Book 246: Punjab (English) – Saintly Sinner = Pavitra Paapi (Nanak Singh)

The day went by, and night enveloped the world in its dark blanket. As time passed, the storms raging inside Kedar gathered strength. He could no longer see anything inside the room. His mind was spinning out of control, like a twig adrift in a whirlpool. Caught in the vortex of a swift and powerful current, he drifted for hours until he reached a place that is beyond the pale of intelligence or reason, where the overpowering torrents choke the human spirit before contemptuously tossing it aside as unconscious or half dead, where the boundaries between man and beast begin to merge, where the distinctions between friends and strangers, between truth and fiction begin to evaporate.

 

We haven’t been to Asia for quite a while; since I was reading in population order, and the countries and even territories are very populous, I got through them quite a while ago. Since Punjab is one of the most populous places that isn’t independent but that many would like to be (and simply because I love literature from the Subcontinent so much), this is an excuse to have a trip back to Asia.

Punjab was divided between India and Pakistan in the bloody split and independence in 1947. (Punjab suffered perhaps more bloodshed and dislocation from this than any other part of India, since the arbitrary boundaries drawn suddenly left millions of people on the ‘wrong side’ according to their religion. Read Freedom at Midnight by Dominique Lapierre and Larry Collins for this amazing story). Now it forms a state in both countries, with a Muslim majority in Pakistan, and a Sikh majority and large Hindu minority in India. The Punjabi language, again one of the most spoken in the world, is also split in its written form: Arabic script in Pakistan, Gurmukhi script in India (a Sikh script related to Hindi, etc.) Since India is a majority Hindu nation, and there seems less room for other religions under BJP rule, many Sikhs would like to create their own homeland in Punjab (which they would call Khalistan).

In 1984 Indian Prime Minister Indira Gandhi ordered a military operation to oust militants from the Sikhs’ holiest site, the Golden Temple, in Amritsar. Two of her Sikh bodyguards assassinated her in revenge. The Indian government has recently been accused by Canada and the US of having assassinated and of wanting to assassinate (respectively) Sikh separatists living in their countries. An organisation called Sikhs for Justice (banned in India) has been holding unofficial referendums for independence among the Sikh emigré communities, e.g. in the UK, Canada, Australia and this month in the USA.

Anyway enough background, on to my Punjabi book. It took quite a while to find a suitable one – there are lots in English, but they all seemed to be written by Punjabis living in the UK, Australia, etc.! Many thanks to my friend Raj for suggesting the poet, songwriter and ‘father of the Punjabi novel’, Nanak Singh. A popular Hindi film was made of Saintly Sinner.

The story takes place in the 1930s (that is, in the British Raj, before Partition). I guess you could say it’s a story about dharma, the need to try to do your duty (which may be impossible when your duties clash). The hero (Kedar) is always trying to do the right thing, but gets drawn deeper and deeper into a morass of lies and deception. Yet there is no ‘original sin’ he commits that would make us feel he deserves his sad fate. It’s just the way life turns out. In a way it’s as tragic as Romeo and Juliet.

It starts when Kedar gets a job with a watchmaker, inadvertently replacing Panna Lal who then disappears for the span of the story, leaving his abandoned family in a deep debt that they didn’t know about. Kedar is a good person and feels bad about what had happened, and he takes responsibility for this family. He comes to be loved and trusted by them, and the feeling is mutual – he especially comes to romantically love the eldest sister, Veena, though it’s hard for him to act on this since he has effectively become her brother. (She calls him Bharaji, which I think is ‘brother’ with an honorific -ji ending). Although he wishes it was himself, when Veena is promised to someone else in marriage he honourably accepts responsibility for raising her dowry for the greedy in-laws (since the family can’t afford it themselves), though he can’t afford it either. Veena herself is still too young to sort out her feelings, she has to suddenly see her relationship with Kedar in a totally different light but doesn’t have time to work out what to do, even if she was allowed to decide her own fate. She seems too dazed or powerless to care which of the prospects she would really want to be married to. All this leaves Kedar too in a despairing mood.

Kedar has been deceiving the family that Panna Lal hadn’t in fact lost his job but had been sent away for business, and was still writing them letters via himself, Kedar (who actually wrote them himself). For me it was a bit hard to believe that all this time the family didn’t ask for their father’s address, from either Kedar or the watchmaker. 

The translation from Punjabi looks fluent and the tale is easy and pleasurable to read. The story is a little melodramatic and elements seem a little unbelievable, but it’s very touching and a great story. It’s heartbreaking following two good people trying to do the right thing but being constantly unfairly battered on the seas of fate. It’s a bit Sophoclean in that you feel that people trying their best shouldn’t be put in tragically impossible scenarios. But (sometimes) that’s life.

 

Nanak Singh (1897 – 1971), Saintly Sinner, translated by Navdeep Suri [his grandson], New Delhi, Amit Bhatia for A’N’B Publishers, 2003, ISBN 9788175390294

Book 230: Inner Mongolia (English) – Wolf Totem (Jiang Rong)

Mugwort fires were lit in all the brigade camps that night, hundreds of them releasing dense smoke in the moonlight and creating an image of giant dragons rolling and dancing in the air. It was as if the primitive grassland had suddenly entered the industrial age, with factory chimneys spewing white smoke to create a magnificent panorama. The smoke not only held off the crazed mosquitoes but also had an awesome effect on the wolves, who had been starving under the plague.

