Anthologies, almost by definition, have a unifying theme, something that explains their existence. There are the “best of” type, as in best of a year or of a genre, for example. There are those drawn from a prize, such as The trouble with flying, and other stories (my review) from the Margaret River Short Story competition. And of course there are subject-oriented ones like Rebellious daughters (my review) or Australian love stories (my review). David Carlin and Francesca Rendle-Short’s anthology, The near and the far, is another type. Its origin is a project called WrICE (Writers Immersion and Cultural Exchange) which, the editors tell us, is “a program of reciprocal residences and cultural events focused on writers and writing from Australia and the Asia-Pacific”. The residencies and events occurred in such places as Singapore, Malaysia, Vietnam and Australia. The aim was to enable Asia-Pacific writers to immerse themselves in the face-to-face exchange of ideas and collaborative experiences, in order to build cultural understanding and find, as one participant says, “sustainable ways of speaking amongst ourselves and relating to one another as cultural practitioners”.
The result is that the stories – and even the forms of the pieces – are varied. The book has been thoughtfully presented. There’s a foreword by Alice Pung and an introduction by the editors at the beginning, and some notes on WrICE and a list of contributors with mini-bios at the back. The stories themselves are organised into three groups – The Near, The Far, and The Near and The Far – though I’d probably have to think hard about why certain stories have been allocated their particular group. There are 21 stories, 15 of which, if I’ve counted correctly, are by women. There’s a lovely extra touch, which is that at the end of each story is an author’s reflection – on the writing process, the goals and/or the experience of WrICE. They were often illuminating.
Before we get to the stories – and of course I’m only going to be able to focus on a few – I’d like to share some comments from the foreword and introduction. In her foreword, Pung calls the book a travel anthology, and I suppose it is, in a sense, though I may not have described it that way if I hadn’t read her foreword! She says
The near and the far is one of those rare travel anthologies, combining fiction with poetry and longform essays, each piece revealing a real insider’s experience of inhabiting a different world without exoticising the foreign. Each story has a centre – whether philosophical, moral, or political – and yet none of them are didactic.
The editors talk of how our different colonial experiences had “left long shadows across our imaginations”. They refer particularly to “settler” Australians who live in what was seen as an “outpost” – further than the “Far East” – and yet who still tend to look to Europe and America for our main cultural input. “The far feels near”, they write, “and the near feels far away”. That makes a lot of sense – to me.
You think you know (Omar Musa)
Now the stories. They come from, as you’d expect, a diverse group of writers, from Australia and Vietnam, from the Philippines and America, and from many places in between. Some I knew – like Melissa Lucashenko, Omar Musa, Cate Kennedy, and of course Francesca Rendle-Short – but most were new to me. Many of the pieces explore in some way the idea of what we know and don’t know. They may be about ignoring what we know because it’s too painful, or because we fear the rejection of others. They may be about the disconnect between what we assume and what we find. Or they may simply be about facing something new or unexpected.
I loved that indigenous Australian writer Melissa Lucashenko’s story, “Dreamers”, was chosen to start the anthology. Set in rural Australia in 1969, two years after the famous referendum, it’s a beautifully structured and told story about the relationship that develops between indigenous woman and her non-indigenous employers. It’s a story about love, loyalty and tolerance, but manages to quietly reference, without being polemical, social change issues such as environmental protest and the stolen generations.
Not surprisingly, the theme of accepting – welcoming, hopefully – diversity runs through the book. In “My two mothers”, Singaporean Suchen Christine Lim shares a story about a young adopted girl’s shame at having two mothers, her unwillingness to appreciate their love and tender care, and her eventual recognition of what they had given her.
If you have ever read or heard Australian-Malaysian performance poet Omar Musa, you won’t be surprised to hear that diversity underpins his contribution, “You think you know”. In this first-person story he explores “the deeply troubling issues” regarding sexual identity in Malaysia through his narrator’s (presumably himself) friendship with a young Malaysian man met on a bus. It’s a quiet, reflective, wrenching story – quite different from the higher octane wordplay of his performance poetry.
