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.

Readings' Fourth

Goodness, is it Readings' fourth anniversary already? Time doesn't just fly, it's got an intergalactic warp drive strapped to its back.

Rainy weather kept the party indoors where space is already at a premium, even without the art installations. A micro-bookfest was set up next to the buffet table where the birthday cake and chips were. Attractions included Sharanya Mannivanan's Witchcraft, Ruhayat X's Aweks KL anthology, and Amir Muhammad's new book. The books turned out to be more popular than the food - few seemed to be in the mood to snack. This was true for those who returned from their Chinese New Year holidays.

Writer Yvonne Foong was also there to sell her books and T-shirts. It was a pity she couldn't enjoy the session because of her impaired hearing; the stories were all well-written and largely entertaining - especially the funnier ones. She came by taxi, but when the session was over there was no cab for her address (or rather, no cab wanted to go to her address), so one of the attendees drove her home.

...and I didn't take any pictures of her or her wares. ...Her wares... gah, I forgot to buy a T-shirt...! I can't believe it - although some who know me can...

Shantini Venugopal of Instant Café Theatre read her Karmic Tale, a hilarious cautionary tale about the subterranean parking lots at The Gardens/Mid Valley she penned on FaceBook. Because her printer and laptop aren't on speaking terms, she read the story out of the laptop while the printer sulked at home.

Some of us have probably braved the perils of the modern Malaysian parking lot design (also found at Pavilion KL) for our unsalted butter, vanilla extract and cream crackers. I've personally gotten lost a few times. Can Karmic Tale be expanded into an ad campaign for better parking lots? Preferably by Yasmin Ahmad?

Umapagan Ampikaipakan - who writes for the NST - was next with excerpts from some of his articles. I've read his comments on Bibliobibuli, but never saw him in person. Foot-in-Mouth Syndrome kicked in after introducing myself to him. "You're the one with the (nearly) unpronounceable name," I said (even Sharon needed practice with it).

"That's a bit racist," Amir Muhammad jabbed. "Just because you come from a land of monosyllabic names..." Unintentional, Amir. Honest.

Umapagan's scribblings about the results of the US Presidential Elections was funny and evocative, but somewhat diluted by his rapid-fire, typewriter-style diction.

Brian Gomez read a few passages from his debut novel Devil's Place. I'd written a blurb on the book for a local publication, but looking at it now, I don't think I did it justice. Maybe I should have stuck with, "Fast-paced, violent, vulgar, and laugh-out-loud entertaining. Buy. Now. For Xmas 2009.", but it was a rather high-brow publication that needed something long-winded.

Copies of Devil's Place brought to Readings went like cash rebates for petrol at post offices nationwide - after Gomez's turn at the mike, of course. There's nothing like hearing the author read his own work.

And because this is my own publication, here's what I think of Devil's Place: Fast-paced, violent, vulgar, and laugh-out-loud entertaining. Buy. Now. For Xmas 2009. Because by then all copies will be at the Home Ministry and your copy (or copies) will be worth heaps on eBay or Lelong.com.

The mood changed during Iain Buchanan's turn. His book, Fatimah's Kampung is the poignant story of a village's disappearance hit all the right notes, particularly for those who have read about Singapore's last rural village on the International Herald Tribune. And because Fatimah's Kampung is an illustrated work, it has more storytelling power. Buchanan could do more for the beautiful, rustic rurals than say, the Old Town (kopitiam) ad campaign. FunnyBunny should meet him. They could talk all day - at least.

I didn't take too many pictures of Amir Muhammad, since he's so recogniseable. He dropped by to "read" something from his latest offering, Malaysian Politicians Say the Darndest Things, Volume 2. It was more like showcasing rather than reading, I thought.

This time, the soundbites in Volume 2 are given more side-splitting power by Fahmi Reza's outrageously hilarious scrapbook style graphics - the reason one distributor (or publisher?) declined to touch it. I bought my copy at a bookstore because Amir didn't issue receipts for tax deductions.

...in retrospect, maybe I should have bought my copy at Readings and have it autographed. It would've made a great keepsake. And Volume 2 is just as irreverent as Devil's, if not more...

By the end more people were buying Yvonne's T-shirts or books, and I couldn't pay attention to the last reader, Saiful Nizam bin Shukor (my apologies). And yes, the humidity and time of day were lowering my eyelids. I keep them open; time travels fast if you don't pay attention - before you know it, it'll be Readings' fifth.

In-house entertainment was provided by Peter and Markiza. Missed them? Click the link for their next gigs.

Same time - and place - next year?

Medical Report

I have a maxillary polyp in each nasal sinus, and my nasal bone is shaped like a thunderbolt. This cramped up my airways and made the nasal allergies worse. After years of this said polyps are now the size of an average grape. Said sinuses are swelled and filled with mucous. Surgical procedure required.

So says the specialist from Taman Desa Medical Centre. The first paragraph cost me around RM600, including fees, CT scan and several insertions of a probe with a camera at the end. The first time was OK, but when I went back for the report (the radiologist wasn't there for the scan) I got it stuck up my nose again.

Either I go for "minimal-invasive" surgery or keep using nasal sprays for life, which is not a good idea. I told the specialist I sometimes bleed when I blow my nose. "You pointed that out exactly," he said. "One of the symptoms of long-term steroid use (thinning of the membrane). As a journalist, you're supposed to look for the black and white of things - why didn't you check the warnings in the brochure?"

That's why I guess they're called "consultants", not "doctors".

Do not get sick. Ever.

Justice Is...

...seeing both Hamas and Israeli leadership share the defendant's dock at The Hague.

It's been more than sixty years. Are there still any clean hands left in the Middle East?

And once that's settled, Dubya's administration is next - if they're still alive by that time.

Coward's End

The first book review for this year (2009) was written last year for a movie that didn't seem to reach the silver screens. It's out on DVD though, if anyone's interested.

This one is also heavily edited. While I'm learning to take it all in stride, I can't help feeling sore that my degree of writing has taken a dive lately. And I think I won't be doing a lot of reviews this year.

Still, I've had eleven published last year (not a lot, either), plus another three in 2007, so I can't complain.

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History or fiction?

first published in The Star, 04 January 2009


A conundrum we all face with novels-turned-into-movies is whether we should wait for the movie or read the book first.

The silver screen option would probably be more appealing in today's attention-deficit society; it seems that few people want to take a whole day (or two) to read a book from cover to cover, nowadays.

