Kafez

2009-08-16T23:14:00.000-07:00

Flown the nest.
*Wordpress.

*Please click on the word Wordpress above, for my new site. Thank you.

Continuing the Interview with Malaysian Novelist Zaipah Ibrahim, author of The Gift in the USA

2009-07-20T16:06:00.000-07:00

by Suzan Abrams

Here, I continue an interview I wrote up earlier on Malaysia’s debut novelist Zaipah Ibrahim who recently published a contemporary romance novel, The Gift, in America.

The earlier interview is over here or you could simply scroll down the page to read it. This is the first author photograph of the very cordial, pleasant and obliging Zaipah Ibrahim, on the web. The snap was shot at her school with her students in tow.

What stays special is that here she is standing tall among a stellar list of international writers. The Gift published by Muslim Writers Publishing USA, winds in philosophical ramifications with Islamic ideals. It may be purchased from several international online booksellers.

Perhaps Zaipah's unique accomplishment is that in the face of a stern competition among several hundreds of other aspiring Muslim authors internationally - and all bent on the same slice of the cake - Zaipah was accepted and published by a small press in the States even while she was already back home in Malaysia, during the peak of the recession last March.

Zaipah who has studied in the United States of America, is herself a qualified English Lecturer and is presently dedicated to teaching Malaysian children English. The writer runs a tutorial centre in her homestate of Trengganu; famed for its extraordinary array of cultural assortments, fascinating cuisine and scenic beachspots. The state is situated on Malaysia’s beautiful East Coast. The book cover excellently captures a similar scenery.

The Gift.
Zaipah Ibrahim
ISBN 978-0-9793577-7-0
Muslim Writers Publishing, USA
Paperback 292 Pages
Price: US$14.95

A previous article which introduces the novel is here.
The first part of the interview is here.

And now the rest of the interview.

Could you explain to other aspiring authors who may find you an inspiration, how you got published by Muslim Writers Publishing?

"Search for publishers that publish a genre you're familiar with. I found MuslimWriters America while surfing the net and later met some wonderful other writers of the Islamic faith. . Linda who is better known as Wihad, was the founder. It was only later that my manuscript was accepted by MuslimWritersPublishing."

Did you enjoy the working relationship with your publisher?

"Yes. I liked dealing with the publisher, Linda(Widad) and also the in-house editor, Debora McNichol. They are both efficient in their work and I was more then happy with the quality of the production."

Tell us a little about your tutorial centre.

"It's not the normal tutorial centre that offers all kinds of school subjects. Fajr Library is mainly for book publishing. I set it up when I self-published "Islamic Word Games". Then by chance, friends asked me to tutor their kids. So, I decided to offer English classes as part of activities under Fajr Library.

"Now I have about 40 students enrolled in both primary and secondary school English classes. Each class is made up of about 8-10 students. My main interest is teaching the primary school kids aged 8 and 9 years old. I do activities and play language games with them. I emphasize writing English sentences in fun ways. They enjoy learning English this way. Not all students have these activities at their schools due to large classes while some schools focus too much on exams, thus lots of exam practices!"

What do you find obviously different between the two careers of teaching and writing?

"Teaching is clearly more of helping the kids since English is the biggest problem among many Malay students in Malaysia. On the other hand, my passion for writing means sharing life's experiences and the perceptions gained from wide observations and happenings around me."

Could you tell us about your next book, The Gift II?

"I've always wanted to read (and watch a drama/movie) about AIDS/HIV victims from the perspective of Islam and Muslims - and in a positive way!

"I get bored of reading/watching the negative responses towards them. I wondered how a true muslim is supposed to face such an ordeal. So, I decided to write The Gift II (still a working title) which is the story of a young woman and her determined dream to become a journalist. However, life gives her more than what she bargains for.

"Through her eyes I want readers to follow the roads of life, love and loss as solely regards the disease. This, especially from the perspective of Islam as well. So much I learned from writing this novel in terms of knowlegde about the disease and the pain and the struggle to live with it among the people you love.

"Knowledge is power that gives you the strength when dealing with AIDS/HIV. Doing a research on AIDS/HIV while completing my M.A at SIU-C was unforgettable. The librarians were cooperative but I received some funny stares every time I checked out books from the Carbondale public library in America ....just imagine a woman wearing a hijab/veil and all she read was AIDS/HIV related books. :)"

When did you begin to write this?

"I think it all started at the end of 1997 but I completed the research by the end of spring 1998. The writing was done after I came home to Malaysia. At the time, due to a busy teaching schedule at the college, I couldn't focus on the manuscript. When I resigned in 2001, I put more hours into writing it."

Who is publishing your second novel?

"Telaga Biru - a local Malaysian publisher - will publish it. At the moment I'm waiting for the final letter of confirmation from them. They liked the manuscript the first time they read it but hesitated to publish it (due to the language being in English) until they saw the published version of The Gift. I was eager to send them a copy as requested and this paid off. Sometimes from wishful thinking, I do wonder if they would like me to translate the novel to the Malay language."

How do you feel about it all and where do you find the time for your promotions?

"Oh dear... I am too busy these days with teaching, so I just can't manage the time to do promotions of The Gift in Malaysia. At the moment, my promotions are all online. And yes, I'm still getting used to that idea. Whenever people ask for my signature, I feel strange and smile before signing the book. I can't help myself."

What are some of your favourite things?

"Due to a food allergy, I am selective of what I eat but I like trying non-Malay cookings as long as the food is halal. Right now Indian and Korean cooking are my favourites. I love the colours yellow, pink and turquoise. And as for flowers, they just have to be pink and red roses. At the moment, my hobbies are reading, writing, travelling and internet-surfing."

What do you love about Terengganu?

"The coasts! Only one word to describe them. Magnificent! It's one of Allah's greatest works of art! I become speechless everytime I sit on the beach waiting for the sun to rise. I watch a universal change happening right before my eyes! No matter where I go, I just cannot forget these beautiful natural view. Once upon a time, I loved jogging very early in the morning and would wait for the sun to rise. Nowadays, I don't get to jog much though I still try to catch a sunrise whenever possible."

The book cover features a lone figure of a Malay woman walking on the coast. Who designed it ?

"Linda/Widad told me the idea and I liked it. She had it designed and showed it to me."

And what about your family?

"I'm not married. I love spending time with my family esp. with my two little nephews."

How do you spend your writing days currently?

"I'm not writing much these days...still sifting through my many little notes but I'm planning to write more soon. Also, I'm writing some Islamic romance short stories at the moment. I have finished a few so far. Also, since my two novels The Gift and the other soon-to-published The Gift II feature serious and weighty themes, I plan to introduce elements of fun and laughter from the notes I mentioned."

Do you intend to visit America again?

"InshaAllah!" (God Willing)

Do you have any golden rule for aspiring Malaysian writers who have plans to publish abroad?

"Be honest and love what you write. Never give up and keep searching for the publishers. I believe there is one for each writer out there."

Do you have a favourite old Malay poem or folklore?

"I don't have one. The young Zaipah was such a big fan of mysteries and adventures. Even romance novels came much much later in her life." :)

Remembering Frank McCourt

2009-07-19T16:26:00.000-07:00

by Suzan Abrams

I am heartbroken that Ireland's illustrious writer, Frank McCourt, who authored a bestselling memoir featuring a poverty-stricken Irish childhood, Angela's Ashes, has died.

My personal experiences are of having met and spoken to him twice, not too long ago.

Once was a signing at the Eason Bookstore on Lower O'Connell Street on a weekend afternoon, close to the Christmas of 2007. Having just published a seasonal picture book for children, McCourt was present to meet with fans.

He asked me where I was from. When he heard me say Malaysia; he talked to me a little about his time in Singapore, a country he had visited and thoroughly enjoyed. He asked me if I had been. He said that he had grown tired of travelling and just wanted to return home. He wished it could be Ireland. He kept saying he wanted to rest. At the time, he looked terribly frail.

I spoke to him again this February at the wonderful Emirates' Festival of Literature in Dubai. I was amused to see that the now buoyant McCourt was in jest a lot of the time. He had put on weight and seemed in his element, cracking jokes that came complete with his sarcastic wit and an array of sardonic quips.

He talked in length about how when he was a schoolteacher nobody knew or bothered much about him and that suddenly at such a late age, fame would hit overnight. How he regaled us with the comedy of a life well lived and learnt and too, his trials posed from aspiring authors who often posted him strange manuscripts for which he never knew how to comment.

We would all see how McCourt so enjoyed speaking to a full house in Dubai. How glad I am now that Emirates and Foyles had chosen McCourt for a select author invitation and that he in turn, had so cheerfully given his time to the festival.

McCourt was clearly in high admiration and respect for Orange Prize winner, the Nigerian novelist Chimamanda Ngozi's writings and also her observations on life. He was deeply interested in all she said and at a panel discussion, kept probing her thoughts on issues he himself felt compelled to comment on.

May the beautiful Frank McCourt's soul rest in peace.

Malaysian Author Tash Aw to Read at the Edinburgh International Book Festival August 2009

2009-07-10T16:56:00.001-07:00

by Suzan Abrams

If you're an ardent reader, Scotland's the place to be this August!

Glance through the detailed programme that's been elaborately laid out and styled - more the decorative element, I'd say for a coffee table glossy - and it's easy to see how this year's Edinburgh International Book Festival 2009 is truly a universal meeting of the minds. The festival carefully shapes a prism that reflects a monumental number of slants in which detailed subjects of authors, publishing, literature and writing may be delightfully probed and measured.

Many, many big names and also fascinating lesser known authors. Also, a fantastic schedule of children's book events.

Malaysia is represented by its most popular bestselling author worldwide of all time, Tash Aw. Aw who's currently in big demand for readings in several countries will talk about his newest novel Map of the Invisible World on Saturday, 15th of August at 4.30pm. His event which takes place at the Writers Retreat, is listed under the category of World Writing. Aw will share the spotlight with debut novelist Sulaiman Addonia's The Consequences of Love; a plot which draws on a forbidden romance in Saudi Arabia.

Singapore is represented by pioneer poet Edwin Thamboo and also the poet Simon Tay and the region's highly popular novelist, Suchen Christine Lim. All three will speak at 4.00pm on Sunday, 16th August at the Peppers Theatre. I've met and spoken to Suchen. She stays one of the most level-headed, friendly, humorous and unpretentious writers I know.

Another shy writer that comes to mind is Diana Evans who's also reading at the Fest and who I'm surprised has just had another novel out, which I didn't even know about. Especially too, that I had been waiting the longest time. I once sat next to Evans at a Tash Aw reading in London and she was extremely soft-spoken, gentle and pretty much the lovely soul.

One more humble author - but he's not at the Fest - is Vikram Seth. I've met Seth twice . Chatted with him once at Hatchards in Piccadilly's London and went to a reading another time at the South Bank. He is a very very funny man and enjoys holding an audience up in stitches for as long as it takes.

Here is the link to the Edinburgh Book Festival Programme. Do enjoy your scroll down as you gasp at all the lovelies..

Credits: Edinburgh 7 &
Edinburgh 1

A Short Interview with Malaysian Novelist Zaipah Ibrahim, writer of The Gift

2009-07-10T14:43:00.001-07:00

Here is a short interview with Malaysia's debut novelist Zaipah Ibrahim who recently published a contemporary romance novel, The Gift, in America.

Standing tall among a stellar list of international writers, The Gift published by Muslim Writers Publishing in the USA, winds in philosophical ramifications with Islamic ideals. It may be purchased from several international online booksellers.

Zaipah who studied in the United States of America and is a qualified English Lecturer, is dedicated to teaching Malaysian children English. The writer currently runs a tutorial centre in her homestate of Trengganu; famed for its extraordinary array of cultural assortments, fascinating cuisine and scenic beachspots. The state is situated on Malaysia's beautiful East Coast. The book cover excellently captures a similar scenery.

A previous article which introduces the novel is here.

The Gift.
Zaipah Ibrahim
ISBN 978-0-9793577-7-0
Muslim Writers Publishing, USA
Paperback 292 Pages
Price: US$14.95

A short interview with Zaipah Ibrahim by Suzan Abrams

When was the moment you knew you wanted to be a writer?

"I've always liked writing but never thought I would actually become a writer one day! I started penning short stories in *bahasa melayu (*the Malay language which is Malaysia's national language) while studying in the Second Form and just to share with friends. When I chose the science stream in the Fourth Form, I stopped writing altogether. Then a year later, while in the Fifth Form, my story was chosen by a teacher who read it to the whole class. At that moment, I felt a sharp desire to pursue writing once more but didn't.

"Later I studied computer science until I decided to switch to linguistics! It wasn't until 1996 /1997 that I seriously got myself into writing. I was in the USA doing my M.A at that time. I was searching high and low for an Islamic romance novel to read but couldn't find any... so I thought of writing it myself! I grabbed whatever free time I had to read books on creative writing...sort of independent learning. Slowly I drafted a manuscript and the journey finally began for The Gift!"

Did anything or anyone special inspire you to write?

"It was more a desire to provide quality Islamic fiction, especially in the romance genre.

In Malaysia, romance novels in Bahasa Malaysia/Malay are very much influenced by Western literature in particular and this with regards to cultures and values and all...

I found very few novels in BM that reflected Islam as a way of life... in a non-preachy way that is. For me Islam owns its rituals just like any other religion would, but it is more of a faith that reflects a specific art on living a life. Unfortunately, I don't see this act being translated/incorporated into Malay romance novels or television productions like weekly dramas and serials."

Tell me something about family life in your hometown, Terengganu.

"I come from a big family...grew up with mom as house-wife...dad worked with the MARA shipping yard. Mom passed away years ago and dad now runs his own carpentory workshop. I was in standard 6 and 12 years old when i seriously decided to improve my English. Before that, i used to collect bad grades for the language. I had this teacher....teacher Safiah who made me love english... When I entered high school, there was a sudden tremendous improvement! Two teachers I will always remember....Madam Safiah and Madam Latifah! They offered a new meaning to the very idea of pursuing the English Language...lots of fun and possible to master!"

How was your love for literature influenced in your younger years?

