Tomb of Sand by Geetanjali Shree (translated by Daisy Rockwell)

I have a natural affinity towards novels centred around older women. So it was wonderful immersing myself in Geetanjali Shree's International Booker Prize winning 730-page tale “Tomb of Sand” which revolves around an 80 year old woman who is determined to follow her desires and show that her life isn't over yet. It's remarked that “At eighty, Ma had turned selfish.” She's variously referred to as Ma, Amma, Mata-ji and Baji as this is a story which flits between many different perspectives. Even though she's the central protagonist, Ma has physically turned away from both the reader and everyone in her family for the first 175 pages of the novel. She's grieving for her lost husband and chooses not to converse with others anymore but people flock to her when they come to believe that her cane decorated with butterflies has magical properties. Much to her family's consternation, she launches out on her own before settling in at her daughter's home and embarking on a quest to visit her homeland that is now known as Pakistan. In the process, she revisits her painful childhood which was disrupted by Partition.

This is a book packed with a lot of detail which fully evokes the lives of this family as well as the sensory experience of Indian life. There are beautifully evocative and highly-descriptive passages about food and Ma's various saris. Some sections come close to poetry in capturing the feel of a moment such as making tea in the morning when Ma is immersed in “the sound of peace.” Not only is it a long novel but it requires a lot of concentration and patience to follow the shifting perspectives and details of the plot. Though sometimes I felt it got bogged down in excessive detail (such as whether trees should be pruned and Ma's constipation), it's consistently pleasurable and rewarding to take the time with this story as there is a lot of joy, humour and deep meaning to be found in these pages. The narrative flits to the perspective of a group of crows at one point to playfully comment upon the characters. In another section a group of the most renowned writers about Partition gather together to argue and disrupt a ceremony. The way in which the point of view shifts not only gives a rounded point of view on the story, but tests the meaning of boundaries. Are there really borders between family members, nations, genders, classes and religions? The novel inventively shows how these are social constructs which might physically constrict us and inhibit our empathy. We've been conditioned into believing they actually exist and here we witness Ma's one-woman rebellion against these imaginary dividing lines.

Both the subject and style of narrative reminded me a lot of Ali Smith's fiction as Shree's novel also contains a lot of wordplay and etymological examination. Sections of the story might stop to query the real meaning of a word as opposed to its common usage. For instance, “Understanding has become a much eroded, much abused word, to the point that its sense has come to mean to establish meaning, when its real sense is to displace meaning. To give you such a shock you see lightening.” These passages challenge us to consider how the language and terms we use often contain a deeper meaning than what's used in common parlance. Similarly, the style of narrative blithely challenges our common conception of a meticulously-ordered official history: “On that day, the exact date of which is of no matter, because this is not a history, just a herstory...” Its female-focused story hasn't often been recorded in the same way as other narratives about the past and it joyously breaks free to fashion its own idiosyncratic style of telling.

One of the most endearing and pivotal characters in this story is that of Rosie, Ma's longtime hijra friend whose presence often discomforts her family. They find it difficult to understand the pair's attachment to each other and the meaning of their deep connection only becomes clear later in the novel. But the way in which Rosie moves between presenting as female and male challenges some of the characters' ideological beliefs versus the reality of encountering someone who doesn't neatly fit into certain categories. However, this isn't an issue for Ma who accepts and values Rosie as an individual though Rosie is often scorned and discarded by the larger society. For a story that takes a leisurely pace at evoking the world of its characters, it certainly becomes thrillingly plot-driven towards the finale of the book. For this reason and more, despite its intimidating length and complexity this is a novel that I definitely recommend sticking with to the end.

Happy Stories, Mostly by Norman Erikson Pasaribu (translated by Tiffany Tsao)

This group of short stories by Indonesian author Norman Erikson Pasaribu has a playful, metafictional vibe while evoking many vivid characters and situations that contain a great deal of emotional heft. Many focus on the points of views of characters related to or connected with homosexuals whether it be a mother grieving for her son who committed suicide, a man whose close friend turns out to be gay or a woman who snoops through the underwear drawer of her son's husband. The feelings of marginalization and isolation which accompanies much of gay life is approached at arm's length. This sense is carried through the opening and closing stories which are in many ways about the nature of fiction itself. The first story begins in a creative writing class. The final story concerns a woman aware she is being written and finds empty space when she tries to transcend the borders of what is constructed for her. All this ties into the presence of religion throughout the stories and questions concerning omnipotence, destiny and God. These tales collectively give a fascinating insight into Indonesian life and individuals sidelined by mainstream society. 

