On Paul Callan’s Forthcoming Malaysian Novel – Shadows Beneath the Fronds

Paul Callan, an established Irish novelist in Malaysia who is  well-known for his first historical novel, The Dulang Washer, published by MPH Publishing Malaysia, will launch, what promises to be an appealing second novel, in the third week of May, in Kuala Lumpur.  This is called Shadows Beneath the Fronds. I have not read the story as yet  but the back- jacket blurb shows up an unusual, arresting premise; a subject of Indian families in old Malayan estates, rarely spoken about in local fiction and possibly almost forgotten, amidst Malaysia’s current, if not impatient urban rise.

The blurb details a close friendship between Saravanan and Gnalam, with tragic elements caught up in conflict, among plantation workers in a rural setting. The protagonist, a carefree Tamilian lad called Saravanan, is the son of estate workers while another Tamilian girl, Gnalam, turns up as the daughter of the foreman – herself a gifted and studious young lady, expected to enhance her family’s status through a good marriage. Trouble gatecrashes the idyllic setting when the workers are forced into squatter camps, after being suddenly thrown out from their plantation homes.

Gnalam’s father, desribed as embittered and frustrated, drives his daughter to burrow herself in university studies. Meanwhile, a disappointed Saravanan turns to  a life of crime and violence.  Years after their separation, Saravanan’s destiny will collide with Gnalam’s once more as they campaign for the rights of plantation workers. Will their childhood bond have conquered past sorrows or will old secrets stray away from loyalty and love ?

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I yearn for this fictional treat as an engrossing read.  I grew up with the differing Indian social classes, very much at play in Malaysia.  I was raised in Klang, Selangor after the first four years of my life in Singapore.  My parents had moved to the Causeway, a few months after my birth. While growing up in a middle-class suburb in Klang, we often went to visit a brood of uncles, aunts and cousins who lived in the estates. I remember the delightful excursions.

My father is Malayalee and Malayalees from Kerala worked as estate managers.  In 1970, I even spent Christmas with a beloved aunty and her family, at a sprawling estate. I remember my experiences well… for instance of how the generators would go off by 9 at night while in the middle of watching a faithful b/w television and of the lively poultry everywhere. As a little girl, I had a field day with the other children running all over the place.  We chased the irate ducks, chickens and turkeys and laughed as they fled helter-skelter.  I remember the community of Tamil workers who lived in the nearby quarters and stayed dedicated to their work. It was not uncommon for a housewife to be up at 4.00 am just to be feeding  scurrying chicks or ferrying heavy pails of water about.

Eventually, in the early Seventies and due to the fast-changing political landscape, a great number of these Malayalee estate managers would relinquish their posts and return for good, with their families, to Kerala.

From having read The Dulang Washer, that exhibited the tough tin-mining camps of Perak’s Kinta Valley in 1890s Malaya – I have penned my thoughts Here,  it is easy to see that Paul Callan stays deft at sketching out a roomful of characters all at once. And this too, armed with a flawless grace while manouvering the challenging  fray of painful hierarchies or a series of mismatched social bearings, that thrive from circumstances of displacement or society’s unforgivable ailments.

Shadows Beneath the Fronds also reveals the treasure trove of Malaysian stories often camouflaged in all of its different layers of social acumen, stretching far off from the predictable and still waiting to be told.

It was also very kind of Mr. Paul Callan to have mentioned one of my comments/name on the back cover of his novel and for which I stay immensely grateful.

Update on The Dulang Washer.

Paul Callan’s The Dulang Washer has been nominated by Popular Books for the Popular Readers’ Choice Awards 2012 under the Fiction Category.  Callan has also been chosen by Popular Books as Author for the month of May. Here are his book tours nationwide:

12 May (Sat) 4pm – 5pm – POPULAR Bookstore @ IPC Shopping Centre, Mutiara Damansara, Kuala Lumpur.
26 May (Sat) 2pm – 3pm – HARRIS Bookstore @ AEON Tebrau City, Johor Bharu
27 May (Sun) 1pm – 2pm – POPULAR @ Gurney Plaza, Penang
3 June (Sun) 7.30pm – 9.00pm – POPULAR Bookfair @ Permata Exhibition Hall, Level 5

Further Reading:

Paul Callan is written about in The Star Newspaper, Malaysia.
The Dulang Washer in The SunDaily.
Book Review of The Dulang Washer in The Ipoh Echo.
Booksigning by Paul Callan featured in The Bookaholics.
Novelist Paul Callan speaks about his labour of love on YouTube.

