Booked

From what this guy says, we're a nation of readers starved of good and affordable books. He's also telling us that we're probably importing too many foreign books, and the brain-drain phenomenon is an illusion, with our 350,000 teachers and more than forty thousand lecturers or professors who can crank out heaps of good local books. It seems we need to publish 27,000 local book titles for general reading a year to catch up with developed countries, more than the current rate of a measly ten thousand.

My beef, not to mention my mutton, venison and poultry with this, is the archetypical Malaysian approach in solving problems.


Do we read - like, really read?
For one, I don't feel we're a nation of serious readers. We seem to approach books as consumers. Not knowing better, we depend mostly on reviews, or recommendations from the more informed. Otherwise, it's all down to eye-grabbing titles that incorporate keywords such as "sex", "love" (in all recognisable languages), not to mention phrases such as "be rich", "earn money", "earn millions" or "be an eBay maven"; or if there's a hot woman on the cover.


No bookworms here
My last visit to a "book fair" is a fair indication that there's a class hierarchy of sorts in when it comes to reading preferences. The more "intelligent" books: dictionaries, encyclopaedias, heavy fiction - mostly in English - were displayed one floor above the textbooks and revision materials, cookie-cutter "romance novels" and religious stuff.

I don't think there is a significant percentage of those reportedly 400,000-odd brainiacs that could write a damn for the general Joe. The teachers we have don't seem like the type to hit the keys after a long day of marking papers, drawing up timetables and reading prepared notes to bored students who chat, text, or sleep during classes.

Right now, I'm not betting on finding a lot of good authors in our institutions of higher learning - considering what has been said about them. I think academia in general desperately needs to learn to write in a newer, livelier way.


Book Of Records mentality
Third, as I said, is the volume thing. We're an industrialised nation 'cos we build lots of cheap cars (Proton!). We're a wired nation 'cos we have free wi-fi. So a smarter nation publishes more books? Crank up production and it'll fly off the shelves? That approach might work better with McDonald's meal vouchers.

Flooding shelves with locally-published books won't necessarily cultivate good readership or reading habits, because it'll mostly be written by people with the similar mentality (lagi-lagi cinta, beb). Even if mass production does lowers prices, there's no guarantee of record sales; nor does it say that all those bought books will be read. What's going to happen to all the unsold copies, left to gather dust or mould in the storerooms?

Then there was the mention of an allocation RM300 million. Has the mass media become a platform for soliciting funds, which may not accomplish what they are meant for? And do they really need that much money?

We have enough books. We just don't have the brains, the drive, the whole reading mindset, which drives all the developments necessary to create a nation of intelligent, mature, responsible and active readers. Not yet.


What to do?
Most of us should cultivate a reading habit because we can't improve what is not there. This is something I owe my folks big time for. It started out with encyclopaedias and those "amazing facts" books and copies of Reader's Digest. Start them out young and they'll take to it like trout to water as they grow. Just look at me!

How to cut down on unnecessary imports or publications? More good libraries. Some people don't want a lot of books in the house. Problem is, the library culture here generally sucks. And I'd rather have big, well-staffed and well-stocked libraries rather than those monuments to excess called shopping malls. Leave the cafés alone and replace the racks in Mid Valley's Prada or DKNY with bookshelves and I'll be happy. It'll also help with shopaholicism, a really inconvenient affliction in these troubled times.

E-books are also a logical step forward for a society that's - supposedly - as wired as ours. Libraries can even offer e-books online for a fee, and link up with other libraries in other states and abroad for more reading material. Wouldn't that be cool?

Most importantly, government shouldn’t treat its citizens like children. We don’t stay kids forever. Censorship, for one, does not necessarily safeguard morals, reduce crime or build better thinkers. All it has done is breed a bunch of people hungry for escapism (cari cinta, misalnya).

Golden Age, Subdued Glitter

After weeks of waiting, another review. They made this sound more like an advert rather than a ...review.

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Thoughtful read

first published in The Star, 05 April 2009


In December, a coalition led by Sheikh Hasina Wazed's Awami League scored a landslide victory in Bangladesh's elections.