As with many collections of stories, there were some which stood out as stronger than others. Perhaps this has to do with the way there is an almost equal division between ones which depict specific realistic situations and others which self consciously play with narrative voice to verge more into the supernatural. I felt the strongest of the later category was ''Welcome to the Department of Unanswered Prayers' where the an individual is inducted into the bureaucracy of heaven. I would have loved to see stories such as 'So What's Your Name, Sandra?' and 'Ad Maiorem Dei Gloriam' developed into longer narratives. I think it's easier for me to feel an immediate connection when the presence of the author's hand isn't so strongly felt. Though I really appreciate that the truth can't always be approached directly, I wasn't able to connect as strongly to stories which seemed like they were in direct dialogue with certain texts or aspects of Indonesian life I was unfamiliar with. That's not necessarily the storyteller's fault, but it's perhaps an inevitable consequence of reading about a foreign culture. So I really appreciated that the Tilted Axis Press edition of this collection included at the end a discussion between the author and translator where they described some of the references Pasaribu played off from and his writing technique. I enjoyed the author's innovative approach to these tales and would love to read a full novel written by him.

Love in the Big City by Sang Young Park (translated by Anton Hur)

It's so exciting and refreshing reading new fiction which fully represents the complexities of modern gay life. There are romantic moments in “Love in the Big City”, but it certainly doesn't romanticize queer experience. Nor does it wallow in oppression or resentment. Instead it faithfully represents the point of view of a young Korean gay man named Young as he navigates family, friendship and various relationships (some are mere hookups while others are knotty emotional entanglements.) He struggles to complete his education and hold a stable job. Many nights are spent drinking, clubbing or chasing tricks on gay hookup apps. On his first night's leave from compulsory military service “the only three things floating around in my brain were iced Americano, Kylie Minogue, and sex.” He's overweight and aware of where he falls in the pecking order of a cruising culture that classifies men based on superficial physical attributes. His contemporaries have developed more stable jobs and relationships, but he's entirely unapologetic about following his desires and instincts even if it leads to his own undoing. The result is a riveting account of the pleasures and pitfalls of intimacy. 

The structure of this novel is satisfying in how it's divided into four parts where each begins with a particular moment in time. This thrusts the reader into a pressing dilemma Young faces. Then the story tunnels back to describe how Young got to this moment and what results from it. I admire how this draws the reader into his particular experience since it often feels like he just falls into situations, but we gradually see how he comes to particular points in his life based on his personality and the circumstances that he lives under. There's also an unflinchingly honest quality to his account which veers from defiant to self-deprecating. In fact, at times he verges on the maudlin in how he feels “life had always been eager to fail my expectations, no matter how low I set them.” It's a tone of writing which feels like a mixture of Jean Rhys and Brontez Purnell – two very different authors but their prose equally expresses a relentless commitment to romantic/sexual pursuits despite feeling it will inevitably end in heartbreak/emptiness. At one point Park observes: “is love truly beautiful? To me, love is a thing you can't stop when you're caught up in it, a brief moment you can escape from only after it turns into the most hideous thing imaginable when you distance yourself from it.” The way he captures experiences fuelled by this bittersweet belief is paradoxically life affirming.

Of course, there were parts of this novel that made me want to bitch slap the narrator. He insistently tries to maintain a relationship with an ideologically-driven man suffering from internalized homophobia who can't love him back. But he also treats his most consistent relationship with a sweetly-devoted responsible man too frivolously and actively pushes him away. All the while Young is fully aware he's making bad choices and acknowledges “my whole life was basically a series of not-clever moves”. It's infuriating behaviour but his character is written in a way which made me entirely sympathise with him and care about his welfare. So it's especially alarming when he doesn't use protection during one sexual encounter and contracts HIV – which is something he can barely openly acknowledge and calls his Kylie, but it’s not something which defeats him. However, he can't avoid the practical difficulties it causes in getting the right medication, having sexual encounters and passing medical exams for certain jobs he tries to get. It's arresting how the story deals with this issue and other long-lasting consequences of his affairs.

I found it touching reading in the translator's note how strongly Anton Hur identified with Park's writing as a Korean gay man. Though there were some specific geographic and linguistic references which I had no knowledge of, I certainly appreciated getting a brief insight into Korean gay life. There were also so many points of reference concerning gay popular culture and a homosexual mentality that I strongly identified with and recognized. It reminded me of reading the nonfiction book “Gay Bar” where drinking holes in different regions and countries are described as having a unique character but all exert the same feeling of being a gay-specific space. Similarly, entering Young's perspective seeking pleasure and companionship while struggling with issues to do with marginalization and poor self-esteem will certainly ring true for any gay man in the world today.