This novel is an absolutely amazing insight into the lives of wolves, and how they interact with the Mongolian nomads sharing the steppe with them (everything you ever wanted to know about wolves, but were rightfully too scared to ask).

The so-called Inner Mongolia Autonomous Region (as opposed to [Outer] Mongolia, which has remained as an independent, uncolonised country) is part of the Peoples Republic of China. The Mongols under the successors of Genghis Khan conquered China and established their Yuan Dynasty there. The Ming Dynasty continued to exercise hegemony (despite rebellions), and when another foreign (and final) one, the Manchus’ Qing Dynasty, took over, they inherited Inner Mongolian lands. Subsequent Chinese rulers, including the Communists, have continued to claim it as their territory. (Outer Mongolia escaped due to strong Russian influence).

During the so-called Cultural Revolution in the 1970s, city ‘intellectuals’ were sent or volunteered to work in the countryside and supposedly learn from the country folk. In this story, two of them, Chen and Yang, are sent to live with the nomads in Inner Mongolia and both are very sympathetic to the Mongols’ lifestyle and fascinated by the wolves. They determine to raise a wolf cub in order to learn more about them. This causes friction with both the Mongols and the Han, and proves incredibly difficult, and ultimately tragic.

Chen is obviously the author’s alter ego. Jiang Rong, who was born in Jiangsu province, also volunteered to work in Inner Mongolia during the Cultural Revolution. Jiang Rong, at least, certainly did learn from the locals. He lived with the Mongol nomads for 11 years, studied their life and culture (obviously very deeply), along with wolves (ditto), and… raised a wolf cub. It is 100% obvious throughout the book that he knows what he’s talking about. He obviously came to be passionate about the nomads and their losing fight to hold onto their land, traditions and way of life in the face of the invasion from the south. (At the time, Han Chinese, especially farmers, were starting to move up onto the grasslands.) Of course, change is inevitable everywhere (I suppose I contributed in some minuscule way by teaching English for a week in Salaqi) but you would hope that it would be carried out thoughtfully, knowledgably and compassionately, and surely nowadays we recognise that indigenous peoples have a right not to lose their lands and lifestyles to outside colonisation.

What goes on between the people and the wolves is almost like a war – and the wolves are at least as strategically intelligent and ferocious as the humans. It is almost like an arms race – as soon as one side comes up with a new trick, the other must come up with counter-measures and essay a new stratagem of its own. (It’s a much more useful primer in warfare, to my mind, than Sunzi’s The Art of War). Yet they are both mutually dependent for survival; even the environment depends on both of them. The grassland wolves turn out to be key to understanding why the Mongols are what they are – for example, the unbelievable speed of Genghis Khan’s conquests, his brilliant strategy, the ruthlessness of his generals especially, the lack of concern about discomfort – and why the empire had to end where the Eurasian grassland did. Even the evolution of the Mongol horses can be attributed to the wolves.

On this topic – I always thought of the Mongols and their horses as being inseparable, but reading this made me aware of the huge amount of damage they actually do to the grasslands (not only in Australia!) They seem to be in some ways almost as foreign to the grasslands as the agriculturalists are.

Both the wolves themselves and the whole grassland ecosystem, including the nomadic lifestyle, are endangered by Chinese (Han) colonisation, agriculture and greed. Of course, nowadays we finally realise the importance for the health of an ecosystem of retaining its apex predators, such as wolves and sharks. Several places in the world are now trying to re-wild areas by re-introducing wolves. Perhaps China will eventually do this too. But it’s sad that what should have been obvious at the time wasn’t prevented. (I could say that about other things, like ripping out the formerly excellent bicycle lane infrastructure to replace with polluted car-clogged roads).

The Chinese cadres come across as ruthless and lacking understanding of the issues, though they are determined to develop the region. The native Mongols tend to address the Han cadres and students as ‘You Chinese’ – it seems these outsiders will never fully understand how the grassland lifestyle works, even those like Chen who are determined to understand as much as possible.

It was rather shocking that the outsiders were quite willing to totally exterminate marmots (essential scarcity food) as collateral in the campaign against the wolves. During Mao’s time it was apparently nothing to try to exterminate species seen as pests, or just nuisances.

The sad conclusion reached by Chen – and us – is that the only safe place to go to for the wolves, swans, etc. and the Mongols themselves, is independent Outer Mongolia.

Much as we sympathise with Chen, raising the wolf cub to study inevitably involved not only depriving it of freedom but also a great deal of cruelty to it. He realises this and feels very guilty, but by then it is impossible to return the wolf to the wild (he had to file its teeth). We can see this as a microcosm of how many animals have to suffer for our scientific knowledge.

This is an absolutely incredible novel, in the depth of understanding of the interconnected lives of wolves, Mongol nomads, and other creatures of the steppes. It is a master class in both ecology and warfare and a sad testament to a lost world (at least in Inner Mongolia).