There is also the suspicion that the author wrote it with the hope that somebody would turn his masterpiece into an Oscar-winning movie (The Da Vinci Code comes immediately to mind!).

While Ron Hansen's novel was made into a movie – which has yet to open here, while Singaporeans saw it in January last year – it doesn't seem, at first glance, to lend itself easily to silver screen adaptation. One can't really accuse the writer of this sometimes-surreal Western of pandering to Hollywood sensibilities.

For one thing, there's the title (deep breath, now): The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford. For another, while that unwieldy title seems to indicate a focus on the American West's most famous outlaw, Jesse James – surely popular fodder for the silver screen – most of that focus seems to have been culled from newspapers and magazines. Half the time it feels like I'm reading a long, laboriously-crafted Wikipedia entry. Instead, Hansen has, intriguingly, centred his best writing around the assassin, Robert Ford.

The story of Jesse Woodson James' criminal career begins with the American Civil War in 1861, when he rode with Confederate militia alongside his elder brother, Frank. When the war ended in 1865, the Jameses joined the Younger brothers (Cole, Jim, John, and Bob), to form the James-Younger Gang, a real ornery buncha outlaws. However, because they mainly went after government establishments and the super rich, the outlaws had fans among poor rural folk.

When a botched robbery breaks up the James-Younger gang, Jesse forms his own gang, and it is this that will lead eventually to his demise at the hands of two turncoats: new recruits Robert and Charley Ford. All this is historic fact.

Our fictional novel begins innocently enough, with a young, enthusiastic Bob Ford trying to chat up Frank James, hoping to impress the outlaw and maybe get an invitation to the gang's next gig. Frank feels an immediate dislike for the boy, saying that Bob gives him "the willies" – one of several Ides of March-like premonitions buried in the pages. Jesse, however, lets young Bob into the gang.

As the days pass, however, the allure of being a member of Jesse's posse wanes as Bob sees more and more of his leader's flawed, all-too-human side. He also begins to resent the fact that, most of the time, he's just Jesse's errand boy.

It is events closer to home, however, that pushes Bob onto the path of treachery: He kills Jesse's cousin to protect a fellow gang-member who's a friend, and then covers up the crime. Around the same time, an increasingly paranoid Jesse begins silencing comrades after some of his gang members are arrested. With the guilt of the murder of Jesse's cousin hanging over their heads too, Bob and Charley begin fearing for their lives.

And so, after making a deal with local authorities, they kill the famous outlaw, shooting him in the back.

Bob wastes little time in exploiting his status as the infamous traitor. Will he live happily ever after, or be done in by the curse of a wicked deed? A lot of the time, the lines between fact and fiction are blurred. Did it all really happen like it says in the book?

Some stories and anecdotes out of the wild, wild West tend to be apocryphal, but The Assassination tries its darnedest to avoid being categorised as complete fantasy, even at the risk of coming across more like a non-fiction book than the upper-crust Western it really is.

I am grateful, though, for Mr Hansen's discipline in sticking to the history books (those that I've read, anyway). Very few liberties were taken in the name of artistic licence (for instance, no tender Brokeback Mountain moments, thank God!). Then again, I was too engrossed in all that history to notice any.

Here's an interesting bit of trivia: When they made this novel into a film, Brad Pitt, who plays Jesse James and is also one of the movie's producers, reportedly insisted that the long title be retained. And everyone knows that when Jesse says "do", nobody ever says "don't"!

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The Assassination of Jesse James by The Coward Robert Ford

Ron Hansen
Harper
389 pages
Fiction
ISBN: 978-0-06-112901-8

Feeling Down At The Koi Pond House

Compared to last year, the mood at KY's Xmas eve party was subdued. Some of the usual suspects were missing, but that wasn't all.

Wildguy recalled that the previous ones were bigger. They weren't just parties - they were all-out bashes. With real food. More babes. This year though... . Sure, we're entering the biggest economic recession in living memory, but is that why the atmosphere was relatively down? And no police car stopped by - at least not before I left.

There were chocolates - those you can only buy at an airport. Half the items in the Secret Santa event were lingerie, which livened things up a bit. And the SixthSeal guy dropped his pants (I so did not need to see that). And Wildguy provided entertainment with his take on current affairs.

Suertes summed it up nicely. "We're getting old."

I guess we are. 2005 wasn't that long ago, was it?

Adieu, Suzhou

I didn't know when the Suzhou Noodle House first opened, but it seemed like a long time ago. Then it packed up and disappeared, and in its place was the increasingly kitschy and still inexplicably open Star Village Restaurant (formerly Honey Star). Then a few years later, I found it at OUG's Citrus Park, and after a square meal, returned on occasion for the noodles, rice, tea and pumpkin cakes.

If the manager can be believed, all the dishes come from the Chinese province of Suzhou, reputed abode for China's fairest maidens (something similar has been said about Ipoh). Some of the dishes served up at Suzhou Noodle House are quite oily, but mostly good. The noodles deserve particular mention. Square-ish rather than cylindrical, firm and made without jian shui (an alkali solution, probably sodium carbonate), it went surprisingly well with the stock, which was just Goldilocks right. Eaten plain, the noodles were great for convalescing foodies.

The noodle "varieties" are created by pairing the noodles with sides: braised duck, sweet and sour pork ribs, and spicy chicken. I wouldn't recommend it with the fried pork or chicken cutlets, those roof-of-the-mouth slashing horrors. For a while, they had smoked fish and fatty cured pork belly, but they had to drop it from the menu because the supplier didn't do smoked fish any more.

The teas were unique. The Biluochao broad-leaf green tea had a strong tannic overlay which made it a powerful palate cleanser, and a pleasant groundnutty aroma. It takes a while to steep, and supposedly gets stronger with each refill, but the taste declines noticeably at the fourth refill - or maybe I just wasn't patient enough to wait. They also had the more expensive Biluochun variant, which I never tried.

Given the oilyness of some dishes and desserts, the tea was a welcome relief. I specifically remember the fried, red-bean-filled pumpkin cakes. At three or four pieces per serving, you'd want to have a light meal beforehand. Other dishes I fondly recall are the xiaolongbao soup dumplings, the gulaorou (sweet and sour stir-fried pork) rice and their fried noodles.

After all that it may be surprising to hear I'm not giving out any numbers or addresses for this place. Not that it would have made a difference - the place closed its doors more than three months ago, probably for good.