"Libraries are homes for me. Morris Library (SIU-C) was a the best place in the campus! As a child my dad stressed the importance of reading (he used to say "people read books on buses, so you have no excuse to not read at home"). Slowly I picked up the habit. I just loved reading and the school library was heaven for me. I loved reading Aesop's Fables (in BM) when i was 8 - 9 yrs old. Later I was a big fan of the mystery series, Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys...The Famous Five...all in BM... In High School I read loads of of Sherlock Holmes in English. But the romance novel? Ah well, not until finishing high school. Only then did I start reading novels by Danielle Steel."

What were your favourite storybooks as a child?

"As a child of course, of course it had to be the Aesop Fables....lots of lessons in morality to learn plus the happy endings and all wishes coming true. As for those mystery novels, I loved finding out how a crime was solved! I became really fascinated by all of that. Sherlock Holmes especially was a great character that left an important influence on me as a teenager..."

What did you study in the States and how long were you there for?

"I did linguistics for my B.A and TESL for my M.A. I did both at Southern Illinois Univ - Carbondale.For each course of study, I spent almost 2 years. For my B.A I completed 2 years in an MUCIA program in Malaysia before going to the States."

How did your writing develop when you were in the States?

"Completing my M.A was a lot of work, but my growing interest in writing made me strive to learn how to write. The internet too helped me explore the writing world and conduct research. When I came home I continued my research ventures at the public library in my home town."

You appear a prolific writer with initially two self-published educational books, a second novel almost ready and a third with notes on the go. How did such an event as writing The Gift 10 years ago come about?

"As I mentioned earlier, I badly wanted to read an Islamic romance novel. I read 'Cinta Madinah' by a local writer. It stayed close to the philosophical and religious ideals I was looking for but produced in the Malay language. I told myself to go ahead with The Gift! So, I gathered experiences from my life and of others I saw around me...Saleha, a main character, was my main focus at first and then came the others... Ani, Imran and Syakirah...all these characters suddenly became real to me.

"Due to a heavy teaching workload at college, I couldn't really focus on writing but I never stopped. I guessed that was the reason why it took me so long to finish, rewrite, polish etc...around 2003 I submitted the manuscript to a local (Malaysian) publisher but they were not willing to publish. Reason - a local romance novel in English would not well-received in Malaysia!

"I held on to the manuscript and began writing my second novel. The same thing happened to the second manuscript - no takers to those I submitted to in Malaysia because I wrote it in English! It was after 'meeting' Widad (Linda of Muslim Writers Publishing in the States) that The Gift finally began its publication journey. Still, on having observed my first novel now being published in America, a Malaysian publisher stepped forward to announce that they were willing to publish the second manuscript."

How was your everyday writing discipline?

"I wrote The Gift in my bedroom. Didn't matter whether it was in Malaysia or in Carbondale! But I have a habit of keeping a little notebook with me and I write down any scenes or ideas that come to mind wherever I go. So, when I sat down to write The Gift, all the little notes were with me.

"I would spend at least an hour a day on the manuscript once I managed a complete draft of the novel. I usually make up my mind on the ending right from the beginning. However, the beginning might change as the story proceeds.

How did you then start to properly organise your writing for even other pieces of work?

"Once I settled on a theme I would start keeping little notes. Right now I have a bunch of them for my third novel....I wrote a short note in my blog about this (www.polariswriter.blogspot.com). Once I have enough notes, I would sit down to fix all the pieces together. It's fun, really!Then I will write a draft....the big picture I call it. The plots come along as I begin writing later on. A lot of editing/polishing as the chapters build.

"I do have moods. That's why it's important to carry that little book. Sometimes I just sit down and type away with the notes beside me! Otherwise, I write reams of pages in longhand before anything else.

Name a favourite book for the present time.

"I like tafseer (Commentary of the Quran) by the late Prof Hamka."

And what are you reading at the moment?

"Dont Be Sad by Aaidh Al-Qarnee. The English version of 'La Tahzan'. A super book and very inspiring."

What was a precious page or moment or chapter for you personally with regards to your own tale of The Gift?

"Pages 202- 203 (Saleha and Imran before their wedding) and page 254 (Syira and Imran on the subject of trust)."

While writing The Gift, how vividly did the characters occupy your headspace?

"I practically lived with them. Laughed and cried with them. I was really sad when Saleha died. I felt so much for Imran's loss and wanted Syira to be there for him though they were still strangers in some ways. Love and trust were still missing at that point. And yes I did miss them when I finished that last chapter especially Saleha!."

Did your finished manuscript alter or inspire your individuality in any way?

"There are some things in life - good and bad experiences- that can be translated and shared in the form of fiction. After all there are always lessons to learn with every big/little episode in life. A novel is no different."

Who are your favourite Malaysian authors?

"For fiction, I enjoy Abu Hassan Morad's talent. He wrote 'Cinta Madinah'."

How do you feel about Malaysian fiction in English, making it in the world?

"I wish for more Malaysian fiction to be written in English thus getting international readership. But, the writers must have a clear vision why he/he wants to do this. For me, being a Muslim, I feel it's a duty almost to make use of what little writing skills I possess to contribute to the production of quality Islamic fiction. So far, my friends - both Muslims and non-Muslims - have enjoyed reading 'The Gift'. Also, never give up! Believe in what you write! One reader in the UK was happy to read The Gift because she just loved the story about Malaysians written by a Malaysian!

How important currently are friends for intellectual pursuits?

"Writer friends help boost my spirit to write esp. when I go through writer's block. Yes, I do have a few specifically in the Muslim Writers Group though we are all busy with other non-writing tasks at the moment. Generally, I tend to stay the solitary writer although I love getting comments from anyone in the writing world anywhere at all."

Would you see having experienced the dire writing process yourself that being published internationally is different from being published locally?

"Yes! I get more worldwide feedback. It's also interesting how people living outside Malaysia appreciate not just the story but the places and cultures presented in the novel."

Credit: Clip art of Sherlock Holmes, courtesy of Gnurf.Net.

Beverley Raw's Telling Tales, courtesy of UKUnpublished

2009-06-27T04:34:00.001-07:00

by Suzan Abrams

Should I say that self-publisher David Buttle's vision is a cool one? As cool as frosted ice on a cream cake? I'd be lying if I didn't.

At first, it just sounded too good to be true. Buttle who opened UK Unpublished for writers who wanted to see their work in print on a low string budget - and he explains how this miracle is possible on his well-laid out website - said he sourced his ideas all of 2006 and 2007 before volunteering to help publish a writer's book for as low as say, £200 (the average estimate) and if you wanted a design cover he knew just the right person - but add on another £100 and well...the fee may hover a bit up and down the stakes but depending on the number of pages...and not a total sum that would invite disgruntlement.

In the meantime, Buttle would secure you an ISBN code for those necessary online & bookstore retailers/databases and the rest would be up to you...

Of course, if you were wise, you would have your manuscript seriously edited and proof-read beforehand...

Well, to-date Buttle has successfully catered for three authors - he published them in March/April 2009 and there's always room for more.

I decided to order Beverley Raw's 188-page paperback, Telling Tales from Waterstone's Dublin without ado. I haven't yet read her collection of short stories but excerpts from Telling Tales, The Looking Glass, Old Beaky, Rendezvous and Daddy's Little Camper don't disappoint. There is a free-spirited Woodstock tone about the lot...and I am reminded of a Lynne Reid Banks' classic; The L-Shaped Room.

Raw is an artist and jeweller, living in East Devon and clearly over the moon with her discovery of writing joys in later years.

Well...she has good reason to be proud. The book is so beautifully produced and with such an enticing cover that it quite took my breath away.

Buttle made the right decision in using Lightning Source, currently the UK's foremost Print-n-Demand expert; also a faithful companion to Salt Publishing and YouWriteOn.com

What a glossy neat finish to the cover, a tidy, pleasant template to the interior and overall, a sharp, snazzy look. Beverley Raw has herself a gorgeous paperback with Telling Tales if only she would go to town a little on her promotions.

Together with Lightning Source as his choice of printer, Buttle shows up a thoughtful sophisitcated result that would triumph over many mainstream publishers of traditional print in Malaysia and Singapore alone. In this vein, I'll exclude Silverfish Books Kuala Lumpur and Monsoon Books Singapore for a superb quality that currently shape their respective title lists.

"The Gift", by Malaysia's debut novelist Zaipah Ibrahim, published in the States

2009-06-16T19:44:00.000-07:00

by Suzan Abrams

A reliable Google search engine and a touch of common sense, tells me that with the exception of her family, friends, students and of course her publisher in the United States and online booksellers worldwide (do count Amazon Japan); few if anyone else in Malaysia currently know that one of their own; modest Malay writer and teacher, Zaipah Ibrahim from her homestate of Terengganu -Malaysia's luscious and scenic East Coast - recently published her first English Language novel, The Gift (ISBN: 9780979357770) with MuslimWritersPublishing in Arizona, America.

Ibrahim stands tall alongside other select international writers producing an eye-catching list of adult and childrens' titles that veer towards the philosophical and would in turn, create Islamic culture as a high point of intrigue for any curious observer.

Priced at £9.59 with Borders UK and $14.95 in the States and available at Barnes and Noble, the 292-page paperback, features a thoughtful if not heart-rending blurb, as easily reminiscent of MuslimWriterPublishing's head, Linda D. Delgado or otherwise affectionately known as Wihad's, poignant choices, as she aims to publish quality literature that heralds and celebrates Islam.

In this respect, Delgado says that she would soon break into other genres, including science fiction and crime for her submission lists.

Meanwhile, The Gift is described as a "love story set in exotic asian Malaysia.". It talks about a mother's last wish for her son, where in her feverish attempts at offering him a gift of a new life, the parent must bravely reopen buried wounds from an unresolved past.

As the novel's foremost thematic approach, The Gift - which represents an almost intangible object - would meander through timelines and lost episodes with the rush of a gushing brook. It would mark a mother's final handover to a son whose life can now be rebuilt where it was once torn from an ill-fated event. The Gift would then turn this young mother's face to her own parent, where through unfortunate circumstances, she had dismally failed to make her mother happy. The Gift would then once more serve as catalyst for the young woman and the dying mother's son to each triumph over their past, while fulfilling another mother's wish.

Zaipah Ibrahim, a graduate of Southern Illinois University at Carbondale in the US, worked as an English lecturer from 1990 – 2001 at the Sultan Zainal Abidin Religious College, Malaysia. She presently owns and manages her own tutorial centre, writes books and teaches the English Language in Malaysia.

Before Ibrahim's manuscript was selected for publication in the States, the author had self-published two other educational children's books Islamic Word Games Books 1 & 2, which were designed to introduce "basic Islamic terminology in English".

From a fellow Malaysian writer in Dublin, Ireland, many congratulations if you read this, Zaipah.

A Gem of a Find: The Singing Top: Tales from Malaysia, Singapore and Brunei by Margaret Read Macdonald

2009-06-14T18:44:00.000-07:00

by Suzan Abrams

June 15: Look at the treasure I found, courtesy of accomplished American author Margaret Read Macdonald whose long list of works reflect sparkle, colour and fun! A secret chest too, I'll maintain and for good reason.

Several online booksellers in the UK, USA, and Australia including their respective libraries
have readily advertised and stocked the tempting 191-page book of tales (pictured), since it was first published by Libraries Unlimited in August 2008. Yet when I scoured the online web for two major Malaysian booksellers, the names of author, title and ISBN number all drew a blank.

As I skimmed quickly through Google, no Malaysian book blog seems to have mentioned it either with the exception of one as a tucked-away 'reading list' a few months ago. None popped up but then to be honest, this once robust scene has now dwindled to a trickle.

Still as a consolation, I doubt that Macdonald, the lively-spirited Fulbright scholar, children's librarian, author of over 55 print and audio folklore tales and the grand dame of storytelling would have noticed. Not when it sounds like she could be having herself a ball at this very moment, travelling the world. Studying the animated writer's illustrious portfolio on her cheerful website, nothing I write could possibly do her justice.

Dedication and pure passion spell the author's life work as she reads and acts the perfect role of raconteur at storytelling workshops, festivals, conferences and schools worldwide. Already, her calendar this year looks pretty full.

The Singing Top: Tales from Malaysia... is Macdonald's latest title. The writer who is expert in recording various ethnic folklore, sketches 15 Borneo tales in this anthology as part of a specialised World Folklore Series. Having a quick glance through the titles, it's easy to see that Macdonald has gathered all the right enriching fables that provide for an exotic and flamboyant Malaysian history - there are Malay legends and intriguing if not humorous stories of the sultanate as well as the wily, cunning mousedeer. Tales of orchards, princesses, curses and animals offer decorative plots for the rest of the fare. Accompanying novelties include colour photography, puzzles, games, proverbs and notes sketched alongside the tales. Having grown up with all these stories told us by teachers, friends and parents, while I was at school in Malaysia as a little girl, I can assure you there won't be a dull moment.

I will let you know more once I've read the book. I'm glad to see the title on Waterstone's database. I'll be along tomorrow to order it for sure, never mind that the hardback stands at the slightly steep price of £22. Already, it feels like a nostalgic heritage for me here in Dublin. I'll probably have a moment flicking through the beautiful tales and remembering my classmates long gone. But then I who never really stopped being the child, long for the excuse.

Photograph of Margaret Read Macdonald courtesy of MargaretReadMacdonald.com

The enigmatic and alluring Farah Damji

2009-05-29T22:26:00.000-07:00

by Suzan Abrams

This is an older blog. For a kinder arrangement of this interview, please go to my new Wordpress site.

An Interview with Farah Damji

The need for a fix of a sweeter kind; nothing more than the aromatic flavour of a good coffee roast is what spurs present-day writer, renowned socialite and *ethical fashion designer, Farah Damji, to wake up with a renewed zest at her Central London Westminster home every morning.

Of course, she could always settle for alternative sensual pleasures. The legendary Julie Andrews’ flamboyant rendition in My Favourite Things from the absolutely merry Sound of Music may have done well to have encountered some of Damji's own assortments comprising a swift Chanel No.5 whiff, her childrens’ laughter and the shy scent of her little daughter’s hair and the very idea too, mind you, of “drowning” as Damji succinctly puts it, in her “son’s eyes.”

