<e-nd>
it was over text
sans serif black and
white, sealing away
our polychrome days.
i cried once
to the shower head,
put on silent,
set as private.
like is more than blue thumbs;
more than a fluorescent square floating
in the sea of ink flooding your room
each night. your hands formless and untouched,
speaking to no one.
Read 14th Jul 2015
Sometimes you begin a book expecting an easy read, a good read – but instead finds yourself challenged, discomfited, plagued with questions when you anticipated a story. The People in the Trees is that – and because of that, an brilliant novel.
It is written as an autobiographical account by Dr Norton Perina, the writing straightforward and almost medical, which I found very fitting of his character. Despite the terse narrative tone, it remains evocative. Often excessive, occasionally sentimental, the narrative meanders with Perina’s whims. We may miss crucial information, and be assaulted with unnecessary ones, but ultimately we are reminded that this is Perina’s account, and his story to tell.
You would find the protagonist mainly insufferable, for all his indulgent desires and pride. Perina believes himself special, and the rest of the scientific community to be dense or passionless. As obnoxious as he is, there is a strange draw to his neuroses and (very human) tendency towards cruelty. There is little attempt to call for empathy, merely the plain laying out of Perina’s perspective.
The most fascinating section of the book would be, predictably, Norton’s first trip to the Micronesian country and his trek into the jungle. The images of unexplored land and an untouched tribe (and everything else in between) stuck with me long after I’ve put down the book. So graphic was the imagery that I found myself feeling disoriented, stickied by the tropical heat, dazzled by unfamiliar colors. This is also probably the only section that many critiques of this book can stand. From here, it descends into what many harshly brands as ‘moral relativism’.
They are absolutely correct. It is also what – at its very core – is done right with the novel. It transcends most of our expectations of it as a mere adventure novel, becoming instead a shocking insight into colonist harms and inter-cultural moral relativism. I like shocks. Perina’s voice as central works perfectly here, exemplifying the careless way the first world plunges into found societies with little thought of its consequences.
While well-meaning, Perina is preoccupied with what he believes to be the greater good for a scientific community (and the others for anthropological knowledge). Much of the harms and dismissive behavior lay implicit in their actions. It is brilliantly written precisely because Yanagihara is hands off with the reproach. It displays colonist ignorance without being preachy. This is the antithesis to indulgent ‘white’ novels I find to be huge yawns as a Southeast Asian.
At its heart, the novel forces us to face the futility of imposing absolute morals, especially on a culture we know nothing about. The exposé of Perina is a beautiful allegory of how flawed the conception of a universal, superior ‘morality’ is. This is not a novel for the narrow-minded, or anyone who is searching strictly for an ‘adventure’ novel. It is a piercing exploration of anthropology and white superiority, and is fantastic at what it does.
A girl who has not written for twenty years picks up her pen and writes her first word in two decades. The word was ‘I’. She is no longer a girl by now. There are breasts in the way – sometimes she pretends they are not hers, mostly she forgets they are; her hips carry weights, foreign and dull. These days she feels clunky, finds herself picking at a pimple that isn’t there.
On the day she writes for the first time in twenty years, she leaves behind her breasts and hips and phantom pimples.
First she writes an ‘I’, and then pauses. It blinks – innocuous, almost pleadingly – back at her. I in a sea of white, I stranded, I, vast and alone. A sudden sense of nakedness. The girl taps backspace and tries again:
She.
Read on 10th July 15
“I stood looking over my damaged home and tried to forget the sweetness of life on Earth.”
The world is afflicted with a pandemic, and 99% of the population is wiped out. In Year Twenty, a handful of survivors has settled into a makeshift, life post-apocalypse. The almost trite summary of Station Eleven belies a beautiful, profound exploration of what it means to be human on Earth.
The narrative structure is ambitious but successful, selecting an interesting mix of protagonist whose lives are subtly linked along a wide timeline, reaching far back pre-apocalypse and decades after.
One of the most poignant aspects of the novel is the contrast of its central themes. Characters before the virus struggle for an identity in modern society; deal with the urban depression of dead-end careers and iPhone zombies.
In the post-apocalyptic world, skeletons of modern technology lie in plain view; nonfunctional. There is the sweet, pressing desire for a once powered world that is but a fantastical dream. It is this melancholy of a world lost that most strongly draws me to this novel.
Mandel accurately, almost eerily, writes the yearning of man who has experienced and lost Earth as we know it. It’s fascinating how she can reach into such depths of longing while we still live in an age thriving with modernity. This desire of Earth and home is amplified through a tasteful metafiction of Dr Eleven.