The last time I went there was in July, and I took some pictures. The place looked rundown and I could hear the scurrying of some animal from the water-stained ceiling boards. I hated to think it, but I could see it coming. Like the restaurant-heavy Taman Tun Dr Ismail, competition is stiff, and their place was tucked so deeply into the complex, with a hard-to-find entrance. When I returned in October, a day spa was being set up in its place. The labourer said Suzhou Noodles packed up around two months earlier.

I was sorry to hear the news, and sorrier for not rushing to push it into the limelight. I loved (some of) the food, the tea, and the quiet cosyness, which probably wasn't a desirable attribute for a restaurant. The manager, a Ms Phang, was good to me, especially when I was recovering from some bug or other illness. I don't normally grieve over a restaurant's packing up, but this felt like the loss of a relative.

But if I had, could I make a difference?

If only I had tried to find the answer; now it may remain a mystery.

The Serama Breeder

Vox Pop: "Serama Breeder & Operations
Director", Off The Edge, December 2008

A regular feature of Off The Edge is something called the "Vox Pop" - profiles of people who generally don't make it to the news, but whom we see often. It could be anybody.

The interviews are quite enlightening. The lives of people that are usually referred to as "normal folks" can have extraordinary chapters. Their backgrounds, lifestyles, experiences and work... I've learned a lot more from these than I could ever glean from online research.

One such interview was a great example. The serama breeder and operations director of Serama Corp is an expert in his field who has won competitions and met the King of Thailand. Many folks I know haven't had that opportunity.

Look how proud he is of his birds. He has several reasons to be.

I still remember the shrill crowing of the tiny roosters, and I still get gaping jaws and saucer-sized eyes when I recount the tale of the RM2,000 pint-sized chicken - edible, and reputedly possesses medicinal properties. An adult serama is about half the size of an average chicken, and its survival rate is lower. The animal does take some dedication to raise - how many would want that kind of life?

This was also one of the few pieces that used my photos, taken with my Canon Powershot A580. The crowing serama rooster is one of my best to date.

Spare Some Change, Please

I don't know about anyone else, but I'm looking forward to the US Elections' results.

None of us in Malaysia expected the Opposition besides PAS to take a state. Now they have... three? Four? So I am interested in whether America has realised it's not about skin or faith anymore in an increasingly shrinking, flattening Earth.

Political party, race and religion are no longer the talismans they used to be against the tides of change. Even so, only idiots expect change to take effect in at least 48 hours. Or 48 months. The world has changed lots, and will continue to change - with or without us. We're all in it for the long haul and it's up to us whether to sink or swim.

Khadijah's Kitchen

I'd heard about this singer from the 80s, but if you told me that I'll be interviewing her some day, I'd have said you're freaking nuts.

"Khadijah's kitchen", Off The Edge, November 2009

Mmm. Aren't my words yummy.

It was raining heavily the first time I was there. She was telling us about her Pearl Anniversary Concerts at the Malaysian Philharmonic at KLCC. With her at the press conference were Ramli Sarip and Dato' Ahmad Nawab.

I was more blown away by how down-to-earth she was, rather than her status or her cooking, which is rather good. I've had several other serendipitous encounters at the place - a tale for another time.

And the concert was great; I wrote a review-of-sorts that was never published - another tale for another time.

Surviving Malaysia

My first book review in ages. I felt this one was tame by my old standards. The book apparently caused a flap-of-sorts, with regards to its content and tone. And some of my words were said to have been twisted in some Bangkok Post article to pan the book, publisher and author. It was a rhetorical question...!

I didn't manage to save the print version, either. On the bright side, I made a new friend.

---

Different and unique

first published in The Star, 26 October 2008


Do we really need another book on Malaysiana that comes with the all-too-familiar hastily-scrawled cartoons?

With so many books on this subject already available in bookstores, I didn’t think the Malaysians-On-Malaysia collection could get any bigger. But I forget that this is the land of "We Can Make It Even Bigger!" so it’s no surprise that there is another addition to speak of.

Dos & Don’ts in Malaysia is written by a Malaysian jack-of-all-trades and it talks about our history, the three major ethnic groups, festivals and the like with an emphasis on the dos and don’ts (thoughtfully rendered in bold) that should be observed while one is in the country.

The axiom "don’t judge a book by its cover" applies to Dos & Don’ts - even if the cover does need work. First-time visitors and long-time residents could benefit from the gems in this book, buried among the comics.

Like this country of ours, the book (and I presume, the author) is quirky in the best of ways. Example: the chapter on the early history of Malacca during the spice trade ends with the admonition, "Don’t colonise Malaysia because you want your food to taste better" - something we neglected to tell the Portuguese back then.

This, along with the many documented faux pas by visiting foreigners was why the author felt it was time for such a manual.

Interesting tidbits in this book lead me to believe that most of us don’t really know our own country - or our customs for that matter. The sections on speech and greeting conventions, weddings, marriages and funerals were particularly enlightening and I didn’t know that nasi lemak differs from state to state, nor was I aware of something called sup terbang (flying soup, but in this case it’s the drinker that flies!) in Penang. What have I been missing?

What could be disconcerting is how the author has stereotyped certain groups, like the self-centered urban Chinese, "territorial" Indian males and our notorious cabbies.

Not very attractive topics of conversation, but a survival guide on Malaysia wouldn’t be complete without these, would it?

If you overlook the uncomfortable bits, Dos & Don’ts can be an asset to local and foreigners alike. Definitely something I would refer to before attending wedding dinners and open houses, and buying gifts.

Its release is also timely, given the current strain in the country’s inter-racial relations. Isn’t it time to learn and respect the customs of others as well as our own?

Perhaps we do need another tome on Malaysiana after all - if only to remind us of how our differences make us unique.

---

Dos & Don’ts in Malaysia

Thirunavukkarasu Jr. Karasu
iGroup Press Co. Ltd
172 pages
Non-Fiction
ISBN: 978-974-652-039-3

What Do You Mean, "We"?

I find this post a bit disturbing in the wake of the latest Chinese food scare. Sounds like some one had a bad day.

This "it's not them, it's us" mentality can't really be applied to some of the victims. Xinhua highlighted a mother from a family with an annual income of around 6,000 yuan (US$882) who could not afford foreign-made baby formula that's three to four times more expensive.

