Sugarcoating The Unpleasant

Ron Charles, editor of Washington Post's Book World, proclaimed that "There are no winners in this controversy over A Birthday Cake for George Washington".

This children's book features a chapter in the life of George Washington's slave, Hercules, who manages to bake Washington's birthday cake despite not having any sugar on hand. Critics are upset at the rosy portrayal of slavery and the slave-master relationship in this book, and Scholastic, the publisher, pulled it from shelves. It didn't matter that the author is not white or racist, or that they were apparently not doing what they were accused of. Slavery was horrible and must in no way be presented in a kindly light.

"While it is perfectly valid for critics to dispute a book's historical accuracy and literary merit, the appropriate response is not to withdraw the volume and deprive readers of a chance to evaluate the book and the controversy for themselves," according to a statement from the National Coalition Against Censorship and the PEN American Center.

Scholastic has responded to the criticisms, saying that they pulled the title because no, we were not browbeaten into it. It was because the title "did not meet our publishing standards."

On a somewhat related note, Kate Breslin's For Such a Time was also panned for using the Holocaust as a backdrop for a tale of romance (with Christian undertones) between a German SS officer and a Jewish woman.

I'm inclined to believe that this is just a couple of cases where two publications were shouted at without addressing the sources of the outrage. In the US, blacks in general are still treated as second-class citizens; and modern-day slavery in many parts of the world contributes much to our 21st-century lifestyle: in fashion, construction and gadgets, for instance. Bigotry is still rife in many societies, and not just towards Jews.

Reading these reports, we're not sure whether these critics have anything to say about forced labour, racism and anti-Semitism today. Maybe all that ended up on the cutting-room floor because of the media's supposed tendency to curate the news to suit certain agendas. So all we seem to get from these people are along the lines of "Nothing good happened during those times! Stop looking, and stop imagining!"

But who's to say that the above scenarios are implausible? Can a slave not be resourceful and proud of his work, even under oppression and inhumane treatment? Is it impossible for two people to have a romance, despite being on two sides of an unbridgeable ideological chasm?

For me, these small specks of brightness cast a light not on the already well-documented horrors of slavery or the Holocaust, but upon the humanity buried underneath the muck. Even in adversity, there is still a small part of us that strives to be the best we can be.

If we can't tell stories like this anymore, then what? The shouty types don't seem to have any other solution than "Don't write them". They appeal to their audiences with horrific images of "what really happened", burying any attempt by others to mess around with the official narrative, even in fiction.

I like the idea of a slave who, despite his circumstances, takes enough pride in himself and his job to find ways to solve a problem. He can think, strategise, improvise. He has potential - why not celebrate that?

And it's a children's book. The way the critics were howling you'd think they'd want the young 'uns aged two and up to be aware of just how nasty the practice of slavery is. Is that wise?

Besides: "It's possible, though not encouraged by our screaming online culture, to raise serious objections to this book without calling into question the motives or talents of the people involved," Ron Charles wrote in that WaPo article.

(This is why Charles is one of my favourite book people.)

Let little kids be themselves. Treat them with small slices of real life they can stomach and digest. They will grow up eventually, and when they finally have questions about what really went on as Hercules baked that birthday cake, that's when you know they're ready for the answers.

Books - and the Internet - aren't supposed to teach our children everything. That's our job. And maybe we shouldn't scream those lessons into them either.

This Could Be Purr-a, Purr-a, Purr-a-dise

"Okay, hold still," I told the subject of my smartphone camera photo shoot. The angle wasn't quite right and I was receiving no cooperation. "Aren't you a shy one," I noted with mild exasperation.

When it wasn't attempting to vanish, my subject refused to look at the lens, preferring to squirm or roll around - probably immediate priorities. After all, it wasn't human.

On a hunt for two bakeries: Bake Plan and Dotty's, I stumbled upon the Purradise Cat Café after finding Dotty's closed for the day; the doors are shut at 5pm. Needing a break, I climbed the stairs to the café on the first floor. No shoes are allowed after the foyer.

Purradise had, I thought, more felines than another similar establishment at SS15 in Subang Jaya. Seems all of them are rescued strays (one of them apparently just came in and stayed), and patrons are allowed to adopt any kitty they fancy. There must've been about twelve, and all of them are named.

For RM15, patrons get one drink and an hour in the café; an additional RM3 is charged for every 15 minutes afterwards. Anything else, including food and drink, is also extra. Wanna spend a full day there? It's RM39, plus a drink. The charges and time limits were imposed to keep the number of patrons low, I was told.

From their Facebook page:

Purradise Cat Café is a social enterprise with an aim to support and improve animal welfare and their holistic wellbeing. Our ultimate goal is to foster rescue cats and socialize them to a loving environment before finding them their furrever homes. Purradise Cat Café operates within a self-sustaining business model, where proceeds from the café will be reinvested into supporting pet fostering and re-homing initiatives.

Of course, being a cat person, I wasn't really into the hot chocolate I picked. All I cared about were all the furry four-legged critters that owned the place.

An atsroturfed part near the window was done up to look like a picnic spot, with tables and beanbags. The main area was split between a park and sitting area, with a huge table in between. Ledges, ramps and shelves allowed the cats to move and leap around as cats do.

Some of these ledges were made to look like clouds and hot air balloon baskets, so that the kitties can lounge or sleep on them, away from prying eyes. It is as cat-friendly a place as can be.

Here's a cat. I think its name is "Yuki". It's the only skinny-ish white cat with a collar.

Here's another cat. Methinks this be "Patches" in the foreground - also easy to ID, as it's the only cat with black and white patches. I'm not sure (and didn't bother to find out) who the other cat is.

Here's another cat. I gave up trying to ID individuals early on. They're all SQUEE.

And another cat.

And another. This one was perched on one of the narrow wooden planks that bridged one side of the café with the other.

A couple more.

More cats by the kitchen door. They know there's something nice behind it. Which is why they're not allowed inside.

The photo collage of the current residents didn't help. As far as I was concerned they were all "Cat". And it seems the collage wasn't up to date.

I hadn't planned on dropping by, so I didn't manhandle any of the cats. Not that I knew how. And I was drinking chocolate, which is, along with tea and coffee, lethal to cats and some animals. I didn't spill anything, but I wanted to be careful.

So, yes, my (okay) hot chocolate remained mostly ignored throughout my stay, as I stalked the resident cats making their rounds and naps around Purradise. The beverage didn't leave much of an impression. It came in a white takeaway sippy cup with a black cover and it was really HOT.

I was more impressed by the cats and how the place was done up to accommodate these cuddly killing machines. Left alone, cats can kill a lot of tiny animals. Don't just take The Oatmeal's word for it.

Speaking of which, the café has this.

Exploding Kittens is a card game The Oatmeal had a hand in making. This Kickstarter project exceeded the goal of US$10,000 in eight minutes and racked up over US$8.5 million in pledges by the end of the campaign.

No, I didn't try the game. Nobody to play it with.

I thought it was a nice touch.

I was also reluctant to leave. But it was dusk and I had to go home. Another day at work awaited. At least I was relaxed enough to go back on the road again.