Jiang Rong (1946 – ), Wolf Totem, translated from Chinese by Howard Goldblatt, NY…, Penguin, 2008, ISBN 978-0-14-311514-4

Book 196: Maldives (English) – Foiled (Amyna)

He stopped a few feet away from the café. It was not teeming with activity, but most of the tables were occupied. At some of the tables sat a sole person, but most were occupied by couples who looked deeply into each other’s eyes, as most young couples do. The tables were not close enough for the occupants to be disturbed by each others’ conversations. From where Justin stood, he could see that the café was attractively designed. The tables were adorned with red and white checked cloths, and the chairs shone as only the newly lacquered do. He noticed these details even from this distance.

First a disclaimer – a romantic thriller isn’t my normal choice for fiction reading. But this project was meant to get me out of my comfort zone in all senses of the word… And there is sadly almost nothing in the way of fiction from the Maldives to choose from.

The story is not set in any country in particular, but obviously not in the Maldives. Fiona is damaged, and suspicious – perhaps paranoid? Her ‘past’ has left her vulnerable to dubious men. Two men are after her – the (too?) charming Rob, who she falls for, and the possessive Justin (who acts more like a stalker). And she does fear being stalked. Policeman Jim (her friend’s fiancé) wants to find out what’s wrong. It is up to him, and us, to work out who is good and who is evil.

Sometimes it was hard to believe the characters’ motives. Despite her fears, and the scary find of the overturned herb bowl in her kitchen, Fiona continues to leave her door and windows unlocked, and her curtains not drawn, which seems inexplicable. As does the fact that Justin can see her blushing through the window! It also seems strange that she feels relieved when Jim does catch someone stalking in the garden! On the whole I felt that Jim didn’t act like a policeman. It also seems incredible that although Justin is continuously stalking her, he can’t imagine that it’s him she’s scared of. Personally I found it uncomfortable to be watching through a spy’s eyes without knowing his motive.

As usual with a self-published book, there are infelicities and inconsistencies that an editor would have jumped on straight away. For example, one passage (p.130) is clumsily written from Justin’s view point, but presents the observed Fiona’s thoughts. The Portuguese taxi driver Pedro’s English mistakes were inconsistent. Justin is described as a tough man with no feelings for any other human being, but the story belies this. As for his reason for trying to protect Fiona (because she’s beautiful and ‘I know his type’, it seems rather lame.

Despite my reservations about some elements of the plot, the story was not so bad, especially in its portrayal of the fear and uncertainty of being stalked, and for a self-published book the production was comparatively professional.

Amyna, Foiled, USA, 2013, ISBN 9781490498133

Book 190: Brunei (English) – The Forlorn Adventure (Amir FALIQUE)

The Mond 13 astronauts got on their feet, and with Captain Lee in the middle, they walked side by side. People moved out of the way as the men followed ranston out of the building. There were more and more people as they made their way to the front doors. Blinding lights flashed as they headed out. Security officers instantly went into action to stop the photographers from using their flashes. as their eyes slowly adjusted, they could see that there were many people cheering them; some tried to ask for autographs but were denied by the officers. They smiled and waved, knowing that their pictures were still being taken even though the flashings had stopped. A huge projector screen neerby displayed them walking proudly, like celebrity movie stars.

This self-published novel is the future story of Brunei’s first astronaut (who hadn’t been on a plane before – or even out of the country…) Considering the number of thirteens that came up when he was selected, including of his spaceship, he might also have given pause for thought (such as, Houston, we have a problem)… especially since astrology is apparently one of the subjects for study (though I hope that was a typo for astronomy – not the only conflation between the two in this story!) Sadly, the story does come out as unscientific as a Hollywood sci-fi blockbuster.

The future as Falique foresees it is interesting. It’s great to see the new prominence of Brunei Darussalam. I look forward to having a convenient Bruneian restaurant round the corner from where I live! It’s a little surprising that language hasn’t changed in half a millennium – not even the slang! (Although the verb conjugation with ‘thou’ has either changed, or was incorrect). There are no hovercars, but it is a classless society. But people are still smoking. It is good to know that a ‘Polaroid phone’ can survive that long. It’s good to know that global warming apparently didn’t happen – at least it doesn’t get any mention. For time-strapped world-readers, it’s perhaps a relief to know that there are still only about 195 countries on the planet.

But you would think that having to wait 500 years for a second flight might be slightly boring…

I couldn’t help thinking that making fun of the Chinese shopkeeper’s English (or Chinglish) accent was a little racist (and unrealistically portrayed). Yet another linguistic misunderstanding is that the Japanese lady has an ‘l’ in her name.

So – not the greatest novel ever written (SF or otherwise), but it felt like a major achievement to find any novel from Brunei at all. The villain is a bit too obvious. The story ends in a supernova of sentimentality.

According to his mini-biography,

“Amir Falique was born at St. Mary’s hospital in England, natheless [sic] he spent most of his lifetime living in the tranquil kingdom of Brunei Darussalam. He dislikes writing about himself in third-person.”

Falique, Amir, The Forlorn Adventure, 2018, ISBN 978-1986161886

Book 185: Sikkim (English) – The Fragile Thread of Hope (Pankaj GIRI)

The sight of the landscape was breathtaking. It seemed as if they had gained the highest peak of Gangtok. the range of mountains visible towards the west felt insignificant. The farther away the mountains were, the more their colour seemed to drop from green to blue and then lighter shades of blue. Dark clouds looming above the hilly horizon were on the verge of swallowing the setting sun. Droopy branches of cherry blossom trees hung over the narrow pathway like a natural roof. A small Tibetan-style shed stood overlooking the string of cowering hills. She found herself walking towards it. She clung to the cemented railing and took in the spectacular panorama. A chilly gust flirted with her hair.