I buy milk products from big names: Nestlé, Magnolia, and Marigold because I trust them. San Lu is not some two-bit bootleg operation; the majority state-owned joint venture with New Zealand's Fonterra was exempted from inspections since December 2005 because it was believed to be a standard bearer. Yili, another affected company, was a partner of the recent Beijing Olympics. People trusted them - and were betrayed.

Some of the suppliers knew what they were doing - and couldn't care less. China Daily quoted one of two brothers who sold doctored milk to recoup losses after earlier shipments were rejected. "I've never asked and never thought about it. I only know it's bad for health."

We buy (often) crappy broadband because we don't have better. My buddy buys parts for his Fiat Coupé from Europe because they can't be found here. There are times when we want cheap (economy rice, anyone?), and times when we want the best, but can we get it all the time? What can we really do when big names associated with quality, through their fault or the fault of their partners, turn rogue?

On-line Speed Upgrade, By Maxis

I signed up for Maxis's Broadband. I didn't ask for one of the animal print versions, though.

In fact, I'm using it right now. it's slower than wi-fi, but much faster than dial-up. Registration took less than half an hour; half a day later, I'm online. I'm about six to seven floors up and connection's still good. So I did the ultimate test: Load Jolene Lai's blog. That should be the national benchmark for all local broadband providers.

But I had to return to the service centre after lunch because the dude who did my registration gave me the wrong SIM card, and my day wasn't really good already. And sometimes, the pages don't load. So building height is somewhat of an issue. Maxis also placed a cap of 3GB for amount of data transferred; any more and they'll pull the plug.

Don't think I'll be saying goodbye to wi-fi enabled cafés anytime soon.

Not The India Of Your Lonely Planet Dreams

Have I ever felt divided about a book as this? I had nothing against the writing. In most aspects it's a pretty good story: detailed (often, too detailed for my taste), visceral and well thought out. A good debut effort. But it's the things that the author made some of the characters do that really got to me. I think I'll leave the last verdict to readers.

And they left the "curry powder" reference in! Am I in trouble?

---

Stark vision of India

first published in The Star, 22 August 2008


What's with the explosion of novels from Indian writers? Could it have something to do with Kiran Desai's Man Booker Prize? Or the buzz surrounding Monica Ali's Brick Lane?

Names I would normally associate with silks, embroidery and curry powder are showing up in bookstore shelves and best-seller lists. Now, waves of hopefuls from the subcontinent are on the horizon. And many of these Indian-sounding authors don't even live in India.

One of them happens to be Sujit Saraf, who made his debut with The Peacock Throne, an impressive novel that celebrates India's turbulent socio-political climate in the dying throes of the last millennium.

We are taken on a whirlwind tour of the period between 1984 and 1998, seen through the eyes of some colourful characters. The author weaves his settings and characters into actual events, going so far as to providing a map for key areas of the story and a glossary of terms. No effort is spared in his quest to make it "real".

The curtain rises from the calm of daily life in Chandni Chowk, the neighbourhood that much of the novel revolves around. Tea seller Gopal Pandey is minding his own business when all hell breaks loose after Indira Gandhi's assassination. He hides a Sikh trader from rioting Hindus, and is later sent by the trader on a rescue mission. Our humble tea seller will eventually be lifted from the ruins of his demolished tea stall and plunged into a storm in a political teacup, but that comes much later.

Meanwhile, the story continues through the vantage point of the other characters: Ibrahim, Gopal's Muslim buddy; the Sikh trader Kartar Singh; Gopal's ne'er-do-well son; old-fashioned shopkeeper Sohan Lal; the fawning, ambitious and scheming clerk Ramvilas; prostitute-turned-activist Gita Didi; corrupt cop Inderlal Jha; Western-educated female journalist Chitra Ghosh; and a thieving Bangladeshi scamp called Gauhar.

The overly romanticised India of yesteryears is pulverised and replaced by the stark, in-your-face grimness of Saraf's vision, which exposes the underbelly of life in contemporary India, complete with lurid tales of murder, politics, sex and other bodily functions. Readers are unceremoniously ushered into various venues where all the action takes place in such gritty, blood-curdling detail, the word "explicit" barely scratches the surface. Welcome to 21st century Indian drama.

This corner of Saraf's India has no heroes - or heroines. All the key players are disappointingly human. In the novel's troubled times their virtues are downplayed and we often see them in their selfish, arrogant, cynical and megalomaniacal worst. Even the goofy, affable Gopal has weaknesses and bad habits that make me want to throttle him.

The cast's purpose, it seems, is just to move the story along, like the cogs of some huge clockwork machinery. It's not about the people as much as it is about this slice of India's history, the one we always knew existed, but wouldn't dare bring up.

By keeping our emotions at arm's length, Saraf manages to enforce the psychological barrier that allows him to do nasty things with some cast members. There are a couple of bombs. Desecration of a national monument. Forced immolation. And of course, plenty of swearing, racist epithets, political double-speak and the usual "us versus them" rhetoric.

I am in two minds about The Peacock Throne. Like its namesake, it looks pretty, but behind it lies a tumultuous, bloody history. On one hand, it's well-written and the narrative flows naturally. The backdrops and scenes are rich in detail, though not necessarily pleasing.

The human drama it showcases, however, is like a dark, bottomless pit. There are a few parts that I found repulsive, particularly chapters featuring Gauhar. Delving too deeply into the pages will erode your faith in humanity - and maybe scupper your plans to backpack around India.

In the end, Saraf does the right thing by not making the characters too likeable. Given the heavy subject matter it's amazing how he managed to complete this book. How did he manage to keep himself going?

Someone once wrote that India will either capture your heart, or repel you. It certainly is true in the case of The Peacock Throne, a heady, eye-opening adventure for those who can stomach the repulsive bits. It's not a perfect novel, but really, how many adventurers expect things to go their way from start to finish?

---

Peacock Throne

Sujit Saraf
Sceptre
754 pages
Fiction
ISBN: 978-0-340-89972-4

Palestine In A Nutshell

The structure. The added content. And the ending, too. More than half of this was changed. This was one of my worst fears come true. Has writing full-time blunted my ...edge?

---

Primer on a political mess

first published in The Star, 17 August 2008


The history of the modern Middle-Eastern conflict is a babble of dissenting voices, each claiming veracity over the other. Many have tried in vain to seek the heart of the problem, and come up with its solution.