And he said… “If you’ve not been to Istanbul, you don’t know what you’re missing…”

It appears for me that the tenacity of writing beckons in a new way.

I have lived out of a suitcase for the last two months and must now try and finish at least one book project, before I travel again in July.  I have so many stories to tell but need to clear my mind to do this.  I have to try and rediscover my own words…remember what it was like to settle in a gloriously empty room and compose poetry, infinitely haunting as the thought may be. So often, an encounter with a solitary space breeds an extraordinary energy, sometimes surreal and sometimes tearful.

My own thoughts currently feel like a prism and the sparkles no longer  hurt by the thought of any cultural city, clutching at my footsteps.  I walk in Dublin this last week as if I never left.  In East Africa, I moved as if, it was my first time back in nine days and not nine months. In London on an adjoining road caught between the Hammersmith train stations, a Turkish cafe owner, still waxes lyrical about the Black Sea and whips me fresh salads in the way I like them.  These endeavours are sealed by his forever mantra… “If you’ve not been to Istanbul, you don’t know what you’re missing…”  And then in Singapore, I had rushed with expectant bliss to a bookshop on Orchard Road, remembering its seductive capacity for world literature. And even in Malaysia, the Bangladeshi restaurateurs ask why I’ve not been  to pack  my usual Nescafe takeways.  They hint at my sinful absence. And so and so…

I am trying to unravel all the reams of storybook material in my head and willing myself to talk at ease about the books I’ve read and the films I have watched. In my head, I’m still on a flight so here’s another picture for the meanwhile.

A young Masai poses shyly for me in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, East Africa. April 2012. Photography © copyright Susan Abraham

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I’m Back…

May 4, 2012: Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to update my blog all these months as I was extremely busy with travel and collating also, a backlog of travel material I had accumulated in the past, with the hopeful ambition of trying to get some easy system back on track.  In this way, I would have a clear record of my experiences and  be able  to pen my stories, here in Dublin, Ireland, without difficulty.  From that aspect at least, I hope I’ve succeeded. I’m really happy to be able to continue with this books blog and look forward among other things, to be talking about an eclectic stack of world literature I had purchased and read diligently, over the months.

Fishermen off a coast in a Tanzania, East Africa. April 2012. Photography © copyright Susan Abraham

Returning to Writing

It is time for me to return to this books blog. It is time for me to write. I have closed my Twitter account and am taking longer erratic  breaks from Facebook until I complete my next book manuscript and also accomplish a few other things.   Otherwise, too much time flees from social networking sites and so I resolve these present weeks of temporal languishing days to be  held precious. In about a month, I shall be travelling again for two months. At the moment, here I am, safe and sound in Dublin.

Since my last post, I have made two separate trips to London and purchased at least 45 books – yes, 45 gorgeous reads featuring all kinds of layout and colour – that comprised interesting essay collections and novels; serious literature that I’d be hard-pressed to find elsewhere. I was really keen on regions from the Middle-East, Greater Middle-East and the African continents.  Still, I  bought a few new titles currently out in England, by debut novelists like Alison McQueen.

I went to two quaint and well-stocked Arabic bookshops off Sloane Square and in Westbourne Grove and also visited Daunt Books on Marylebone High Street (Baker Street Station), a good few times, among other big bookstore chains like Waterstones Piccadilly and the faithful, gleaming row on Charing Cross Rd. I made new friends with helpful booksellers. I enjoyed the flair of  intriguing observations, significant  of cosy cultural communities, tucked away in Middle-Eastern cafes, in the heart of Notting Hill Gate.