This is a novel with a series of disasters and romances in two families, linked by a fragile thread of hope. From childhood, Soham blames himself for his brother’s death. Fiona has survived a horrible childhood to find her lover. But both are hit by tragedy (the story begins with a dramatic car crash) and it is an immense struggle for both of them to recover and love again..

Although it is set in Gangtok, Sikkim (and in Bangalore), it is a novel of the Nepalese community there and I could have wished to learn a bit more about Sikkim. (The majority of people in Sikkim are now Nepalis). Maybe Sikkimese culture is not so prominent since the Indian takeover? The characters are generally addressed by their Nepali kinship terms rather than their names, which was a bit hard for me to remember. The skipping back and forth through time was initially a little confusing (as it often is for me).

The novel explores the themes of coincidence, love, guilt, dealing with trauma, alcoholism, religion, and above all, hope. Hope is what makes us survive, but optimism is what makes us humans progress. While I wouldn’t call it a “literary masterpiece” (as does one of the quotes in the back cover blurb), it was an enjoyable read.

Giri, Pankaj, The Fragile Thread of Hope, New Delhi, Fingerprint Passion, 2019, ISBN 978 93 8956 720 5

Book 182: Macau (English) – The Bewitching Braid = A Trança Feiticeira (Henrique de Senna Fernandes)

They entered the wide stretch of the Rua das Estalgens, which was as animated and bustling as the street they had left, with its hawkers and little stalls blocking access to the shops, in a permanent fairground atmosphere. The same smells and cries, noisy conversations, bellowing of the rickshaw coolies, creaking drays and mixture of voices. A wandering barber advertised his services, pointing to his customers’ chair. At that very moment, the old street dentist was burrowing holes in the teeth of some poor devil who was shrieking, his arms pinned back by a powerful assistant. The storyteller had gathered his audience and was embarking on the eloquent account of the deeds of a legendary hero.

I didn’t know much about the former Portuguese colony of Macau, across from Hong Kong, apart from gambling being the major ‘industry’, which sadly put me off visiting when I had the chance. This lovely romance set in the pre-war colony was a wonderful glimpse into what life was like then; I assume it’s changed a great deal since the casinos, modernisation and the Chinese takeover in 1999.

In the 1930s, the handsome Adozinho, who is a rich, philanderer and a bit of a weakling from the Portuguese community, rejects the rich widow he is apparently destined for, when he falls for a poor but spirited and beautiful Chinese water seller (with her incomparable hair braid), which for both of them means being excommunicated from their communities, friends and families. They both give up everything for each other, but manage to make good. Despite his boasting and womanising (at almost 33 he is still a ‘big child’), Adozinho proves to be a faithful and loving husband, and the sweet A-Leng proves deft at defending herself with her water-carrying pole! Despite having rejected the societal norms that were expected of them, will they be able to find reconciliation with their past worlds?

There is a great introduction to Macanese history, the writer, the translation and the story, and a good glossary.

Like a multicultural society itself, the lovers need to deploy diplomacy, compromise, intelligence, the need to re-invent oneself, and sheer hard work to thrive. I really enjoyed this one and would love to see the film made of it. 

Fernandes, Henrique de Senna (1923 – ), The Bewitching Braid, translated from Portuguese by David Brookshaw, Hong Kong, Hong Kong University Press, 2004, ISBN 962 209 718 9

Book 180: Bhutan (English) – The Hero with a Thousand Eyes (Karma Ura)

On the evening before the start of the festival, the community met in the main hall of the community shrine, the venue of the festival. All the residents of the village gathered in this very impressive, pillared hall on the second floor, to discuss the organizational and logistic preparation for the festival. The hall had elaborate pictorials on the walls and statues, sculpture, and metallic casts of gods. At first, I thought there was a subtle incongruity between the exquisite artistic work on the walls and in the sculptures on the one hand, and the peasants on the other, who nevertheless seemed able to feel absolutely at home in the temple, whether they were herders, cultivators, housewives, weavers or lay priests.

On deeper reflection, there was no incongruity in this. In fact, on second thought, I realized that the same peasants were the painters, artists, designers, engineers, carpenters, masons, builders, architects and sculptors of the community shrine. They had participated in its creation, according to their respective capacities. The shrine manifested their abilities and views. The second incongruity I felt was the buffoonery and teasing that went on in the midst of a serious discussion in a shrine. Yet again, on reflection, I found myself agreeable to the whole idea of a sacred shrine where there was no solemnity and rigidity. The gods in their symbolic polarities – past and future, male and female, peaceful and wrathful, ascetic and locked in sex, all suggested to me, at that moment, an open-ended, unfathomable yet ironic situation.

This is probably the least novelistic novel I’ve read. It has very little plot and hardly any dialogue. On the other hand, the insight into Bhutanese civilisation, both present and recently vanished, is fascinating.