Then I encountered a traffic jam and I wished I stayed back a while longer. It would've been worth the additional RM12.

Purradise is more of a petting zoo and chill-out place than a café, and that's fine. I was already sold on the idea after visiting the Subang cat café. This place also has a mission I'm all for.

When one can't be bothered with road trips outstation or local hotel-based mini-vacations, an afternoon with a dozen or so cats and a beverage and a snack in this corner of Taman Tun Dr Ismail is just as relaxing.

If you aren't allergic to or afraid of cats.

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Purradise Cat Café

1st Floor, No. 24A
Jalan Tun Mohd Fuad 2
Taman Tun Dr Ismail
60000 Kuala Lumpur

Tue-Fri: 2pm-10pm
Sat-Sun: 11am-11pm

Closed on Mondays

+603-2389 0976

Web site | Facebook page

Maudlin Monday

Yesterday, while my PC was booting up, it hung. It was around 9pm.

Not quite the way I wanted to wind down for the evening.

After several failed attempts at rebooting, I opened the casing of the CPU, wiped off a bit of dust - how does all that stuff find its way in? - and rebooted it again, sans a couple of USB extension cables.

Success - and out came the external hard drives.

This episode was significant because it finally drove home the realities of our flagging economy. This, along with the fact that I paid about RM12 more for a water filter element last weekend as opposed to last year.

This wasn't a good time for the PC to start failing. Things breaking down and requiring repair or replacement almost always happens when 1) I'm too busy; 2) I need to use the damn things at the moment; 3) the money needs to go somewhere else, or 4) I'm broke.

The renewed realisation of how much I'm dependent on these devices frightens me.
Not long ago, I was babysitting two of these: the desktop and a laptop computer. Now, it's the desktop and a smartphone, which I adopted nearly fourteen years since I bought my first mobile phone, a Nokia 3310 that only began showing its age middle of last year.

They just don't make 'em like that anymore. If these weren't meant to last you'd think they'd be a little cheaper.

So I guess this is a call to action. I've made several such calls for one reason or another (which were ignored for one reason or another) but I think This Is It.

Time to save - and bid a sad temporary farewell to some favourite haunts. Time to declutter all the junk in the PC and the apartment. Time to increase my net worth - #2kerja, here I come?

Maybe it's also time to take the computer to the shop, provided that the problem persists. I've asked around and concluded that it could be the CMOS battery, but it could also be the hard drive.

Of course, now I tend to be afraid to boot up the machine. So while it was working, I scheduled a blog post for tomorrow after backing up all the files. The post will have cats in it because I - as well as the rest of the Internet - need to feel better, probably after the news.

(It's been a while since I wrote things like this. Maybe because I didn't see the point of it.)

Book Marks: Wondermark, Missing Booksellers

How the heck I've lived without Wondermark? I learnt about this comic from sci-fi author John Scalzi (I think) who tweeted about the practice of sealioning by some Twitter users over Republican presidential nominee Ted Cruz (seriously?).

I've gone through the archives and found this (I think it's about people who want to write but don't get down to it) and this (I think it's about fairy tales, but I was wowed by the punch line).

So. Bookmarking. This.

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The mystery over some Hong Kong booksellers' disappearances deepens. Though there was talk that Chinese agents were responsible, one blogger (whose post I just linked, and who's talking about this more than I think he does - perhaps for good reason) thinks it might be a PR stunt by the publisher in question.

Thing is, the net effect of these alleged abductions is probably what China's government wanted to achieve. A chill seems to have descended upon the bookstores in Hong Kong. "Bookshops are removing political works from their shelves," goes the AFP report in The Malay Mail Online, "while publishers and store owners selling titles banned in mainland China say they now feel under threat."


Other stuff:

• The deputy PM wants Malaysia to take the Nobel Prize winner for literature by or around 2057. A commenter has issued a retort, pointing out - among other things - that the arts is still not seen as a viable (read: profitable) career choice in this country. I've nothing to add. Malas nak komen.
• So that guy's book, Mein Kampf, has entered public domain. So did Anne Frank's diary, by the way - an interesting parallel. I've made notes of Mein Kampf's impending entry into public domain, so I'll just leave this one here. I still think attempts to block its publication is futile, even more so now.
• No taboo should be off limits when writing for teenagers, says author Non Pratt. And here's Pratt sharing her "helpful" post on how she edits her work, which she wrote for the blog Author Allsorts.
• "It turns out that fantasy—the established domain of British children’s literature—is critical to childhood development." Why the British tell better children's stories.
• With the sale of Author Solutions, Penguin Random House exits self-publishing, sticks to "traditional publishing". Does that mean Amazon is now the dominant force in the multibillion-dollar self-publishing market?
• The Dag Hammarskjöld Library at the United Nations announced its most-checked-out publication of 2015: a volume (or, more accurately, a thesis) on how to avoid war crime charges (awkwaaaaard). Any bets this will also be a popular item this year?
• Used bookstores are, it seems, making a comeback. Many factors have been cited, but none that's probably more compelling "than the experience of browsing — getting lost in the stacks, making serendipitous finds, having chance conversations with interesting people. And with information so easy to find these days, used bookstores offer the thrill of the hunt." Coming back from the recent Big Bad Wolf Book Sale, I'm inclined to agree.
• There's a discussion on Quora about the absence of science fiction from Chinese culture. Quite a few good arguments. I'm more inclined to concur with the fact that the Chinese tend to look backward - towards history, mythology and maybe old wuxia (martial arts pugilist) novels - for anything related to the fantastical for inspiration. With such a huge trove going back centuries, why look forward?
  
  But I think such a tendency might hamper attempts to, say, visualise the future, or lead to oversaturation of related genres (look at the numerous adaptations of Jin Yong's and Gu Long's works).
• After 66 years, light is shed on "Francis Duncan", author of a Christmas murder mystery that's being reissued and getting critical acclaim.
• So, you want to work in publishing? Here's some advice from an editor at Chronicle Books. Quite a few salient points.

"Who's Bad?" In Jagat, It's Not Who You Think

first published in The Malay Mail Online, 05 January 2015


When the mostly good reviews trickled in, I held fast because this was the sort of film I dreaded. I've never been a cinema buff, and watching an upsetting film isn't how I would want to spend an afternoon.

In the end, my curiosity won out. I went to a cinema, plonked myself in front of a big screen on a public holiday, and learnt that my suspicions (and the rave reviews) about the film were right.

My interest about the locally-produced, mostly Tamil film Jagat was also stoked by how much it reminded me of other works that revolved around a similar premise: the plight of marginalised Malaysian Indians who were left to their own devices after being kicked out of the estates where they have lived and worked for generations.

Jagat (Tamil slang for "bad") zooms in on a particular family, and how circumstances can keep them trapped in a vicious cycle of poverty and crime. In spite of his creative talents and out-of-the-box thinking, young Shankar a.k.a. Appoy is seen as a disappointment by his father Maniam. Appoy's uncle, Dorai, joins a gang with a friend. Both are promised the keys to getting ahead: for Appoy, good grades in the exams; and for Dorai, a thug's life.