Among those seeking this Holy Grail is former US President Jimmy Carter, author of Palestine: Peace Not Apartheid, a memoir-slash-analysis of the Middle East conflict and his involvement in it throughout his political career. First published in 2006, another edition was released recently with a new afterword from the author.

Carter might have been an unglamorous peanut farmer before being elected president in 1977 but he was among the more intellectual of American presidents, many – including critics – agree. However, a host of hot button issues that cropped up in untimely fashion, especially the Iranian hostage crisis, cost him a second term.

(Almost 70 people were kidnapped from the US embassy in Teheran in 1979; the last 53 remained captive for 444 days – and, in fact, were released just after Carter had lost the re-election to Ronald Reagan.)

Carter is now the head of the Carter Center, a think-tank dedicated to peace, freedom, and human rights, and he's apparently giving the Middle East another go.

Before I get into the book, here's a quick (very quick, not to mention necessarily simplified) brief on the area's recent history culled from various widely available sources.

Modern Israel's story began with the British-engineered Balfour Declaration that promised Jews they could carve up a chunk of Arab land for their own state, which was born after World War II.

Hostilities between Jews and Arabs soon followed, of course; it got too hot for the British troops overseeing the new nation so they packed up and left.

Over the years, mediation (or should that be “meddling”?) by external political factions only complicated matters, resulting in the roiling cauldron of Tom Yam Goong that is today's Chez Middle East, a kitchen with two executive chefs – two colossal egos, each unwilling to yield to the other.

Today, the region is the fulcrum for a restless ideological see-saw that has the world on tenterhooks.

Throughout this book, Carter tries his best not to lean towards either side, stressing that ending the conflict requires both sides to pull together. He notes two major obstacles to peace: the extremist factions within both countries.

Palestine supplies a lot of information to help the reader understand the complex issues. Maps of the region showing shifts in territorial control over the years are scattered liberally throughout the book, along with key extracts of diplomatic agreements. The text of United Nations Resolutions 242 and 338, and details of the Camp David Accords have been included in the appendices.

Okay, so Palestine is not light reading, obviously. The language is serious – dead serious at times – because the issues are serious. Carter may not be an official diplomat, but he still writes like one.

If all UN speeches sound this serious and dry, small wonder many delegates look like they'd rather be somewhere else every time sessions are televised.

It is kind of him, however, to provide so much information (all seemingly meticulously researched) and so objectively, too. By not taking sides, he demonstrates Palestine's integrity, which makes it a good primer on the Great Middle East Mess.

This has earned Carter the ire of some Americans, while earning the respect of many people around the world.

And it should earn the general reader's gratitude, because we – yes, you too – need to keep an eye on this Mess. It's bound to boil over and involve the whole world one day if it hasn't already done so indirectly....

---

Palestine

Peace Not Apartheid

Jimmy Carter
Simon & Schuster Paperbacks
270 pages
Non-Fiction
ISBN: 978-0-7432-8503-2

Do They Still Draw Cartoons?

"Legends tell of a legendary warrior, whose kung fu skills were the stuff of legend...!"

So goes the opening narrative for Dreamworks' latest offering, Kung Fu Panda. If I could raise an eyebrow, I would. However, it took several viewings before I got it; I secured a bootleg copy because I couldn't wait for the original. And this was after watching it at a cinema. Despite a few iCringe moments, it's just brimming with Fun™. What the hell was Zhao Bandi complaining about? The panda isn't even copyrighted by China.

And I swear, they're getting more and more quotable. A far cry from Yogi Bear's word-mangling and bad grammar, "zoiks", "jinkies" and "Heavens to Murgatroid!" Chalk it up to the scriptwriters. "Cartoons" ain't just for kids any more.

"He was so deadly, in fact, that his enemies would go blind from overexposure to pure awesomeness!"

Animated features have come a long way. I grew up watching the 2-D ones, admiring the artwork and the lengths they went to in making them. Then came the digital age, and the advent of not-so-cartoonish cartoons. However, the day when 2-D went 3-D was probably when Who Framed Roger Rabbit was released. Since then, PC processors got faster, hardware more sophisticated. Have you seen today's graphic cards? They look like miniature motherboards - complete with their own processors and cooling fans. Some cards run so hot they need their equivalent of a radiator.

But I wouldn't pack cel animation to the nearest retirement home just yet. The Japs are still at it, even though more and more of cel-CGI marriages are happening (Ghost In The Shell, Appleseed, Vandread, Vexille, etc). With so much history behind cel, it should be preserved as a heritage in case it is eclipsed by newer animation techniques. Hell, it might even be taught as an esoteric skill one day, like the erhu or didgeridoo.

"One often meets his destiny on the road he takes to avoid it."

But I'm also thinking: With Moore's Law running rampant like a flock of rabid Road Runners, it won't be long before anybody could make their own animated features on devices as small as a cellphone. Will we be networking using our own custom-made CGI avatars someday? To the point where we won't have to leave our chairs? The producers of WALL-E think so.

Great. Not only are they packing cinemas and driving CPU evolution, but predicting the future as well.

"There's no charge for awesomeness - or attractiveness."

I still think they put that into Jack Black's mouth just to rub it into our noses.

"There are no accidents."

Brought To You By Canon®

Sometimes I wonder why I started this in the first place.

With the exception of a few bad Photoshopped graphics, Bites has been mainly text. But I just can't be assed to update nowadays - at least, if I don't have anything substantial to write about.

I've sneered at blogs that are mostly pictures because, well, their photographs usually sucked. And they don't bother to shrink them to the proper dimensions and file size. But with so many now incorporating videos I feel like a Johnny-come-lately in the media explosion craze.

Pretty soon, they say, video will be the norm.

These photos (borked now due to file hosting hiccups) were taken during the last Readings at Seksan, but I could write little about it that hasn't been written before. Sharon Bakar does a good job of chronicling each session she attends. I didn't take any pictures of the Wayang Buku performance because there was too much movement - from the act and my shaky hands.

Dr Shih the historian talked about how the town of Sitiawan in Perak got its name, and shared some tidbits about Sitiawan-born persona non grata Chin Peng. Why is it often the spoiled rich kids who find their life's purpose by sponsoring anarchy?

He had approached me first and introduced himself. He's never attended a reading before. But once he started, it was smooth sailing. Reading is a lot like storytelling, after all.