Bhutan is one of my favourite countries, although I haven’t been able to afford to travel there since the government only seems to want rich tourists, although (perhaps unlike them?) I’ve been learning about the country for years… hear endeth today’s whinge. The Himalayan kingdom is most famous for prioritising ‘gross national happiness’ over GNP, and seems to have achieved an enviable balance between preserving its traditional culture and cherry-picking the best of the modern world. Evolutionary change was engineered from the top down by reforming monarchs, who seem to have genuinely had the country’s best interests at heart, even sometimes seemingly against their own interests (introducing democratic government before there was a public clamour for it).

The novel is mostly set in the royal court a few decades ago, and the main character is a courtier. In his quiet rural area, he is recognised as the incarnation of lama Chokey Dorji, and his life changes forever. He comes to serve the second and third kings, Jigme Wangchuk and Jigme Dorji Wangchuk, and witnesses (and takes part in) great changes in his country. (He could also have enriched himself if he had the commercial acumen of Mipam, from my Tibetan novel). He does sometimes break the law, though.

Some of the problems that have to be dealt with by the reform are that of compulsory hospitality; excessive taxation; the abolition of serfdom; and the outdated labour levy. The novel turns into a bit of a panegyric of the reforming third King Jigme Dorji Wangchuk, who led the slow, top-down revolution.

I felt there were some things I needed to know, that the author didn’t tell me. For example, the lama travels to India, which must have been exciting – yet he mentions nothing but his bus/plane sickness. When the 58 women dancers taunt the archers (archery is the national sport) with sexual innuendo, including the king – what was his reaction? What was the ‘intrigue’ mentioned in 1976 that endangered the state?

I finished the novel still uncertain about why the title, the Hero with a Thousand Eyes, was chosen.

There is a good glossary, but it doesn’t include all the Bhutanese words, just those heavily used. I also thought there were too many personal names used that were not important for the plot.

Some parts of the story were funny, such as the ‘night crawling’ incidents (as the Samoans would call them). On the whole, I enjoyed it and found it an enjoyable opportunity to visit an intriguing country and to see it from the inside.

Karma Ura, The Hero with a Thousand Eyes: a historical novel, Thimphu, Centre for Bhutan Studies, 1995, ISBN 81-7525-001-1

Book 178: Cyprus (English) – The Spice Box Letters (Eve MAKIS)

I looked out into the airy distance, trying to summon good memories but only stabbing thoughts would come: Mariam’s body turned to bone, scattered fragments of meta-carpals and phalanges buried like fallen twigs beneath a pelt of earth. I tried to conjure a living version of my sister, a beautiful ghost with glowing olive skin. The sea was a blue canvas in flux. I stared hard at the evolving shapes and by sheer force of will, Mariam rose like salt spray in a dress of white foam, her dark hair fanning out as she leapt up and twirled, before melting into the ocean. She came at my bidding and left of her own volition, as fleetingly as many other ghosts that lurked on the periphery of my consciousness.

From one divided island country loved by tourists to another, in a much more tragic and currently insoluble situation. The independent country is ruled by the Greek community, the north by the Turks (as a result of the 1974 Turkish invasion, to forestall a feared union with Greece). But it is the beautiful island where Aphrodite landed in a spume of foam.

Katerina inherits a beautiful spice box from her grandmother Mariam, holding a diary and letters. From them, she learns about the Armenian genocide of 1915 and what Mariam went through. While some Turks (and Kurds) were cruel, others were kind – some Turks rescued Mariam’s brother Gabriel from a pile (he becomes very prickly). When the Turkish Cypriot militia takes over his suburb, Gabriel becomes a refugee for the second time.

Chasing up the story takes Katerina across Cyprus and to the US. Cyprus has a large Armenian community, and author Makis too comes from an Armenian family.

Tragically, intermarriage, which should be wonderful, is considered by some Armenians as ‘white genocide’ because it causes the loss of their culture (a real possibility when such a huge proportion of the Armenian community is in exile). Parents are faced with a dilemma – should they be be liberal with their children, or preserve their culture and language?

This novel has lovely descriptions of people and places and some beautiful writing. Despite the serious topic, there is some delicious humour – I especially loved Gabriel’s encounter with the snake! I suspect, too, that the author loves cooking!

Makis, Eve, The Spice Box Letters, Dingwall, Scotland, Sandstone Press, 2015, ISBN 978-1-910124-08-6

Book 174: East Timor/Timor Leste (French) – Requiem pour Alain Gerbault = Requiem para o navegador solitário (Luis CARDOSO)

“Are you waiting for someone, Catarina?”

He had surprised me on the balcony watching the sea.

César Semedo didn’t seem to me to be caught up in the atmosphere of fear which had seized the city. I said to him that, while time was passing, everyone was watching the sea, waiting for the arrival of its ghost. This could be just as well a Portuguese ship as the Japanese fleet or the sailboat of a solitary sailor.

[my translation]

This romance by East Timor’s premier writer (now living in Portugal) is inspired by real events. During World War II, this little Portuguese colony, isolated on the other side of the world from its ruler in the middle of the Dutch East Indies (which was soon to become Indonesia), is feeling abandoned and gripped by an atmosphere of waiting. It is waiting for the solo French sailor, who had circumnavigated the globe, Alain Gerbault; for the Portuguese ship on which everyone depends for survival; and for the Japanese, who are sweeping down through Southeast Asia and menacing the abandoned colony.

