in the New York Times.

They are everywhere. They are, it seems, cheap. And they are virtually indistinguishable from "truthful" reviews.

A related article offers some tips on spotting potential fake reviews, listing such indicators as: constant focus on reviewer and companions, lots of "I", "me" and "my", and direct mentions of lodgings and cities. Also, look out for adverb and verb overload. If a review sounds overly positive, it smells fishy.


A sample of some very effusive reviews on TripAdvisor.com.
Under those guidelines, they'd be fishier than Fulton Street,
even if they're genuine and truthful.


This concerns me somewhat, because similar issues plague book reviews too. As well as food reviews, movie reviews, anything reviews. This also shed more light on why a former boss insisted on limiting the use of "I", "me" and "my" in my more "serious" pieces. "Raviews" do seem to be talking more about the "raviewer" than the product.

Arguably, "raviews" of such things as books, food and movies are possible, because, well, there's no accounting for taste. Over time, a reviewer's experiences will change the person, leading to a possible re-evaluation of his earlier opinions.

By the way, does this look "raview-ish"? ...Perhaps, but that's the general vibe I had when I went through the pages.

"Raviews" of travel destinations are harder, I think, and not just because of the writer. Places change. Service standards fluctuate. Last month's travellers to a place may encounter a different atmosphere than today's.

Still, US$5 per "raview" is a short sell for the kind of mental anguish, however minimal, that I'm sure the "raviewer" goes through. Times must be really hard nowadays.

Now that these possible signs of a fake review are out in the open, will it change the way reviews are written? Possibly. For one, writers may probably have to adopt more neutral voices, even if they were genuinely blown away by their experiences. And who wants to read dry, boring travel stuff?

But things will change. They are talking about ways to separate the chaff from the wheat; "raviews", after all, are essentially spam and a waste of server space, in lieu of their effect on a product's marketability and a ratings site as a fair arbiter of taste.

At least, as fair as could be in the face of the constant deluge of information and opinion brought about by the Internet.

Monday 22 August 2011

Seashore Searching

Certain events that took place in the past two weeks drove me to search Youtube for an old song. "Forever", sung by Japanese actor Takashi Sorimachi and Richie Sambora, was the opening theme for the 1997 Japanese drama series Beach Boys.


The only nice poster pic of the 1997 Japanese drama
series Beach Boys I could find


Yes, I guess it was a long time ago.

Walking on the beach, 17-year-old Makoto Izumi (played by Ryoko Hirosue) finds a message in a bottle which ends with, "We are the beach boys." It was never clear who wrote the message, but I suppose the bottle was just a set piece that led to the serendipitous encounter that would follow later.

I.e., the arrival of the "beach boys" into her life.

Former competition swimmer and deadbeat Hiromi Sakurai (Sorimachi) is kicked out of his girlfriend's house. Around the same time, high-flying salaryman Kaito Suzuki (Yutaka Takenouchi) is escaping from troubles at his workplace. These two meet and end up at the same place: a small bed-and-breakfast by the beach, where Makoto lives with her granddad.

Hiromi and Kaito couldn't be any more different. Sorimachi essentially plays a more laid-back, easygoing and less edgier version of his GTO persona; Kaito is all business and straitlaced. Their first meeting couldn't have been worse: while pushing Hiromi's jalopy, they end up chasing the car downhill and plunged into the ocean.

And Kaito loses his wallet to the sea.

Stuck in the middle of nowhere with no money, both of them became employees at the B&B - fertile ground for friendships between two unlikely bedfellows, set within a feel-good, often funny tale about life, priorities, finding one's dreams and, yes, friendship.

Then again, not so unlikely; in Hiromi and Kaito's names is the kanji for "sea", shown clearly in the opening. No guesswork for the audience, as far as the scriptwriters are concerned.

Back then, I was too young and perhaps too occupied with my own things to fully appreciate the message(s) behind the drama series. The idea of a simple life, working and living near the sea appealed to me, though, and not just because of where I was born. The opening theme stuck, too.

I guess it was that simplicity that I seem to yearn for now, so warm and familiar, it feels like... home. Just like the B&B was to "beach boys" Hiromi and Kaito.

But their idyll doesn't last long. Masaru Izumi, Makoto's grandpa and owner of the B&B goes missing one day, leading to the Beach Boys' parting of ways to find their own "ocean". And so it ends...

But bless Fuji TV for the special episode. Ah, the sight of them trying to start and then chasing Hiromi's car back into the ocean again when they returned to the seaside B&B was so damn cathartic.

And then, the sounds of the guitar as the opening theme played - an affirmation that, yes, they are and will always be "the beach boys".

I hold on to that song. When I hear it playing at the back of my mind at some point in my life, I will know that I have, at last, found my metaphorical B&B by the sea.

Thursday 18 August 2011

MPH Quill, MPH 105th Anniversary Issue

In this special issue of MPH Quill, some author interviews.


Cover of the 105th Anniversary issue of MPH Quill (left; don't ask)
and more Mysore magic and majesty


Eric Forbes speaks to MJ Hyland (How the Light Gets In) And Padma Viswanathan (The Toss of a Lemon) about their books, themselves and their writing lives.


Authors MJ Hyland (left) and Padma Viswanathan are featured in
the 105th Anniversary issue of MPH Quill


Also, an interview piece with first-time author Paul Callan, where he talks about himself and his debut novel, The Dulang Washer.

Paul Callan, author of The Dulang Washer


Other interesting bits include:

Wena Poon's (Lions in Winter, Alex y Robert) sojourn at the 2011 Hong Kong International Literary Festival, where she discovers the international reach of Malaysian and Singaporean women novelists.

Mary Schneider's piece on photographer Dr Ooi Cheng Ghee and his involvement in the coffeetable book Portraits of Penang: Little India, published by Areca Books.

More interesting bits about Mysore, India, courtesy of newspaper columnist and occasional travel writer Alexandra Wong.

Tom Sykes summary on some gwailo novelists' works set in Southeast Asia, and excerpts from A Subtle Degree of Restraint and Other Stories, as well as Looking Back: Monday Musings and Memories, an upcoming reprint of Tunku's original 1970s edition.

...And more!

