January 22, 2010
Apparently, it is possible to look at the Singapore lit scene and see a hotbed of vicious, free-for-all criticism:
The poetry scene in HK is also small. It is surely smaller than that in India and the sheer difference in numbers between the poetry submissions we receive from Indian writers and Hong Kong writers is one telling indication. Indeed, one can list the names of published Hong Kong poets (both locally-born and expatriates) without much difficulty, if one follows this sort of thing. I won’t say that the Hong Kong poetry scene is ‘incestuous’, but I will say that a kind of metaphorical familial relationship exists, which is good for forging a sense of community but may also inhabit open and constructive criticism. From my experience, not many HK poets are willing to engage in critical discussion of other poets’ work, even if they are capable of doing so. The circle is simply too small to allow for open dialogue: it is easier and safer to say nice things, while swallowing your judgments. (This situation contrasts greatly with that in Singapore, where some writers seem only too eager to dismantle the work of others — whether deserved or not.) [. . .]
Tammy Ho thinks the lit scene here encourages criticism, even dismantling? Spoken like someone who isn’t in it. Or, perhaps, spoken like someone who really doesn’t want “open and constructive criticism” at all, and to whom even such limited honesty as we have seems threatening. Witness her astounding response from a few months back (under the aegis of Cha) to Koh Jee Leong’s comments on the Cha review of his book:
We at Cha stand by our reviewers’ work. The review of Equal of the Earth that Jee Leong Koh describes as offensive and highly negative was, to the contrary, positive, sensitive, and well-written. The overall aim of the reviews section is to introduce literary works of quality to our readers; Moody has achieved that aim.
Well, I guess that’s that, then! The irony is made all the sweeter when, later in that same comment, she (or, perhaps, a minion; since she is co-editor-in-chief of Cha, it hardly matters) claims that Koh’s response–which you can read at the same link and judge for yourself–”shuts down rather than extends dialogue”. One could scarcely fault Koh if he’d replied “I know you are, but what am I?”; instead, he posted a thoughtful and measured reply. . . and received no response. So much for extending the dialogue.
In short, I’ll believe Ho’s claims to wanting free and open critical dialogue when she stops working to sabotage efforts towards the same. Not treating her reviewers as precious snowflakes would be a step in the right direction; so would publishing a review in Cha which isn’t mere descriptive guff. Until then, listening to her hold forth on the topic is a little like listening to Bush (or Obama) talk about human rights.
November 3, 2009
“Poetry and Politics and PhDs”
I’m often bored by the likes of, you know, some typical young smart-ass undergrad student from the NUS English Literature department, attempting to comment on my works. I shouldn’t generalise, but they tend to be oh so literary, oh so clever, and oh so hopelessly trapped within the formal framework of their own academic discipline.
When they try writing poetry themselves, aaaaack, they suck. They are so eager to impress with their “craft” and “technique” that they cram every single line with big words, flowery phrases or some original but entirely ill-fitting metaphor. “See, look at me, I’m so clever” is what they’re trying to say with their poetry. Either that, or – “Give me the poetry prize! Aren’t you judges impressed yet?”
In the end, their poems feel like a model answer to a 10-year-series math question. Technically correct, sometimes even technically excellent. But also inauthentic, pretentious, soulless and quite lacking any genuine insight.
I shouldn’t be mean. Maybe they are just young and immature.
Short version of Gilbert Koh’s response:
(It was originally this, but a friend found it unaesthetic, so I changed it. I’m accommodating like that.)
For reference, here’s the review I wrote. Is there a prize for the indignant response to a review which fails most spectacularly to actually rebut anything the review said, I wonder?
September 4, 2009
I seem to hear about a lot of useful, well-known things (twitter, FB, etc.) not through the usual channels, but through JH sending me a link to something ridiculous that was posted on them. Etsy is one of them; for the longest time, I’ve thought of it only as “that site were you can buy drawings of neon and/or checkerboard penises” (NSFW). No longer:
This clock was created using a recycled Steelman record player and an old 45, which is replaceable. This clock comes complete with the original leather case and the clock movement is quartz, and requires 1 AA battery (included). The album size is a 45. The entire clock measures roughly 12″ w x 14h and hangs on the wall with 2 hangars on the back.
I’d buy one if I were in the US.
August 29, 2009
Just look at what he writes in this column, “No right to be international”:
After my reading [at the Edinburgh International Book Festival], some from the audience came up to talk a bit. Several even bought copies of the book. One kindly suggested that I distribute in the United Kingdom and become an “international” writer.
This sounds tempting. But should artists and writers become international and produce their work for overseas audiences? Or should they remain distinct even in a “world in a city”?
[. . .]
There is no melting pot for writers, even if their works are sold and read in different countries. They don’t seek to appeal to some imagined reader faraway or in transit at an airport book store. Instead, their works draw from who they are and the societies they come from.
[. . .]
Parochialism is to be avoided. But going international too often means trying to provide a standard product that can appeal across different markets. This works for industrial products and fast food. But writers and artists may be better served to remain true to themselves and distinct, even when other societies start to take interest.
“Going international too often means trying to provide a standard product that can appeal across different markets”–really? I should like to know who Tay has been reading. Did Murakami do this? Tash Aw? Rushdie? Roth, who Tay mentions earlier? How about Naipaul, that most colonised of post-colonials? All these (to varying degrees) best-selling, fashionable writers are certainly international in distribution and audience, but they can’t be accused of providing “a standard product” shorn of the local (not necessarily equivalent to “the native”). Last I checked, publishing a book in another country did not take off any of the magic fairy dust that makes one Singaporean or Trinidadian or whatever.
A more concise version might be: has Tay heard of a little thing called the “Booker”? I hear one can easily access lists of past winners via another useful novelty called “Google”. Tay may find their contents not irrelevant to his claim.
August 26, 2009
Speak Good English Movement chairman Goh Eck Kheng on people who don’t realise their English is bad:
“We want to give them (younger Singaporeans) the thought that they can communicate better, not only just be understood but also to use the language well [. . . .] I think some people don’t realise they are not speaking good English, and they don’t feel the need to speak good English because they feel they can get by with bad English, and they don’t realise that out of Singapore, they will have problems if they don’t speak English well.”