Then there are the simpler women magazine choice favourites like a row of plants sprouting up out of their window boxes, the happy sight of fresh flowers on a table, the smell of baking cakes, the feel of silk and perhaps most relevant of all, the satisfaction of a finished book.

At the end of the day, Damji will look forward to being surrounded by her family, children, good friends and fresh flowers. Think parrot tulips for a moment. Damji adores their “weird organic shapes” and the strange way they completely “freak out” after a full bloom.

Damji also loves Nitin Sawhhney and is a faithful listener of Belle Humble, a North London-based singer whom she suspects may seriously give Lilly Allen a run for her money even if the former hasn’t yet achieved her breakthrough.

Naturally, Damji can afford to be contemplative and daring in her thoughts. These are after all, exciting times in the socialite's life pictured in an ironical upside-down fashion; very much if you like, the calm after the storm.

Damji has come through and survived unscathed a series of traumas, international scandals – some of them unjust - and accompanying crimes; not a pretty story but nevertheless, old demons must still be faced and conquered so there you go.

Now, the Uganda-born former editor and publisher of a once stylish magazine in London, is to reveal all, in her sizzling brave autobiography Try Me to be published by the Ark Press in early July. Fifteen percent of the author's royalties from the sale of each book will be religiously donated to Madonna's charity, in the Raising Malawi campaign which helps over 400 000 orphans annually.

"...I don't see myself as a catalyst for justice truth or ointments but simply as a woman who wanted to tell her uncut, uncensored story. Writing was the first most direct way to do that."

Hers is described as a revolutionary story and a study in paradox by the charismatic writer and columnist Nirpal Singh Dhaliwal. The plot stays devoid of the usual soppy melodramas that habitually tail the Indian immigrant nostalgia – a quality of formula writing that many South Asian writers may have happily settled into, like a pair of old bedroom slippers.

In this instance, Damji who uses her love for writing as a “passionate bug”, begs to differ.

“Writing is the most effective means to convey a message,” she explains. “It's longer lasting than TV, more efficient than radio, it's forever. I don't see myself as a catalyst for justice truth or ointments but simply as a woman who wanted to tell her uncut, uncensored story. Writing was the first most direct way to do that."

At the moment, a writing ritual is confined to the controversial Damji as to just where the mood “takes her.” She is re-reading Naipaul where she may convince herself yet again on the brilliance of the Nobel Laureate’s writings. Simply put, her logic is simple. “He captures the heart of the exiled and is not for the squeamish.” she enthuses.

Damji who holds VS Naipaul. JM Coetzee. Boudiccea. Lady Godiva and Modesty Blaise to great admiration, is also reading Rumi translations, another literary endeavour that resonates the senses, but not those by Coleman Barks.

To any reader, who opens up to the first page of Try Me, Damji would plead, “Keep an open mind and an open heart.” And please. There is good reason for this.

It didn’t help matters that both the Google search engine which may prove overly-efficient at the worst of times and Wikipedia who labelled the once convicted lady an “international fraudster” may have also offered no help at all in soaking up fabricated, deeply exaggerated and in many cases anonymous accounts of what really went on in Damji’s life some years ago.

Now, the fair-minded observer can expect more than just what promises to be a riveting read of homespun truths designed to knock the socks of many.

With Damji’s devil-may-care attitude, the dangerous thrill of scintillating gossip in American and European high society and this promptly laid in contrast with the sharper somber aptitude of deep reflection that summed up daunting prison life first in New York and then England, awaits like a burning summer read.

Be warned that Try Me will be all about the book you can’t put down or won't want to.

Besides the autobiography, established filmmaker Farrukh Dhondy of Lucid Pictures will adapt Farah Damji’s book for the screen. The screenplay is currently a project in the making.

Here now are candid answers to a delicious interview on the necessary personal things the web forgot to record on the real Farah Damji as you may not know her. The simple, everyday things that beg to hold no judgement or puritanical hauteur

With her caustic well-humoured wit, the answers below reveal truth carefully wound into one individual’s resurgence of a new life in the making.

In my own erratic conversations with Farah Damji, let it be known that I have found the writer to be on occasion easily forgiving in that old-fashioned and warm-hearted, "never mind, don’t worry about it" way.

*********

On Writing and Publishing

Explain your current working day.

“At the moment, I’m still focused on getting my life back on track. At this stage, I work a lot on my book and help formulate marketing ideas with my publisher who is also my public relations consultant. We do this quite a lot together.

“I’m also talking to bookshops with the possibility of doing book readings and author signings. I’m lucky that I do have a lot of autonomy with my publisher on subjects like paper quality for instance, which I may not have had anywhere else.” – FD

Who publishes Try Me?

"The Ark Press in July 2009."

How did you discover your publisher?

“I didn’t. They discovered me. And it was a perfect fit. I dumped a “big book deal” because I was put with an editor I couldn’t stand. A young British Asian girl was handed my manuscript to work on. She thought the contents too shocking and insisted I edit out huge chunks of my life. I refused to do this.

“This was after promises made that they loved the book, loved my writing, were fully behind it etc. What they really wanted was to package it and add it to the inane silly Indorbit chick-lit books out there that hold a limited audience and an even more limited world-view.

“Then came Mme. Amita Mukerjee of Revenge Ink who again loved it, wanted it etc etc but had her own agenda.

“Amita and I parted ways in March when it became clear to me that she wasn’t capable of publishing Try Me.

“So when The Ark Press got in touch to ask if I would like to be their first book, I jumped at the chance. Because they too are new, this stays an important title to both parties and I am getting all the attention I could only dream about.

“The Ark Press’s next title is to be Holy Bull; a work of non-fiction that discusses fraud in Indian history. It is written by the historian Roddy Matthews, who challenges the East India Company's version of history as perpetrated by the unfortunate bastard children of the Raj, Willie Dalrymple, Salman Rushdie etc.

“Apart from the general destruction of Dalrymple's perspective Matthews points out ludicrous errors. For example, he writes that William Fraser left Calcutta and sailed down the Ganges in a steamboat for Delhi in the reign of Shah Jehan in 1704. He might as well said he took EasyJet because there were no steamboats at the time. Their other books include an unpublished monograph by VS Naipaul and Farrukh Dhondy's brilliant book, The Bikini Murders, which he denies is based on the true story of Charles Sobraj. I’m in excellent company.”

I remember an anonymous page and one easily visible on the web where the contents stress that you had “dumped” Mme. Mukerjee as she turned out to be nothing more than a vanity publisher. At the same time too, RedHotCurry.com mentioned your supposed online war with a publisher.

“I have nothing to do with Amita Mukerjee anymore. I wish her luck in anything she attempts but I don’t wish to be involved with vanity publishing. RedHotCurry.com never spoke to me.”

How would you accord discipline with writing now that time and freedom are your own?

“I waste far too much time and then I kick myself for doing it. But people around always tell me they can't believe how much I get done. Little do they know...”

What do you expect the reaction to be towards Try Me? What do you stay prepared for?

“Incidentally, I didn’t write it for a reaction. The truth might be painful but can be instructive, cautionary and might assist people to assess others more accurately.”

What would you say to any stubborn observer still sceptical of all your experiences and brutal reflections?

“I don't care. Maybe I should but have never lived my life worried about what people think. .I am not the sum total of the opinions and reflections of me, I have, finally some sense of who I am, devoid of all the hype and hysteria and hate.”

How would you view diaspora Indian writers in Britain or worldwide? Think Jhumpa Lahiri in her new contemporary literature as opposed to the views you held in 2004?

“People like Jumpa Lahiri write Green card misery memoirs. If they hate it so much why don't they go "home?" I think Indian diaspora writers are expected to write a certain way, the men will always be compared to Salman Rushdie, the women to Arundhati Roy although in reality both were one-hit wonders. What people like Rushdie do is make a joke out of degraded civilisations. I don't think that it is funny, I think it is sick.

"Why should we be dictated to about what we can write? Why should we produce simply formulaic books? But there are women breaking out of the mould.

“I admire Naseem Rekha's style and I like what I have read so far from her book, The Crying Tree. She sketches this from a global perspective especially about "dark" issues such as murder. But then I am not up to date anymore with what these "DIASPORA" people are writing.

“I tend to read what I know I am going to love and that tends to come from recommendations. Life is too short to read a book I am going to think later "God, what a waste of time." I want to read books about people whose vision I want to peek into, a bit like a peeping-Tom, so there has to be something there in the first place to attract me to them or their writing.

On Damji’s Autobiography Being Turned into a Film

You said earlier on the web that you were working on a film proposal. Can you tell us more?

“It's being packaged by Lucid Pictures in the UK who are also doing Naipaul's Bend in the River and Howard Jacobson's Kaluki Nights. There are producers attached, Farrukh Dhondy is the Executive Producer (his credits being Bandit Queen, The Rising & Red Mercury)”

How do you reflect on the very idea of your controversial story being turned into a film?

“I love it. Who wouldn’t?”

How do you expect the film on the story of your life to define truth in a way that would be obviously different to the writing craft?

“I think films based on biographies are just a facet of the truth, in the way books are another facet of the same truth.

“I see the book as a launching pad for the film and not a line-by-line interpretation of what happened. All the book does is offer themes but a good writer and director will work to make these interesting to a viewing audience and to keep their attention for two hours at a stretch.

“A book is a different engagement, it's a longer commitment of time and energy in a way. You expend more of yourself by reading a book than by watching a film so it takes a different set of skills to be able to make a great film than to write a good film.”

Who would you in a surreal dream have liked to have directed a film based on your autobiography?

"There are too many great directors out there but two favourites are Guy Ritchie and Stephen Frears.”

Who would you like to play you in a cinematic version of your life so far?

“Angelina Jolie.”

How great a participation would you expect to hold in a film made from Try Me?

“If Farrukh is packaging it, then none. He is a control freak but also my best friend and the most ruthless writer and honest critic I know. I trust him, which is why the film went to Lucid Pictures.”

Are there particular films you enjoy for their execution?

“Dangerous Liaisons, Doubt, Rocknrolla, and Damaged. All cleverly written and directed to leave a gap for the viewer to come to their own conclusions about morality, betrayal, family, society. "

On Signing Off

With adventure, drama and experience in your hand, what do you consider to be the most over-rated virtue and why.

“Discretion: which I see as a coward’s way out.”

How do you view yourself as an individual today?

“A work in progress.”

Besides the film proposal, what stays your next writing project or have you already started work on another book?

“Just thinking right now about a second book, which would be a novel. Mine is a two-book deal so I have to come up with something pretty fast!”

Have you thought about returning to edit a magazine? Especially that once before you were recognized for this.

“Been asked but not interested. Dead Wood Media is approaching extinction. With print-on-demand and news websites giving us the information we want at our fingertips, who needs them anymore?

“Of course there a few magazines left worth keeping around. Vanity fair, Harpers Bazaar, The New Yorker but they exist to continue their own legacy and are supported by those who live / subscribe to the dream. It's a very different world.

*********

*Farah Damji is the owner of Moksasurya.com. Please click on link to be impressed by what is said to be the world's first luxury eco-brand in fashion.

An Interview with Leela Soma, author of Twice Born

2009-05-29T22:23:00.000-07:00

By Suzan Abrams

This is an older blog. For a kinder arrangement of this interview, please go to my new Wordpress site.

Captions include Leela Soma and scenes from the window in her writing-room.

Introduction

Last year, Indo-Scot Glasgow academic turned writer, poet and performer, Leela Soma, published Twice Born with independent press, YouWriteOn.com in London. The title is said to be Glasgow’s first literary work of fiction spelling out a South Indian emigrant’s journey to Scotland.

Soma whose stories and poetry appear to have taken off like the wind, described her earlier academic life as a wonderful career, one that was sometimes “deeply rewarding and at others, difficult and strenuous.” In contrast writing has proved luxurious and fantastic, she says. In Soma’s own words, “...the passion for getting a sentence right is deeply satisfying just as meeting up with an old student.”

Twice Born took at at least 2 1/2 years to complete. More details of Leela Soma’s accomplishments may be found on her website and her blog.
On June 4th the novelist launches Twice Born at Borders, Glasgow.
More details of the event may be found over here.
Do click here to read my review of Twice Born.

Here are some personal insights on Madras-born Soma’s everyday writing life.

**********

A Day In The Life

Leela Soma’s favourite colour may be blue and memorable scenes will stay of a moonlit night on Madras beach or of holding her infant daughter for the first time. Nothing beats the latter, she insists.

But in everyday life, Soma prefers an early rise and it is the sunshine she considers her best spiritual uplift. In her own words, she loves getting up to a “bright day” as it “fills her soul with joy”.

Leela Soma describes herself as a friendly and chatty person, intent on social activities. “I need people,” she enthuses. “I hate being on my own except when I need space to think or write. Ocassionally I get moody and annoying but snap out of it soon enough. I love chocolate and snacking on them ruins any work out at the gym.”

In retrospect, her dawn energy stays motivated by a quiet reflection. Often, she steadies her glance at a remembered sister’s present: a photograph of her parents which she considers beautiful. Each morning, Soma wills their love and dedication to set her up for the day.

This to be soon followed by a “good cup of tea”, tuning into Radio 4 and checking her emails.

Mid-morning will find her at the local gym – the first class starts at 9.30am – for a series of low-impact exercises or a swim. Then in her own words, “a lovely coffee with really good friends at the gym at least four times a week.”

The afternoon will see her with the Times crossword and this followed by two to four hours of writing or reviewing her stories.

Soma may write up to four hours each weekday but none at all on the weekends; which she marks as a sacred interlude. She confesses to a room with a view. A window overlooks a woodland scene. The room is quiet, and made up of her computer, accompanying paraphernalia, a library and a puja - hindu prayer table - at one end. Her ritual would be to sketch ideas on paper first as “small notes to herself”. This to be followed by writing straight onto the computer.

There’s no denying that after cooking the evening meal, Soma would like to put her feet up with the “good odd, tv programme” or otherwise Coronation Street but as she views the full literary scene in Glasgow with excitement; is often off to “various book/creative writing events.” She also wishes the theatre was more affordable.