Ironically, for Appoy, the education system and family unit which is supposed to be his lifeline wears him down instead. He's given a bad grade for his short composition (Saya Sebatang Pensel — remember that one?), which his dad berates him for. Pencils do not fly in the real world, he is told.

Watching Appoy being broken down is painful. Like the powers that be hell-bent on putting him in his place, this bully of a film knows where it hurts and how to hurt you. Every few minutes, something shocking, angering or saddening sneaks up and punches you in the gut.

When Appoy poses in a workmanlike Michael Jackson get-up he made from bits and pieces scavenged from his neighbourhood for his class's fancy dress competition, we can't help but cheer. Who's bad? He is! Then his dad has a bad day at work and Appoy's efforts are wasted.

Sad thing is, though he's aware of the significance of education, Maniam would rather beat or scold this piece of wisdom into his son instead of explaining it to him (we're not sure if he's done the latter before) — which doesn't work.

Salting Appoy's wounds further is the bullying he receives from schoolmates and a teacher who is, despite what the community believes, far from divine. With his dreams and self-worth in tatters, the boy figures he has to be bad for real — like his gangster uncle (who does not approve) — to get any form of respect and validation.

The film is not short of bad guys, but it's easy to guess who the true villains are: the archaic and rigid education system, which has trouble with outliers like Appoy; the conservative attitudes in his community; racism ... the usual suspects. After all, haven't we lived with them for years?

Jagat reportedly took a decade to make, presumably due to the perfectionist streak in the writer and production crew — and all that work shows. It paints a realistic, albeit gloomy portrait of Indians in poverty — and the forces that conspire to keep them there. An amazing directorial debut by Shanjhey Kumar Perumal, who also wrote the screenplay.

Speaking to local daily The Sun, Shanjhey revealed that his background is similar to the young protagonist's. "When I was young, I wanted to be a scientist," he said. "When I became a teenager, I wanted to be a gangster instead, because I found that society seemed to have more respect for such people compared to educated people." Thank goodness he ditched that ambition.

He also hoped the film will help non-Indian Malaysians understand their Indian neighbours better. "I really believe our racial unity should be more than just eating each other's food. We should also try to understand each other's history and culture. One of the simplest ways to do that is through the arts."

Is it "simple", though? I can imagine how tough it must be to solicit funding, especially for gritty non-escapist features based on real-world problems with no apparent solution or end in sight.

And, sometimes, the message is lost on some. As I stumbled towards the exit with other moviegoers, I heard two of them loudly discussing (parts of) the experience, like Taylor Swift's appearance in one of the ads, and how one of the gangsters looked like a friend. One of them seemed have a problem with the fact that a "Datuk" (Datuk Seri A. Anandan) was the producer — not "indie" enough, perhaps?

I'd like to think that, by making Jagat, Shanjhey is encouraging the poorer kids from his former hood to aim for greater things, like becoming the scientist he never became, or a Nobel Prize-winning man of letters.

Someone who, I hope, can find a way to make pencils fly.


Jagat began screening at selected cinemas nationwide on December 17, 2015.

Also, tweaked this part for clarity.

Wade Into Wilbur Smith's Ancient Egypt

first published in The Malay Mail Online, 26 December 2015


Majestic scenery, rich history, epic battles, heroic feats and interesting characters. Plus betrayal, murder, politics and a bit of comedy — all told by a snooty eunuch slave. Welcome to Wilbur Smith's ancient Egypt.

I stumbled upon River God while browsing in a comic rental shop in the neighbourhood, which has since closed. It was so long ago, I can't remember if I'd put the book down or when I decided to get my own copy, which I had to ditch because it got so old and brown and the pages were warped.

But that world stayed with me, not just because of my interest in that bygone realm.

The novel's titular river god, Hapi, is said not to be the god of the Nile itself, but of the Nile's annual flooding, which ran like clockwork except for a few times in Egypt's long history. So he was a big deal, even if he isn't as culturally popular as Ra, Horus, Anubis or Isis.

From the details within, Smith's historic epic takes place somewhere in the Middle Kingdom period between 2000 and 1700 BC, but this has been contested. Salitis, one of the antagonists, appears about halfway through. He is believed to be the first Hyksos ruler of the kingdom, reigning during the Fifteenth Dynasty (around 1650 to 1550 BC).

So, yes, the timeline's off about several decades. However, this and other factual discrepancies (if you can find them) doesn't affect the flow and charm of the novel.

Many other characters appear to be fictional, such as Mamose VIII, the reigning pharaoh in the beginning of the novel. Gaps in Egypt's past, which are still being filled today, have become blank canvasses or pages for authors and artists, making for a richer, more fantastical historical account.

Smith's ancient Egypt unfurled like a miles-long mural, imaginary hieroglyphics and all, of a kingdom in decline, a foreign invasion, our heroes' exile and their triumphant return. Wedged in between are chapters on how our heroes: the eunuch slave Taita and his wards — the handsome young soldier Tanus and his mistress Lostris — played their part in it all.

Lyrical, immersive and vivid, with just the right amount of detail, Smith's writing puts us where the action is. In the harems, the rustle of fine linen and the fragrance of perfume. On the banks of the Nile, the splash of oars and burbling of water as boats skim across the surface of the great river. In the midst of battle, the cries of men and beasts rise above the rumble of war chariots and the clashing of weapons.

We are treated to sweeping vistas of endless desert, African savannah and mountain ranges in what could now be northern Ethiopia. We venture into the workshops of artisans as they labour on the pharaoh's tomb and, much later, follow a royal funeral procession to its destination. Our hearts tighten as we witness an elephant hunt go wrong.

And, oh, to watch an assassin's cobra being prepared and cooked by our somewhat unreliable narrator...

Taita's a treat. From time to time, the bombastic, vainglorious slave reminds us that the households and people he serves would be in even bigger trouble without him. Actor, strategist, spy, street magician, negotiator, painter, scribe, poet, playwright, inventor... he's done it all. To call him an ancient Egyptian da Vinci would probably not suffice.

Thankfully, this Marty Stu doesn't hog the papyrus. I've also come to admire the roguish, daredevil Kratas, an officer in Tanus's regiment and the young hero's wingman. Huy, a former bandit turned army officer and groom, steals the scene from Taita as he schools the self-proclaimed genius on the art of handling horses, a "new" animal in Smith's Egypt. Even the weak, vacillating Mamose VIII has his moments, including one where he looms like a thundercloud over a bunch of criminals before sentencing them.

I'm not surprised even our Tun M likes Smith's work.

Not long after I'd finished River God, I returned to the shop and borrowed the sequel. The Seventh Scroll takes place centuries later and details the search for the tomb of Mamose VIII by a more modern set of characters. This one was more of an action-adventure potboiler, like Those in Peril, so it didn't appeal as much to me.

Smith returned to Taita's Egypt years later, churning out more sequels where our slave turned hero becomes a real magician (Warlock and The Quest) and what appears to be an interquel between River God and Warlock. But I think the first novel will always rank among his best works.