The win was, if one reads the country's history, highly symbolic. Her father, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, was the first president of an independent Bangladesh, in 1971. After years of conflict and political instability, Bangladeshis are hoping his daughter's victory will bring an end to the troubles.

The days before Bangladesh's birth in 1971, when what was then East Pakistan seceded from West Pakistan (what is now Pakistan), are told in Tahmima Anam's A Golden Age.

Rehana Haque is a single mother of two from East Pakistan, one of the two wings of a nation formed after the 1947 split with India. Her husband suddenly drops dead one day on the way home and her children are taken away by their uncle to Lahore in West Pakistan.

So Rehana sells some possessions and builds a rooming house with the money, a place she names "Shona", or gold in Bengali. With this source of income and a court order, she brings her children back, and every year, she celebrates this triumphant return with her tenants and neighbours.

Meanwhile, there are war-like sounds being made: To quell what it saw as East Pakistan's moves towards independence, West Pakistan launches a military crackdown in March 1971. East Pakistan's new cabinet is established in exile near the Indian border while its leader, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, is thrown in jail.

But it isn't political strains that occupy Rehana's mind; rather, it is the strains within her own family that weigh on her: Her son Sohail, a student activist and supporter of Sheikh Mujibur, is heartbroken by the approaching marriage between sister Silvi and army officer Sabeer, who is very much an establishment man; her other daughter, Maya, has communist leanings and is rebelling.

Sohail and Maya soon join East Pakistan's freedom fighters. The son goes one step further and brings home his buddies and commanding officer, a man Rehana calls the Major, and turns Shona into a base of operations.

Spicing things up is the budding romance between Rehana and her unwanted tenant. With the memories of her late husband still strong in her mind, she grapples with her growing feelings for the mysterious Major.

The only major complaint I have about this novel is the way Rehana (mostly) tolerates her kids' flights of fancy. And how it makes me hungry: There's food in every other chapter or so, all described deliciously, biryani, jhaal moori, chapatis, laddoo. One British reviewer hungered for Indian cuisine after finishing the book. Luckily for me, my trusty neighbourhood Indian restaurant is within walking distance of my home....

But Rehana's not just a war-time supermum. She's also cultured and educated, as demonstrated by her love of Urdu poetry and fondness for Western films. Although a Muslim, she doesn't mind a sip of Mrs Chowdury's whisky-laced tea, or a few rounds of gin rummy. The world today needs more women like Mrs Rehana – or have they all been driven into hiding by loud, angry ideologues?

What Anam is trying to say is that war does horrible things to friends and families, especially a civil war that strikes so close to home. The part where the Major moves into Shona is reportedly based on true stories told to Anam by her parents about the same war, when freedom fighters stayed in their home and buried weapons in the front yard.

This is a story about the culture shared between a country now split in two, the conflict that led to that cleavage, and the sorrow and hope that came from it. A Golden Age is a beautiful story, and as soon as I closed the book I found myself pondering the worth of all the fighting that's going on right now, beamed live from the world's hottest flash points into living rooms worldwide.

A Golden Age, through Rehana's words on and feelings about Bangladesh's birth, encourages thought long after the book has been put down.

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A Golden Age

Tahmima Anam
John Murray
276 pages
Fiction
ISBN: 978-0-7195-6010-1

She's Not Sick, Just A Bit Unwell

When approached to do this, I honestly didn't know how much difference it would make. This piece was hard to write at first, but looking back, I could say I'm rather pleased with it.

This piece accompanied an ad for the second print of the book by MPH Publishing. The books, T-shirts and whatever she's selling for her medical fund is perhaps the only thing keeping her going. I, and many others, hope that she'll be able to graduate and support herself as a psychologist or something similar before charity fatigue sets in among the supportive public.

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Gutsy gal
A young lady’s quest for normalcy leaves KW Wong awed - and humbled

original text; edited version published in MPH Quill, Apr-Jun 2009

You wake up one morning, put both feet on the ground, and suddenly, the ground starts to tip over. You try to stand upright. You can walk, but your feet grow ever more unsteady as your stride quickens. Don’t even think about running or even jogging. Nothing changes after a couple of days. After three doctors and two sinsehs, a specialist informs you that you have a rare, incurable condition that adversely affects your body, including your sense of balance. You panic, because you’re one of your school’s star athletes. And there’s a ballet recital next week.