Later, she will wind down with a pile of books at her bedside table including some old favourites. At the moment the writer is bent on reading David Eggers. 'What is the What' -in USA revolves around a story of the Lost Boys of Sudan.

“I can read it in small doses as the scenes depicted of Southern Sudan, the suffering of the young children and the ongoing Darfur catastrophe is relentlessly heart wrenching. Unless we read it we can never understand and have empathy for such dreadful wars in the world,” she observes thoughtfully.

Alexander McCall Smith stays a favourite author and Soma consider’s , Barrack Obama's ' Dreams from My Father to be a "superb read”. *More details of her favourite book collection may be found in the questions and answers session below.

"In the UK apart from the literary giants like Rushdie, and Booker prize winners like Arundathi Roy, Hanif Kureshi and Adiga there are few that reflect the life of an ordinary English or Scottish immigrant."

Today, May 29th has to be a near perfect day for Leela Soma. As she answers these questions in her study, the sun is shining and Glasgow seems at its best.

She soaks in the long summer day as “golden, glowing” and with an atmosphere that makes one “feel blessed to be alive.” She would already have had a wonderful lunch with friends, her daughter would have just returned home from America and her husband has finished cutting the grass. The lovely turned-out garden will command Soma to feel at peace with all the world.

On Writing.

How do you consider living the writer’s life in Glasgow?

“I do have a very good novel buddies group and a writing partner and I value both their input. We try to meet up regularly and offer a comprehensive critique of each other's work. I also belong to a Writers' Group who have wonderful speakers from the writing world. I don’t have a favourite café as such but meet with fellow writers at various cafes in Glasgow.” - LS

Are you still writing your second novel?

"Yes, definitely. It has been on hold for the vacation but will get back to it in earnest after the launch." (Soma recently traveled to Canada and the United States of America.)

How do you presently work at your second novel?

"It has an outline and I work away at it, but sometimes the characters take it to a different path or a twist that makes it more interesting."

Where do you derive your ideas for plots from?

"I have a list of a few ideas that I feel strongly I must write about, as a short story or a novel depending on how it pans out. The second book is a strong reaction to a photograph in a newspaper.You'll understand once the book is completed."

Having presented Scotland's first Indian emigrant story in print, what does that say for you personally?

"For years while I worked fulltime I always felt that there was nothing in mainstream literature in Scotland about an Indian immigrant experience. There is an enormous literary output in USA and Canada with authors like Jhumpa Lahiri whose work I admire.

"In the UK apart from the literary giants like Rushdie, and Booker prize winners like Arundathi Roy, Hanif Kureshi and Adiga there are few that reflect the life of an ordinary English or Scottish immigrant. I also want the next generation to be enthused and get into the mainstream and make our stories as valid as James Kelman in Glasgow or Alan Bennett in England. It is definitely an exciting time and hope many more writers contribute to the Scottish literary scene."

How do you view the worldwide web in general in its place to help the new author progress in today's fast-paced competitive world?

"I wish I was internet savy. I consider myself still a technophobe. I am still learning. The world wide web is a superb opportunity and it must be used by emerging authors for learning about new writing, for research and of course for marketing."

On introspection, how would you sum up an industrious but independent publicity for your book and stories?

"Unless you have been fortunate enough to get a big two-book deal from a big publisher, who provide all the publicity, all others have to be involved in their own marketing. There is so much to learn too about the book trade.I have friends who have been published by small presses and all of them have said that the only way to promote your work is to showcase the work as much as possible."

Do you have any author you'd like to aspire to?

"I have no great illusions that I would be good enough to reach such heights but Arundathi Roy's prose in the 'God of Small Things' rose out of the page and assaulted all one's senses and Salman Rushdie's 'Midnight Children' when you could almost smell the pickle factory.I would love to be able to reach that standard."

What were a few things that gave you a real buzz at the London Book Fair recently besides which you've already mentioned on your blog?

"Market focus India was wonderful at the LBF. The fact that in such times of a crisis with the credit crunch plus with all the visual media alluring the young involving elelctronic games and dvd's for example, the fact that books are still so important to the reading public is encouraging.

"The espresso machine printing books and the ebooks are the future even though I am sure that they will never replace books as we know them. I still remember fondly the book lined study of my dad and grandfather and the smell of old and new books and the joy of holding them, reading them and being transported to another world. That still holds true and LBF was a testimony to that."

*Like the fictitious character Sita in Twice Born, do you own a collection of well-thumbed and sentimental classics in your home?"

"I have an eclectic collection and also read voraciously from my local library.There are some classics like Shakespeare, all of Anita Desai's R.K. Narayan, some Rushdie and Scottish authors from Burns to Alaistair Gray and a lot of new writers from all over the world.

"I love Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's novels that were called Half of the Yellow Sun and Purple Hibiscus. But the book I treasure most is the Bhagavad Gita, my dad 's copy and I read it a lot, dip into it very often. I am also reading Thirukurral again as I am doing a review for Penguin India Classics."

What happens with your short stories that you plan to turn into a collection?

"I do have eight short stories, ready and waiting to be published. The stories deal with life in Glasgow. Any publisher interested should call me now!"

Where do you see yourself heading as a writer in the near future?

"I hope to get my short stories published. Then complete my first draft of the second novel. I also write poetry for pleasure and if it is enjoyed by others, would like to raise money for charity from my poems as I did with my first collection From Madras to Milngavie. I write because I want to and enjoy the process of getting my thoughts on paper that is an accomplishment enough for me."

Do you have a tip for aspiring authors?

"Read, read , write ,write as Natalie Goldberg and others say. Write every day even for ten minutes, even if your words are never going to be used. Enjoy what you are doing. Write with passion.Network and have a writing partner or group who can help evaluate your work. Do other things that you enjoy too.

How do you feel about your upcoming Borders launch?

"If you had asked me a year ago if this was possible I would have have been surprised. I am looking forward to the launch, both with excitement and a bit of trepidation as any new writer would be."

What was your most remarkable moment while writing Twice Born?

"Perhaps when Aunty BB, the novel's notorious gossip and a total figment of my imagination, started taking over the plot line. I realised I could invent a whole new series around her. Maybe I should; recalling the horrors that she inflicted on the community in her inimitable way."

Did you expect the positive reactions so far garnered from Twice Born?

"I am thrilled with the wonderful feedback from all who have read the book. Many have asked if I am doing a sequel. It has really made me want to do better with my next book.

Twice Born by Leela Soma

2009-05-29T21:32:00.000-07:00

by Suzan Abrams

This is an older blog. For a kinder arrangement of this interview, please go to my new Wordpress site.

*Twice Born a debut novel by Leela Soma and the first work of fiction to highlight a story on Indian emigration to Scotland, will be officially launched at Borders, Glasgow on Thursday, 4th June 2009 from 6.30pm.

Twice Born, a broad and glossy 3-layered colour plus 240-page paperback, by Glasgow academic turned high-spirited writer, Leela Soma - photograph provided in link - and beautifully produced by YouWriteOn.com in London; may tickle your senses to the alluring idea of an etheral beauty lived and not imagined.

And why not when this reader on long closing the last page to the unexpected novel, would wistfully be reminded of shiny brassware and gold earrings, the close rustling of silks and lingering scents or otherwise too, of a frangipani whiff, exotic Indian sweetmeats and long graceful sarees enough to rainbow up a musty wardrobe somewhere in the middle of a cold, grey and rainy Scotland.

It is after all fitting that Soma herself a stalwart emigrant to Glasgow while still in her exuberant twenties in the Seventies; and now recent winner of the Scottish Margaret Thompson Davis prize for the submission of the first 10,000 words of a novel, continues to weave with deft clarity, a simmering plot; in her gentle cordial style, as one would subject a vintage handloom to the creation of a painstaking garment.

The riveting story of medical student, Sita who arrives in 70's Glasgow, with her new husband, Ram a medical practitioner, tempts the reader on a challenging head-to-head emigrant journey featuring rows of slightly ramshackle old housing estates in Glasgow, before the city's eventual and fashionable facelift would beckon the tourist.

Throughout the whimsical tale that traces Sita's birth in a respectable Brahmin household in hot dusty Madras (now Chennai) to her happy if not questioning childhood and later, an arranged marriage, the determined voluble Sita will pursue the risky vulnerabilities of a rightful romantic endeavour that appears sadly elusive even if she is determined that it must stay liberal, when measured against the dour silence of her politically motivated husband, whom Soma moulds as a distinctly likeable character.

For this supplementary plot alone, the reader is encouraged to soldier on an emigrant's emotional and sometimes painful if not vibrant journey seen for the first time through Soma's own eyes of Glasgow's sadder face, apparent three decades ago.

Here is a story written by no fledgling who rolls up her sleeves for armfuls of research to an imagined past but rather the voracious gathering of a life lived, learnt and considered priceless by Soma herself.

In a web interview, she will talk for instance, of her shock at seeing clumps of butter being rolled up in sheets of paper at the grocery store when first moving to the Glasgow suburbs and this in alignment with a fictitious episode in the book.

However, even a romantic affair and the security of a stable Indian marriage carefully arranged by the respective families back in India and accompanied by the usual colourful protocol that decorates tradition; must now take second place to, the picture of the ambitious professional couple in Scotland whose every cantankerous personality trait and domestic upheaval are traced like the imminent lines to a watchful painting, pressing humorous and adaptation skills in a foreign setting. And then that too, that must play second fiddle to Soma's more important message which is that of Scotland's unsettling emigrant history and tradition.

How cleverly as only an experienced veteran is capable of rightful observation, are the temperance of social cultural and interactions skills delicately balanced into a superb waltz and this too, while the tune is conjured up by Soma's capable hands, how gracefully indeed do each of her characters tiptoe the risky tightrope all the way to the end of the plot without crashing on the trampoline or losing focus of their rightful roles while dipping into social interaction formalities that may bear happiness or contentment.

There is Sita's daughter, a diaspora Indian of the UK, her dutiful parents, relatives and servants back home and shaded by a life of heavy rituals and easy living. Plus, there is the vital expatriate Indian community which consist of her best friends and also the disruptive gossips, tragic skeletons in the closet and rivalries which ardently match tooth for a tooth and eye for an eye. There's no denying that Soma asks all the sharp pertaining questions that lends itself to the curious idea of an arranged marriage and comes up with intriguing viewpoints.

Soma masterminds every adventurous chapter with a honeyed smoothness for swift detail and explanation.

She is expert at shifting a reader's mind between two continents at the blink of an eye and then with equal devotion, blending history with the present or commanding one character's life to be intricately webbed with the other. Soma holds a clear talent for turning Twice Born into a kaleidescope series of film reels that may akin the entire book to an enthralling screenplay bearing exoticism or one that may heighten the reader's imagination to the the surreal from what may have otherwise been nothing more than ordinary detail.

Throughout, Soma stays adept at a case of show-and-not-tell that depicts the struggle of many authors. Her easy manouvering of a character's vivid personality traits may later be recounted as memorable. For instance, Sita's husband, Ram who is an excellent cook and possesses eccentric habits with the preparation of his mealtimes, allows Soma to turn the tables onto Indian cuisine with appearing patronizing to the reader.

She is also brilliant at using present-day images like the sound of a crashing plate or a nostalgic turn of a photo album page to shift the reader's mind into an exposition scene featuring an earlier time and a different place. Lest this appears predictable, she then reveals her competence at drumming up minor dramas that may surround the crashed plate or photos like Ram's sulkiness in not wanting to share his memories as he hurriedly returns the photo albums to their rightful corners.

This reader, particular enjoyed another execution aspect of show-and-not-tell where on first arriving in Glasgow Sita turns on her radio channel to Radio 4 and is straightaway amused at the prospect of a talk show on ferrets which recounts how British a programme it is. She immediately compares this to a scene in India which clearly marks cultural differences and labels her foreign territory with ease.

Like an accomplished travelogue, rich and rustic pictures are painted of tradition and ritual, of customs and celebrations of lands, town, cities and villages in India. And then too with the same slick acumen, the kind and darker sides of Glasgow are captured with no less a celebration.

The only weaknesses were minor and could be easily adjusted, in case a reprint is ever called for. Where characterization is concerned, perhaps if Sita's husband Ram had demonstrated in the early chapters an intense emotional relationship with his aunt who would later die, the reader might have been allowed to mourn with the character...instead of having to recount scenes as sterile.

Another older Pakistani character, Dr. Faraz who abandons his young cousin whom he was forced to marry in Scotland for another young Scots nurse reflects a clear stereotype or rather facade of a predictable and by now after so much media entertainment in the UK, slightly stale portrayal of a muslim story, when thousands of modern muslims are easily far more liberal than Dr. Faraz. In the end, the reader felt the gossip's lesbian daughter to be another thorn in the flesh as this character too, easily appeared as an additional separate stereotype.

In this way, the ambitious Soma appeared overly-eager in tackling one too many controversial issues at the same time.

Also, a final proof-read and edit check would have been apt as there were several conjunctions and prepositions missing and these topped with words often written in the colloqial rather than with the spit'n polish attributed to a professional slant that makes for any sophisticated prose.

Of course, these prove minor in comparison to the real knowledge that Soma had attempted a major feat with her storytelling and passed with flying colours. She is a delightful promising raconteur, a considerate entertainer and has with keen industrious fortitude shaped Twice Born to be a valuable contribution to Scotland's immigration history and too, a slice of its recorded memory.

Twice Born if pursued with the right awareness and publicity, will most likely be hallmarked someday as an elegant symbol of Scotland's immigration story with a view to history, heritage and a diverse cultural belonging important and necessary to all the new generations that follow. Here then by Leela Soma and served so deliciously for you in the warm evening glow of a room, as a nightcap or an ornament for the bedside table is Twice Born, the real thing.

Be warned that you may just as well catch the sudden smell of camphor at the turn of a page or hear the lashing rain and long low whistle of a mischevious Glasgow gale while caught up in a flamboyant dance outside the window pane.

New Age

2009-03-17T01:32:00.000-07:00

I bought the album from Dubai and this tune is a favourite.
The design clip for the above video was created for YouTube by 26-year old ebruNL from the Netherlands.