Saturday 13 August 2011

Fasting Month Fracas

Many years back, I'd been eating something when two Malay boys walked past. It was the fasting month, so one of them went, "Oh dear, he's eating in front of me!"

Of course I was traumatised by that. I still remember it, even though it happened in the 80s. If you're reading this, Mohd Ishak, from Francis Light Primary School (1), Penang, mohon maaf.

To this day I feel a bit self-conscious when eating in public during that time of the year. I sometimes wonder what prompted that outburst. I don't think it was anger, though. I didn't get a dressing-down over it, nor was I beaten up.

But what would happen in school these days if someone made the same boo-boo I did?

Those days of Ramadhan past were dredged up by this report yesterday morning:

The Home Ministry has called up the Group Chief Editor of The Star for running buka puasa articles together with stories on non-halal restaurants.

Its deputy secretary-general (Security) Datuk Abdul Rahim Mohamad Radzi said the pictures and also promotion of non-halal restaurants were carried in the paper's Dining Out supplement, with "Ramadan delights" as its cover headline.

I shook my head and then rummaged the paper pile in the office for the "offending" supplement.

There, in all its glory at the top left corner of page four, a picture of a Chinese restaurant's "must try" Mongolian pork rib. Ah yes, I missed the ad on page two for Morganfield's "Sticky Bones", a sick, huge slab of what looks like barbecued pork ribs.

The next few pages were advertorials for a dim sum place, Morganfield's, the gastropub chain Library and a bistro-type place with a selection of "over 400 Old World and New World wines".

In an ideal world, a person would just shake one's head, chuckle and read the rest of the section, then move on to the funnies. One could, after that, calmly write a letter to the editor, because that would be the most rational thing to do. But this world is far from ideal, so things such as "tolerance", "understanding" and "rationality" don't always make an appearance.

Of late, The Star has been slipping up on occasion. Reshuffling hiccups? Maybe. Was it 2.30am when they finally closed it, all bone-tired and bleary-eyed? Plausible.

The whole thing's quite unfortunate. From the mix of ads I saw it looked as if they were trying to be impartial, maybe make the fasting month a little more special for everyone. Just like what Whole Foods is doing in the US.

Days earlier, the American supermarket chain faced a similar situation after they put up a Ramadhan promotion. Yes.

Not everyone appreciated it, though. A conservative blogger hurled bile over how "anti-Israel" Whole Foods was shilling "for jihadi interests".

(Some researchers claim that poison arrow frogs source ingredients for their lethal neurotoxins from by eating certain insects. Not sure I want to know what that blogger's been into.)

No guesses as to why some Americans aren't taking a shine to the company's initiative. So, let's hear what a food blogger has to say about Ramadhan:

"...it is an incredibly important holy month for Muslims. For us, it is a time of reflection — a time to develop compassion for those who live with hunger and thirst as a way of life, and to do something to help them. It’s a time to practice self-control and willpower in the face of numerous temptations; and to purify one’s self by taking time to focus on character and purpose.

Of course, some bad apples, like the obvious ones over in Syria, don't seem to be getting with that programme. Small wonder that Ramadhan, like so many other aspects of Islam, is tainted by the actions of an extremist few.

But wait, you say. Things roll differently in Malaysia. The majority of people here celebrate Ramadhan, and anything deemed offensive to them may have huge effects. So, someone might have complained about it for the sake of the public.

I will audaciously presume that "the public" here includes me.

Yes, I suppose that's how we've been taught. I for one, however, would be offended to have someone complain on my behalf about things that "offend" my sensibilities. Just as how some are offended by any suggestion that their spirituality during the holy month is fragile.

If I were, I'd rather do my own complaining because I'm so much better at it, and am capable of more measured responses.

Also, it's not as if all the establishments in that supplement were non-halal. One can still pick his or her way through the section to find more appropriate places to break fast. Recommendations not good enough? Bambu the paper with that letter I suggested you write, and maybe suggest some places you know have good buka puasa grub.

This isn't exactly new. I remember hearing (in 2007) about someone being offended by a food writer's article on roti babi in Penang a while back, simply because of the four-letter word. Incidentally, the article was published not long after the start of the fasting month then (13 September to 12 October).

So I guess it has been with us for a long while. This... anger, this hair-trigger tendency to get upset whenever our sensibilities are offended. Have we always been this way, or did things get even worse since my primary school days?

I believe that people take offence because they choose to take offence. So much ill feeling can be avoided if we ignored, rather than took, offence at certain things. There's plenty going on lately that's more worthy of our outrage, but that's not the point of this rant.

And no, I don't think non-Muslims at home need to be educated about Islam or Ramadhan. If there's anyone out there who needs that education, it's the Yankees who, judging from the Whole Foods thingy, aren't exactly the most informed people on this planet.

As Mohammed al-Rehaief learned, to his chagrin, when he visited Jessica Lynch's hometown of Palestine, West Virginia.

al-Rehaief was the Iraqi doctor who helped Lynch, a survivor of an ambush by insurgents. But when he called on her, she was, it seemed, too busy to see him. And it got better:

The failed visit ended on a somewhat farcical note when local townspeople offered the al-Rehaiefs a meal - of ham sandwiches and burgers - only to discover that they were fasting for Ramadhan and, in any case, being Muslim, did not eat ham.

How tragic-comic. Not even worth a cringe or facepalm.

In the spirit of the fasting month, why not a lawatan sambil mengajar to the US heartland and educate these benighted heathens about religion and Ramadhan? And maybe undo some of the damage done by Fox News supremo Roger Ailes and his ilk? Some of the noise coming out of that so-called "news channel" is categorically carcinogenic.

A much better cause than banning beer, gatecrashing charity dinners, burning web sites and chastising newspapers for what looks like a genuine slip-up.

Wednesday 3 August 2011

Coffee Craving

I woke up from a daydream one day and thought, "I think I'll read some books about coffee."

Though a favourite beverage, my love for coffee never went beyond theory or the basic stuff I'd whip up in my kitchen which would reduce real coffee lovers to tears.


Somewhat random selection of coffee-related reads


But I figured one needs to start somewhere.

