The Star Online: Lifestyle: Bookshelf
The Star Online: Lifestyle: Bookshelf |
| Posted: 18 Sep 2011 04:56 AM PDT Instead of good books on Malaysian literature, our children get boring fare produced without much care. I'VE been exchanging emails for the last couple of months with Deborah Ahenkorah, the young Ghanaian who co-founded the Golden Baobab Prize, a literary award that aims to inspire African writers to create African literature for African children. Ahenkorah grew up reading British and American books and this made her sensitive to the lack of African children's books. Malaysian readers can surely relate to that. Did any of us grow up reading Malaysian children's books of good quality? Some of us do remember beloved compilations of folktales, chapter books or picture books, but these are no longer in print. Why are there no classic Malaysian children's books – read and loved by generations, and readily available in school and public libraries and bookstores? You would think there would be at least one definitive collection of local legends and myths published by, say, Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka (DBP) and kept in print for the entertainment and edification of Malaysian children through the ages. Actually, the more I think of it, the more puzzled I am as to why DBP has not published such a collection, or, indeed, played a more active role in children's publishing. Surely it would have access to the finest writers in the Malay language and surely, publishing good quality Malay language children's books would be in keeping with its mission to promote the language and its usage in Malaysia. Now, I know DBP publishes children's books, or has done so in the past, but I've never noticed any effort to promote these books. Without promotion, it's no surprise the books lack visibility and, I imagine, suffer from poor sales. Even if they sell well in the library and school markets, I don't believe they are kept in print and will eventually cease to be available, no matter how good they are. Why would a national body that wishes to champion the national language not put more effort into producing books in which the language is used in a creative and beautiful manner, and which would, in theory, encourage Malaysian children to read more in that language? I have no answers, but I do continue to hope and dream that local publishers will someday see the need to produce good quality Malaysian children's books. From what I've observed (from browsing in bookstores, and the book stalls occasionally set up at the school my eight-year-old attends), it seems there is currently more interest in producing large quantities of mediocre material in the shortest time possible – whole series of badly-written, badly-drawn books produced in bulk on cheap paper. It takes time and money to produce good books and these are not guaranteed to sell well especially as higher production costs also means higher prices. I guess what we need is a publisher who is willing to take the risk, and one who believes in the importance of providing Malaysian children with good Malaysian literature. Until then, our children will have to live with books that are, by and large, boring, derivative and unmemorable, produced in a noticeably slip-shod fashion by people who just don't give a damn. ■ Daphne Lee reads to wonder and wander, be amazed and amused, horrified and heartened and inspired and comforted. She wishes more people will try it too. Send e-mails to the above address and check out her blog at daphne.blogs.com/books. |
| Posted: 18 Sep 2011 04:55 AM PDT FOR week ending Sept 11, 2001: Non-fiction 1. A Doctor In The House: The Memoirs Of Tun Dr Mahathir Mohamad by Tun Dr Mahathir Mohamad 2. Heaven Is For Real: A Little Boy's Astounding Story Of His Trip To Heaven And Back by Todd Burpo & Lynn Vincent 3. The Grand Design by Stephen Hawking 4. The Power Of X: Enter The 10 Gods by Joey Yap 5. The You Code: What Your Habits Say About You by Judi James and James Moore 6. No Excuses! – The Power Of Self-Discipline by Brian Tracy 7. The Power Of You: Simple Steps To Develop Your Inner Strength, Master Your Fears And Live To Your Greatest Potential by Anne Jones 8. Invincible Thinking: There Is No Such Thing As Defeat by Ryuho Okawa 9. Wonders Of The World: 100 Incredible And Inspiring Places On Earth by Igloo Books Ltd 10. Mandela's Way: Lessons On Life by Richard Stengel Fiction 1. A Game Of Thrones (A Song Of Ice And Fire series) by George R.R. Martin 2. Just Like Heaven by Julia Quinn 3. I Don't Know How She Does It (movie tie-in) by Allison Pearson 4. A Visit From The Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan 5. Room by Emma Donoghue 6. Fall Of Giants by Ken Follett 7. The Fall by Guillermo Del Toro and Chuck Hogan 8. Corduroy Mansions by Alexander McCall Smith 9. Family Ties by Danielle Steel 10. Rescue by Anita Shreve n Weekly list compiled by MPH Mid Valley Megamall, Kuala Lumpur; mphonline.com. |
| Posted: 18 Sep 2011 04:54 AM PDT I USED to live in a house the memory of which still brings melancholic feelings. In the backyard a pungent smell hung in the air. It came from next door; my neighbour loved to raise and slaughter chickens. A wisp of smoke rose from the other neighbour's house. The smell of burnt bird waste nauseated me throughout my teenage years but I could not complain to anyone for I lived there alone – most of the time. My conscience tried to restrain me but my desire won and prompted me to take possession of the bicycle left unattended in front of a shop. It was a red BMXk, on which I rode to various places, one of which was the library. The state library in the town where I grew up was more than just decent. Its exterior was aesthetic, by the standards of the early 80s, and the interior was majestic with books filling shelves that reached to the ceiling. It was my dad who had built the library, my mother told me. I went there, hence, every day on my stolen bike, to feel his presence. We hardly lived together as he worked and lived in a faraway town with mum. I think I read, in the course of four years, almost all the books there were to read in that library. Those were Chinese books. Crime, Chinese classics, love stories, translated novels; anything I could get my hands on, I read. But that was nothing to be proud of for there remained a sore point – I could not read the English books, particularly those by Enid Blyton. I was a 13-year-old with a poor command of English and an antagonising urge, yet I was unable to read English storybooks. I tried, with the dictionary, but my ego eroded further as each word unknown became known and too quickly faded away. Scouring and scouting, I ended up reading picture books among little children whose mothers often threw me curious glances. To them, I was probably, in my tattered shoes and stained trousers, a low-class teenager pretending to read English books. What sort of English books did I manage to read and relish? None. I can't recall any, which also means I did not manage to finish any. That, too, explains why I cannot recommend any Enid Blyton book to my son now. I'm contented for him to not read any. It might have been those glances that drove me overseas. With very little money, I landed in Kansas, the United States, for higher education, for a shot to be of a higher class, and for a chance to be able to read western literature. For my first reading assignment in English 101, I picked Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar. My glum mood at the time made me choose it, not knowing it would frighten and disorient me further on winter nights. Was I as gifted as Plath's protagonist? No. I failed two of the three courses I took in the first semester, passing only English 101. Despite the setback and loneliness, unknown to me then, my life went on, underpinned by a tinge of excitement that I was able to read and write in English. My command of the language slowly improved as I began to read, write and speak. Hemmingway implored me to be, like him, a minimalist, but I was besotted with John Steinbeck for his descriptive writing, his sympathetic sense of humour and his keen perception of human sufferings. The Salinas Valley in North California was as grassy and gay as Steinbeck described in East of Eden; I made a trip there to see it for myself. "The memory of odours is very rich," he writes in the book. I could not agree more when I read it then at 21, and now again, 20 years later. The smell of chicken manure, which I now apply to my flowerbeds, reminds me once again of my neighbour and his chickens. It also reminds me of Steinbeck. And yes, I made it swiftly to high class and high finance but settled down voluntarily in middle class to work among books. Those lonely years and those books I read in college grounded me. Pick up a book if you think your life is too high-flying. You will be pleasantly lulled. ■ Abby Wong thinks it may not be technology that makes books obsolete but our lack of time. |
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