Egyptian author Youssef Ziedan wins the International Prize for Arabic Fiction (Booker) for Beelzebub "Azazeel"

2009-03-16T22:26:00.000-07:00

by SuzanAbrams

Captions: The only picture I could find on the web of Dr. Youssef Zeidan, who is the gentleman with glasses and clapping his hands, with friends on the far right. The picture was one of many to celebrate the Abdul- Rahman Badawi celebrations and copyright is held courtesy of the Manuscript Center.
The other picture from the Egyptian Coptic Church is taken from Copts.com.

London: Of the Arab world, Egypt may just stand closest to a literary renaissance just now. Beirut, Lebanon would probably follow suit with its electrifying set of diaspora writers sprouting up in the West and Tehran, Iran stays presently engaged with a monumental amount of literary translations, as a long list of work-in-progress projects that stretch back to the time of Confucious.

Last evening on the eve of the Abu Dhabi International Book Fair, the Egyptian Professor, scholar and author, Youssef Ziedan won the International Prize for Arabic Fiction, courtesy of the Man Booker, with "Azazeel" (Beelzebub), his best-selling novel which is said to have greatly angered the Egyptian Coptic Church.

Church elders turned hot under their collars defending a history held private to their present congregation and ancient records. Ziedan's story is said to have rebellously challenged their authority as the heirs of St. Mark the Apostle and the Church's exclusive claim to Egyptian history between the end of paganism and the arrival of Islam in 640AD. They decided that the author intended to destroy "authentic Christian doctrine".

Ziedan's plot takes place in Upper Egypt, Alexandria and is set in the 5th century. For his win, the author who has specialised in Islamic philosophy and Sufism, collects US$50,000 and an extra US$1,000, a token awarded to all in the shortlist.

An English translation of his work is also guaranteed. The Emirates Foundation funds the prize.

Postscript

2009-03-16T10:29:00.000-07:00

After an age, the poet Desmond Swords, writes something beautiful on his blog today.

2009-03-16T05:32:00.000-07:00

Scroll down past the poetry and the recently-uncovered Aneeta Sundararaj-plagiarist stories in Malaysia, may be read on the earlier part of March 15 and also March 13. - suzan abrams

Inspector Singh Investigates: by Shamini Flint (Paperback Piatkus, UK)

2009-03-16T05:30:00.001-07:00

by Suzan Abrams

Singapore/Malaysia Fiction: May 2009 sees the London launch of Malaysian born and now Singapore resident, Shamini-Mahadevan Flint's first thriller narrated in the true vein of the long-suffering classic British sleuth, mainly a one Inspector Singh. The paperback, called "A Most Peculiar Malaysian Murder" (£8.00), will be published in the UK by Paperback Piatkus, an imprint of Little Brown UK, with whom Flint bagged a 3-book deal comprising her exclusive Inspector Singh Detective Series, last year. After a long wait, the cover image was recently released.

Flint who is married to a Westerner, worked as a corporate lawyer before resigning to become a stay-at-home mum and writer.

Her story stays inspiring to every writer who commands a mastery of the English Language and decides to go it alone with self-publishing.

Shamini who also writes and publishes several children's books in Singapore, self-published her own Inspector Singh series in the Lion City until publishers Little Brown swooped the lot.

First Paperback & Plot

The plot that makes up the first paperback, talks about a beautiful Singaporean model, Chelsea Liew who is on death row for the murder of her ex-husband., Alan Lee, a Malaysian heir to a timber fortune.

When Inspector Singh is sent from Singapore to Kuala Lumpur to investigate the crime, he knocks badly against a wall of religious and cultural conflicts within Liew's family that will test his judgement to the limits, even if his instincts tell him that the model is innocent. Plus, with the Malaysian police glad to see the back of Singh, how will he find out who the real murder is?

Suggested Avenues for the Perfect Read

The plot holds the kind of light-heartedness that would be perfect for bedtime, a rainy afternoon, a fireside moment on a winter's evening or as a companion for the beach, come summer.

Personal Note:

I first had the pleasure to meet Flint in Singapore at the Singapore Writer's Festival in December 2008. She is a wonderful person: friendly, warm and constantly witty. Her high popularity asserts itself to pure zest. Flint is just as prolific in her publications, as you will later be able to observe from her website which I shall post below this article. Her energy is breathtaking.
The festival also saw the launch of this Inspector Singh Paperback under a different title.

**********

The second plot description is titled Inspector Singh Investigates... A Bali Conspiracy Most Foul. It is to be published in October 2009.

Second Paperback & Plot:

Inspector Singh is back, but this time on secondment to Bali. A bomb had been let off in the most touristy part of the island and Singh has been sent to help with security and anti-terrorist measures. But very soon the Bali police realise Singh has little to offer them in terms of experience in this field. He?s much better suited to doing what he?s good at - solving murder. Simple! So when a body is discovered in the wreckage, killed by a bullet before the bomb went off, Singh should be the one to find the answers. But simple murders are never as simple as they seem ? and this one has far-reaching political consequences?

Further Reading: Shamini Flint's Website.

2009-03-16T05:11:00.001-07:00

Icicles

by Suzan Abrams

Icicles like flutes,
orchestrating concerts,
a stillborn night. Yet
applause punctures
the sullen silence,
a rushing gale screams
ovation. Or perhaps
albino bats, blind on a
branch, where witches
prey, those unvarnished
nails, ageing dames
yearn their manicures,
or dripping chocolate,
milk bar sticks and
trees for cocoa cups
where starlings
twitter up a storm.

2009-03-15T10:27:00.000-07:00

WARMTH

by Suzan Abrams

I, the spool of thread

smarter than

fat baked bread,

fluffy cocoa, or

hardy slippers

that snuggle toes,

may shy from a show

but smuggle merit

by looming high

a spinning carousel

weaving sweaters

dressing quilts

and warming ice upon a

sunrise, marrying

sentiment in dreary

beds, a dancer

pirouettes

the top of my head.

2009-03-15T03:37:00.000-07:00

OLD AGE

by Suzan Abrams

Life stands transfixed on the ordinance of time
and space. I am the reflex.
Heralding a witch’s limp, I secretly dance
the fairy leap, spiraling up my galaxy swirl,
mismatched hobbles drowned my lost worlds.
I ready a parachute dip from where my
toes just miss the shores of death.
But calendar dates and stubborn bones petition
that I not abandon breath.
Still, I was busy counting stars that matched
the lines upon my skin, you would think
that such a feat would breed an easy win.

Once I was young, a careless whore to
fleeing days. Make me my merry way and
I’d swing my skirts no matter
what the cost, throw songs to the rooftop
wind and ride the wing of a magpie king.
My jigsawed route from where I flew then,
precious, strong and brave.
Now, I’ve been told that I would cease to exist
if not for cushioned sighs.
Alas, I who throw parties for an embittered wart
and curse a grunt for a snore would hold on,
my beddy-byes a prayer for dear life, begging
to smile at a sunrise...won’t another one be kind,
while fading to my drooping eye.

2009-03-15T02:57:00.000-07:00

HANGING THE LAUNDRY

by Suzan Abrams

She stayed innocuous in her belief of fantasy
But deluded no-one.
Why, just this morning, the snow
fell with a vengeance as she hung out laundry.
It defied a March sun and chalked her shoulder,
With shouts of boo while the fallen sky crept
behind, a skirt tug for a scared child.
Humming its winged melody, a stolen composition
The whistling wand of an abandoned swan
and the noisy sea of ghostly windmills, she
was suddenly taken to fancies, picturing the
can-can swing of gossamer threads,
destined to shroud the drone of pegs.

2009-03-15T02:38:00.000-07:00

THE GOSSIP AND HER TIMID HUSBAND

by Suzan Abrams

She was a pugnacious sort, a lizard tongue
preying on overtime. She tasted betrayals
for trifles and gossip fed candy into her body
parts, her soul measured eternity all wrong.
Lungs raced on slippery grace, inhaling
the fumes of slander with clumsy distaste
and tunnelling down, a freezer
for a tummy that shunned its slimy defrost
to bottle up the heady juice of news.
And what with withered breasts for a
rocketed aerobic stretch, pendulums
that even professed circus swings
downside up and forgot their dignified ride
to the grave...

Or she may have resembled a cake, obese
for a sunken oven squeeze. But you, the
husband desiring the obtuse for a potent
perversion rested bravely, a carnation
cradled on a lapel, and plumped up by
rosettes, despondent in the gullied nest of
her feathery skin.

Why, the other day she served me tea.
Cherries from freckles and chocolate spat
from the bowels of a throat. And she wore
the fray from her commendable tray on a
smile that may have turned a wedding
hat into an elusive bat.

She kept her glee with the wee bit
of an Earl Grey Special if I wasn’t to mind...
she whispered its mud brew where she had
squatted with aerobic precision to kiss a frog.
As for the milk and sugar, ferried about like
wallet stowaways, watch her squeeze the
leather dry from dripping fat. More cream,
she’d ask except that a touch of acne pus
would do it nicely and one ought to utter
one’s thanks wisely.

But she was a pugnacious sort, licking your
days with gossip in her body parts and her
criminal toes a quarreling band of dwarves
to shovel up wrongdoings for a fee. Still,
the dutiful wife, she kettles your whims into
a nice hot broth as you wheedle your way
from a sting. And so her fingers scrub and
clean and sing.

2009-03-15T02:36:00.000-07:00

suzan abrams

THE DEAD SEA

There is an ocean that sits
in the scared sun and it carries
a blue moon in its shell
to mark the flavour of a changed
sunset, so mind the step.
We swim in the fluorescent hue
with salt as a raft.

Note

2009-03-15T02:35:00.000-07:00

My plans for the moment now that I am back and safely recovered from the jet-lag, are to finish my collected ghost stories (proofs and all) and to rush this for publication and to attempt other writing endeavours. Roundabout July or August, I shall return to Africa to collect my luggage and also to take part in a much longer safari at the Serengeti. I shall also visit one other country after Africa and that would probably be Cairo or Australia. I can't settle unless I travel.

P.S. Dublin is beautiful at the moment. It is a new spring and the mornings are slightly warmer. Everywhere, the birds sing.

Another Case of 'Aneeta' Plagiarism Uncovered- Malaysian

2009-03-15T02:27:00.000-07:00

Remember that a few days ago, I revealed a case of plagiarism in Malaysian fiction? It was called Aneeta Sundararaj plagiarises Pearl S. Buck stories in Malaysian fiction. Otherwise, just scroll down the screen a little, to read it.

This morning, I uncovered by chance another case of 'aneeta' plagiarism that seems too close to home.

An 'Aneeta' from Malaysia joined an online freelance-writing portal, in December last year. It was just while spending a few days in Kuala Lumpur, that I had discovered the plagiarised Pearl S. Buck stories myself. In this case, the woman submitted a few posts for the portal until its editor discovered that one of the articles - and this for which writers may get paid - was stolen. The editor rejected her article on the basis of plagiarism and suspended her account. In other words, it looks like she was sacked since her name was removed from the author list and all her previous articles were removed as well.

What I read was a short conversation with the 'aneeta' in question pleading for mercy. The editor stayed unrelenting and was determined that she be removed from the portal.

I'm going to copy and paste that little bit of dialogue which rightfully belongs to Constant Content. Hopefully, they won't mind but if the editor writes to me, I will remove it. I believe the editor will only be too shocked to see that work has been plagiarised more than once.

Before I paste the conversation, this is why I easily suspect the two 'aneeta's' to be one and the same. If not, then it has to be 2 different 'aneeta-s' working on 2 similar writing thefts from the same twilight zone in Malaysia. This can't be.

a) I am Malaysian and know the small writing scene in that part of the world very well.

b) the individual is Malaysian.

c) later, when you read the conversation, you'll see that the individual mentions a Malaysian newspaper.

d) the individual did the same thing as what she had earlier attempted with the Pearl S. Buck stories. She removed original words and threw in localised terms - in this case for eg. baju kurung which is traditional Malay wear for girls and women, in Malaysia. She tries to Malaysia-nise something that was originally not Malaysian, exactly as what happened with the Pearl S. Buck stories.

e) the Malaysian writing circle is a very tight band of a tiny group of people. Kuala Lumpur is a small city as compared with Europe or the States and the writing circle is more community-driven. Everyone knows each other. Bearing this in mind, there is only one Aneeta (with this kind of spelling) in the picture.

f) The Aneeta in question often goes to book launches and readings in the Kuala Lumpur area. Writings events are considered a drop in the ocean as compared to the massive hive of activity that goes on in Australia, the States or Europe. So these book and writing enthusiasts grab any chance they can get.

g) As you will read later in the conversation, there was a book launch in Kuala Lumpur recently with a dress code that signalled Smart Casual. (Yes, strange things like this do happen.)

h) As you will read later in the conversation, the aneeta dismissed by the editor uses legal words like 'arbitary'. The Aneeta I wrote about was a former lawyer who resigned suddenly and often throws in legal scare-words in the face of difficult conversations.

i) The Aneeta I wrote about has played the role of injured martyr towards me personally, in the face of critiques. Later you will read similar lines like "I am very sad"... & "it hurts..."

j) The individual who plagiarised Buck's work also signs her name as aneeta when commenting on blog posts.

************
Here, a painful conversation, I discovered on the Web this morning:

rejected and suspended
Area for content rejection questions.

Moderators: Ed, Celeste Stewart, Constant
Topic locked
7 posts • Page 1 of 1
rejected and suspended

Postby aneeta on Mon Jan 26, 2009 4:22 pm
Hi,

I am very sad. I worked on an article about what to wear to parties. It was titled 'Dressing Up'. During the holidays, I received an invitation to a party and did not know what to wear. Just last week, I received an invitation to a launch of a book and it said 'smart casual'. I thought it would be fun to research this aspect and asked around about formal wear and so on. I looked up a piece in a local (malaysian) newspaper and wrote my article. I even tried to make it more 'personal' by using some local terms like saree, cheongsam and baju kurung. When I submitted it, I received a rejection notice. What's worse is that I've been accused of plagiarism and my account has been suspended. What article am I supposed to have taken this information directly from? I don't think it's fair to just make such drastic accusations without giving me the name of the article. What do I do now? I do want to continue writing but this is very depressing. I've written for C. C. for some weeks now and have been using the same techniques of research. I've been careful to give due credit where necessary. So, I just cannot understand this. Please help.