  • The Devil's Cup
    A History of the World According to Coffee

    Stewart Lee Allen
    Ballantine Books (2003)
    240 pages
    Non-fiction
    ISBN: 9780345441492

    Stewart Lee Allen travels about 75 per cent the world on a caffeinated quest to find out whether the advent of coffee birthed an enlightened western civilisation, and if coffee is the substance that drives history. Yes, it did and yes, it is, says the author.

  • The Coffee Book
    Anatomy of an Industry from Crop to the Last Drop

    Gregory Dicum, Nina Luttinger
    New Press (2006)
    232 pages
    Non-fiction
    ISBN: 9781595580603

    Completely revised and updated for 2006, this book explores production, the history of cafĂ© society, dramatic tales of high-stakes international trade, health aspects, the industry’s major players, and the specialty coffee revolution - including the very latest developments in sustainable coffee. Full of facts, figures, cartoons, photos, and commentary. Personally, I prefer the 1999 cover.

  • Uncommon Grounds
    The History of Coffee and How It Transformed Our World

    Mark Pendergrast
    Basic Books (2010)
    424 pages
    Non-fiction
    ISBN: 9780465018369

    Caffeinated beverage enthusiast Pendergrast approaches this history of the green bean with the zeal of an addict. His wide-ranging narrative takes readers from the legends about coffee's discovery, to the corporatisation of the specialty cafe. His broad vision, meticulous research and colloquial delivery combine aromatically, and he even throws in advice on how to brew the perfect cup.

Of course, I could order all three from Amazon if I wanted to, but after registering with the site to write reviews and learning that I'd have to buy the books first, I abandoned the site. Now I can't remember the user name and password I used, and I no longer care.

...Just a few more books to look out for when I'm out browsing.

Friday 29 July 2011

Price Of Courage

Though The Absolutist was a simple book to review, I'm rather embarrassed by the results, which was published today. Not because it was tucked into a corner of a page of cinema screening schedules.

But, oddly enough, because it's so short.

I couldn't see much to write about. To say too much would give away parts of the novel I'd rather let people read about. And people should give this novel a go. Then, they should probably watch Captain America: The First Avenger.


Review of 'The Absolutist' by John Boyne in print
A novel about World War I soldiers (left) and a movie about
World War II soldiers. Coincidence?


Sure looks like they did a little homework before laying it out. Kind of clever.



Price of courage

first published in The Star, 29 July 2011


Renowned octogenarian author Tristan Sadler is at a prize-giving ceremony that also celebrates his long illustrious literary career.

The evening doesn't go so well, however. An exchange with a rude, callous, young and upcoming writer sours his mood, and he takes it out on a newbie reporter who didn't do his homework before interviewing him. Though the prize is prestigious and rarely given out, he thinks the thing is ugly.

After the ceremony, Tristan returns to his hotel where he finds an elderly woman waiting for him at the lounge. They know each other. She's Marian Bancroft and it appears she has unfinished business with him. This encounter is 60 years in the making and the story leading up to it is in the unpublished manuscript in Tristan's hotel room. Which you would be reading as John Boyne's novel, The Absolutist, if you picked it up.

It's 1919. A much younger Tristan Sadler is on the train from London to Norwich. He makes small talk with an aged female novelist of some renown. He himself is employed by a publisher, a possible foreshadowing of his future in publishing. But his business in Norwich is not with books but letters.

World War I has ended, and he brings letters from the front, presumably unsent, written by his friend Will Bancroft. The letters are addressed to his sister Marian, and there may be a reason why he's delivering the letters himself.

Tristan and Will met at the military town of Aldershot three years earlier, where they trained with other young men – boys, some of them – and formed a bond that strengthened as they faced death and desolation in the trenches during the war.

As the days on the battlefield wear on, they keep a depressing count of their comrades-at-arms who died, deserted or went mad. One day, Will lays down his arms and declares himself an "absolutist" – someone who refuses to contribute even an iota of effort to the war. To the rest of his comrades, he is just another coward. Will is executed as a traitor for his decision, shaming his family's name.

But of course, this isn't the whole story. Besides the letters, Tristan tells Marian why Will objected to the war, but not the circumstances surrounding his death. The letters say nothing; only Tristan knows. But will he find the courage Will had to reveal them?

The Absolutist is short, focused as it is on Tristan, Marian and his friendship with Will. The novel is also a sad, poignant tale of war, of what young men had to endure in the trenches and the shattered lives left in the wake of their deaths. It also sheds some light on Tristan's own sad story, how he came to know Will, and the burden of truth he has borne through the years.

Tightly-woven, straightforward and unpretentious, the writing is an example of fine storytelling and the plot is easy to follow. A nice read overall, even if the story sort of plods along in parts (such as Tristan's vignettes in sleepy Norwich as he struggles with whether to spill the whole bag of beans to Marian). You can imagine this as a full-length feature film as you read, but try not to press the imaginary fast-forward button – that will spoil the whole experience.

I'd say more but because of the brevity of this novel, I'm already treading the thin red line between review and spoiler. Suffice it to say this is definitely worth picking up.



The Absolutist
John Boyne
Doubleday (2011)
309 pages
Fiction
ISBN: 978-0-385-61605-8

Tuesday 26 July 2011

Sassy Schoolmarm

I'd originally picked up Catherine Lim's Miss Seetoh in the World along with a bunch of books to be reviewed in The Star but it was dropped to accommodate an interview piece related to her next book (A Watershed Election: Singapore’s GE 2011, I think). But the paper graciously permitted me to blog it instead.

Miss Seetoh , which was published last November, is "a very special book for two reasons", Lim blogs. "Firstly, it came at the end of the longest break - 7 years! - in my writing career, and secondly, it is the first novel to have a strong political component which might just make it my most controversial work of fiction."

I took a deep breath, held my nose and dived in.

Singaporean schoolteacher Maria Seetoh was brought up under conventional circumstances - typical of the female leads in Lim's novels. Seetoh's English is also very powderful one. Somewhat precocious as a child, she's the type that might have despaired her teachers and the nuns at her school, prompting them during meetings to ask colleagues, "How do you solve a problem like Maria..."

No surprise then, that she ended up teaching English at a creative writing class in secondary school. Her students are a joy to teach, and the classes are her Wonderland. She also has two friends, both teachers.