Still, I didn't replace my own aged copy of River God when the chance came (sorry, Big Bad Wolf Books). Perhaps it wasn't time to revisit that world again and the painful chapters in it. Maybe it's the fear of being sucked back in there, just as I'm finding new things to read.

Or maybe it's just that these days I'm taking longer to muster the will to plough through anything longer than 500 pages.

But I urge you to. This is one adventure everyone needs to experience.


28/12/2015   One thing: There were times in Egypt's history when the banks of the Nile were not sufficiently inundated and fertilised by the silt-bearing waters. For the most part, the annual flooding ran like clockwork, until the Aswan Dam was built.

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River God

Wilbur Smith
Pan Books (2007)
672 pages
Fiction
ISBN: 9780330449939

Back To The Wolf's Den

Last week, I told a friend I was skipping this year's Big Bad Wolf book sale - and went there twice and bought the most books so far during such a sale.

And the only books I read from last year's sale were by the late Terry Pratchett.

The Big Bad Wolf Books sale - and this is just half the hall

Last year, I also found a couple of titles by the Italian crime writer Andrea Camilleri. This year, there were more than a few.

When another friend (hi, Em!) mentioned liking the series, I went back a second time and picked up a few more. I initially hesitated because I'm not much of a series-muncher. I did, and came back with a few more other titles. I think they have almost the entire series so far - I think the latest is only available in hardback, so I left it there.

This year's was a bit of an adventure. I've always followed the Sungai Besi Highway from Bukit Jalil to reach the Mines Exhibition Centre, which doesn't take long. But the journey home was different, prompting me to wonder if I could retrace my way home, the same way I came.

There was, but the route back home can be gridlocked. I think I must've spent half an hour in the traffic jam before reaching the jam-free Pesiaran Serdang Perdana, lying between the Sungai Besi Highway and the North-South Highway, to return to the Bukit Jalil area.

This year's haul - perhaps the biggest to date

Parking was not a major issue for me at the venue, though maybe I was just lucky. After a couple of visits, I noted that the piles of books change often, almost guaranteeing that some patrons will return, at least once, to see what they missed - or what the BBW team hid - the previous day.

Categorisation of the book piles need refinement. Some piles were arranged "in alphabetical order", but it's not apparent. Better book-pile organisation would also help fellow book hunters return copies they decide to abandon to their respective places.

So I left Kazuo Ishiguro's The Buried Giant stay buried; couldn't find it on the second visit. Maybe I'll leave that "Constipated Man" novel alone too, when it eventually shows up.

And dammit, Anthony Bourdain's Medium Raw is a memoir-slash-article compilation, not a cookbook. Probably why I couldn't and might never find Gabrielle Hamilton's Blood, Bones and Butter there and would have to get it from a bookstore.

Also, the Hong Leong credit card people were aggressive. A few would prowl the hall and accost patrons to get them to sign up in exchange for discounts or whatever. Have they always been like this, or does it have to do with the hard times and the recent lay-offs in some banks?

Book Marks: Still Feels Like Banned Books Week, Etc.

During the launch of her book, Dancing on Thin Ice, Marina Mahathir stated that as a writer, censorship is the biggest hurdle, according to The Malaysian Insider.

She also mentioned the threat of censorship that loomed over writers Faisal Tehrani and Farouk Peru, and considered the rape threat made to G25 spokesperson Datuk Noor Farida Ariffin as another form of censorship, particularly against women writers.

Funny that she brought up the C-word, because some related news items that caught my eye revolves around that.

A high-profile book publisher (more of a rabble-rouser, judging from what's being said about the stuff he publishes) whose work annoyed China's government disappeared in Thailand, and it's said that Beijing might be responsible. Some note that the MO is so North Korea.

Considering the impenetrability of China's bureaucracy, it's easy to accuse a government that does things like jailing dissenters and "disappearing" annoying people of such cloak-and-dagger shenanigans. On a possibly related note, a lawyer in Prague who wrote a political book has gone missing.

Egypt's state security, meanwhile, forced Egyptian novelist (and critic of the Egyptian government) Alaa al-Aswany to cancel his public seminar, "Conspiracy Theory: Between Reality and Illusion".

And more Mein Kampf woes: Marianne Taylor makes the case for publishing Hitler's notorious manifesto in Germany for first time in over seven decades. But it still seems to be problematic in the US, as the copyright is set to end.

Also in the US, Jessica Herthel, the author of I Am Jazz, a children's book based on a real-life transgendered girl, confronts the bigotry that forced a school to cancel a reading of her book, possibly due to pressure from a conservative group calling itself Liberty Counsel (yes). And schools in America are still grappling with Huckleberry Finn.

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The Malaysian Education Ministry ordered a publisher to reprint a Year Six History textbook that placed the state of Melaka somewhere in Kelantan on a map. Some people are befuddled at this error, since this publisher, which I assume is local, is neither CNN nor Fox News.

Then someone pointed out that a local news portal incorrectly said that Bintulu is a city in the East Malaysian state of Sabah, adding, "Sarawak is almost as big as the peninsula, and Sabah is this huge state with a distinctive map-shape & STILL U CANNOT GEOGRAPHY?!"

I'm so saving "U CANNOT GEOGRAPHY" for future use.

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Are rude rejection letters from publishers holding back the next JK Rowling? "Codswallop", goes one commentator. "Could publishers be nicer? Probably. So too could literary agents. But they're ploughing through hundreds of thousands of words looking for the good ones. Often the only word they don't want to use, despite them being pretty snooty, is 'no'."

I'm inclined to agree. The worst are probably those who want an explanation of why their 'scripts were rejected - and dismiss it anyway because "Do you know what I went through to write this?" and other reasons.

"Publish More Books"? Can We?

first published in The Malay Mail Online, 10 December 2015


What should I make of the Deputy Prime Minister's call to publish more books to make Malaysia a quality publishing powerhouse by 2057?

Has he had a long, hard look at the situation with the local publishing industry before making this exhortation? Is he aware of certain issues that might impede this drive to meet what I feel is just another in a long list of key performance indexes (KPIs)?

Will meeting this KPI of 1,000 titles per million population in developed countries, as defined by Unesco, really bring Malaysia closer to developed-nation status? Or will this index just be used as window-dressing at the next meeting, event, or the tabling of some report on development goals?

And if book production by local publishers does ramp up in the coming years, how much of the output will be read by locals? Will the increase change our reading habits in any way?

Has anyone researched what's behind the average publication to population ratio in developed countries? How did Unesco come up with that ratio? Has anyone ever thought about why the publishing industry in developed countries appear to be better or more productive than ours at the moment?

Could the education system in developed countries have something to do with the quality of what's being read, written or published there? Is anyone willing to get the relevant authorities to look into steps to revamp certain education policies to match those in developed countries?

Do the titles for meeting this KPI also include hagiographies, article compilations, "romance" novels, academic journals, coffee-table books, books with religious themes and tomes that peddle Arab-centric conspiracy theories?