Last weekend, I was caught in the Heathrow fray, over a gatecrashing snowfall from an unrepentant Artic snap. Thankfully, I encountered no disruptions. My flight to Ireland, was at the worst, delayed for an hour and a half, so that was considered pretty mild. Unfortunately, I returned with the start of a winter cold, no thanks to the minus zero temperatures in London.

Am looking forward to my reads, to blogging and also to a time of serious writing.  © susan abraham

Note

Am in London at the moment. My days are pretty full but will post within the week.

Poetry has Returned to Me

“Mine is a Dublin afternoon in January. The days are cold and the gales are wild. My disillushioned poetic muse, having  escaped to a mysterious sabbatical in the far South, has  returned.. Its absence may have counted a season wrong, for my homesick craft still bears within its plumped-up beauty… the oversized pastoral frolic of a summer’s day.  Did my runaway poetry feast too much on its escapade to Eden? Was it still a warm, bright green day when I last composed a verse or hummed an ode? Sadly, I can no longer measure the rush of an hour.  Yet, donning a masquerade of lightly-threaded shadows, how fragile the demeanour of my art, how enigmatic its response. I tell you now, the time for tears is over. My poetry waits to clamber up my back and wrap its long sticky hands tightly around my neck in sweet embrace…Oh! But for its kiss-me-quick lollipop scent, plastered breath and my favoured piggy-back ride, my long-lost poetry so ethereally once-upon-a-time mine..for here it is once more, having finally returned to me.” – susan abraham ©

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Dear Readers,

I am thrilled that my writing days are shaping up so nicely, with nary an effort on my part to recreate that lovelorn magic. This revelation surprises even me.   To understand what I mean, you would have had to read my last few posts at year’s end.  Then I had explained that in the last two years, I did not feel able to do too much either artistically or creatively as my energy path was filled with the unnecessary clutter of controversial human relationships.

Of course, I have no one to blame but myself. I had invited noisy crowds into my life, naive and trusting and without batting so much as an eyelid. The result being, that I had to subsequently free my path eventually. As an individual I desired to breathe again and discover my newness as an artist. At the time, certain situations had turned up great distress. I am happy that I sought the courage to pounce upon the right introspective decisions about my life, no matter how painful the angst.  It’s amazing how one may grow  sharply wise overnight.

Once my journeying path became clear – and this happened towards the second quarter of last year, many lost and beautiful, artistic pursuits which I had initially cherished, returned to me. I think, a dramatic one had been the return of an overwhelming love for Arabic, Persian and Turkish literature, which had earlier encapsulated my reading time in 2008 and 2009 before suddenly vanishing into thin air.  The desire to embark upon this beloved pastime engulfed me last July.

As for poetry, I am able to engage with the craft only when my thoughts are crystal-clear…My relationship with poetry holds the fortitude of an iceberg, with the exception that the season for poetry-writing may well melt away, without any warning.  While it hovers though, I view the world as being imbued with romanticism. Meandering lines or  watertight ones shadow my footsteps. My well-encountered bliss may later show up, through vivid descriptions of  nature’s celebrated beauty… garden birds, seascapes, landscapes or the erratic mood of a season. Sometimes, this pastoral effect has made me weep with great feeling.

My writing ambitions for prose, have never really left. But my carefree nature that often allowed for the space of poetry fled, somewhere towards the end of 2010. In my life, poetry stays the root to everything, even if I am consciously unaware of its existence. Someday soon, I hope to share with you, my personal history with the subject of poems.

Two days ago, while mulling over a novel display at a bookshop, poetic lines began pouring spontaneously into my thoughts.  I knew my annointing for writing poetry, had returned with a vengeance.  I was delighted over life’s New Year gift to me. One of these stayed a verse that intoxicated my own senses. Let me just say, that it involved the dusk, lamps and lighted lanterns. I  yearn to share it with you but hopefully later, after publication. I would place it here but of late, have become really worried about the vulnerability of copyright infringement/plagiarism and sadly, the educated people who prey upon and steal another’s work,  then claim success, with not a fraction of conscience or care in the world.