A story using a completely different tone and pace is Chinese-Indonesian, now American writer Xu Xi’s “BG: The significant years”. In a time when scientists and historians argue about dating nomenclature – BCE/CE anyone? – Xu Xi has come up with her own, BG or Before Google! Google (created 19 August 2004, if you want to know) provides for her a significant life marker. In short chronological sections, starting with “BG 43 (circa 1961 to ’62)”, she chronicles her life – in a lightly satirical tone – from applying to go to university in America, to becoming a US citizen, and getting a job and then losing it in the 1986 stock market crash. Her commentary on life in the US is enlightening. Joining the unemployment queue meant, she writes, that “for once I wasn’t a minority, because the minority was the majority in that government office”! Telling eh?
There are many more stories I’d like to share: Laurel Fantauzzo’s second-person-told story, Some Hints About Travelling to the Country Your Family Departed, about going back to the place (in her case the Philippines) a parent came from; Francesca Rendle-Short’s “1:25,000” on the geologies of time, on memories, regrets and saying “no”; and Maxine Beneba Clark’s short, painful, 9/11-inspired “Aviation” in which accepting “other” is put to the test.
And then there’s David Carlin’s gender-bending, mind-bending “Unmade in Bangkok”. Inspired by Thailand’s ladyboys, he explores ideas about identity and gender. The story is told in ten sections, mostly in third person but slipping between male and female personas. In section four, “she” considers:
Women make themselves up, men do not. This is curious when she thinks about it. To be a woman, in this culture, is to be a creature dipped in fiction, whereas to be a man is to be altogether real or at least natural, unconstructed.
So she dresses up and considers: “What is she becoming? Ever more fictional? A character in drag?” I enjoyed how Carlin explored gender identity, using broader ideas about “fiction”. “Some fictions trap us”, he writes, “but other fictions free us”. For ladyboys the implications are serious. It’s a complex story which covers a lot of ground. I need to read it again.
I titled this section “you think you know” because in all the stories, the writers are seeking to know, not so life can be assured, or complete, but in the spirit of understanding, of growing. Alvin Pang, in the note to his story “The Illoi of Kantimeral”, discusses the invented language he used:
Their precise meanings may or may not be immediately discernible from context, but neither is the experience of engagement, negotiation, resistance, and mystery within the Asia-Pacific itself as straightforward as we might wish the world to be. There is humility and pleasure in earnest encounter, and in listening out for the inherent humanity of what we do not fully recognise.
Perfect! This is a book which confronts us with many ways of seeing and experiencing. Different stories will appeal to different readers, depending on experiences, but I hope I’ve given you a taste. Books like this deserve a bigger audience than they often get.
David Carlin and Francesca Rendle-Short (eds),
The near and the far: New stories from the Asia-Pacific region
Melbourne: Scribe, 2016
(Review copy courtesy Scribe)
24 thoughts on “David Carlin and Francesca Rendle-Short (eds), The near and the far: New stories from the Asia-Pacific region (Review)”
Thank you for this, and for recommending the story The Drover, which is a very good one. You’re broadening my reading horizons (and expanding my vocabulary; I had a very vague idea of what a “drover” was).
Oh thanks Jeanne. I’m chuffed that you followed up that recommendation – and liked it. Thanks for letting me know.
Rendle-Short’s name rang a bell with me, and – of course – back in 2014 I’d reviewed one of her books on my blog (Imago). Reading my review I can see that Imago explores these themes too. I know she’s written a memoir, do you know if she’s written any other novels?
No, I’m not sure she has, Lisa. I’ve read the memoir which is in fact more an autobiographical novel because she writes it using a different name for herself and her mother, with a few little inserts from her “own” voice. I really liked this piece in The near and the far. She lives in Melbourne now, though did live in Canberra for a while (having come from Queensland!)