If the above is insufficient, what about engaging the independent book publishers? Are certain parties in government averse to this option? Why? Is it because some of those involved in indie book publishing tend to be young, daring, socially savvy and forward-thinking individuals who are most likely to balk at the boneheadedness displayed by some of our officials?

Shouldn't these independent operators receive some form of support or encouragement, instead of being branded as "anti-establishment", subversive and whatnot? Is this how we see the next generation of leaders, publishers and writers - and, perhaps, our future hopes for international recognition?

Also: are writers in developed countries as restricted in what they say or write as many of us are over here? Do they have censorship laws that seem to be based on checklists that work more like Internet filters? Do they even filter the Internet over there?

How efficient are censors in developed countries in screening books and banning those deemed detrimental to national security and harmony? Are there cases where books are banned after, say, a year or so after publication and after hundreds of copies have been sold? Hell, do they even ban books over there, like, say, the way we do?

Is our DPM, who's also the Home Minister, willing to advocate for a loosening of these restrictions if it would help Malaysians write and publish even more? If he does, will we put aside our apathy and cynicism and rally behind him?

(Out of curiosity, what do citizens of developed countries think about some of our output, which includes so-called "romance novels" that feature firemen, students, religious preachers and security guards? Why don't we have such works translated and marketed overseas so that internationals can sample and critique them?)

If affordability and quality are also issues, why are they? And if publishers can't blame the "soft market" for low output, who should they blame, then? Why does it seem so hard for Malaysian publishers and writers to break into the international market?

Or do Malaysian publishers and other book-related agencies have their priorities a little skewed of late, like this article (in Malay) suggests? A "Tastes of Malaysia" theme? At the Frankfurt Book Fair?

And has anyone delved deeply into the reading habits of Malaysians? What comes to mind first when selecting reading materials? Am I wrong to say that Malaysians - including myself — prioritise price above all else, judging from the reception we give to warehouse sales and the like?

Am I also rude to suggest that Malaysians in general are neither adventurous nor courageous when it comes to reading materials, since we seem to prefer following the herd (like how we "investigate" food places), reading what entertains us and justifies our prejudices and world views, rather than the challenging and discomfiting stuff?

Given all this, are we as a nation ready for the shift from in publishing developing to developed status? Should we wait for the government to lay everything down in place before we take the leap, or do we find the courage to take the plunge ourselves?

---

Okay, ran away with this so fast I'd forgotten about the textbook flap that was reported some time ago.

A Dream Undone

I found Golda Mowe's Iban Dream enjoyable - re-readable, even - and the story ended nicely. So I was surprised to learn of its sequel because I'm not sure if it needs one.

Though the storytelling still manages to breathe life into the verdant world of the Iban as we follow in the characters on their journey, I felt that the magic has waned. One does not expect novels in a series to sound exactly the same throughout, but the differences between the two are jarring.

Was it the apparent increase in the chunks of exposition, which now feel tediously encyclopaedic, albeit informative, in an academic way?

The meandering pace of the lulls in the storyline? The stilted dialogue, as if recited in front of a classroom, which was less of a problem in the prequel?

Or might it just be the protagonist?


A frustratingly fallible hero
The hero of the prequel, Bujang Maias, became a father and chief of his own longhouse. But a pirate attack on his homestead left many dead, and his wife was made pregnant by one of the raiders.

Against local taboos and his people's wishes, Bujang raised the child, Nuing, as his own. But father and son would learn that the curses of men are just as potent as those of gods.

Ostracised by almost everyone from Bujang's longhouse, Nuing eventually leaves with a friend, Gunggu, and establishes his own community with a group of "cursed" individuals like himself.

But in the process he incurs the wrath of some antu gerasi, a race of giant demon huntsmen. Certain of his victory, the leader of the demons gives Nuing and his people a few years' respite before he wipes them out.

Though a fairly competent warrior, Nuing's hunger for acceptance and validation drives him to take shortcuts in establishing his house and prepping himself and his brethren for the impending battle with the demons.

When things don't work out, the first thing he tends to do is either flee or beg the gods for help. His mortal failings, worsened by his low morale, grate on the gods and spirits who are striving to help him while toeing their own lines.

One or two gods - including Pulang Gana, the god of rice, who was a notably kind grandfatherly figure to Bujang - note just how anti-Bujang Nuing is, which doesn't help because it reminds the poor lad that he's not really his father's son.


More factbook than fable
Iban Journey, according to the author, "is a work of fantasy fiction based on the folklore and existing superstitions of the Ibans of Sarawak ... a journey into the customs and taboos of rainforest culture", much like its prequel.

In that vein, it is through folklore and superstitions that the Iban accumulate and store all they know of this culture. So there is a palpable fear of the loss of this culture as the old ways die out.

But I'm at a loss to explain how and why this work of fantasy fiction feels more factbook than fable, other than a pressing need to publish as soon as possible - perhaps before the last of those familiar with the old ways fade away.

Or is the author trying to inject more contemporary realism into this sequel by making the protagonist less of a "Disney prince" and more of a flesh-and-blood human being?

An element of haste pervades the text. It could have been more stringently edited, and its aspects - storytelling, exposition and dialogue - better stitched together. The threads holding the three are all-too visible, heightening one's focus on the other flaws and deepening the rift between the aspects.

I was also baffled by how the climactic battle was wrapped up - too neat and inexplicably convenient. Overall, the result looks like something cobbled together by someone too time-starved to polish the seams in the joinery.


A dream falls apart
Frustrated by all these, one can easily miss the noteworthy aspects of the novel.

From both books, it's implied that a mortal can overcome the curse of a deity, which is sometimes part of a test, and that the outcome of an endeavour might not be influenced solely by luck or the divine, but also by one's own efforts and the support from one's people - or a lack thereof. Ultimately, it is mortals who make their own luck.

Nuing's lack of self-confidence and backbone, plus the condemnation of mortal men, blind him to the aforementioned - as well as his own potential and that of his people. Watching him miss the cues he's been given is painful, but thankfully he gets better towards the end.

Sadly, I can't say the same about the novel. After the delight that was Iban Dream, Iban Journey came as a shock.

---

Iban Journey

Golda Mowe
Monsoon Books (2015)
263 pages
Fiction
ISBN: 978-981-4625-21-0

Sometimes The Yolk Is On Us

Interesting as the salted egg-yolk saga was, it hit close to home.

Because I did the same thing to another establishment years ago (the original article in The Star appears to have vanished since the online portal was revamped and restructured).

The restaurant tended to be empty every time I went. I'd eaten there several times. I'd taken pictures. And I was sort of charmed by the ambience - and the picture of Anthony Bourdain with the chef.

So I wrote the review and submitted it to the paper.

Back then, it was about the writing, the minor sense of accomplishment in seeing my name in print. It was different from the day job, so I had fun with it. The few bucks I got in payment covered the total tab over the past visits, and if I had a bit left over, neat.

The now-infamous molten salted egg-yolk croissant from Petaling Jaya
bakery Le Bread Days, source of Le Attention et Colère of many
since Le Crème runneth over

Of course there was some worry over whether the place could cope with the increase in patrons following each review. But I was not prepared for what I saw when I returned, about a week after publication.