Kind regards,
Aneeta

aneeta

Posts: 18
Joined: Thu Dec 04, 2008 11:23 pm

Top
Re: rejected and suspended

Postby Ed on Mon Jan 26, 2009 4:31 pm
As is stated in our guidelines, taking information directly from other sources/rewriting articles that have been published by others is considered plagiarism. This article was not significantly different from the original article. Constant Content has a zero-tolerance policy for plagiarism. We cannot accept articles that are not completely original or content from authors who do not submit completely original content.

Ed

Ed

Posts: 3893
Joined: Mon Feb 20, 2006 2:15 pm

Top
Re: rejected and suspended

Postby aneeta on Mon Jan 26, 2009 4:57 pm
Hi Ed,

I understand the guidelines. Believe me, I've been trying very hard to follow them since I joined - I've read them, re-read them and really tried. Your answer is exactly what was sent to me in the email but does not answer my question. I've explained to you the process of how I came about to write the article but my question remains: what do I do now? I can't log into my account. I can't do anything except to write in this very public forum. Does this arbitrary and unilateral decision on C.C.'s part mean that I can't do a single thing?

aneeta

Posts: 18
Joined: Thu Dec 04, 2008 11:23 pm

Top
Re: rejected and suspended

Postby Ed on Mon Jan 26, 2009 5:02 pm
The decision is not arbitrary, but it is final. We will consider no more of your submissions.

Ed

Ed

Posts: 3893
Joined: Mon Feb 20, 2006 2:15 pm

Top
Re: rejected and suspended

Postby aneeta on Mon Jan 26, 2009 5:14 pm
Since you will not consider any more of my submissions, then so be it. I've explained to you how I came about writing this piece. i've been honest and my conscience is clear. But, what will you do with the money collected for articles that have been sold? Will you keep this? It may not be much compared to what your regular writers earn but still ...

aneeta

Posts: 18
Joined: Thu Dec 04, 2008 11:23 pm

Top
Re: rejected and suspended

Postby Ed on Mon Jan 26, 2009 5:16 pm
Outstanding payments are made at the beginning of the month, as always.

Ed

Ed

Posts: 3893
Joined: Mon Feb 20, 2006 2:15 pm

Top
Re: rejected and suspended

Postby aneeta on Mon Jan 26, 2009 5:29 pm
Thank you. i've never received payment from you and did not know this.

You know, I have seen articles with all capital letters (which your guidelines insists are not allowed) accepted. I have read material on this site which I've read elsewhere - vertabim. I've never pointed them out and have tried to follow strictly to your guidelines. Even when I was rejected for another article, I apologised when I realised the mistake was mine. Still, nothing seems good enough.

Forgive me, but I will always consider your decision to bar me from this site as arbitrary. I gave you an honest explanation as to how I came to write this article. I still want to know the article I'm supposed to have plagiarised. I can guess that the answer will be something along the lines of 'rejected articles are purged from our system' but you know, when you accuse someone of something as serious as plagiarising, you should be able to answer this. It hurts.

aneeta

Posts: 18
Joined: Thu Dec 04, 2008 11:23 pm

Top

**********
It's fairly interesting in a bizarre way. First she starts on a friendly note and when faced with a stern remark, goes on to argue that if others are doing it, why not her.
I love this editor. No-nonsense, totally fair-minded and wonderfully ethical.

Stealing is stealing. How can such a crime be justified with phrases like "techniques of research."
And how can anyone in this high-tech age of a competitive publishing climate, write to a professional editor and say they're crying buckets over a rejection. Sheesh!

Aneeta Sundararaj Plagarises Pearl S. Buck Stories in Malaysian Fiction

2009-03-12T06:27:00.000-07:00

by Suzan Abrams
in Dublin

Malaysia: Plagiarism

I bought this book of Malaysian short stories a few months ago in Kuala Lumpur. I could only find them in one bookshop.

Snapshots is made up of a collection of short stories by 3 Malaysians, Aneeta Sundararaj, Saradha Narayanan and A. Jessie Michael. It is edited by Craig Cormick and said to be published by Oak Publication Sdn. Bhd. although this appears to be more of a distributor, judging from their web content.

At least 2 of the longer short stories as I have discovered for the moment; Enchanteur and Brought Back to Life by Aneeta Sundararaj, are plagiarised from the late Nobel Prize Winner, Pearl S. Buck's collected short stories. A complete bibliography of Buck's collected short fiction is available from Wilkipedia where the titles can be obtained and also ordered from Abe Books. Otherwise, just contact the plagiarist for the original version.

The ideas, central themes, stuctures, narrations, characterisation and plots have been lifted off the original, almost in their wholeness. I had read all of Pearl S. Buck's short stories as a teenager, her books easily available in the school library and recognised the stolen stories at once. They were my favourites. The titles of these short stories, are of course concocted by the plagiarist.

I also recognise another copied story and have my suspicions on the rest since once you know a person has stolen 2 stories, it is hard to imagine any creativity or originality for the others.

The stolen stories are actually older American versions and without featuring the Chinese. Buck was famous for penning stories stretching both cultures. These tales have long stayed out-of-print and would be very difficult to trace. I am surprised that I had read them all as a teen enough to remember them with clarity. They are gathered together with other modern American stories.

Briefly, the first stolen story , Enchanteur deals with Pearl S. Buck's own version of a beautiful woman who climbs aboard a train and attracts the attention of a weary American executive after office hours. She is so beautiful that she steals his breath away. I remember Pearl S. Buck using the line "she was in a class of her own." That was the first time I ever came across such an apt description of beauty - an outstanding league to a physical consciousness - if you like and never forgot it. Then later after the train ride, the man's plain wife comes to meet him at the station and notices the beautiful woman. At once, there is a heavy reflection of the marriage from the man's point of view. He compares beauty to plainness and describes his wife as nothing more than pleasant. She takes him home, there are guests to entertain and all the while, the husband makes notes on how a good wife is so much the greater blessing then another who drips with fanciful beauty. The entire plot takes place within the space of an evening. The story is highly profound and Sundararaj plagriarises this deep introspective tone for herself while also stretching the copied plot along the same time frame.

On becoming a fashion journalist with Female magazine in Kuala Lumpur/Singapore for several years, I remember using this specific fictitious episode as a guideline with which to measure my own expectations of beauty with regards to fashion.

Sundararaj couldn't have picked a worse story to plagiarise. Hers is the carbon copy from start to finish of the original idea, form, structure, narration, movement of the plot, characterisation etc.

The only difference is that in the stolen version, she changes an American version to a Bollywood one. I say Bollywood because the couple is Indian and the setting is Malaysian... a Malaysian car, a Malaysian suburb etc. Instead of friends dropping by in the evening, in this case, it's relatives. Instead of martinis, it's curries, if you get my drift. Just a bit of tweaking here and there.

In the second story, Brought Back to Life, Pearl S. Buck reveals the story of a family's visit round a dying patient in the hospital. The close-knit family recalls life's most profound moments and an eavesdropping patient receives new inspiration and hope. Sundararaj plagiarise this story for herself as well, claiming Buck's tale as her own. I remember the long conversations very well. Again, expect a bit of tweaking. Buck drew up a truly heartwarming tale. If I am not mistaken mango trees were originally apple trees in Buck's version.

Open the cover of Snapshots and Aneeta Sundararaj has not given any credit at all to Pearl S. Buck. Instead there are rather threatening disclaimers warning the reader against copying any of the stories and claming them all to be imaginary.

In the middle of all these, it says: Copyright belongs to the respective authors. This is my confirmation that Sundararaj lies, as the original copyright of these 2 whole plots and characters that I have outlined above, belongs to Pearl S. Buck's trustees. The seriously tampered versions belong to Sundararaj.

She also promoted these stories heavily on the web and received lavish praise from her blogger friends who applauded her 'literary talent' over the stolen stories.

What makes it worse is that I remember these writers giving a lengthy newspaper interview or two in Malaysia, where each one, including and especially the plagiarist, talked about how difficult it was to 'compose' the stories.

I have the book of stolen stories with me at the moment.

In the past, Sundararaj did once self-publish a novel called The Banana Leaf Men but splattered with grammatical errors. I still have my copy. They were the kind of sloppy errors designed to provoke literary agents and publishers to high annoyance. Hence, goes the reputation of every other smarter ambitious self-published author. However, it was a washout and long removed from the bookstore shelves. Later, she opened a website called HowtoTellAGreatStory.com offering international editing services with what I considered to be steep American dollar rates. In Kuala Lumpur, the cost of living is low.

More curiously, in her website, she also rolled out lengthy articles on how not to plagiarise stories. Very much resembling the situation of how for instance, a man who murders his wife would help a search party look for her corpse in disguised agony.

I suspect a third copied story as well but will check up on this when I have the time and inclination to do so.

At the moment, all the other names of writers, the editor, printer and publisher in and of Snapshots, stand alongside stolen literary property.

Added 16th March 2009 - Another Case of 'aneeta' plagiarism uncovered.

2009-03-12T02:26:00.001-07:00

by Suzan Abrams

I drank my biscuit from a straw. My straw choked from the biscuit which choked inside of me and I choked both from the biscuit and the straw. Then the biscuit, straw and I plunged into a very black hole.
We need candles.

Literary news from Cairo

2009-03-11T04:54:00.000-07:00

The young, charismatic Khaled al Khamis, Egyptian journalist and writer for the bestselling collection of short stories from the streets of Cairo, called Taxi, told us in a panel discussion at the Emirates International Festival for Literature in Dubai that ...

...the hot topic in literary circles in Egypt among poets and novelists was that one should refrain from accepting national literary awards for prizes as so much of this currently included the "sell-out of a writer's soul" i.e. with which to serve a politician or prominent businessman's individual needs. That of late, prizes were fashioned not exactly to reward excellence of work but as an agenda or mission to secure a benefactor's accolades or to heighten his prestige for agendas known only to higher tight-lipped circles. There is talk among Egyptian writers of staying together in solidarity and turning any future prizes down.

2009-03-11T04:49:00.000-07:00

Applaud the conscience-stricken melody of the beautiful. For I am the enraptured fish, dancing up the water! I move with the humoured audacity of time, cherishing the hours that unfold like a creased blanket of stars. - suzan abrams -

Burlesque

2009-03-10T04:12:00.000-07:00

by Suzan Abrams

Ouch...my foot, your shoes like wood! Baby, you dance so good! Ouch...my
foot, your
shoes like wood! Baby, you dance so good! Ouch..my foot, your shoes like
wood! Baby, you dance so good! Ouch... my foot, your shoes like wood!
Baby, you dance so good! Ouch...my foot, your shoes like wood! Baby
you dance so good! Ouch...my foot, your shoes like
wood!
Baby, you dance so good! Ouch...my foot, your shoes

like wood! Baby, you dance so good! Ouch...my foot, your shoes
like wood! Baby, you dance so good! Ouch,,,my foot, your shoes like
wood! Baby, you dance so good! Ouch...my foot, your shoes like wood! Baby,

you dance so good! Ouch...my foot, your shoes like wood! Baby, you dance so good! Ouch...my foot, your shoes like wood! Baby, you dance so good! Ouch...my foot, your shoes like woo...

Picture Credit: Fernando Botero

Short Run

2009-03-10T03:57:00.000-07:00

by Suzan Abrams

This is a case of a prophet being recognised in her own country but not in retail outlets abroad. Idealism would demand the recognition of a genius for Preeta Samasaran's Evening is the Whole Day. But realism shrouded in its brutal truth, tells a different story in London. The title has simply vanished from the display sections in the city's many main bookstores on the Oxford Circus and Charing Cross Roads and can't be seen anywhere at all, although of course, it must be slotted somewhere in the far back...
Not even Hatchards in Piccadilly's famous for its generous rows of hardbacks and even more its devotion to multicultural titles, is showing a Samarasan. The title feels like it never was and when I watch the consumers ferrying their little baskets of books for purchases, there's no sign of the fat, chunky novel. The sad truth is that no buys because no one sees.
The shortest run I know for any Malaysian novel.
For Malaysian bloggers in the Far East who assume that a handful of Malaysian literature in English has made it big in the West, then they ought to fly to this side of the world to see how steely the competition really is and how easy on the other hand to be blinded by the misconceptions of a seemingly golden success. The worldwide web and commercial bookstores tell different stories. On the contrary, another Malaysian writer Rani Manicka's The Rice Mother had a delicious long run in displays roundabout the place, spanning a few good years.
The reason is clear. With the exception of brilliant South Asian writers like Jhumpa Lahiri, who easily command worldwide audiences, many multicultural titles first published in the USA, garner only a lukewarm effect among a UK reading audience. I mentioned this concern a few months ago and certainly on my trip to London this time round, have been proved right.

Burlesque

2009-03-09T14:06:00.001-07:00

THE FAT LADY

by Suzan Abrams

The fat woman like a doll from plastic balls
sings and blinks and winks and drinks.

She dances with a pounce and hefty trounce
she tosses up her petticoats, a flabby baby bounce.

She slips over her husband again and again
and slides down him like a cushion in pain.

The fat woman with her assortment of rubber moons
will float and swim from chin to skin.

Anchored pillows to puff up her bladder
she makes rough love with a buxomy shudder.

Sing not and want not while you murmur a croon
and the fat woman will take up your lusty tune.

Sing not and want not, and monkey up a drunk
and the fat woman will flee you, the scurrying startled skunk.

*******

Picture stolen from Boter

2009-03-08T15:27:00.000-07:00

Flying to Dublin Monday afternoon.

2009-03-08T14:36:00.000-07:00

suzan abrams

Women-bottoms.

Triple helpings.
Soft puffs and
cream cakes.

Thunderstorms in Malaysia

2009-03-07T14:37:00.000-08:00

suzan abrams

Lush rains,

tropical sea.

Damp kissing shoulders.

Sunshine

spilling ice.

2009-03-06T01:39:00.000-08:00

I'm in London for a few days before Dublin. I'm going to be in this city more often. Heathrow immigration took just 2 minutes this morning.