In a few ways the love story was reminiscent of my Jamaican novel. Catarina has read the journal of Gerbault’s voyage and can’t wait for his arrival, she dreams he will be the Prince Charming to save fer from the cruel life she has suffered. When Gerbault finally arrives, he is sick with malaria and needing the nurse which she becomes (he is more like a ghost than her Prince Charming), and he ends up dying in Dili in 1941. She is an avid cat collector and gives them people’s names (the novel seems to be populated with more cats than people). She ‘inherits’ his boat, and all her visitors bring her a cat as a present. Here she witnesses the Japanese invasion.

Alain Gerbault is probably mostly forgotten nowadays, except perhaps in Timor Leste and in France (the original Portuguese and the other translations – it hasn’t been translated into English – don’t mention his name in the title, but are called more anonymously “Requiem for the Solitary Sailor”). What I enjoyed most about it, apart from learning about a corner of history unknown to me, was the atmosphere of tropic torpor and expectation.

CARDOSO, Luís (1958 – ), Requiem pour Alain Gerbault, translated from Portuguese by Catherine Dumas, Toulouse, Arkuis, 2014, ISBN 978-2-919090-02-0

(First published in Portuguese, 2007)

CARDOSO, Luís (1958 – ), Requiem pour Alain Gerbault, translated from Portuguese by Catherine Dumas, Toulouse, Arkuis, 2014, ISBN 978-2-919090-02-0

(First published in Portuguese, 2007)

 

Book 169: Goa (English): Saudade (Suneeta PERES DA COSTA)

 

My mother told me that the dead walk backward; she said, they try to walk forward but can only walk backward. When she told me that, I was sitting on the step that led from the kitchen to the compound, my hand cupped on her kneecap. A draught of shadows from the pink guava tree splayed on the concrete when the sunlight pierced the clouds overhead. That was our first house; the one in which I was born in Benguela, and I can still see it in my mind’s eye, close and shimmering like a still life, although it probably has like so much else now gone…

 

This novella is actually set almost entirely in Angola. Young narrator Maria Cristina, from a family of Goan immigrants, grows up under Portuguese rule there during its excruciating independence struggle (which doesn’t seem to have much effect on the colonialist families in the cities, until the end). She is haunted by a fear of the spirits of the dead – with their reversed feet. Her relationship with her mother is beautifully described. Only right at the end does she go to India – in a dream. (She gives herself the name Saudade, which the author translates as ‘lostness’ – as good an interpretation as any for this untranslatable, iconic Portuguese word). For Portugal was going to lose Angola, and its whole empire. It was interesting to see the close ties between the various constituents of the Lussophone world – apart from Angola, Portugal, Brazil, Mozambique, Goa, Madeira, Cape Verde and the Azores all put in cameo appearances. In Luanda and other cities, the street names are of Portuguese heroes – renamed since independence – which seems to underline the sense of impending loss.

I wish that some of the blank pages had been used for a glossary – almost none of the Angolan, Indian or Portuguese words are explained. The political situation in Angola (for example, the differences between the contending groups of freedom fighters) is also left as a mystery to most people nowadays.

Although we follow her life as she matures, not a great deal happens, and I wish it were longer. The author admits that she discovered some errors of fact after the event. But don’t let that put you off – the descriptive writing is really beautiful and I really enjoyed reading it.

 

Peres da Costa, Suneeta, Saudade, Oakland, Transit, 2019, ISBN 9781945492280

(first published Australia 2018)

 

Book 168: Bahrain (English) – Yummah (Sarah A. AL SHAFEI)

 

 

Dana was the one who killed me the most. She loved her freedom and liberty and had a very strong personality, very different than her quiet self when she was much younger. She wanted much more than what she had, and her ambition and enthusiasm always got her what she wanted. Even when her father left, she had chosen to look forwards rather to than [sic] think of the loss like the rest of us; “Baba wanted another life and so he went to look for it. I also want a better life and will prove to Baba some day that we were better off without him anyway,” she told me once. And maybe she was right.

 

At first I was a bit disappointed with Yummah. But I came to love it. The plot is not all that exciting – and in any case some spoilsport put effectively all of it into the back page blurb – and the writing is also not thrilling, or literary, which is not to say that there is anything wrong with it at all. But I had no problem keeping reading the story of Khadeeja and her family down through the generations.

As a 12-year-old, she is torn away from her doll and forced into an arranged marriage to a much older man. Her mother dies soon after, leaving her with two unknown brothers and a husband, though she does come to know and love the latter and have a happy life. She then comes to lose both a child and her husband, struggles to raise her huge family without him, and suffers more tragedies before the dénouement.

For me, it was heartbreaking to see her still speaking to her doll even when she has had nine children and two miscarriages, and when she has to sell her hair in order to pay for a hajj.

So, not the greatest novel ever written and I couldn’t help thinking, “not another novel about the unjust and/or hard life of Islamic women”, but well worth reading.