The place was so packed, people had to share tables. And I did - with two other now-former colleagues. "Oh we read about this place from somewhere," one of them said.

I kept quiet.

The manager claimed that people had been lining up outside the place before opening - until the end of the block, which I'm almost certain was an exaggeration. Those who could not eat were upset. Expletives were slung, along with "I came from out of town to get here!" or "I came from outstation for this!"

Plus, the review was published around the school holiday season.

I couldn't control that, but still ... I felt bad. I don't remember apologising, but I could have. I should have.

This was not what I'd call "helping".

When I left, people were waiting outside. I think I took a picture - not sure if it's still around.

The buzz did not last. About three weeks after that, the place was "empty" again. Watching the once-busy waiters idle around the dining room raised another kind of pang.

Since I learnt to make my own pastas, I never returned. It's been, what, four or five years?

These days, it's still about the writing. But it's a bit more about the money (economy is bad, 'k?) and less for the privilege of being in print. And it still feels nice, being able to contribute stuff: to restaurants, publications and people.

It's fine if it's not viral. I'd much prefer it that way.

Chicken, Curry And Cheesecake At Charlie's

first published in The Malay Mail Online, 04 December 2015


My makan kaki got off the phone, relieved. It was raining that evening and we were stuck in traffic, en route to a new favourite stopover.

Would you believe that she'd called the place to get them to save her an order of chicken chop?

I would learn that the practice is not uncommon.

The homespun Charlie's Café serves some modest yet mouth-watering fare

In a rare instance of role reversal, I had introduced this place to Melody. My first visit to Charlie's Café at Taman Bukit Desa wasn't particularly memorable. The place looked like a canteen with its thin-legged, mostly plastic furniture, staffed with helpers in thin caps and, recently, even mouth guards.

But I had a good bowl of rich and spicy curry noodles with fishballs that broke up and bounced in a good way inside your mouth as you chewed.

The Sarawak laksa, with the painstakingly prepared #seafoodstock
that's good to the last drop. Unfortunately painstaking means it's
only available from Thursdays (last I heard) to Saturdays.

I sneaked back weeks later to find Sarawak laksa added to the menu. "Four hours of preparation #seafoodstock", a sign proclaimed.

Hashtags. Hashtags everywhere.

But the laksa was damn good. Shredded omelette, shredded chicken, more of those fishballs and prawns with a slightly translucent sheen, piled on thin rice noodles swimming in that fragrant, tasty deep-brown #seafoodstock. To ensure I emptied the bowl, I dropped by hungry.

That evening, we learnt the chicken chop was worth the phone call. The moment we showed more interest in the dish, the guy in charge (Sonny, not Charlie) began extolling the beauty of his chops and explained how he brines the chicken with herbs to make the meat tender, flavourful and juicy, and puts a lot of effort into the batter that coats it.

The chicken chop is apparently a crowd favourite

We were also regaled with the exquisiteness of the limited-edition "Harum Manis" mango cheesecake (made with Indonesian Harum Manis mangoes, apparently) and Musang King durian cheesecake.

The flavours of the fruits in both were subtle (maybe too subtle); as with the durian cheesecake, you don't see loads of mango within the cheese layer.

I've since learnt that Sonny was formerly a salesman—boy, did he pitch like a pro. As I understand it, no Charlies were involved in the setting-up of the café, though there might be one in the payroll.

The tom yam noodles also deserve special mention with its spicy and fragrant soup, as does the "ultimate" dry chicken noodle, which I reflexively called kolok mee (it isn't).

It's not kolok mee, but the Ultimate Dry Chicken Noodles will do in a pinch

We also liked their nasi lemak serai wangi, which I feel was best paired with the ayam goreng berempah. I think we sampled about half of what's on the menu by now.

What intrigued me the most was the claim that Charlie's is a social enterprise. Sonny told me he's making efforts to buy produce from Orang Asli communities in Malaysia for his dishes. No middlemen involved, he added; he will deal directly with the leaders of the indigenous people.

For now, he's getting several types of veggies and herbs like bunga kantan (torch ginger flower) from a place in Hulu Langat. Plus, something about flying in ikan bilis from Sabah. Logistics is a major problem, and Charlie's is still new, so this social enterprise thing is moving slowly.

Nasi lemak with ayam rempah goreng, a quintessential
Malaysian favourite done right

Another social aspect of the business is the Pay It Forward initiative. For RM5, patrons get a receipt they can stick on a corner of the café; each receipt is a voucher for a free meal the homeless and the poor can claim. But wouldn't it be a lot of work to climb up to Taman Bukit Desa for it?

In spite of its soup-kitchen vibe, Charlie's already has a following. This was Melody's third attempt at getting the chicken chop, as the dish had run out the first two times she's been there. The boss even classified his clientèle based on what they usually order.

He points out two Indian men sitting near the counter. "This fellow, he came here first," the boss said, adding that this patron orders clear soup stock, often without noodles. "Then he brought his friends, and one day some of his family members came with him."

As if we needed more proof that this unassuming café has some #awesome stuff.

Melody and I have been here so often we're starting to get bored, but we do keep Charlie's at the back of our minds. There's always something that snags our interest, like a cookie-shaped brownie that caught Melody's attention that evening and was sold out; all six remaining pieces were bought by one patron.

---

Charlie's Café

29, Jalan Bukit Desa 5
Taman Bukit Desa
58100 Kuala Lumpur

Pork-free

Mon-Sat: 11am-10pm

Closed on Sundays

+6012-816 0003

Facebook page

Life, Larceny And Love Commandos: Vish Puri's Next Case

first published in The Malay Mail Online, 03 December 2015


My pursuit of the latest adventures of a certain fictional Punjabi private eye took a back seat to work, despite having bought the book almost two years ago.

Better late than never, I suppose.

And I wasn't disappointed.

Since encountering, enjoying and evaluating the first two Vish Puri novels by Tarquin Hall in 2011, I've been chomping at the bit for more. The fun continues with the fourth instalment, The Case of the Love Commandos.

(Oh look, recipes at the back, “from Vish Puri's family kitchen.” Mmm, Lucknow Mutton Biryani...)

In a blog post, Hall describes a meeting with “a middle-aged, part time journalist” and the head of the actual Love Commandos, a bunch of people in India who help star-crossed couples in love elope and start new lives. The encounter inspired the main plot for Love Commandos.

“It would be set, I decided, in rural India and the plot would centre around a couple of absconding lovers: she from a high caste family, he from an untouchable, or Dalit, one,” Hall blogged. “How, though, was I going to get Vish Puri involved?”

The solution: A phone call from Facecream, the Nepali femme fatale who's one of Puri's undercover operatives. The portly private investigator is surprised to learn his mysterious employee moonlights for the Love Commandos — specifically, as a getaway motorcycle rider — during her spare time.

In this case, Facecream helps Tulsi, a girl from a Thakur family, escape her father's watch and run off with her beau, a Dalit boy named Ram. But when they arrive at the place where the lovebirds' marriage ceremony is to take place, the boy is missing.