Beyond that, Mandel’s writing is on point. She does not just tell a story, but creates a scene. I leave the novel with vivid images in motion. Her word-crafted cinematics are seamless, not excessive enough to tax the imagination. She also does deaths stunningly, strips it of its melodrama and honors them with a grace. And yes, there are plenty of deaths. What did you expect?
The most striking reflection I had was on the human will to survive. In the months following the sudden endemic, the stranded survivors were still waiting for a rescue team to arrive, as it always had. Decades after, even, there is the hope that makes one look up and anticipate an aircraft.
I wonder, in the first few years post-virus – all your family (and most of humanity) gone, what makes one want to live on? When it feels like you’d be the only one left on Earth, or else live threatened by nature and other feral survivors, isn’t death a more desirable choice?
I guess at the core of it, it’s really blind hope that keeps us going. Optimism contradicting all rationality, a human fallacy that propels us to survive beyond good reason.
Read 22nd May 15
Recommended to me by a fellow dystopian novel lover. In summary – it has a great premise and the plot development did it full justice. What didn’t live up to its potential is the execution.
Things I liked:
Character development. I loved Conner, the protagonist. He had a distinct personality and motives, he was flawed, he experienced growth throughout the novel. Lev’s break from his initial beliefs was also very compelling! You know he was less one-dimensional than he appeared to be as a tithe, and this glimpse of him slowly came to view as the story progresses. Even the antagonist, Roland, was complex and believable. The dialogue was also well-written – especially loved Hayden and CyFi’s.
The premise and plot. Shusterman uses what we already have now, and projects it into a plausible future. There’s a slight spiritual twist to it, what with all the philosophical consciousness, but moving scenes and situations were weaved with his fresh concept. An upcoming spoiler here***: one of the ending chapters of Harlan’s parts being united was so chilling. I felt waves of goosebumps all over me. Also one of the few scenes that was well-written.
What I didn’t like:
The execution. Especially at the beginning, instead of presenting a scene or action, the story is bared out in plain narrative. There didn’t leave much for the reader’s inference, and was thus not as engaging as it could be. I love it when dystopian novels do not explicitly explain the world, instead unfolding a scene and allowing the reader to learn about it. It shows me that the writer respects my intelligence enough to keep things implicit. Unwinding had a tendency to spell things out as they were, which i found slightly jarring in the beginning.
The pacing was also quite poor. Some parts felt like rush jobs. There wasn’t a proper build-up, which left certain bigger events quite anti-climatic or inappropriately abrupt. The book is relatively short, so I feel like it could be expanded more for proper pacing. Given how compact it is though, it did a fantastic job developing plot and character.
Will be reading the 2nd book!
Things I desperately need to work on:
1. Caring about things beyond myself and my immediate sphere. Find myself embarrassingly bound by introspection, by issues to do with friends or family. Case in point, right now. My concerns are so contained, so insignificant. On Twitter, Facebook, blogs. Most i do for issues that matter in a larger context is article reading and sharing.
In the wake of GE2015, and taking senior seminar, i’ve been increasingly aware of my apathy. I just don’t care enough to find out – i mean properly find out – what’s wrong or right with this world. It’s not that being politically informed is an obligation, neither do i have to be well-versed in all tenets of social welfare. But. I need to care about something that has to do with the world and not just me, now, here.
Edit: Not just caring, but making the effort to find out about. Not just half-baked ideas, fetal theories. Read up, find some hard evidence to ground myself. Need to recognize the importance of the concrete to bolster the abstract.
2. Donate, and donate consciously. No excuse for this one. Singapore has made it convenient for donations to be made. They are everywhere, and often legitimate. However convenient they are, though, it has become instinctive to brush flaggers and donation boxes aside (something i swore not to do after my experience as a flagger lol).
Yes, so, curb that need to power walk wherever i probably don’t need to rush to. Donate, and donate to causes i believe in.
Read 8th Apr 15
Recommended and borrowed by J. He warns of cheese beforehand, but that it has its good moments. That’s pretty much the most accurate summary I can come up with. It’s quintessentially Singaporean – the best parts of it. We thrive in the cheesy, the nostalgic, toe-ing the line of tacky (stay within it and we’re safe). Teenage Textbook is your JC puppy love condensed into a slim one-sitting novel. The style is tongue-in-cheek, stripped of its pretension. Think of it as an exceptionally compelling series of Dad Jokes. The gems are aplenty, humour is consistent throughout the novel (approx. 4 per page if you’re curious).
Beyond the funnies, this is all in all well-written. A good dose of meta, helmed in smoothly because of how the book is structured. Which brings me to how it’s structured: interspersed with excerpts of the actual Teenage Textbook. I have to applaud Adrian Tan for his effort: the Textbook bits were unnecessary but thoroughly enjoyable breaks. Just bask in Tan’s wit and sometimes attempt-wit, also the retrospectively hilarious 1980s-ish fashion/dating advice.