However, against her desire to buck religious and social norms, she had married a conservative Christian guy who'd rather she stayed at home, cooked, cleaned and made his children. Of course theirs was a loveless marriage, which ended when the guy died of an illness.

Seetoh's widowed mom disapproves of her newly liberated daughter's affair. Her ne'er-do-well stepbrother has gambled his way to loan shark hell and eventually takes his family and mother away to a new life in Malaysia.

And Seetoh sees stories everywhere, like how the Sixth Sense kid sees dead people.

She sees the story of her marriage in nine words coined by a student. She sees a story in the shared life of her two friends. She has a mind to respond to an anti-Singlish campaign by writing a story in Singlish. Musings on the Singaporean obsession with the GCE O-Level cert pulled odd bits of ideas in her head into a story.

The sad tale of her grandmother's life? She'd love to write about that; it'll be a short story, in the passive voice. When down on her luck one day, she thought she'd write a funny book. The love lives of her family's women? Write-worthy! Everything, it seems, can be put to paper.

Thing is, writing and telling stories is what this sassy Singaporean schoolmarm has been doing throughout the 480-odd pages of Miss Seetoh, and it soon dawns on the reader that the protagonist may be Lim's in-novel persona. The outspoken, unconventional Lim was once a teacher and apparently loves to write; her portfolio includes seven novels, a bunch of short story collections and two poetry books.

This hoagie of a novel looks like an attempt to make up for lost time. Snippets of Seetoh's life, from her childhood to her eventual liberation from the shackles of tradition, marriage and career are spliced with childhood recollections, socio-political commentary, existentialistic and introspective ponderings, questions, and musings, peppered and punctuated with pseudo-aphorisms and non sequiturs with tenuous ties to the storyline.

While talking about so-and-so, suddenly Seetoh recalls some mahjong quartet from a distant memory. Then, laments over the Singaporean obsession with "the five Cs" and stellar exam results and the island nation's barren pool of creativity. At least four pages on the conditional mood. Over five pages on love and the nature of things.

A chapter set in the botanical gardens sees her imagination take flight. On religion: "Someone had once said that those who abandoned God were left with a God-shaped hole that nothing could fill. Hers was being richly filled with all manner of things that did not even have names."

Of the gardens' visitors and inhabitants: "The great chain of happiness-seeking could be extended downwards to include the tiniest organisms inside each of [their] bodies, for surely even these primordial forms of life sought their own kind of happiness, and upwards to include the deities of Providence residing in those huge ageless trees, for surely even gods needed to be happy."

Various elements in the book don't segue well from one to the other. The reader is dragged out of a chapter of her life and then plunged into her thoughts or given a peek into the workings of a nanny state (as she sees it), before being yanked by the wrist towards the next chapter of her or someone else's life. It is one rough theme park ride that tries to pack too much into one circuit.

A huge pity, because Lim can really write. But here, she makes the reader work to uncover the rare displays of wit and wordcraft among the platitudes and flowery prose. The well-worn use of an author's avatar in this novel is unnecessary, as Lim is more than capable of social commentary without the need for literary stand-ins.

And the stepbrother going to Malaysia to escape from loan sharks says something about what Seetoh/the Malaysian-born Lim thinks about her adopted homeland.

When all of Seetoh's personal troubles are behind her and the political one looms - not a big one, as her contribution to the "earth-shattering political revelation" is but a footnote - the suspense and the political thriller parts kick in, but exits the stage a bit too soon, leaving us with barely a taste of what else the author can do.

Miss Seetoh is not a bad book, and none should doubt Lim's command of the language. It could be an even better book if she didn't work so hard to make it an all-in-one package.


Also published in The Malaysian Insider, 10 April 2013.



Miss Seetoh in the World
Catherine Lim
Marshall Cavendish Editions (2011)
487 pages
Fiction
ISBN: 978-981-4328-36-4

Friday 22 July 2011

Winds Of Change

I'd forgotten about submitting this review. Nor did I expect it to be out today.

It's been a while since I wrote this and things in Burma don't appear to be improving as fast as hoped. So Aung San Suu Kyi is allowed to tour the country - but no politics, please, says its "civilian" government.

Big deal. They kicked out Michelle Yeoh, allegedly, for her role in the Suu Kyi biopic. Might it have been something she said about the film?

Change. It's in my pocket but not, it seems, in Burma. Not yet.



Winds of change
For years one of the world's last remaining military dictatorships, Burma is now under a civilian government. But it remains to be seen whether the country can move on from the bleak days chronicled in this book

first published in The Star, 22 July 2011


After ruling the country for over 30 years, the Burmese junta was dissolved and replaced by an elected civilian government early this year. Naysayers can perhaps be forgiven for their scepticism, though: the junta has historically been seen as a fickle, paranoid entity that relies on spin and brute force to cling to power.

The elections that paved the way for the junta's dissolution is widely believed to have been a sham, an attempt to rebrand old lamps as new.

The collapse of the ancient Danok pagoda in 2009 could have been an influencing factor in the rebranding exercise. In Everything Is Broken, American journalist and author Emma Larkin describes the event as a possible ill omen for the junta, a divine rejection of its legitimacy.

The pagoda's collapse was particularly significant in the light of the fact that the wife of a junta official, Senior General Than Shwe (now retired), had performed a religious ceremony there mere weeks before the collapse.

Wishful thinkers would probably have seen this incident as one in a series of heavenly wake-up calls for the junta, a follow-up to the last one in May 2008. That year, cyclone Nargis wreaked havoc and destruction in Burma's Irrawady Delta. In their attempts to control and, as usual, spin the situation, the junta placed numerous stumbling blocks in front of mostly foreign aid agencies trying to enter the country to help.

The state-run media was virtually blowing sunshine and scattering flower petals everywhere to mask the scale of the destruction, decrying foreign press coverage of the disaster as a "skyful of lies".

Larkin was one of the few foreign journalists who managed to sneak in as part of an aid group's entourage.

"Emma Larkin" is a nom de plume, and there's a good reason why. This bleak, cheerless chronicle of the cyclone's aftermath has little good to say about the Burmese junta and their handling of what is said to be the worst natural disaster in the country's recorded history.