The wine bottle-uncorking antics of Shahril and I were applauded by an appreciative audience which included Robert Raymer, an American expat who's living in Sarawak and author of Lovers and Strangers Revisited. Turns out he lectured Funnybunny when she was studying English. Much has been said about his writing and generosity.

Nic Wong's first foray into the big big world was to grow big big hair - and lots of it. We are grateful he decided to lop it all off for us before reading here. His art is growing (no pun intended - maybe) from strength to strength; let's just hope it doesn't come with (too many) eccentricities. Poets. You know how they are.

Speaking of which...

Was Sheena Baharudin on the readers' list? I think so (too lazy to check). She apparently came with a few comrades from Poetry Underground to cheer Nic and Kat. She only read one poem about racial discrimination. Has she been mistaken for an Indian before?

She obligingly posed when Sharon whipped out the digicam. It happened so quickly I couldn't catch it.

Soon-to-Be-Dr Jason Leong, author of the funny and honest Twisted Stethoscope, who almost couldn't make it. He had another reading to do at the Mid Valley Megamall. Looking closely, he sort of resembles my former managing director (also abbreviated, interestingly enough, as MD).

Don't you just want to pinch those cheeks?

When I first met Kathleen Choo, I had little idea of just how feisty she was, or how well she carries of her "slams". A suggested second career and a rap lyricist was politely brushed off. Are "all the great poets are male, white and dead"?

Bond Lives... Again

"Bond lives... again",
Off The Edge, August 2008

Besides the usual press kits, invites and all, there were books, books and more books. This was my first book review piece for the magazine - that much-hyped post-Fleming Bond novel, Devil May Care.

I thought it would be easy, until I got stumped by the additional requirements. Number of Bond books sold, or annual total sales; value of the Bond franchise, and all that. I was swamped with whatever I had found - how was I going to work it all in?

Then one midnight, nearly all of the pieces just fell into place. Two hours later, a serviceable piece that didn't need a lot of edits. I was beginning to feel that book reviews will always be the brightest feather in my cap - next to restaurant reviews.

Apologies for the poor image quality. I'm still struggling with balancing (image) beauty, bytes and bandwidth.

Inkvestment, Ping Pong

Every now and then, we would get press kits and e-mails from various advertisers about their products. It's nothing new, but one wonders just how fast some of these items would go, with or without our help.

Consumer Price Index: "Inkvestment" (left), and "Ping Pong",
Off The Edge, August 2008

My eyes bulged at the figures for the above items. RM18,000 for a ping-pong table and accessories? A RM36,000 fountain pen? I would later learn that not only are the prices justified (in most cases), but there are people who can more than afford these things, and that it's more than just the brand.

But the nature of the magazine is such that it's not just item, price, and where-to-find, but the whats and whys as well: why is it so expensive, what goes into the product, sales pitch and packaging, etc. I haven't seen a lot of publications that do that. I've never looked at "luxury items" the same way again.

Artistic Bodacity

Typing this on my new laptop. Feels strangely liberating, even if the keyboard's layout feels awkward. Can't wait to take it on tour, doing the rolling meditation stuff. Moleskines are so last millennium.

This month's Readings is a bit of a departure, even though it feels like the ship already left the port last month. We had an American expat, a historian, three poets and a medical student, plus a musician and stage actor for after-reading entertainment.

It started with a bit of deja vu involving liquor bottles. Unaware the corkscrews had extensions for leverage, Shahril Nizam and I tugged and tugged and tugged till our faces turned red (not just from the exertion). Sharon had to call in an expert, otherwise we couldn't proceed. And MPH's Tan May Lee (may have) photographed the sideshow.

Oh well, at least it was entertaining.

I'll admit that one main reason why I dropped by was to touch base with Kathleen Choo, whom I last saw at a mutual friend's book launch in 2006. Besides being floored by her poetry slammin', I got a chance to see her smaller-than-notebook notebook PC. Does the speed of technological evolution bring to mind malevolent biological agents from a sci-fi horror script?

Nicholas Wong returns! This was the young poet whose presence at a previous Readings was the condition for a veteran's participation - such is his reputation. Nic channeled Pixar by titling one of his pieces "Oogway" [sic], on top of reading a poem he composed (four pages long!) just two hours before.

With some history by Dr Shih, performances by Kathleen, Sheena Baharudin, Nic and the Wayang Buku (Book Theatre) guys, a bit of comedy writing by a doctor-in-waiting, the July Readings just reverberates with sheer awesomeness.

Another deviation in the usual proceedings is an announcement by some Arab dude (by his own admission) about a reading project. Zain also suggested spreading word about the project via the Internet because "Malaysia has a huge blogging community". Don't believe him? Believe Blogger then; it just announced the availability of the Malay interface because, "...Blogger has a large base of users in Malaysia".

Large number of bloggers, yes. Large number of good bloggers? Well... heh.

The Secret Of The Secret Lies In The Secret - Not

From "stealing secrets" to "no secret". Honestly... .

Anyway, my point is that the secret to The Secret is really no secret at all. The Secret rebrands and emphasises the power of positive thinking, and says that's all anyone needs. What kind of secret is that? And then these guys come in and say The Secret is not the secret everyone's looking for, but there is a secret, and that's the secret they've got and knew all along. They also claim that The Secret secretly subverts its adherents into going against their secret, while promoting laziness and wishful thinking. So the only way out is to embrace their secret, a beautiful mystery that's not really secretive at all - just mysterious.

In Kung Fu Panda, the secret is not really a secret at all, either.

---

No secret here

first published in The Star, 18 July 2008


Blissfully drowning in my sorrows for the past year or so, I was unaware of the phenomenon that is The Secret. At one glimpse of the cover, my tired mind registered, "Not another novel..." It wasn't until I got my hands on another book that I found out I was totally wrong.

Through The Secret (originally a film, which was then developed into a book), Aussie TV writer and producer Rhonda Byrne explores the New Age concept called the Law of Attraction, which says that people can control their lives by the power of their own thoughts and emotions - in short: think (hard), and you will receive.

Wow, and all this time I called it "wishful thinking". What The Secret claims, however, is that it works. It's no wonder then that certain quarters are behaving like hungry lions watching a zebra herd. Just as with The DaVinci Code, numerous detractors published works countering The Secret. One of these is The Secret Revealed.