The nostalgia. I’d think a novel so heavily creamed with slapstick (plus of course written > 2 decades ago) wouldn’t be very relatable to me, but nope. Still evoked that hazy, pleasant, carefree JC daydreams. I was especially touched by the references to curry puffs, which for some reason seems to resonate with all Singaporeans with fond memories in school canteens. Anyway.
Teenage Textbook is perfect for anyone who’s greedy for several elements at once 1) light-heartedness, 2) indulgent feel-good, 3) clever narrative, 4) something to prepare you for that nostalgic SG50 trip. In fact yes, I think TT is just right for 2015. I wish more local writers would be fearless enough to try something other than hipster/wispy, or rid of the compulsion for explicit, literary ~depth. Sometimes all we need is some good, conscious writing rooted in everyday life. And everyday life is more of a comedy than deep rumination tbh.
Having a dream journal is great. Makes me laugh, discover the strangest trends, and affirm that i’m an unfulfilled genius. Just check out the gems my subconscious throws out:
“你一身的massage，就是觉悟他的诅咒。”
Realizing that to be free, we need to undergo suffering.
“Evolution ensured survival of the adaptively advantageous”.
Basically that the strongest survive.
“And Plato said to apply the socially distinct theory of things.”
I have no idea.
“I feel zen zen peripheral to all.”
I’m at peace because my actions and I are but peripheral to everyone else’s life. There’s no need to feel self-conscious or overly responsible.
Yes these are lines my brain cooks up in dreams. SUH WEIRD QING.
1.
Took a really long time warming up to the whole elections heat. In fact i cruised past the rallies, cooling off, and actual voting in a surreal blur: did not participate in any political discussions online / irl, embarrassingly meh about my own voting preference.
2.
What exactly does ‘voting wisely’ constitute? Is it different from voting rationally? Does voting wisely really lead to the best political outcome? It seems to me that voting is based on personal ideals, preferences, woes, situations. There isn’t a universally ‘wise’ choice.
The only sure conviction i have about ‘voting wisely’ is to not vote for idiots, i.e. the 2.6k Han Hui Hui fans.
3.
Gaffes are hilarious. They are about my favorite parts of GE2015. NSP’s Choong Hon Heng got me in stitches. There’s a truly disproportionate number of CMI folks in politics. I guess it takes a certain amount of courage to stand against such a strong incumbent. That, or idiocy – which really explains the extremes in capability/total inability when it comes to opps.
4.
Also, my take on the drastic vote swings:
The majority of Singapore associates PAP with government, and is fundamentally unable to fathom a government shared by parties or that is non-PAP. Votes are but a reflection of current sentiments towards the government, which many ultimately think of as the PAP.
My strong suspicions about the mindset of the silent majority / vote swingers – Not happy? Don’t vote for government this time. Happy, feeling very SG50? Support government this year. In both context, there is still a party consistently conceived as government.
Other parties’ job for the next 4 years is to not frame themselves primarily as opposition, but as viable leaders. As long as Singapore knows them as opposition, they will remain but a token to throw against government when convenient, where ‘government’ remains inextricably linked to PAP.
5.
I’m proud of TPL and her media trainer.
6.
First time voter, expected the underwhelming procedure, but thumbs up for the usual Singaporean efficiency. Got mine done within 10 min!
I have this weird automatic mental mechanism, that makes me extra nice to people I dislike. Specifically, those who annoy me on either a justified or irrational basis, and whom i’d be encountering again. By nice i mean smiling, thanking, indulging, the works. Or whatever I know they’d take well too.
Case-in-point #1:
Black face dessert store woman near my place. She has gotten my order wrong SO MANY TIMES and is consistently unapologetic. Once she even scolded me for not specifying my order earlier. She is absolutely cheerless and stingy with the liao. But i perversely enjoy being excessively polite to her. Like bowing slightly while getting the change. Or using 不好意思 and 谢谢 a shit ton.
Case-in-point #2:
Someone in class who just has a kiampah face/demeanor. Yes i admittedly am extremely prone to finding others KP without good reason. I remain unapologetic about my strong evolutionary instincts towards charming individuals. Anyway, it follows that i’ll be overtly indulgent to whoever this is. Maybe so much that it seems fake idk i can’t help it. Say i know this KP person enjoys having their ego fed – i’d make lots of references to what they said in discussion, agree, compliment, listen intently, shit as such. It’s not deliberate either.
So what’s going on amirite? I’ve thought of several explanations for my bizarre behavior.
Q 