Yvonne Foong and her book in page 19 of
MPH Quill for Apr-Jun 2009

Yvonne Foong Ming Niang might not be her school’s medal-winning track star, but she did ballet and figure skating. Then her life changed when she was 13. She started going deaf in one ear, and got sick doing spins while dancing or skating. She didn’t know why until she was diagnosed with Neurofibromatosis (NF) Type 2, a genetic condition with no known cure that causes tumours to grow on her spine and brain. The latest tumour now endangers her eyesight; she already has trouble reading small-sized fonts. She has started learning Braille just in case, but - putting it mildly - going blind may be the least of her worries.

Currently, the only solution is surgery, especially for removing tumours that grow near the critical nerves. Unfortunately, few surgeons in the country can do that without complicating her condition. She knows, because she’s had two surgeries at KL’s General Hospital and another three were at the US House Clinic in Los Angeles. While seeking treatments in the US she goes to doctors in Malaysia for periodic check-ups, such as MRIs and eye tests. So yes, she did take notes. Until Malaysian medical facilities get better, she’ll have to go elsewhere for surgery.

However, Yvonne does not want to depend solely on donations - nor does she want to burden her family. Besides selling her “Heart4Hope” T-shirts and writing for publications such as the (discontinued) YellowPost and The Malay Mail, she has published a book that calls to mind a Matchbox 20 song. I’m Not Sick, Just A Bit Unwell was written to raise two things: cash for her medical fund, and awareness for neurofibromatosis among the Malaysian public. A reprint of the book will be released by MPH to raise funds to save her sight.

Yvonne’s is an uphill battle. Her constant need for medical attention means she will be working to pay her doctors’ bills for the rest of her life. The Malaysian public has so far, risen to the occasion in her time of need. But how long can that go on? She once admitted that without the public’s generosity, sales of her book would have been very sick indeed.

Some may doubt that Yvonne needs help because she doesn’t “look needy” in her public appearances. Despite her condition, she won’t play the part. She’s determined to lead a normal life, which includes graduating from college, nice clothes and great dinners for special occasions, parties, and the occasional Starbucks latte with friends - something many of us take for granted.

At first glance it is hard to tell that Yvonne has problems. I think our first meeting was at KLCC’s Burger King on July 31, 2006. I remember her hair’s red highlights and the midriff-baring bright green top. It was at a bloggers’ meet, and the crowd made me feel ancient. But it wasn’t until the launch of I’m Not Sick on December 2006 that I finally got a copy - autographed, of course.

The first edition of I’m Not Sick is a slim little book that briefly tells the story of her life and how she dealt with her condition. Chapters that describe NF, and patient testimonials come later, as well as the story of how she got published, and the day she was voted the “Most Outstanding Youth of the Year” at the inaugural Asian Youth Ambassadors (AYA) Dream Malaysia Awards 2005.

According to Yvonne, the first draft was a bit more “raw and emotional”, until the editor John Ling got to work with it. It explains why some passages felt so... detached, clinical. Nevertheless the emotions conveyed were still discernable, and it was hard for me not to sympathise with her and fellow NF patients when I reached the last page.

May I add that she’s deaf, has one blind eye, a poor sense of balance and several other physical impairments? If I were in her shoes I’d take about two hours to get out of bed every morning - wallowing in misery - instead planning my next book or fundraiser.

A lot has changed with Yvonne since the book came out. More surgeries, of course, and with an auditory brainstem implant installed she’s now a bionic woman. But it will be years before the device can help her discern certain sounds. And by the time you see this, she would have undergone the operation to save her sight. After that, who knows?

I was told that writing this piece was better than buying a hundred T-shirts. I did it anyway despite a busy new job, because I want to help. I want Yvonne around for as long as possible, like all her friends do. Most importantly I want to hear what she has to say next, because I feel there’s a certain wisdom in her words. I hope she’ll come up with another book. Maybe this time, there’ll be a chapter on a cure for her condition - my idea of a happy ending.