Broken families, broken bodies, broken bridges, broken chains of command, broken everything. The title comes from an oft-heard phrase during Larkin's interviews with affected locals.

It is hard to read this painfully one-sided, unflattering, monochromatic portrait of the junta and its key figures. It is, after all, The Untold Story Of Disaster Under Burma's Military Regime.

Burma's military rulers, Than Shwe in particular, are cast as a hermitic, paranoid, superstitious and xenophobic lot who are scared stiff of the big wide world and rely on astrology and religious and magical rituals to bring good luck, accrue merit and ward off enemies.

The reader feels despair, pity and rage at the victims' plight, at the scenes of horror in the disaster zones, and at the darkly comic cruelty of the regime's clumsy efforts to maintain control of the situation. The collapse of the Danok pagoda is perhaps the only bright spot among the pages.

Larkin says her pseudonym protects the locals who spoke to her; talking to the foreign press is dicey business for the Burmese.

"The worst thing that would happen to me is that I would get deported," she said in an online interview.

She also implies that it is the regime's control of the country and all public discourse within that drives writers like herself to dig deep and chronicle events in countries such as Burma.

"As a result of the regime's actions, stories are vanishing, history is being rewritten, memories are being eroded and stories lost."

However, her efforts to hide her identity and assure her return to Burma later works against her in that this work can be seen as an attack on the Burmese junta by someone hiding behind a false name, rather than a true-to-life account of events after Nargis.

Larkin's storytelling, however, makes her sound more credible than Burma's state media. Or is it because she paints the kind of picture some of us want to see?

Maybe it all depends on what happens in Burma in the coming months. Any change for the better in the country is good news for everyone. After decades of rule by a schizophrenic military regime, however, one can only hope that not everything there is broken, and that there will be fewer pieces to pick up when the real healing begins.



Everything is Broken
The Untold Story of Disaster Under Burma's Military Regime

Emma Larkin
Granta Publications (2010)
265 pages
Non-fiction
ISBN: 978-1-84708-180-3

Tuesday 19 July 2011

Ping!

Days ago, a note sent by an e-reader appeared on Facebook and Twitter, announcing to all that so-and-so finished a certain book.

Thing is, he'd finished it long ago. But his e-reader, fearing that some will not be informed of this development, duly tweeted the news. "He finished reading this book on Kindle! Huzzah!"

Not that it's the first time I've seen tweets of this ilk. Who's familiar with Foursquare?

I never really saw the lure of an app that broadcasts your location, but I've since learnt it's a bit more than that. Foursquare is said to allow users more interaction with their environments. Its "superusers", for instance, can correct or update information about "check-in venues". Places can be reviewed in the same way as books, and annotations made to existing venue profiles.

The badges, which you get just by going to places, are a devious kind of incentive that gets users to go out more and collect them the same way scouts or adventurers collect their badges. It gives Foursquare the feel of a massively multiplayer online role-playing game (MMORPG).

So will there be a Foursquare-type app for e-readers? Or does something like that already exist? Or has Foursquare come up with a version for e-readers?

Such an app will definitely be invented, and if not, it should. As books go digital, there will be ways get people to buy the devices and download books. A Foursquare for e-books may get people, particularly the gadget-crazy Gen-Yers, to actually read the books they download instead of just hoarding them in their e-readers or iWhatChaMaCallIts.

What would such an app offer, and how can they get people reading? Badges, certainly, but I'm thinking, bookstores can also tap into this by making themselves more trendy for the hip and wired. Discounts and freebies in exchange for badges, perhaps - who needs loyalty cards?

Maybe have secret badge combo promotions: users who manage to collect a secret set of badges, for instance, get bigger, more exclusive goodies, such as attendances at author appearances, book talks or readings, in lieu of the obligatory signed copy and related merchandise.

Bookstores of the near future could be places where e-books can be purchased or downloaded; cash registers could also show buyers their "Booksquare" (I'm groping for app names here) statuses or whatever they've won, after their purchases. The whole scheme will make for an interesting tie-up among publishers, sellers, authors and app and device makers.

A bookclub app can be another possibility. A mini-Facebook page with threads, related and recommended reads, updates and individual user sections to track who bought the book, who read it and their reading progress. It's a good gauge of how well a book is being received and may help spread the reading bug.

That's some good sides. One example of a not-so-good side is the autopinging of the guy's book status. Was there a way to turn it off? I think there should be. Maybe the switch was hard to find. Maybe there isn't a switch at all. Horrors! Imagine some of the pings that might go out.

But this data is important to certain quarters. Just like the GPS that helps people and guided munitions find their way home, your preferences: albums, books, restaurants and hangouts, will help them sell their products or services more effectively. It's how that data will ultimately be used.

Perhaps the fuss over privacy settings in this wired and dangerous world is warranted. As long as there are irresponsible parties out there who covet this data for sinister aims, many of us would think thrice before going "e". Something makers of e-readers and e-book apps should think about.

Saturday 16 July 2011

Bleeding Raw

At a low point in his career, a chef wrote a crime fiction novel, incorporating characters and settings from real life: drug-addicted chefs, Italian-American mobsters, Feds, informers, sleazy restaurant operators, et al. It didn't do so well.

However, his memoir, an expanded, non-fiction version of his first and failed crime novel, was a different story. "Inexplicably," the chef wrote in a sequel to this book, "it flew off the shelves." Now more famous for his writing and TV appearances, the chef has left his former grimier and sometimes larcenous life and settled down with a wife - his second - and a kid. He'd given up drugs, and later, even tobacco.

That book was how I got to know this chef. Or was it his faux food/travel TV shows? I forgot. Dude's a real raconteur. Unashamedly frank, open, and unbridled. You believe every single word. Coming from a culture that represses freedom of expression, it was like a breath of fresh air.

I speak, of course, of Anthony Michael Bourdain, the American chef, author, TV host and French export with a desire to be Italian-American. The Book, which shall henceforth be known as The Book, is his best-selling memoir Kitchen Confidential.

With all the non-fiction stuff he's written since The Book, only die-hard stalkerish followers of the Brash B know of his other works of (mainly) crime fiction, which feature the archetypes in the world of the American mobster and the kitchens he'd worked in.