Her call comes at a bad time for Puri. An apparently perfect burglary has him so stumped, he ignores his masala chai and favourite coconut biscuits.

Then, when he excuses himself from a family pilgrimage to a famous shrine to attend to Facecream's case, he gets soaked by rain and is pickpocketed. The latter incident fixes Puri's mother on the trail of a suspect whom she believes is about to rob said shrine. Will she succeed in nabbing him?

Puri's case, meanwhile, is complicated further by the presence of arch-rival Hari Kumar, who was mentioned in the first novel. Amoral, suave and arguably better-looking than Hall's protagonist (good enough for the Indian edition of GQ, yaar), the former spy is also searching for Ram at an unknown client's behest.

And there's even a Dalit politician, who reminded me of a real-life female counterpart. Plus, some possible shenanigans involving a foreign genetics research company.

We also get to see more of Facecream. We are reminded that she once joined the Maoists in Nepal but became disillusioned with the movement and, after a bunch of other adventures, ended up working for Puri. At one point, she was even married.

So it's perhaps not surprising to see a feminist and maternal streak in the steely woman, during her undercover stint as a schoolteacher in a poor village under the thumb of another high-caste landowner. She even takes a village kid under her wing — a future operative for Puri's Most Private Investigators?

The lively tone that defined the first two books had begun to fade by the third, though the clever and charming storytelling retains that cartoonish feel of the series (so far) — and makes it easy for film adaptation.

(Though some might struggle to suspend disbelief, I am convinced that Facecream can forge credible-looking documents at an Internet café and create an ID with “half a potato, her trusty switchblade, a red ink pad and a laminating machine.”)

The social commentary, though, is ramped up here, what with “millennia-old caste prejudices,” the tyranny of some higher-caste landowners, and even the exploitative practices of Western firms coming under the spotlight.

In the course of his investigations, Puri must also contend with how the rapidly changing times are challenging his stand on certain things, such as caste and the traditional family values. The ex-army man's pride in his kshatriya (warrior) caste appears threatened by what he learns about genetic research and DNA: “It seemed simply incredible that from a single drop of blood scientists could tell you more about yourself than you had ever known.”

Also, just like in the real and imperfect world, not every baddie in the case gets his just desserts. At least one unsavoury character escapes justice, leaving some loose ends untied — teasing a remotely possible resolution in the future. Well, one can dream...

Still, this novel still retains some of the bounces and bumps that made the previous three such a joy. Mummy-ji's antics are a delight as she endears herself further to the readers, to the point of stealing her son's thunder, and deservedly so. Such an awesome family can't possibly have just one hero.

And such a stupendous series can't possibly end here.

---

The Case of the Love Commandos

Tarquin Hall
Arrow Books (2013)
310 pages
Fiction
ISBN: 978-0-091-93742-3

Mellowing Out at Merchant's Lane

first published in The Malay Mail Online, 26 November 2015


Several weeks ago, makan kaki Melody was back in town.

However, it also meant having to chauffeur her as she caught up with the local restaurant scene.

C'mon, Mel, it's not like two hundred restaurants have opened since you went away.

We (finally) ended up at Fifth Palate, where she dug into her ramen. The next stop was another place that's opened and run by another mutual acquaintance.

Look for the teal doors next to 150 Jalan Petaling and
take a break from the city.

Merchant's Lane, located along Petaling Street, is the brainchild of the guys who opened Butter+Beans OUG. Much has been said about it, particularly its Instagrammability. From the décor to the food, every aspect was crafted to compel one to frame it within a viewfinder.

Ken Ho, one of the founders, admitted to this. "It's about creating the buzz," he said, "We want to get people to come here and share the experience."

As I sat in the tastefully hipsterised main dining area, I don't see why anyone would have anything negative to say about– oh look, a fly. Shoo, shoo.

Getting there was easy enough, especially on a Friday morning when school's out. I parked the car at a lot across a street, next to a police station. Finding the entrance, however...

(Psst, look for the entrance next to a stationery shop; Merchant's Lane is on the first floor.)

Up the wooden stairs was the kind of place that's been mushrooming in the old Chinese parts of KL, George Town and Ipoh. Pre-war chic, I call it, with rough unpainted walls, rattan chairs, stainless steel tabletops and wooden floors.

Beyond the salubrious environs of the main dining hall (left) is the
airy al fresco seating area (right). The steel-grill floors are not
for the faint-hearted.

More seats and a rattan swing-chair dangling from the ceiling, plus the kitchen and washroom, were at the back of the building, which is connected to the main dining area by an al fresco seating area that– GAAAH, why are parts of the floor made of steel grills?

Walking to and from the wash basins felt like a test of courage. Not that it deterred a couple of hijabsters, who were selfie-ing for all its worth, seated in chairs that seemed to float in the air. One of them was even wearing high heels.

"Tak gayat ke?" I asked. Apparently, no.

...Food, yes. Food calms the nerves. But I'll never understand why I also ordered coffee. Curiosity, perhaps. Thank goodness they make a good brew here.

My makan kaki's "Hongkie Beef Stew" - so good, I forgot
it wasn't mine. Same goes for the coffee.

Even the menu items are buzz-worthy. Melody chided me when I wanted the "Eat Die Me" big breakfast (no longer available). "You can put one together," she said. "One that can eat die you, your neighbours and their pets if you wanted to."

Chastened, I picked another item. She went for the plain-sounding "Hongkie Beef Stew", a bed of creamy mash potatoes covered by a thick beef stew with meat so fork-tender, it's part of the gravy. I vaguely recall Ken pooh-poohing the idea of serving the stew with rice because "I wanted mash with this."

I had to agree with Ken, and before I knew it I was taking more than my share. My skull throbbed with the familiar sensation of my makan kaki's "save me some, you glutton" glare.

Like its namesake, Merchant's Lane's "South China Sea" was the focus of much contention. Ken said opinions were divided over this dish of pan-seared salmon, eggs poached sous vide and rösti-like hash with a palate-cleansing salsa that didn't taste like any ocean I've ever swum in.

Like its namesake, the "South China Sea" appears to be a bone of
contention among patrons. I like it, however.

"Some people don't get this dish," he said. "They said they can't taste much. It's about clean, fresh flavours - that's the point."

Several even complained about the "small" amount of salmon. At over RM20, what did these people expect? As if there aren't enough reminders of how our currency is doing.

After the beef stew, a little "South China Sea" was what the doctor ordered. The fish wasn't heavily salted and still pink in the middle, while the salsa provided all the other flavours the dish needed.

With a relatively clean palate, came the hankering for a dessert. Two new menu items were introduced, and one of them caught my eye.

The people of Merchant's Lane says this dessert is "Better Than Sex".
I leave the verdict to those who know.

We didn't have to wait too long for it. "Here you go, sir, 'Better Than Sex'," said the waitress as she brought the order to our table.

I couldn't resist asking, "Hard to even pronounce the name, isn't it?"

The waitress chuckled and left. Aiyoh, Ken, can change the name, ah? One of these days?