 

Al Shafei, Sarah A., Yummah, London, Athena Press, 2005, ISBN 1 84401 368 5

Book 156: Qatar (English) – Love comes Later (Mohanalakshmi RAJAKUMAR)

            “We need to bring up our own teams in advance of the Cup,” someone is saying, echoing Chairman Ahmed, who wags his head up and down with such enthusiasm his ghutra [male head covering] wobbles.

            Abdulla swallows, his breath constricted by his starched collar. He drinks more and more water as the discussion swirls around him. The world’s fattest nation, planning to integrate sports into society? he thinks. Why not get rid of McDonald’s first?

            “You want to say something?”  Uncle Ahmed’s eyebrows draw together, a ripple of creases rising on his forehead.

            In the growing silence, all eyes turn in the direction of the chairman’s gaze. Abdulla raises his shoulders to shrug but the glowing red light at the base of the microphone in front of him makes him realize he has spoken his criticism out loud.

This one was a bit of a slow burn at first but I came to love it! I was thinking, not another Arab novel about the sad lot of women (perhaps more a comment on what Western publishers think Western readers will expect – I’d be surprised if untranslated fiction from that part of the world isn’t much more diverse than what we get to read). Though I have to admit all these Arabic novels I’ve read have been great, and not as same-ish as I would have expected.

Another thing I love about this one is that it’s not so much about the predictable relationship between the Arab and Western worlds, as between the former and the Indian subcontinent, like some of the novels of Amitabh Ghosh (one of my favourite writers). The similarities and (surprisingly few) differences between the lives and marriage customs of Muslim and Indian women were fascinating. It was great to see the Muslim woman’s lot portrayed as not all negative and unbearable as many Westerners think. Quite a few stereotypes get broken. Qatari women wearing sexy clothes under their abayas?

Qatar is obviously one of those stultifying small countries, which will become increasingly common from now on, where everyone knows everyone else and everyone else’s business. Let’s call it the small country effect. I can’t imagine what it’s like to live in such a large family. And living in one of the world’s richest countries obviously doesn’t make life a bed of roses for everyone.

The plot was far from predictable (for me at least), with lots of surprising twists and turns – even the title (from which I inferred that an arranged marriage eventually would warm into true love). The symmetrical conclusion I was hoping for doesn’t eventuate – and, on reflection, would have been impossible. And everyone seems to like those they’re not supposed to.

It’s difficult to discuss the plot without giving anything away. Abdulla’s wife Fatima is killed in a car accident driven by his uncle Ahmed. Fatima’s vivacious sister Luluwa is rejected by her parents and goes to live with Abdulla’s family. He doesn’t want to re-marry despite unrelentingly heavy familial pressure. Eventually he has to get engaged to Hind (’India’) despite the reluctance both of them – he takes little persuading to let her go to the UK for a year to finish MA before the marriage. There Hind makes friends with fellow Indian-American student Sangita in London, and spontaneously goes on a secret trip to India with Sangita’s brother Ravi – this can’t end well? The imbroglio takes place against the background of the London Olympics and of Qatar gearing up to host the soccer World Cup.

The author is herself a South Asian American who has lived in Qatar since 2005. For a self-published book, the quality is high, the main slip-up being that sometimes a line of dialogue is joined with the next character’s reaction, along with some indentation problems, which sometimes confused me momentarily. Romance fiction isn’t usually my thing, but if you like it, or just a fascinating insight into two cultures, I can wholeheartedly recommend this intricate, surprising and often funny novel.

Rajakumar, Mohanalakshmi, Love comes Later, 2012, ISBN 978-0-615-91683-5

Book 151: Mongolia (English) – The Blue Sky (Galsan TSCHINAG)

I felt as if the joy that had filled me when I saw Grandma for the first time had stayed inside me like some wave or like a breeze of light burning so intensely and radiantly that it blazed a bright trail through the time since I had last seen her. By now the river had become impassable since the cool of the night could no longer weld together for even a few hours the shards of ice that were breaking apart. The icy mass was like softened clay that sank beneath a horse’s hoof.

This is the story of a Mongolian shepherd boy (who shares the author’s name, Dschurukuwaa, along with much of the story) of the Tuvan nationality at the cusp of a changing world – in fact a very similar world to that of Abai, my Kazakh novel; both the traditional nomadic lifestyles and the creeping appearance of Communism are very similar. Most people don’t realise that Mongolia was the second country to become Communist (apart from the short-lived Béla Kun regime in Huntary); Marx and Engels surely never planned for Communism to be imposed on nomads, and collectivising and imposing quotas on those in thrall to the vagaries of the weather is crazy.

The Blue Sky is written through the eyes of a child, but unlike most stories like that, where the child’s adult self remembers more than is believable or has too much adult understanding in retrospect, this one worked for me.

Although his becoming a shaman (like the author) comes after this first volume, his feeling of closeness with nature is obvious here.

His relationship with his grandmother is lovely. During her tragic life, her wicked sister had stolen almost all her property. She finds consolation and happiness in looking after Dschurukuwaa.

As we follow him growing up, little Dschurukuwaa has a frightening accident, falling into simmering kettle of milk. The close relationship with his dog Arsylang, who can communicate with him, is lovely.

The most touching moment was the time of Dschut (violent weather), with its heartbreaking deaths of the animals.

The author is of the Tuvan ethnicity, a minority in Mongolia (though they have their own Tyva Republic in the Russian

Federation – it was briefly independent to 1921 to 1944 and some its unusual stamps are among my most treasured!)