Simmons On Dickens

The words "fiction" and "history" both appeared for my previous review. Wha...?

I could not - at the time - comment on this book under my real name; I'd written about Simmon's other book, the similarly brick-like The Terror. So no comparisons with this latest offering, which I thought was a bit better. Only a bit.

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Fiction and history

first published in The Star, 20 February 2009


Did you know that Charles Dickens worked as a law office clerk and journalist before writing the stories that made him a household name? It explains works like Oliver Twist, Nicholas Nickleby, and Bleak House – as a clerk, he saw just how hard it was for the poor in Victorian England to seek justice. These stories highlighted the conditions the poor had to endure during those times.

Old Charlie's life deserves novelisation as well: he had a hard early life, a rocky road to fame, and a tragic decline following a train accident.

The train crash occurred at Staplehurst in Kent, England, on June 9, 1865. Ten passengers were killed and 40 injured. Dickens, who was not injured, was commended for his efforts to help his fellow passengers. It was rumoured, however, that the author didn't want to testify about the crash because his alleged mistress, Ellen Ternan, was travelling with him. He was never the same after the crash, and died five years to the day after the accident. (Some information sourced from Wikipedia.)

When he died on June 9, 1870, he left behind an unfinished murder mystery, The Mystery of Edwin Drood. Some authors have attempted to provide their own endings for the story, and it was even made into a film several times (in 1909, 1914, 1935, and 1993).

Dan Simmon's approach to Edwin Drood is quite unique: it is Dickens who's under the spotlight in this mystery/sci-fi thriller called, simply, Drood.

The story begins with the events prior to the Staplehurst crash and is narrated by real-life English playwright and novelist William Wilkie Collins, generally considered as Dickens' friend and collaborator, and author of works such as The Moonstone and The Woman in White.

In Drood, however, Simmons casts Collins as Dickens' "Salieri-type rival" (Antonio Salieri was an 18th century Italian composer who envied the more-talented Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart). In a similar way, Simmons' Collins feels that his own achievements were eclipsed by Dickens' genius.

After returning from Staplehurst, Dickens tells Collins what transpired: his attempts to rescue and care for the survivors, and his encounter with a cloaked apparition who called himself "Drood". From this point the tale veers towards the supernatural, as Collins begins his investigation into this Drood character.

I suspect that it's more about digging up dirt on Dickens rather than any expression of concern for Dicken's personal well-being. Collins also begins questioning his friend's mental health after learning about his mentor's interest in mesmerism (or hypnotism) and corpse disposal techniques.

Is the mysterious Drood just a figment of Dicken's disturbed psyche or is he real – and dangerous? As he has done before, Simmons weaves fiction and history together by including the characters in Dicken's unfinished Edwin Drood (such as John Jasper and Princess Puffer) and real-life figures from Dickens' era, in Drood.

But the novel doesn't completely answer one question: whether Drood himself was real, or if Collins had made it all up, producing a fantastic tale of ancient Egyptian death cults in Victorian London out of his addiction to laudanum, an opium-based drug (the historical Collins suffered from a kind of arthritis that hurt so badly, he took laudanum for it). In certain passages he sounds rather ... high. And low.

There's quite a bit in Drood that reminds me of Simmons' previous work, The Terror, a historical fiction based on the British expedition to find the North-West Passage, the sea route through the Arctic Ocean. There is a nod to this in Drood: Dickens also wrote plays, and one of them, The Frozen Deep, is about this expedition. Ellen Ternan supposedly starred in a version of this play. Drood also mentions Dickens' other jobs: publisher, editor, and contributor to journals Household Words and All The Year Round. History and literature buffs (and maybe Simmons fans) may appreciate the inclusions of these little details.

Simmons is good with atmosphere, backdrops, and such, but like his previous works, he also likes going back and forth between the past and the present. Novels that use this device demand your focus and attention – blink and you'll miss the connections.

The narration is believable – to me it sounded like Collins talking. When one considers that The Moonstone was seen as the precursor to the English detective novel, it makes perfect sense to have Collins narrate the story. This portrayal of Collins is a bit unsettling, though; the resentment he feels for Dickens in Drood drips from the pages.