Slipping into 2012 – my first post of the year

I have begun my New Year a little late but  rather resolutely and with no complaints on my front.  2012 embraced me heartily, with diligence and a seemingly peaceful fondness. It placated my tenacity if only for a moment to grant me that essential rueful reflection. The clock graciously withheld its chimes. Now, I am  raring to go.

At this point in my life, I thank my beautiful God, that I harbour no turbulent emotion, no obvious sorrow, no painful regret, no lack of focus or waywardness. I ended 2011 on a pleasing note.  In the recent past, serenity has shrouded my life  with its generous layers of silent companionship and crayoned too, my earthly destiny with marked enthusiasm. Each calendar date still on its way to the  finishing line, has willingly passed on its baton of calming kindness, with which to appease my gentle spirit.

As a result, I have now found myself busy but happy busy if you know what I mean, in getting my plans off the ground.

In the present time, I have to schedule everything in my life around the prospect of travel. Such is my addiction to wanderlust that I perform this errand with bliss.  This year, I have been good with my journals and relying on a firmer organisation of things. My mind has stayed clear of stress, hassle and the perplexing anxieties that often trailed me in earlier years.  Thus, I have settled for a few Penguin notebooks and journals.  I have so cultivated a love for my Moleskines when I didn’t before.  And I do love my Penguin accessories…yes, yes…those brilliant coffee mugs too!

On the horizon is another week’s trip to London and I am pretty much excited about it,  just envisioning the bookstores I missed when I was there last, on the second week of a Christmassy December.  I can’t wait for Daunt Books, as always Hatchards  and also Alsaqi Bookshop in Westbourne Grove, which is, if I’m not mistaken, currently one of the biggest Arabic bookshops in England. And I do love Foyles and the BookHaus off Sloane Square… the latter with its overwhelming collection of elegant translations featuring West European and Arabic literature.  I can’t wait as always to conduct my little wayfaring jaunts, plus much of the staff at the little English hotel, where I stay have now become friends. As a voracious reader and proper bookaholic, I feel like a smug little cat, licking off the last saucer of milk and perhaps also,  the jubilant adventurer, ripping open an ocean’s treasure chest.

I did buy two books downtown in Dublin this afternoon, although if the truth be told, I promised myself  stupidly, no more till England.  One appears to be a compelling woman’s story called Africa Junction by Ginny Baily. It was published last year in London.  Now, how ever did I miss this  intriguing book featuring colourful settings and  unnerving plots derived from such remote places as Senegal, Liberia and Timbuktu… The novel sounds inspiring enough for me.

Another very beautiful little book – please see picture on the right – features reams of enthralling poetry from Istanbul. I shall slip this little paperback into the pocket of my long winter coat for the next time, I stop at a cafe for a cocoa, sitting by the window and watching the rain dance on the streets or a gale sashay by.  And by the light of the dusk, I shall remember the beautiful magic of a Joan Baez or a Marianne Faithfull song even as the late Turkish poet Necati Cumali whispers to me of

A New Love…

Once I used to go
everyday to meet the ferry
and hang about the stations
when trains came in.
I spent my life
in parks and boulevards,
Ah, how could I know
these are the places we haunt
before a new love. – Necati Cumali (translated by Ruth Christie)

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Something About the Writing:

1. Thankfully, I have managed to cross the chasm of learning to painfully combine writing with travel.  In February and March, I shall be returning to a few familiar international locations to complete my novel. I had first started to do this in May, June and July of last year. I flew out of Ireland again in October but was not well at all, to continue with travelling so I returned without being able to finish my novel as I had hoped, to the best of my satisfaction. I am someone who needs to be in a certain location if I am writing about it. I think this definitely is a little extreme but in my case a necessity as I have been a wanderer for so many years, that I could not imagine describing a  cosmopolitan setting, no matter how well I knew it from the past or how excellent my research, if I wasn’t actually there.  Otherwise, I would never be content submitting a manuscript, no matter how well it was written. So I have my work cut out for me this first quarter of the year and any new travel adventure/regions shall be reserved for the later part of the year.

Credit: Free picture of wildflowers, courtesy of KarenWhimsy.com