This novel was first published in Germany in German, as were the two subsequent volumes, and the English translation uses German spellings which I think really should have been changed for the English translation; a less misleading English transliteration for dshele (rope tether in Tuvan) might be jele; for the Turkic title baj, we would use bai (or bay), and jolka (ёлка, Russian for Christmas tree) would be yolka.

In all, this is a beautiful little story of a boy growing up in a world which is also changing, even though not a great deal happens. The description of traditional life in the legendary Altai Mountains is wonderful.

Galsan Tschinag (in Tuvan: Irgit Schynykbajoglu Dshhurukuwaa) (early 1940s – ), The Blue Sky: a novel, translated from German by Katharina Rout, Minneapolis, Milkweed, 2006, ISBN 978-1-57131-064-4

(first published in German, 1994)

Book 142: Kuwait (English) – The Bamboo Stalk (Saud Alsandousi)

If only my parents could have given me a single, clear identity, instead of making me grope my way alone through life in search of one. Then I would have just one name that would make me turn when someone called me. I would have just one native country. I would learn its national anthem. Its trees and streets would shape my memories and in the end I could lie at rest in its soil. I would have one religion I could believe in instead of having to set myself up as the prophet of a religion that was mine alone.

Josephine is a Filipina who comes to Kuwait to work as a maid. (The majority of the population are non-Kuwait-born). In the shadow of the looming Iraqi invasion, she falls in love with Rashid. But under pressure from his family, he has to send her home with their baby, José (the narrator). 

José grows up with a culturally split identity, and goes back to Kuwait to see if he can fit in to a society biased against him. The novel is also split between his life in the Philippines and in Kuwait. Can he be at home anywhere? (One of the most devastating moments is when, despite having a Kuwaiti passport, the immigration officer takes one look at his Filipino face and sends him to the foreigners’ queue). He had never met his father, and Kuwaiti culture is actually strange to him and is something he has to learn the hard way, but he is desperate to fit in and be accepted. His return, which he believed was expected, throws his Kuwaiti family into confusion and conflict. He is reluctantly allowed to live with them but with the servants as if he were a dirty secret. But their hostility is neither universal nor unambiguous. (He is defended, and mentored, by his half-sister Khawla).

Kuwait is a small and claustrophobic place, and you have to be careful what you say, because you can’t really escape from the Arab society’s judgement. His Kuwaiti family would no doubt have been kinder to him if they were not afraid of losing their reputation in their own society.

The Bamboo Stalk is a devastating insight into what it’s like to be one of the ‘guest workers’ from poorer Asian countries in one of the rich Gulf countries where they form the majority of the population and are depended on to keep the economy running, but cannot find acceptance as full members of the community, have little security and are there as if on sufferance. It seems that in the modern world, identity has never been so important, but never so fraught.

While the writing, at least in translation, doesn’t come across as extraordinary, the novel covers a wide range of extremely important themes in a not oversimplified way.

ALSANOUSI, Saud (1981 – ), The Bamboo Stalk, translated from Arabic by Jonathan Wright, Doha, Hamad bin Khalifa University Press, 2016, ISBN 9789927101793

First published in Arabic 2012

Book 140: Oman (English) – Earth weeps, Saturn laughs (Abdulaziz Al-Farsi)

 

The rest of the conversation was silence, the silence that passes between two people who have known each other for a billion years or more. Two people who’ve lived in the same wilderness and caves, visited the same deserts, spent their evenings talking on the same bank of the sweet river, lived through the evolution of civilization moment by moment until they stood at the top of the pyramid contemplating each other, looking for the wrinkles of the years, remembering all those who have passed away, counting the dead and the living in the long journey f their lives. In my silence, I said, “This is what the human race has come to, Abir. How short the journey has been! It’s as though we hadn’t lived a billion years.” She smiled, and her eyes regarded me with tender affection.

A village (and it is the village which is the main character of this novel) is divided – it ends up with two meeting-houses – and two muezzins. The story comes round in a circle and when the ending came it was what I expected (although not the details). But it was well worth reading! The story is told in turns by seven narrators who are equally the characters in the tale. It begins with the return of the first narrator, Khalid Bakhit, returning from the city to his conservative home village, and ends with his return as a changed man. He is accompanied by his muse, his ‘Saturnine poet’ (who, I must admit, left me confused).

The village suffers from over-conservatism, intolerance and racism. When its meetinghouse is burnt down, it goes to war with itself. That’s not to say there aren’t lighter moments! When regular muezzin Ubayd al-Dik lets newbie Jam’an sound the adhan (call to prayer), he gets one letter wrong (instead of saying ‘Come to salvation’ he says ‘Come to the open country’). Since an adhan mistake also figured in my Lebanese book, I wonder if this is something of a theme in Islamic literature?

There is a lot of very nice poetic writing. (You can take it as read that in any case like this I’m praising the translator as well as the author). All in all, I very much enjoyed this one.

AL FARSI, Abdulaziz (1976 – ), Earth Weeps, Saturn Laughs, translated from Arabic by Nancy Roberts, Cairo/NY, American University in Cairo Press, 2013, ISBN 978 977 416 590 0

First published in Arabic