Still, I feel Drood would be just fine as an olde English mystery and thriller without all that mythological hocus-pocus. Simmons may have a reputation as an award-winning sci-fi author (with one Hugo Award, three Locus Awards, and a World Fantasy Award under his belt), but I'm sure it wouldn't it kill him to write something less sci-fi once in a while.

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Drood

Dan Simmons
Hyperion
773 pages
Fiction
ISBN: 978-0-316-03685-6

Frogs

The frog is an amphibian, meaning it lives in both water and land. Most frogs have long hind legs, a short body, webbed digits and no tail. They move on land by jumping or climbing. Frogs are generally recognised as the best jumper of all vertebrates. The Australian rocket frog, for instance, can leap over fifty times its body length, resulting in jumps of over two meters.

Frogs usually lay their eggs in water. Their young, called tadpoles, have gills and grow up in water. Adult frogs eat mostly worms, insects and other small invertebrates. The most fearsome muncher is the American bullfrog, which is considered a pest and known to devour small birds and rodents. Frogs have a noisy call, which is usually loud and most frequently heard during mating seasons. Most frog species are found in tropical rainforests.

Despite having lungs, frogs can breathe through their skin, which must remain moist in order for this to happen. This makes the slimy amphibians the canaries in the goldmine when it comes to air and water pollution. With heaps of frogs worldwide dying each year, the planet must be quite sick indeed.

Frogs are mostly edible, except for species such as the poison dart frogs of Latin and South America; one lick or touch can be potentially deadly. In certain Southeast Asian countries, frogs' legs are steamed with garlic, ginger or essence of chicken, to create nearly chicken-like dishes, or in the preparation of congee. The Fallopian tubes of a certain frog are extracted, cleaned (in a fashion) and dried and sold as hasma, a food the Chinese consider as "cooling", with skin-nourishing properties.

Personally, I wouldn't mind the occasional bowl of hasma, but when it comes to chicken-like meat, give me the real thing any day.

So that's my take frogs. What about the other kind?

Loudspeakers And The Devil's Place

I flew off to Singapore courtesy of a PR firm for the unveiling of the "new" Altec Lansing brand. One of the new products was the Expressionist Bass speaker set, as shown below on the left.

"Excavating good looks" (left), and "Malaysia, Truly Aiya!" in
Off The Edge, February 2009

After wrestling with the angle for a bit, I came up with the "Jurassic Park scientists' gene-splicing" thing, which was essentially what they were doing with the new products. Altec Lansing, it turns out, has quite a history, and the design team looked to that history when they revitalised the brand. It was quite neat. And the speakers were awesome.

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Devil's Place was a totally different story.

I was quite apprehensive when I finished the book. How was I going to sum up this funny, rip-roaring, wild ride of a novel? Thank goodness the piece only required two hundred-plus words and a Q&A with the author. Devil's Place was one book that spoke for itself, and author Brian Gomez was a joy to interview, even if it was only through e-mail.

Courtship, Gift of the GAB

It's pretty much common knowledge that corporations and publishers have a kind of symbiotic relationship. Pages are money.

So why not give Hotel Nikko, among others, the occasional eensy bit of space to advertise their events, products and promotions? Apparently, Nikko provided the quiet, comfortable rooms for The Edge's high-profile interviews; low background noise means much easier transcription.

When you're trying to help them sell their RM23,000++ Royal Suite package for Valentine's, however, no amount of copywriting can guarantee a booking ...or can it?

"Courtship" (left), and "Gift of the GAB", Off The Edge, February 2009

I ended up ringing a bunch of top hotels to find out if they had a top suite, and how much it cost per night. It was, like many things I've done for the mag, eye-opening. And instead of just an ad, it explained why some hotels have such... opulent suites in the first place.

The other piece was - I think - unsolicited. Guinness Anchor Berhad's GAB Academy gives - roughly - sommelier-style training to people who sell beer and stout. It was more fun to do, except for the part where I had to ring up the Customs agency, which could not be reached in time.

It's supposed to be "Gift of the GAB", but the all-caps made the pun easier.