Had I taken a much closer look at the cover, I probably would have given it a miss and spared myself some pain. Why, you ask? Previously, James L. Garlow (who's also a pastor) had written another book, Cracking Da Vinci's Code. I remember the firestorm surrounding that one - the Jesus/Mary Magdalene hoo-ha that so terrified the Vatican and devout Christians everywhere that some form of rebuttal had to be made or the religion would collapse (The DaVinci Code is still listed under "Fiction", by the way).

Fearing a similar crisis of faith following the release of The Secret, the pastor once again whipped out his crusading pen. Predictably, the authors hit the ground running, underlining the fact that Bible passages are used to sell The Secret's glaringly un-Christian concepts. The preaching slowly intensifies from there until the end of the book, where it is implied that there is no secret at all - it's about "beautiful mysteries", and its source is God.

While they admit that there may have been good intentions involved, the authors of The Secret Revealed make no secret of their scorn for Byrne and others who aggressively promote The Secret. They say the Law of Attraction blames the victims for all their woes, while at the same time, appealing to the get-what-you-want-now mindset of the selfish, greedy and lazy.

They also pan the "deliberate" omissions of concepts like God and sin, and the notion that anybody can "will" whatever they want into being is practically blasphemous. They stress the futility of "transmitting your thoughts towards the Universe", when you could direct them to God instead (personally, I don't see the difference).

Sometimes the authors come off as snide, condescending even, when presenting scenarios where the Law of Attraction fails, as well as in the accompanying arguments.

Of course, they do point out that it's not all bad. They applaud Byrne's exhortations to do good and bring joy to others. They just don't like how she's telling people to go about it.

The Secret Revealed puts forth valid points against swallowing any hype in its entirety, but the Christian-leaning slant in the arguments were a big put-off, as is the assumption that without any help, devout followers of The Secret are like lemmings who will eventually march off a cliff towards certain doom (they don't say you're going to Hell if you follow The Secret, just that you might be headed for "trouble").

While flipping the pages I have to remind myself a few times that history is full of stories about weirdo farms and their shepherds, like Jim Jones of the People's Temple, and David Koresh's gun-toting Branch Davidians, so I guess some of the authors' fears are justified. Still, being inadvertently accused of wilful stupidity not only gets my goat, but the whole farm as well.

I won't doubt that The Secret Revealed does in fact fill in the blanks, but not all of them, and certainly not in the way that I would find comfortable. A more secular point of view would have been more convincing, and less cringe-worthy to my psyche.

Yes, my aversion to religious preaching did taint this review. No, I will offer no apologies for that. I will give some praise to the good pastor and his buddy for their efforts, with a gentle reminder that back then, as now, too much honesty is not always a good thing.

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The Secret Revealed

Exposing the Truth About the Law of Attraction

James L. Garlow and Rick Marschall
FaithWords
282 pages
Non-Fiction
ISBN: 978-0-446-19796-0

I Has Mobile Computing - Kind Of

OK, I'm the owner of a Dell Vostro 1310 laptop. Sister #2, who's now with Dell, helped me get one. And because the folks thought it'd be a great birthday present, they footed the bill - and the sister piled on the bells and whistles. I'm embarrassed by the attention, and more than a bit ashamed.

And why don't I feel like a laptop owner?

I'll admit, I wanted this piece of technology so I can do stuff on the road. Demands of the new job and all that. But it's a constant struggle keeping the thing safe; I get apprehensive during lunch breaks. Preventing it from getting wet. Keeping an eye on it when it follows me to restaurants. And because I have two bags to carry now, I feel like Houdini when I lock and unlock the doors.

I tell you - it's like having a wife. But at least a wife can take care of herself when I'm not around, and open the doors when my arms are full of shopping bags.

Adjustments are painful.

Windows Patch Zones Out Firewall Users

Earlier this week, Microsoft released patches that prevent some kind of domain-spoofing bug. The patch, however, prevents Internet access on machines running Windows 2000 and XP with a ZoneAlarm firewall. Vista machines are unaffected.

In addition to providing the latest versions of their ZoneAlarm firewall, Check Point (who bought over Zone Labs) has issued a workaround for the problem:

• Go to the ZoneAlarm Firewall panel.
• Click the Firewall tab.
• Move the Internet Zone slider to Medium.

This workaround may reduce the effectiveness of the firewall, but it's better than being locked out of the net entirely. Eventually, affected users will have to install the latest version of ZoneAlarm.

A certain tech-geek subculture is to blame for this. All the talk about creating script-writing kits, bugs and malware for "purposes of education only" is pure bull-crap. If they're smart enough to come up with such tools, they should be smart enough to know what they're unleashing. They do know - they just don't care.

Virus-coding is no longer confined to a shadowy group of elites. Now, anybody - from bullied ten-year-olds to forty-something washouts - who wants to overcompensate for real-life deficiencies are so well-educated, they can create digital equivalent of the bird-flu virus with a few keystrokes and a couple of mouse-clicks.

Just because nobody's getting killed doesn't make these script kiddies and those who enable them less of a terrorist. I think they're even worse.

An Exceptional Exception

As I went over to the counter to settle my bill, the Indian/Bangladeshi manning the cash register stopped me. "Sir, we have dessert waiting for you, sir, on the house," he said. "Please take your seat."

Confused, I returned to my place at the table. What gives, I thought. It couldn't have been the digicam. I'd ordered a starter-portion oxtail soup and a smoky ranch steak, which I snapped photos of before tucking in. Normally I don't mind dessert, but it was late and I was full.

G*d, I hope he doesn't think I'm a member of the press or something.

My dessert arrived: half a poached peach in syrup topped with a scoop of vanilla ice-cream, crowned with a single mint leaf. Not a bad dish, really. It's been months since I ate there and the food is still okay.

The air cleared when I finally settled my tab. "Are you with GZK?" the Indian/Bangladeshi asked. I'm really sorry, but I don't know exactly who he was. And it's probably rude to ask.

"No," I said, feeling bad. I told him who I was working for now; no point having a free dessert I didn't deserve. I used to work with them - sort of - but not anymore.

The man at the counter shrugged. "Ah well, we don't have any arrangements with them, maybe soon." What he said next surprised me. "Didn't I give you one of these cards before?"

He, in fact, did. That was months ago, too. Get one stamp for each order of soup; drink X orders of soup and get one free. Too bad the card disappeared yonks ago. But his memory wasn't the only surprise he had in store.

"Never mind, I give you one more card," he said, and made two stamps on it. "One for the last time," he added.