LOL This is why I don’t classify my Life stories category (autobiography, biography and memoir) under Non-Fiction on my blog…
No, I don’t either… They are a beast of their own!
I like the idea behind this anthology – reciprocal residencies – though I thought the stories might address this too – being in someone else’s country (isn’t that what ‘travel’ is about). Anyway, it’s essential that Australians give up being Europeans, and more to the point, stop our neighbours viewing us as Europeans, temporary interlopers, and this book seems to be part of that process.
Yes, being in another’s country is what travel’s about, Bill, but travel writing is about writing about the travel! Not all these stories do. They are in Penang, for example, but some write very home-based stories. This is not to deny their stories but the book is not your “typical” travel anthology.
The stories address all sorts of issues, and some comment in their author notes on the experience of the residency and how it affected writing the piece they wrote.
It’s a challenge for we Aussies being here – particularly we settler Aussies – because the depth of our background (our food, religion, attitudes, values, ethics) are all so European – the Renaissance, the Reformation, the Enlightenment etc etc. These are the things that affect how we view the world. We don’t have an Asian cultural background and yet, here we are, so we have to consciously forge ourselves as something that’s grown out of here, don’t we.
I don’t disagree with you! We are so slow – 229 years and counting – at escaping from the idea that an ideal education is in Classics. From what I can see we (in our formal education) are slowly accepting the idea that having colonised this continent we must now learn to share it, but we are making much slower progress with the same idea about our presence in (South East) Asia and Oceania.
Ah, thanks Bill. I wasn’t quite sure. Yes I agree with your point about slow progress. You reminded me of my own student choice. One of my uni subjects was anthropology. I did the intro course, teaching us its origins and some major theories, but then we could choose specific courses and I chose Ethnography of Australian Aborigines and Ethnography of Southwest Asia. I don’t remember much detail now but I do remember feeling that this would be more relevant to me than Africa etc. I’m sure that some of my learning and reading has informed my world view.
Back in the nineties and early 2000s Indonesian was a popular language at primary and secondary schools, here anyhow, in recognition of our neighbours, but gradually attention turned more vocationally-focused I think to Japanese and then Chinese – which at least still recognises where we are.
There’s nothing wrong with some classics, Shakespeare etc, wouldn’t you say, as they are part of world culture, but we do need to be more inclusive and much broader don’t we?
I was actually thinking of ‘Classics’ as based on Greek/Roman thought. I think ‘everyone’ regards Shakespeare as part of their background culture, but why don’t we similarly regard any ancient Chinese or Japanese writing.
Yes, I understood “Classical” education to mean that, then threw in Shakespeare as well as being part of European culture. And I agree that we should accord the same significance to Asian small-c classics!
Thanks very much Susan.
This sounds a very interesting anthology of stories rather less static than the traditional Oxford/Penguin book of this or that short stories. The far seems near…. what a powerful sentence that says so much about “colonial” and post colonial experience of literatures.
It’s a wonderfully evocative expression I agree Ian.
And yes, it is certainly not static like the traditional anthology. I’d love to have mentioned other contributions too, like one comprising a collection of flash pieces, you could say, containing commentary on modern life and politics.
What a marvelous sounding collection! I like “BG”! Created in 2004 you say? I was around long before Google but it has become such a huge part of my daily life I would have said it was created in 1999 or 2000.
Yes, Stefanie, that dating was a hoot. But yes, 2004 does seem late. I’ve just looked up Wikipedia. It was founded in 1996, but the company went public on 19 August, 2004. Google Search was launched in 1997!
Ok, I feel better about that and my memory now!
Yes, and thanks for making me think about it.
BTW, Stefanie, one of the stories mentioned Rebecca Solnit. She’s been popping up everywhere lately.
She has! I just saw a really nice profile of her in my internet wanderings the other day. I guess she has hit the big time.
Yes, she must have. Must ask my brother whether he has started reading the book.
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