I found Bone in the Throat in an unlikely place: Cziplee in Bangsar, months ago. First published in 1995 by Random House imprint Villard, Canongate released this edition in 2008 with an updated author's bio. Obviously, cashing in on his fame, but time will tell if readers and fans will take a shine to his earlier works.

Bone is a slice of the life of Tommy Pagano, sous chef of the Dreadnaught. A mobster's son, Tommy wants nothing to do with the life that ruined his father, so he took up what he likes - cooking. But there's no getting away from his mobster uncle and guardian, Salvatore Pitera aka "Sally Wig", who has always been around since he was a kid, helping him out whenever he could.

So when his uncle calls in a favour one day, Tommy couldn't refuse. Sally wants the Dreadnaught's kitchen for a while for some business. Tommy finds out too late that the "business" was a mob hit, which he witnesses. This was exactly the kind of crap he'd been trying to avoid.

Not long after, the FBI manages to snag the Dreadnaught's chef, a skinny guy with a drug habit, and offer him a chance out of trouble by getting him to persuade Tommy to squeal on his uncle. Tommy's got girlfriend problems too, but that's sauce on the side.

Many characters will sound familiar to those who've read The Book, particularly the chapters on his early career and encounters with mob figures. The character inspired by real-life mob boss Vincent "The Chin" Gigante makes an appearance about halfway through and turns out to be more than expected. And... now where have I seen the Dreadnaught's chef before?

Bone take some time to appreciate because of the writing. It's violent, profane (to say the least), and dripping with testosterone, a chaotic compilation of restaurant terms and recipes, mob lingo and to-and-fros between cops and robbers stitched together with an overkill of F-bombs.

The pace is like a speeding subway train, fast and cacophonous, the images outside the window blurred by the speed. Characters come and go, but few of them stick: Tommy, Sally Wig, Harvey the Dreadnaught's owner, Al the federal agent, and the wacky mob boss. The mob and the kitchen are brought to life, warts and all.

Bourdain has come a long way since Bone in the Throat, though his style is still discernible. Compared to his latest, Medium Raw, this book is just bleeding raw, the Brash B at his brashest, unpolished and unrestrained, if that's your kind of thing. Not too sure if it's mine, though after a while, the cursing and swearing becomes immaterial. The character's flaws no longer shock.

All that's left is yes, this is the story of Tommy Pagano, a guy who just wants to take his life into his hands, and it is good. And that, yes, Bourdain is a damn good storyteller.



Bone in the Throat
Anthony Bourdain
Canongate (2008)
340 pages
Fiction
ISBN: 978-1-84767-054-0

Tuesday 12 July 2011

MPH Quill Issue 31, Jul-Sep 2011

Heaps of stories and good stuff coming your way in the latest issue of Quill. New books. Book news. And what is perhaps the longest letter to the editor ever received.

Among the highlights: Eric Forbes talks to Tan Twan Eng, author of The Gift of Rain and Dave Nuku of The Biggest Loser Asia about their favourite books and writers and thoughts on e-books.


Interviews with Tan Twan Eng (left) and Conor Grennan


Janet Tay speaks to Conor Grennan, author of Little Princes, about the life-changing experience that inspired the book and the charity Next Generation Nepal.

Read an excerpt from Chinese Women: Their Malaysian Journey about nyonya brides, maidens and matriarchs. Starting this issue, we'll be featuring excerpts of books we think readers may be interested in.

Features on David TK Wong, author of such books as Chinese Stories in Times of Change and The Embrace of Harlots and Wan A Hulaimi aka Awang Goneng (Growing Up in Trengganu and A Map of Trengganu).


Kenny Mah's nasi kandar memories (left) and Alexandra Wong's
Mysore melancholy


After a soliloquy on sequels, Ellen Whyte takes us on a whirlwind tour of terrific Toledo. Kenny Mah, meanwhile, serves up a sweet tale about his nasi kandar memories.

It's melancholy at Mysore when Alexandra Wong hops into an autorickshaw and gets to know the young fellow behind the handlebars.

...And more!

An additional issue of Quill will be out in conjunction with MPH's 105th anniversary, with more goodies we couldn't fit into this issue.

Sunday 10 July 2011

End Of An Empire?

Less than two years ago, I read a copy of Inside Rupert's Brain by Paul R La Monica. At the time, the News of the World phone-tapping scandal tarred but didn't sink the paper. Even then, Murdoch's empire was fraying around the edges.

What a difference a couple of years makes.

Today, on 10 July 2011, the 168-year-old News of the World publishes its last edition. The phone-tapping scandal turned out to be bigger and deeper than previously thought. In a move many see as baffling, Murdoch spared the head of the editor in charge at the time of the hacks and axed the paper instead. Earlier, MySpace which was bought by News Corp six years ago was sold at a loss of about 94 per cent, from US$580 million to US$35 million.

In the days that followed news of the hack, Fleet Street has been on a big schadenfreude buffet. Murdoch, from the looks of it, is not well-liked by the British press. But it's only a matter of time before all the UK papers will have their journalistic practices looked into. I doubt all this will make a really big impact on News Corp, though nothing seems for certain nowadays.

But back to the book.

What I found freaked me out a little. This guy certainly knew his business, and it looked like he had a way to make the Internet work for him. I found the size and reach News Corp had really scary. About half the world consumes what News Corp and its various components offer, and it seems that isn't enough for the old fox.

This book managed to convey just enough to give readers a brief look into his thinking, what drives him, and some background into what could be considered the milestones in his long career. Any deeper and you might have to speak to the man himself. Not that it matters to the casual reader.

Wonder what kind of books will come out about News Corp after this?

Along with other pieces I've done, this review brings back memories. The job at Off The Edge had its moments, including books such as this one. I'm not sure if I can deal with the stress, though.



I, Rupert
Inside the mind of an old-school newsman

first published in Off The Edge, December 2009 (Issue 60)


In a rather patronising radio address published in the Herald Sun’s web site last year (2008), Rupert Murdoch appeared to chide rival newspapers for writing their obituaries upon seeing the coming digital wave, rather than using it to their readers’ benefit as well as their own. "Give these readers good honest reporting on issues that mattered most to them. In return, you would be rewarded with trust and loyalty you could take to the bank."