So, according to the good folk at Merchant's Lane, a combo featuring pandan-infused roti jala tucked under a blanket of mozzarella cheese and several scoops of Forty Licks' custom kaya toast ice cream (with real toast, from the look of it), drizzled with melted gula melaka, is "better than sex".

"Yes? No?" you ask?

I'd say "debatable".

But it is a delectable after-lunch or after-dinner item. Do watch out for the frozen cranberries which are– DAMN, THEY'RE SOUR! But at least they work with the richness and sweetness of the other components, prepping your palate for the next mouthful.

We didn't feel like going anywhere else after such a heavy but satisfying meal.

Meanwhile, more people showed up at this refreshing oasis of calm, with its multicultural staff and clientele. And like this country, Merchant's Lane is still a work-in-progress.

"We've got ... maybe forty-plus things lined up for the menu in the future," Ken said, adding that he's keeping the "South China Sea" (please do!) along with a few other staples. He also has plans to make Merchant's Lane a happening events venue - if he had the time and manpower.

Give it time, Ken. After almost six decades Malaysia is becoming a happening place. I'm sure Merchant's Lane will become the same – if not better.

---

Merchant's Lane

No, 150 Jalan Petaling
59000 Kuala Lumpur

Pork-free

Daily, 10:30am-8pm

+603-2022 1736

Facebook page

Book Marks: A Little Overpraised, Struggling Over Mein Kampf, Etc.

I read this with incredulity. An exhibit featuring food in a bookfest? The Frankfurt Book Festival, no less. You need a subscription to read the English version (boo).

I feel for "Lucius Maximus". The guy who chronicled the decades-long slide of Malaysian football might now have another depressing subject to write.

Also:

• Is A Little Life 2015's "most infuriating, overpraised" novel? Someone at Salon seems to think so.
• A gay-romance novelist is accused of plagiarising straight plots. A good time to save this helpful infographic over the types and severity of plagiarism violations.
• More agony over Mein Kampf; one critic's arguments smell like her surname. Now I'm even more determined to pickup a copy (yes, we sell it here).
• Extremely loud and incredibly gross? Jonathan Safran Foer's novel reportedly pulled from a school over "vulgar" passages. Several free speech groups in the US are up in arms over the decision.
• A bunch of business-minded Cambodian kids published a primer on key business sectors in their country.
• Denied a visa for the Kumaon literary festival in Uttarakhand in northern India, Pakistani author Kanza Javed released her book, Ashes, Wine and Dust, over Skype. No reason was cited over the denial.
• Junot Díaz's support for the rights on undocumented migrants was called "unpatriotic" by the Dominican Republic, who then stripped him of an order of merit award. Not to worry, he still has his Pulitzer for The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao.
• The worst ways to begin your novel, with advice from literary agents.
• This "untold history of African American cookbooks" is brief and has a lot of URLs, but one has to start somewhere.

Feelin' Down? Get Stuffed at Fork D World

first published in The Malay Mail Online, 07 November 2015


I recently returned to Damansara Perdana, where I spent almost two years writing for a now-defunct publication, following an online lead that hinted at a near-mythical object: pork biryani.

But what kind of place would prepare and serve such a cryptid of a dish?

An ordinary one, from the looks of it.

Fork D World promises comfort food in a homey setting

Just months old, Fork D World promised porcine-punctuated comfort food within its somewhat threadbare confines. A staircase at a corner led to the washrooms.

I perused the menu after taking my seat. To my dismay, I was informed that the pork biryani and other weekday specials were only available for lunch. Other notable delights included rice dishes with a stew of braised pork belly or minced pork patties, reminiscent of my mother's own (but probably not as divine); and something called yao mei fan, which can be interpreted as "this rice got flavour wan!"

Fork D World's menu features copywriting for the Internet generation

Parts of the menu was in millennial-speak. Copy for the Bacon Fried Rice goes: "picture a pig running thru (sic) a rice field in slow motion... weird but strangely satisfying, much like d generous sprinkling of bacon bits u find in our oriental fried rice. served wif a sunny-side up + a dollop of our homemade sambal."

"Slow motion", eh, Mr Pig? Dats Y U on de plate, mon.

While waiting for my order to arrive, I chatted up the lady boss. Jo Ann Tan had been in event management for over a decade before she went "Fork D World" and opened up this place. She wanted it non-halal so she can "cook without restrictions"; the yao mei fan is apparently her grandmother's recipe.

We were still talking when the appetiser, something called "Bacon Bombs", hit my table. But I only returned to my seat when the main dish -- a minced pork Bolognese fettucine — arrived a few minutes later.

Bacon Bombs, guaranteed to nuke your diet plans to kingdom come

I found the Bacon Bombs — eight bacon-wrapped pillows of pastry with a mozzarella centre, each skewered to a whole cherry tomato with a toothpick — visually appealing. The shine on the bacon fat, the creaminess of the cheese that pops in your mouth when you bite down, and the smell of salty, smoked and cured pork, followed by the cleansing freshness of the cherry tomato, flushing your palate for the next one...

...Fine, I was hungry. Hunger makes me wax lyrical.

Minced-pork Bolognese, meaty mouthfuls of OM NOM NOM — with
a piece of toast for mopping up left-over sauce

But perhaps I shouldn't have ordered the pork Bolognese, which was just fine; maybe I shouldn't pick dishes I can make myself. I barely tasted the bacon and button mushrooms in FDW's version because, well, so much flavour — and the aroma of various dried herbs. Still this is comfort food, and I recommend getting comfortable (like, loosening your belt) after a helping of this.

As a new kid on the block, FDW was having a slew of promos. On that evening, it included the option of a 50 per cent discount on a beverage or a complimentary dessert with a main dish or pasta. I settled for the latter and picked a plain crème brûlée, which I wouldn't mind being less sweet.

A version with coffee called the Espresso Honey Pot was off-limits; no caffeine for me after 5pm. Another dessert, a cheese tart dotted with butterscotch chips (two for RM5) was not part of the offer.

If the food hasn't killed your diet yet, the crème brûlée
will deliver the coup de grace

Later, I came down from the washroom upstairs to a dining hall perfumed with the scent of baking. Brownies, the lady boss told me. Well, I was told some of the desserts available were made on the premises.

So I didn't get to taste the pork biryani, which Jo Ann says used to be available in Damansara Uptown. (The lunchtime specials menu has since been changed — it seems they do it every month — so I probably won't see it again for a long while.)

Nor did my gut have any room left (bacon "bombs", indeed) for their fried mee hoon: a reminder of my childhood, made fresh with bacon and a sunny side up — now that's "East meets West." Made me wish I was still working nearby.

And those damn butterscotch cheese tarts were still singing at me...

What really guaranteed my return, however, was the complimentary glass of warm honey lemon. Noting my coughs as we spoke earlier, the attentive lady boss felt I needed it. Like everything else I had in this place, the drink hit the spot.

---

Fork D World Bistro

D2-G-3A, Ritze Perdana 1 Commercial Lot
Jalan PJU 8/2, Damansara Perdana
47820 Petaling Jaya
Selangor

CLOSED FOR GOOD