It was minus 1 degree celsius when I arrived!

I feel strange somewhat after my roller-coaster weather ride. :-)

Came to my regular airport hotel. Lots of good acquaintances here, just like Africa and Dubai. After my few adventures, England feels safe and homey.

Next week, I'll

a) post the full interview with Margaret Atwood which took almost an hour at the Emirates Festival for Literature, as she talked on various subjects. We were also treated to novels signed with her Long Pen, an invention, demonstrated to us with good humour from her study.

b) the talks on the plight of Novel-Writing in Saudi Arabia - and the bans which often come with the subject - an event which proved comical and theatrical as some Arab writers got highly annoyed with each other and tempers became frayed. They were emotional and intense about what they believed to be true of their own works.

c) More on Rajaa al Sanea, bestselling novelist for Girls of Riyadh

d) the interview with American-Iranian novelist/dancer Anita Amirezzvani by charismatic BBC radio personality, John Blezard.

e) the painstaking life of the translator as you could never imagine.

d) What the Middle-East's most distinguished translator Denys Johnson-Davis shared with me on famous Egyptian writers of the past.

e) Khalid-al-Khamis, a young handsome Egyptian novelist, recently popular for the bestselling Taxi a collection of short tales from the streets of Cairo.

f) Kate Mosse and Victoria Hislopp.

g) Wilbur Smith.

h) Frank McCourt and Chimamanda Adichie, although here I tend to agree with what Joseph Ridgewell (The Bomber) once mercilessly remarked on the Guardian Books Blog about Adichi and the Orange Prize for Fiction.

and more as and when.

PS: By the way, new airport terminals are massive. It's a very long way to walk to Abu Dhabi's new terminal 3 but walk one must. Rows of new duty-free stores are set up at this brand new terminal where all the connections to Britain and Ireland are placed. The thing is you get off first at Terminal 1 but then are required to transfer to Terminal 3. I daresay, it's longer even than Dubai's vast new terminal.

2009-03-04T20:23:00.000-08:00

I'm off to London!

If it wasn't for missing Des and my book of ghost stories that now have to be readied for production, I would have inched my way slowly back to Heathrow at some point, reaching England maybe only a year from now. I would have headed to other destinations first.

But there are people waiting for me now.

I have been listening to my Arabian trance music as my only salvation for reaching British immigration while still awake, although very much jet-lagged and properly burnt from the safaris.

2009-03-03T00:45:00.000-08:00

I am in Kuala Lumpur at the moment but need to rest as I am badly jet-lagged. No thanks of course, to the severe climatic and temperature changes. I have been flying since the start of December last year.
I will be on a flight again in the next 2 or 3 days and will start once more on the subject of books and writing in Dublin.
I have also halted the publication of my book of ghost stories for a couple of months since I was on the move and not able to check proofs, although I did manage to approve one promotion ad that was sent to me by the marketing department everyday with determination, until I approved it. :-)

Update

2009-03-01T06:26:00.000-08:00

I'm flying early tomorrow and will return to this blog in about 2 days.

I lost my luggage key in the Kilamanjaro mountain somewhere and chose to leave part of my luggage in Africa for when I next returned...some months from now. The thing is I only realised the loss 4 hours before catching my Dubai flight.

It would have been a simple thing for maintainance at the hotel where I stayed to have broken the lock, except that things are dangerously slow in Dar es Salaam and that being a veteran traveller here, I knew better than to take the risk. So at the time, I went out and bought another bag.

Had I ferried my locked bag with me, I would have subjected myself to the further perils of a missed flight in case any airport security officer, settled on some curious attention towards my contents. You just never know with East Africa, so it's always better to play safe, especially that my bag stored no valuables.

This morning in Dubai, I purchased a winter wardrobe all over again and I have numerous books I picked up at the festival. I also bought some arabic world-cinematic dvds - in this case, I chose Beirut, Lebanon. I also greedily I must say, picked up various cds on the arabic chillout series - such seductive sensual and trance like music - I haven't really been able to find any of these anywhere else except at the Virgin Megastore in the UAE. It's London branch doesn't stock them. The tracks are totally out of this world. I was told by the cashier that I wasn't the only foreign visitor to have felt this way about the music. At least, I'll know where to come for my modern arabic cds next-time.

Now I have to start the business of packing once more.

When I return to Dublin in about a week, I will write about all the events I attended and too, the many authors I met and listened to. I haven't said anything here especially of how theatrical the talks on Middle-Eastern literature turned out to be, how terrific the likes of Kate Mosse, historian Victoria Hislopp, Rachel Billington or Wilbur Smith were, or how interesting yesterday's celebration of a major poetry reading conducted by Carol Ann Duffy, Grace Nichols, the amusing John Agard, Simon Armitage or London-based Indian poet, Imtiaz Dharker, turned out to be. Or even - and forgive my clumsily-spaced sentences here - that Rajaa al-Sanea for Girls of Riyadh had suddenly hugged and kissed me when I told her that her novel was to be found in the UK and that I myself had picked up a copy in Dublin.

Living in Chicago, al-Sanea had no idea her bestseller was stocked in West Europe, was simply elated and said that I had made her day. She is a pretty little thing, easily tickled at her picture in the papers, naturally affectionate and everyone's darling, is pint-sized dentist , Rajaa al-Sanea.

A few remarks on Geraldine Bedell's actions by Margaret Atwood

2009-02-28T11:18:00.000-08:00

by Suzan Abrams

There were many talks and also a major poetry celebration of Mahmud Darwish's work at the Emirates Festival of Literature today. I won't be able to write anymore about it, until after I've returned to Dublin late next week.

Anyway, one of the many exciting events had Margaret Atwood in conversation on her writing life through a video link that filmed her at home about 2.25am Saturday. She was interviewed by British journalist Liz Thompson. She was in a cheerful mood often smiling and always gracious in her answers. She gave a lengthy interview especially on the current stage of the publishing climate and what it means for authors today. I will write it out for you in Dublin.

The first thing Thompson asked Atwood about was the recent controversy and if she wanted to talk about it. Atwood was quite passionate about the subject and she certainly did.

She explained what we already knew but in greater detail. However, it was different hearing it all from the novelist herself.

Just a few important lines today from Atwood that you may not have known:

a) She received an email from someone informing her that Geraldine Bedell's novel had been banned from the Emirates Festival of Literature.

b)Soon after she received the email, Geraldine Bedell wrote her damning blog on the Emirates Festival, in the Guardian and Margaret Atwood herself, read it. She was horrified that Bedell would be so mistreated for her creativity.

c) She cancelled her trip and not long after, learnt the truth. Bedell hadn't yet published her book. There was nothing to ban. Atwood badly regretted cancelling her flight and added that she hoped to attend the Emirates Festival next year. She felt that as Vice-President of PEN, she had done the right thing in reacting the way she did, although she regretted her actions afterwards. To make up for what happened, she felt too, that she was doing the right thing in speaking to us through the video link. In short, the chaos had placed her in a spot.

d) Margaret Atwood spent a good few days in involving her time with the laborious task of sorting out the truth through e-mail letters. She found it a painful chore as she can't type.

e) The truth was that Geraldine Bedell was simply one of a large number of writers, whose proposed participation in the Festival, was rejected.

f) To Margaret Atwood who described herself as an old war horse, the word banning in the dictionary means something prohibited and that's the interpretation that she abides by. She discovers that Bedell had not told the truth. It was a cheap publicity stunt and she, Atwood, had been fooled.

g) Geraldine Bedell's book is to be stocked in Magrudy's chain of bookstores in Dubai. There was never any problem in stocking the title. This was then announced to Atwood, who was not surprised.

h) Margaret Atwood said that she was now "so dying to read it to find out what it's all about". In this sparkly mood, she tells us all to go out and buy one as soon as the book is published. She laughs and is regaled as she says this.

i) Much later on, there was a slight outcry from some in the audience - many angry with Bedell that false information and a trivial publicity stunt had blocked a famous author's attendance, someone they had badly wanted to meet in person. Also, many were disappointed and said they would not read Bedell. A few voiced concern that if everyone followed Atwood's advice to go out and buy the book, then other publishers would think up similiar stunts since Bedell would have achieved her goal of chalking up sales and all the right attention the wrong way.

Much more on Margaret Atwood later.

Emirates Festival of Literature: Margaret Atwood on Video Link

2009-02-27T11:48:00.000-08:00

by Suzan Abrams

Because of a recent controversy, legendary novelist Margaret Atwood who had initially changed her mind about attending the Emirates Festival for Literature, the first of its kind in the Arab world, will now appear on video-link at a special and rather, sudden event created on the subject of Censorship.

This at the Al Khayma Ballroom in the magnificent Intercontinental Hotel, Dubai Festival City, where the lit fest is currently being held. The event starts at 11.15am and is free, unlike all the other talks which were and still are, ticketed.

There goes my excitement at having wanted to see and hear popular South Indian writer, Anita Nair, the only Indian writer, invited to speak at the festival. It now clashes badly with Atwood's video link.

Tomorrow evening, British poets Grace Nichols, Simon Armitage and Carol Ann Duffy among others, will also celebrate the famous poetry of the late Palestinian poet, Mahmoud Darwish.

In Brief: Emirates Festival of Literature II

2009-02-27T10:40:00.000-08:00

by Suzan Abrams

What a terrific inspiring day for me. Certainly, I've come a long way from my days in Malaysia. In brief because it's very late at night, I've been out all day and am feeling terribly tired...

Today I enjoyed a private chat withAmerican-Iranian novelist, Anita Amirezzvani and met and spoke also with Denys-Johnson Davis, the foremost distinguished English translator of Arabic literature. It's because of Davis that I've been able to acquaint myself with Arabic literature at all. I never thought I would meet this beautiful man. I remember writing about Egyptian literature on the Guardian Books Blog and was glad that I was able to check facts and even eccentric personalities with Davis, who shared with me, his friendships with Egyptian writers. I am so glad that he made some minutes to tell me a few things I wanted to know in private. He was very good friends with many old Egyptian writers of the past and regaled us with humorous episodes encountered with Mahfaouz and the like.

I also attended two long discussions on Arabic translations into English as I really wanted to learn as much as I could. The translators contributed so much to the discussions. Again, though I shall have to regretfully say that I will write all this out in detail later on, as I am terribly tired.

I attended a talk on women writing from the Arab world and met the coy pint-sized Rajaa AlSanea complete with heavy American accent; for her famed Girls of Riyadh for the first time. Imagine my delight at hearing her describe the writing process of her own novel and the subsequent reactions to it, instead of relying or quoting media reports.

Wilbur Smith, the expert on old Rhodesia and East African (Victorian era) fiction, unveiled a new title for us all, 6 weeks before its official publication. He spoke to a packed room of a mainly British audience.

I also attended an evening of Arabic poetry.

It was all pretty wonderful.

The literary festival was packed with Europeans and Middle-Easterners today. It has turned out to be a resounding and overwhelming success. The customer service has also been efficient and excellent. Anything the Emiratis attempt, they're sure to do it with style.

All the time, there were other writers about. Those like Frank McCourt, the handsome Paul Blezard, celebrity mind expert Robin Sharma, the industrious Kate Mosse and Penny Vincenzi among many others, all commanded big audiences.

Oh and I bought interesting titles that I wouldn't otherwise have found in the main European bookstores.

Start of the Emirates Festival of Literature - A Classy Affair

2009-02-26T11:34:00.000-08:00

by Suzan Abrams

Just briefly...I'll write out details when in Europe next week.

Today was the first day of the Emirates Festival for Literature here at Dubai Festival City's Intercontinental hotel. It turned out to be nothing short of a vibrant, classy affair. No cheap exercise books or plastic files for participants. No marketing ploys or gimmicks employed by speakers in talks, so as to promote their own books and what I've often experienced elsewhere at other festivals.

This was the real thing. Passionate writers talking about their work to passionate readers. There was a fair bit of lively engagement and many questions from members of the audience made up mostly of Dubai's large European expatriate community, well-known media and journalists as well as Arabic writers and readers. Different age groups and different personalities made it hard to narrow the scope of the audience. I also made friends.

I attended a talk on book prizes and what it meant for the writer to win a literary prize, in terms of sales and awareness. Margaret Atwood was conspiciously absent for a session she was to have played a major role in. I think she missed out on a pretty good time. She could not have anticipated the overwhelming enthusiasm or response from a crowded ballroom. In any case, no public announcements were made of the recent controversy. The organisers did well to restore a difficult present situation and to take the event forward into a positive light. Sometimes, a positive attitude is the best medicine of all.

The event was a high success but I shall have to talk about this later.

The panel chaired by Kate Mosse, was made up of Frank McCourt who when I first met him in Eason's, Dublin (December 2007) had told me that he just wanted to come home to Ireland and not to have to travel again. And yet, here he was looking as fit as a fiddle and imbued with his dry caustic wit that often kept the audience in stitches. Kate Mosse was fabulous in balancing time, opinion and equal participation from both the panel and audience. She was confident in that she knew all the right start and stop moments and so allowed for lots of thought-provoking and wayfaring ideas that stemmed out of the topic. This also encouraged the subject of the more controversial bookselling methods, the value of independent bookshops and the trials of Amazon. With the voluble American writer Julia Glass in attendance, interesting comparisons were made between the current publishing climate in both the UK and the States.

There was also the distinguished and highly-intense Arabic author Mohammed Bennis and Chimamanda Adichie who at the end of the day, I didn't take very much to. I think it was her slightly distant manner with audience interaction although her answers to all kinds of questions were swift, interesting, honest and steadfast. Just that I found her to be dour with a slightly colourless personality in spite of her cleverness. Still, I understand that every writer commands a different personality and that not all can turn easy extroverts.

In the evening when she spoke, I chose with relief to go listen to Anita Amirezzvani, Iranian-American novelist for The Blood of Flowers. What an educational discussion indeed on Iran's folklore and tradition. Amirezzvani talked in great detail about the process of writing her novel which I had read and finished in one sitting, in December 2007 on a plane flying from Frankfurt to Singapore.

Most in the audience were European, American and Arabic women. She also treated us to 2 separate readings of extracts from her popular tale.