Another thing he intends to take to the bank is money. Since this address the Australian-born media baron has gone on a roadshow of sorts, trumpeting the end of free news on the web as newspapers and magazines start folding worldwide. Quality journalism, he insists, is not cheap, and adds that today's readers are willing to part with a few more dollars for real, quality news.

It echoes of the McTaggart Lecture Murdoch gave at the Edinburgh International Television Festival in 1989, where he foretold TV’s digital (and paid) future, and lambasted British broadcasters’ protectionist policies. On the same stage twenty years later, his son James blasted UK media industry regulator Ofcom for what he believes is its complicity in the BBC’s "chilling" ambition to grow its footprint. It should be noted that Murdoch’s BSkyB (formerly Sky TV) has become the UK’s dominant pay-TV service, whose grip on the market is being probed by... Ofcom.

Thanks in part to his successes, and the reputed political clout of his media outlets, Keith Rupert Murdoch is hard to ignore. From just a single newspaper, the now-defunct Adelaide News, his News Corporation now includes movie studio 20th Century Fox, broadcasting company Fox, Asian satellite TV provider Star TV, web sites MySpace and Photobucket, book publisher HarperCollins, and of course, newspapers in Australia, the UK and US.

To many, this old-school newspaper man seems prescient when it comes to some media trends (as it was with multi-channelled, satellite pay-TV). What’s under the hood? Paul R La Monica, "editor at large" of CNNMoney.com, wrote Inside Rupert’s Head to find out. Quite a bit of research has gone into the book, written in a way that appears to only interest those who really want to look inside the media mogul’s head.

At first glance the book is a somewhat biographical account that highlights certain chapters in Murdoch’s career, which include the expansion of the newspaper business in Australia to the UK and US; the news channel battle between Fox and CNN; his forays into satellite and cable TV, and the Internet; and his bid for Dow Jones and Co, owner of the Wall Street Journal and the Dow Jones Industrial Average. In between the author inserts observations by himself and others about Murdoch during those times. The resulting picture of is that of an industry pioneer and maverick who still feels he has something to prove.

Given the bad news coming out of News Corp of late, he might. The company recorded a US$3.4 billion net loss for the latest financial year. Murdoch’s British newspapers’ year-end ad revenue dropped by 14 percent. Profits across News Corp’s global newspaper division fell from US$786 million to US$466 million. His News of the World was involved in a phone-tapping scandal. To top it off, his net worth dropped from over US$8 billion last year to US$4 billion, according to Forbes. Dow Jones wants to sell its iconic stock index business. Now comes what is seen as his war on Google.

While the senior Murdoch's call for paid news makes some sense, the timing is somewhat suspect, what with all the above. Even if subscribers passed more bucks to keep the media honest, how much of an improvement would it make on the business practices of this monolith of a media corporation? One supposes time will tell, as it did with satellite TV.

It is likely this old-school media mogul’s empire will continue to make the news even as it dishes them out. From James Murdoch’s McTaggart lecture this year, it won’t be too long before there’s enough interest in finding out if James Murdoch is a chip off the old block.



Inside Rupert's Brain
Paul R La Monica
Portfolio (2009)
272 pages
Non-fiction
ISBN: 978-1591842439

Saturday 9 July 2011

Portuguese Pleasures

Written weeks ago, this review of popular, well-reviewed Cristang Restaurant is finally out in the papers. On the day of the Big Yellow Rally. What timing.

However, I feel I have to clarify and point out a few things which were in the original copy: The chef's name is Gerald G (as in Gordon) Oei, not C; the "devils on horseback" dish is described twice; a "noodle incident" about "crossed wires" should've been removed, but wasn't; and technically, the Cristang aren't exactly Portuguese but I was groping for words for a little article alliteration.



Portuguese pleasures
It’s a different kind of foreign occupation when memories of the food at Cristang Restaurant can’t get out of these diners’ heads

first published in The Star, 09 July 2011


We arrived at the restaurant at 8 Avenue around dusk. As Alex whipped out her camera to photograph the exterior, she pointed at something. "Look," she exclaimed, "there are pigs above the doorway!"

As I examined the pigs, a Cristang-looking fellow appeared at the door. "It’s the first time anybody noticed the ‘guardians’ since I opened," he observed. Alex can be sharp-eyed when she wants to be.

We take in the décor: chairs with chequered cushions, wood panelling around the front doorway, and glass panels with the current specials written in dry-erase ink. Sitting in front of each fake brocade cushion was a half-filled pig head-shaped bean bag. The atmosphere was quite subdued, with Portuguese/Latin American guitar playing over the sound system. At the time we were there, we were the only patrons.

Chef-owner Gerald C. Oei told us that Cristang has been open for two years.

"Our opening hours are on Facebook, and behind the counter. I don’t open on Mondays," he said, adding that there were exceptions. "If Tuesday is a public holiday, I will open on Monday."

Though named for the descendants of the Portuguese who dropped by in the 16th century, Cristang’s restaurant’s menu also has Italian, Spanish and other influences from continental Europe: pastas and protein-starch-veggie dishes. It seems as though the restaurant is still trying to figure out what it wants to be. Or perhaps it’s a reflection of the owner’s eclectic tastes and repertoire.

In a radio interview, Gerald seemed to suggest that Cristang was the lab/playground to test and try out his culinary experiments, his own takes on his grandma’s recipes. He was almost vibrating with glee as he told a customer about a dessert he was trying out.

"I love what I do," he beamed.

Alex avoided the carbonara despite the promise of crispy, smoky porcine pleasure in the ingredients list. She settled on a "basic" pork burger, a Cristang signature that had a number of different "grades" from P1 to P10. I picked a tapas dubbed "devils on horseback" - bacon-wrapped sticks of asparagus, baked in a sauce of garlic, onions and red wine. The menu whimsically noted that for this item, "Sorry, angels are not available."

Similar displays of humour were in the menu, lost in the anticipation of a splendid meal.

Alex didn’t like the "devils on horseback" much, mainly because the bacon wasn’t crispy. The dish - three asparagus spears wrapped in bacon and swimming in a garlic and red wine sauce, was likely baked. It was delicious, a great appetiser.