Now, who was the whackjob who said Indians/Bangladeshis were nothing but trouble? When you meet an exceptional exception to the "rule", you just have to wonder.

Nobody Expects The Spanish Kama Sutra

Can the story of a fictional Casanova be used as a love manual? When the author's repertoire includes such books you have to wonder. There should be a disclaimer on each copy, something to the effect of, "Not a substitute for Valentine Day cards or bouquets"). Cards are much cheaper.

The title is a play on Monty Python's "Nobody Expects The Spanish Inquisition"; no, I didn't expect to read a Spanish Kama Sutra. Did anybody expect the Spanish to win Euro 2008?

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Stealing secrets

first published in The Star, 04 July 2008


Gone are the days when personal diaries were kept under lock and key. The delicious thrill of having your inner thoughts read by the masses are driving many towards blogging these days. Even Don Juan is getting into the act.

OK, so it's just Douglas Carlton Abrams, doing something akin to blogging. After co-authoring a few books on spirituality, love and sexuality, he tries his hand at narrative fiction, writing as Don Juan under the rather pedestrian title, The Lost Diary of Don Juan.

Kudos to Abrams for sneaking the handbook, How to Really, Really Love a Woman into this novel. Unfortunately, the package also includes How to Infuriate Said Woman's Parents, How to Tick Off Your Boss and How to Offend Fanatical, Uptight Clergymen – which I'm sure we all could do without.

Spain in the 16th century wasn't a very nice place. Plunder from the newly discovered American continent made the nation rich, but it brought about an increasingly venal, corrupt and "liberal" society. One of the results was Juan Tenorio.

Abandoned as an infant, Juan was raised in a monastery but ends up being a pickpocket and burglar in Sevilla. His "talents" soon catch the eye of the Marquis de la Mota, who trains him to steal secrets, and the hearts and virtues of women, especially those from his political rivals' households.

A slight deviation: Abrams' Don Juan goes on his rounds in a Zorro-like get-up, complete with a getaway vehicle, a carriage chauffeured by his loyal servant Cristóbal. I was half-expecting it to arrive at the Bat Cave on the next page, if not the next chapter. Fortunately, the campiness stops there.

At the height of his dubious career, Juan's patron nags him about writing a tell-all, intending to use it as blackmail material. Juan struggles with the request, knowing that he's expendable once it is completed – but he gets down to keeping one anyway. Even rogues need a hobby.

In Juan's point of view, he's no womaniser; he considers himself the balm of the lonely hearts of Sevilla's womenfolk. Of course, there is a very long queue of people who beg to differ, and pushing his way to the front is the Inquisitor Fray Ignacio de Estrada, who has pledged to rid the city of Juan at any cost.

In the face of these hazards is de la Mota's challenge: to steal the virtue of a chaste young noblewoman called Doña Ana. Juan accepts, and soon gets into the bad books of the woman's father. She proves to be a challenge for the suave, sweet-talking libertine, and eventually gets under his skin. Then, his boss shakes things up with his intention to marry Doña Ana.

Oh, the drama. What should Sevilla's notorious metrosexual do?

However, Abram's Don Juan is more than the stereotypical shallow, metrosexual narcissist. Juan is a loyal friend and faithful lover – the main reason for his (initial) reluctance to name names in his diary. He is also a good employer; in one chapter he even offers Cristóbal some advice on courtship. Towards the end, he reveals why he never laid one finger on the prostitutes in his best buddy's tavern.

You can see Abrams' application of his field of expertise everywhere – and that's the trouble with it. Hair-raising phrases like, "I sipped the moist nectar of her mouth as she opened her petals to me" abound, as well as his professions of "woe-is-me" and self-righteousness. There is also a totally unnecessary master-disciple scene, where terms like "Ultimate Skill" and "Supreme Pleasure" are bandied about (I am so glad kung fu was developed in the East).

To girlfriends and wives who think that The Lost Diary of Don Juan will help re-ignite that dying flame, do bear in mind that it's just a lit-fic novel. It's not a bad read, if you can stomach the cheesy parts so integral in such stories. Strange things happen when fiction is taken too seriously – remember The Da Vinci Code?

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The Lost Diary of Don Juan

Douglas Carlton Abrams
Atria Books
307 pages
Fiction
ISBN: 978-1-4165-4701-3

Bits From The Beebs

I opened up the BBC News web site and see this headline: Colombian rebels FARCed!

Gosh, it's been a while since the last-shock-to-the-system: Steve Irwin's untimely demise - but that was from Yahoo! News. Anyway, it's a great start to a crummy day. The rebels were nothing more than thugs, no better than the people they sought to overthrow. If the Colombian government is smart, they'd capitalise on the political goodwill generated by this rescue - while continuing to keep the now-free Betancourt safe.

Another tasty bit is about China's latest embarrassment: algae off the shores of Qingdao. Thanks to possible factors like pollution, the seaside has never been more "qing".

But chalk it up to Chinese politburo PR to deliver this gem of a whitewash.

...China, embarrassed by the most vivid proof yet of its environmental problems, says the algae is a natural occurrence, and blames the sea for being too salty, the sun for being too hot.

At a news conference earlier in the day one official suggested that algae could be good for you.

"The Japanese eat it," she said.

— Unnamed Chinese official kills two birds
with one stone (emphases mine)

Even if they do eat algae, I'm sure the Japanese have better sense in selecting which ones are safe, despite their fetish for neurotoxic seafood.

Why don't you, Madam Chinese Government Mouthpiece, pick up a strand of good green Qingdao algae with a pair of chopsticks, swirl it around a dish of soy sauce and sesame oil and take a deep hearty slurp, and let us know how it goes?

If you're still alive after a week, you just found a solution to your tangled verdant mess. The Beijing Olympics, if you didn't know already, kicks off next month. The bogged-down volunteers can just eat the mess away. You don't need the Japs for that, do you?

Blowing In The Wind

My first piece for Off The Edge, in the July 2008 issue. Though not one of my best ones, I felt that "firsts" should have a place in any portfolio.

"Blowing in the wind", Off The Edge, July 2008

It was potentially hackle-raising, because it had to be a "balanced" piece on corporate social responsibility (CSR) programmes, with some focus on HSBC. Needless to say, I found a whole lot more about the subject than was needed for the piece. It was never our intention to question the motives in any firm's adoption of CSR.

Sincere apologies for any offence caused by this article.