Alex found Cristang’s pork burger much finer than another establishment’s. It was nice and juicy, and the tiny potato wedges were roasted with rosemary. Definitely a higher class pork burger. The full-on version, which had petai (stinkbean) mixed into the patties only got better with the addition of cheese, chilli con carne, and other add-ons, all of which made for a pretty dish one would feel reluctant to cut into.

My Avenue Fried Rice was a decidedly upmarket, larger and tastier version of a mamak stall nasi goreng kambing. A lamb curry fried rice with crunchy fried anchovies and slivers of cucumber, it was, to my dismay, mild – but tasty.

I was surprised, however, by how bitter my D’Tox Red fruit juice combo was. Wasn’t a mix of watermelon, orange and carrot supposed to be kind of sweet? I also wondered why they served water in a tequila glass until I took a sip and got a mouthful of sucrose syrup instead.

Oh yes... didn’t the waiter say, "Sugar is separate"?

Almost full, we toyed with the idea of dessert. The Apple Strudel looked nice, but Alex was worried about the sugar content. Nor did she find the fried banana dessert appealing. We eventually settled for something different, a Butter Cake Anglaise: five pieces of fried butter cake with cream Anglaise, strawberry purée, arranged around a scoop of vanilla ice-cream garnished with a mint on top.

The notion of a fried butter cake drove Alex into mental overdrive, even before she’d had a taste. Oh, it was so good. Sinful decadence on a plate. It helped that the butter cake was already good, but when you pan-sear the outside to crisp it, then drizzle strawberry purĂ©e over it and eat it with a bit of good cold vanilla ice-cream...

Alex’s mind was, to my imagination, afire with visions of animated slices of butter cake, falling into and leaping from their frying pans, complete with yelps of pain.

Despite being stuffed, we kept stealing morsel after morsel, and in no time the plate was clean, we were happy, and the tension caused by our crossed wires vanished. It was money well spent.

I popped RM1 plus change into a tip jar that rather brazenly suggested, "Afraid of change? Leave it here!"

Memories of the food, particularly dessert, continued to haunt us as we drove home.

"Oh God, the cake was so sinful," Alex groaned. I couldn’t tell whether she was grumbling or gushing. Our minds would be aflame with visions of butter cake, petai-infused pork burgers and rosemary-tinged potato wedges for the next couple of weeks.

Talk about a different kind of Portuguese invasion.



Cristang Restaurant
Unit B-G-19, 8 Avenue
Jalan Sungai Jernih (8/1)
46050 Petaling Jaya
Selangor

CLOSED FOR GOOD

Friday 8 July 2011

Secret Service

I had originally intended to blog the review of this book I got from Monsoon. Then, when visiting the editorial staff at the paper, I opened my big mouth.

But perhaps it's better I did. As an account of the days before and after the Japanese occupation of Malaya, this book is a slice of history. While I don't know how much of a difference the review will make, I felt the paper was a better platform to tell people about this book.

My standfirst in the original copy was not used, so I've included it here; it does sound quite cliché in hindsight. But why does the print and online version have different titles?



Secret service
The memoirs of a British intelligence officer in Malaya surfaces to entertain, enlighten and enthral

first published in The Star, 08 July 2011


Malayan Spymaster: Memoirs Of A Rubber Planter, Bandit Fighter and Spy is the abridged version of the memoirs of the late Boris Hembry (1910-1990) who, according to the back cover blurb, "... spent a month in the jungle behind enemy lines ... recruited into the Secret Intelligence Service ... returned to Sumatra and Malaya several times by submarine ... liaised with Force 136 ..."

Who would not want to know more?

Born in South Africa, Boris Messina Hembry was barely 20 when he arrived on these shores in 1930. He bounced around several rubber estates in Malaya and Sumatra, and also joined the local volunteer corps. He brought his wife over from Britain and started a family.

When the Japanese invaded during World War II, Hembry joined one of the volunteer corps' many stay-behind parties – his first and failed foray into espionage – before eventually escaping to India. He soon demonstrated a knack for getting into trouble when he signed up for intelligence work in Burma, forsaking the relative safety and calm of a training battalion.

He would later join spying operations in Japanese-occupied Malaya, a job that had him travelling by submarine and taking a short course at Britain's famous Government Code and Cypher School in Bletchley Park, where the Nazis' Enigma code was cracked.

Hours after the murder of estate manager Arthur Walker (that eventually triggered the declaration of the Malayan Emergency and the fight against communist insurgents), Hembry organised his "own bloody army" of volunteers to repel the Reds – the beginnings of the anti-Communist home guard.

His contribution to the fight against the insurgents included input that would later be incorporated into the Briggs Plan that resettled rural folk into New Villages to cut off support for the communists. Social highlights included interactions with Sir Henry Gurney, Sir Gerald Templer and Anthony Eden, who would become British prime minister. Hembry left Malaya in 1955 with his wife, partly due to poor health.

With a title like Malayan Spymaster one expects a cool book. The writing, however, is quite matter-of-fact, devoid of the usual fluff and literary devices. His life as a planter, soldier and estate manager is more detailed than chapters that concern his time as an intelligence officer.

Even if this isn't quite the knuckle-whitening, real-life spy thriller the title suggests, Hembry's simple storytelling, charming in its own unadorned way, is compensated by a wealth of information and experiences gleaned the hard way. The reader is immersed in life in the clubs and estates of the British colonial era, as well as the dangers of the jungles and swamps during war-time.

'Tis heady stuff, this record of the days in pre-war and post-war Malaya by this Mat Salleh, one of many who spent much of their life's efforts on their adopted country and who may never be acknowledged in the history books.

Hembry never intended to publish his memoirs. His kin, however, felt that it deserved a much wider readership.

"We dedicate it to those expatriates of many generations whose devotion to that beautiful country and its peoples helped to lay the foundations of present-day peaceful and prosperous Malaysia," says Hembry's son, John, in the preface.

I'm certain readers of Malayan Spymaster will be grateful for the Hembrys' generosity.



Malayan Spymaster
Memoirs of a Rubber Planter, Bandit Fighter and Spy

Boris Hembry
Monsoon Books (2011)
424 pages
Non-Fiction/History/Malayan Emergency
ISBN: 978-981-08-5442-3