I found the stately somewhat fast-speaking Amirezzvani with her delicate features, to be graceful and eloquent. The Blood of Flowers is a favourite with Dubai book groups. Amirezzvani who gives masterclasses in creative writing when at home in the States, turned out to be down-to-earth with no airs about her. (I won't say too much now as I am so wanting to write a special article about the evening.) It was an incredible moment really for me as I never thought I would meet her.

No one could have anticipated that the Emirates Festival of Literature would start off on an exuberant buoyant note. The displays were creatively arranged. There were brisk sales for souvenirs, audio materials and the scores of books. The staff on hand were efficient and extremely helpful - a trademark it seems of the UAE. Ticket sales were also handled successfully. There were beverages to choose from.

The organisers thought of everything.

Several events clashed.

And I almost forgot that I went too, to see famous cricketer Jamil Qureishi in action...talking about high motivational factors with which to turn ambition into achievement. A good-looker, the was the sure show-stealer, fun, charismatic and absolutely electrifying. Listening to him speak, I felt that I was engulfed in an exciting futuristic moment. Qureishi spoke to a packed crowd. One thing he said hit home.

The laws of attraction he stressed, apply so importantly to most of us, although we don't realise it.

He said that successful people always hung around with successful people.

And that depressing cynical people - his very words - always gathered other depressing cynical people together for friends and to act as a safety net. This, as they were unable to handle optimism in any form. Established patterns of negativity in their subconscious minds meant that they were simply incapable of it.

2009-02-25T10:39:00.000-08:00

by Suzan Abrams

I don't know what to write really. I can't create anything literary or clever.

So for the mundane.

I arrived in Dubai last night. I went to buy my tickets for the Emirates Festival for Literature this morning. Customer service is a precious quality here. Everyone is very helpful.

English is spoken everywhere. Otherwise, Hindi among Indians and of course, Arabic.

Cool weather about 25 degrees celsius.

Lots of taxis like Africa. Very polite taxi drivers who would never dream of rejecting a customer.

No one jumps queue here. Residents are law-abiding.

High-tech architecture and each mall about five times the size of a shopping centre in England.

Population mostly Europeans, Americans, Filipinos, Indians and Middle-Easterners

The staff at Magrudy's bookshop were extremely efficient and patient in helping me decide on events. All took pride in the literary schedule, placed for the next 3 days.

I wasn't able to attend a few events I cared for as many clashed.

I will write something in brief each day but will probably only have time for detailed events, when I return to Europe next week.

I have heard some inside stories firsthand already on the Atwood controversy and Bedell's allegations certainly ended up causing pain to innocent parties.
I think this Festival is a grand thing, helping to open up an otherwise elusive Arab literature to the world.

Off to Dubai today

2009-02-23T20:58:00.000-08:00

Post deleted.

I'm Flying to Dubai

2009-02-22T12:48:00.000-08:00

by Suzan Abrams

This week I leave Africa for Dubai in the United Arab Emirates.

I'll be attending the now highly-publicised Emirates International Festival for Literature. I planned this trip a month ago.

Since honing a deep interest in Middle-Eastern literature late last year, I have readily devoured the stories of several classical and contemporary Arab writers.

So far, I have tested the waters and have had a few book reviews published in the popular Cafe Arabica and The Iranian online magazines. One of my blog posts featuring jottings on Arab literature is running on Haus Publishing's website in London. These trial gems serve as heady encouragement.

The festival would act as an excellent orientation process for me as a reader and writer. There is so much to learn and to immerse myself in.

I am delighted that Rajaa al Sanea for her famed Saudi-banned Girls of Riyadh, will be there. Of course, there'll be others too like Chimamanda Adichi and Anita Amirezzvani. There will be several discussions on Arab literature and its place in the world today. I want to be there participating in and also absorbing those engaging and enlightening conversations.

I am pleased that Arab literature with all its complicated rules is on its way to a stellar rise internationally in spite...yes, in spite... Especially note Egypt and Beirut, Lebanon and I must add too, Iran.

2009-02-22T09:10:00.000-08:00

by Suzan Abrams

Yesterday, I bumped into flamingoes. Thousands of them and all at once. They stole my breath away. I stood in complete awe. The guides laughed but were generous and let me stretch my stupified moment for as long as I dared. Not even the zebras, rudely staring giraffes, snobbish elephants, wildebeest, leopards, lazy sauna hippos or lush icy waterfalls could command a similar effect. Not even the sudden passing storks, cranes or other exotic water birds. Flamingoes aren't easy to find. They aren't just private and elusive but circling just 3 African destinations at the moment. Sometimes, you think they're on a certain lake or crater. You drive all the way. Suddenly, one bird turns nomad. The rest follow. Worried about keeping perfect time to a migratory season, they immediately take flight. In a minute, the entire fleet may have disappeared from the lake as if they never were.

But yesterday, the Gods were on my side.

The flamingoes lingered to a romantic waltz at a sparkling lavish party, hosted by themselves of course, on the Great alkaline-soaked Momella Lake, deep in the heart of the Arusha National Park. They turned the shimmering algae-filled green waters which they sipped greedily like champagne, into a second sunset. All that cloud of snowy-white and bright pink plumage... And then, those blood-red bills. What thrilling grace and style. What synchronized beauty. The tall slender birds stood and swung about like ballet dancers with wings for pirouettes.

They reminded me of the classical: stringed violins high on music manouvered by ghosts in mid-air, marbled floors or bougainvilleas that hung tantalisingly down the walls of a Spanish courtyard. They reminded me of Enya's Orinoco Flow. Two colourful ducklings and a sulky stork were made to feel welcome as tolerant temporary neighbours. Passing gulls lamenting at the sudden loss of supper, watched wistfully from the sidelines. A nervous water snake decided wisely against gatecrashing the dangerous scene. It quickly slunk away.

I was enthralled. I thought at that moment that if I died right there and then, it would be perfect. That this would be quite the loveliest vision to hold on to. The last sight. The last scene.

It was ethereal. Totally that.

Update

2009-02-20T04:53:00.000-08:00

I have managed to grab a little time for the internet here in the Kilamanjaro (Moshi region). It is not easy to locate internet cafes here in town except perhaps in lodges and hotels but I have found one run by a polished Indian gentleman - Indians are the backbone of East Africa's economy - and to my relief, the internet is working at super speed unlike parts of Arusha or Dar. The night winds in this part of the world are very cold. People up north also boast a far sharper Swahili accent. It sounds charismatic as compared to the cruder versions one often hears in Dar People in Arusha are also friendlier and may appear more helpful than residents in Dar es Salaam.

I have been on bumpy roads for the longest time. Tomorrow (Saturday) I have another game drive that starts very early in the morning in Arusha and besides the drives, I will also be doing a lot of walking, say up to 4 hours where the wildlife will roam freely and the ranger will carry a rifle. .. just in case, you know. :-)

I have been caught up in a few comical escapades by the Tanzanians - flamboyant local lads who are always trying to get you to buy something and mothers who balance huge baskets on their heads and adorable babies on their backs - and been so exhilarated by the experience.

I will write later to describe my experiences of the Kilamanjaro and the safari in detail. What I will say is that this is a world and that includes Dar es Salaam, still wonderfully untouched by the West. The East Africans have kept their culture and prefer to live their lives - especially the Massai - as if the West still did not exist and it would be relatively easy to locate the exotica - for real - as often described in the famous british classics and the romance a viewer would absorb from films like Gregory Peck's The Snows of Kilamanjaro, is still readily apparent.

The Massai with their colourful robes and long shiny earrngs and necklaces ,and complete with sticks, tranporting provisions on the backs of donkeys and watering holes from where the buffalo and donkeys drink.. it's all here and I'll tell you this, under the vast eternal skyline,... absolutely surreal.

I will be disconnected from the web for the next 4 days

2009-02-18T04:28:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow (Thursday) I shall have to check out of my hotel very early in the morning to go up north to the Mount. Kilimanjaro. Yes, I am on way to the Kilimanjaro where I will be now be out of the dusty heat and straight into the chill of things. It's about an 8 hour ride up to Moshi, where a close-up view of the splendid mountain beckons. The next few days, will be spent on safari at the vast Ngorongoro Conservation Wildlife Site, one of a series of volcanic highlands, ruled possessively by the Massai. The wildlife is glorious here and besides the cheetah, I am most looking forward to the watering holes and hordes of flamingoes.

The thing about safaris is that you leave in the very early hours of the morning and return to your hotel/lodge very late into the night.

Most of the time, I'll be in a jeep or 4-wheel drive on a very long and bumpy road. I can tell you that riding such roads are themselves an experience. The bumps are so violent that your heart appears to slip out of your mouth.

I can't see myself on the web but will return late Sunday night so I'll write something then or on Monday.

Next week, I leave Africa.

Note

2009-02-17T01:26:00.000-08:00

East Africa is crazy hot that I, embroiled in a well of sweat, am turning into a fireball with it. - suzan abrams -

Gawd Blass Dar Watar

2009-02-16T01:50:00.000-08:00

*Gawd blass dar watar that yar goodself Mama be drinkin n dat your skin becomin bootifool by the die and the hawa. - suzan abrams in Tanzanian English.

*(God bless the water that your goodself Mama be drinking and that your skin becoming beautiful by the day and the hour.)

I is singin a handsom song

2009-02-15T21:27:00.000-08:00

I is singin a handsom song for you my lady frien
I is singin a handsom song for you.
Moon shinin low n I is waitin you my lady frien
Moon shinin low n I is waitin you.
Kissin my lippy n I will marry you my lady frien
Kissin my lippy n I will marry you.
written by suzan abrams in Afrikana

When You Kam to Lagos

2009-02-15T12:13:00.000-08:00

Written by Suzan Abrams in the Nigerian

When you kam to Afrika, you leave your old man's toes or old woman's toes...whatever... in the house n you just come here to Lagos, you wear your baby toes. Don't ask so much, just do what I say n God will bless you. You will not bring shame to your name. Your enemy will not curse your mother n your father n you will not curse your father's father a 1000 times over. Blessings from heaven will drop down on you like shiny water.

So listen I am speaking... you must take off your old shoes n fetch your baby toes. Then you can run about here n there. You can play on our land which is laughing n calling you for a happy ride. The sky will make its colour so blue for you. The mud on the road will turn to gold only for you. You can pick up n enjoy. The sea will make a mirror for your face. How else to see the world with the eyes that we can see?

So remember...when you kam to Lagos, wear your baby heart n bring your baby toes n the thunder will not spit on you. I swear by my great-great-great grandfather's grave five times over. How will you know when you kam to Lagos, that you have a blessing?

Look at your enemy's feet.

Two big bandages on his swollen feet. You on the other hand, will have one mosquito bite on your small toe, aiyah, that's all. One mosquito bite on your small toe is a very good thing to a bandage on your enemy's balloon feet. Is it not? What is there to complain about? Serve her right n Praise the Lord! Hallelujah and Glory be to his High n Mighty Name!

For dinner tonight, I wish you roasted chicken n not taufu. I wish you a kitchen overflowing with toes...or no, no, I mean baby food. Enough! Enough! Don't talk so much. My ears are going deaf, understand me or not? You think I was born yesterday? I only have baby toes, not even one baby ear! - suzan abrams

The Easier Wait

2009-02-14T10:33:00.000-08:00

by Suzan Abrams

She was afflicted not by the chatisement of a severe reprimand or the imprisonment that served for quiet longing as she was in licking the wounds from the torn spirit underneath her, like one of a lone woman who waited and watched at the water's edge for a lover that would not come.

The woman as she remembered, having once spied on her while on a late route home, had paused on the threshhold of the twilight. She stood mannequined against the scenery of early stars that posed as her lamplight: All the while, her eyes searched for the vague shadow of a boat.

Perhaps it was trapped in a bough and stabbed by twigs with sinister intentions. Perhaps it had lost its way from having tailed the haphazard rush of wide-eyed ripples, determined that lovers should meet. She waited and watched for a husband who may have been jawed by a sharp-teethed fish or stung by a snake. She waited and watched for a husband who may have been caught somewhere in a morning daylight by another pair of ring-spangled hands, in a forgotten land where only the sun could see.

And so, it was for the woman who waited and watched the lone woman whose husband did not come, that her own fears of affliction stemming from the heavy truths of a cancelled dinner date, seemed trivial by comparison in the tragic weight of another's looming desolation.

Chummy Affair for a Pair!

2009-02-14T00:49:00.000-08:00

Chummy affair for a pair!

by Suzan Abrams

A Mexican criminal, whose moustache tickled up a swindle and who stayed below his station, met a lazy donkey with a passion for the wicked drool. The donkey said he would load the fool into Tijuana for a price so slick and cool.

They plodded up the border, downing their Tequila, their days now numbered but no thug lumbered forward for a fight or easy ride. The crook looked a latchkey lad... who'd think he'd steal a gun for highbrow fun in the sun and could be so very bad.

On the upside, he wore a sombrero that burrowed his skin like a rabbit in a bin but on the downside, he slid and fell about like a broken wheelbarrow, damn it!

Eikes, oink and eikes, oink, he went. Eikes oink and eikes oink, he bent. Suddenly, the donkey brayed up a fray and waited till the crook bumped his collar on a cactus, hollered up a ruckus and stumbled a quarter of the way down south into a filthy muddied brook.

Despite and in spite... the donkey lapped up a drink, had a think and trotted off with the carrots, no, I mean ola-la...carats! The crook had meant to bind his find of gems in a willing nook except that the donkey had stumbled upon the crashed treasure while in deep leisure, puffing on some clammy cheroot!

Maturity

2009-02-13T00:53:00.000-08:00

by Suzan Abrams

She stayed prominent in her ministrations and affections lest she be led to the docility of hearts. Grazed from a misfortune of spirit, she may have removed herself from the blight of indignity but that the puzzlement of life in its varied catastrophes continued to grip her. She moved willingly but happily into the webbed audacity that love demanded of entanglements. An uneasy truce prevailed in the disposition of the self. She held court with an everyday splendour, eager to mount her vision upright. She bottled up a straying distracted sight for an early wisdom. Her legs were trained for a steady course and she could only run forward...her head being sadly labelled as much too stiff for backward glances and recriminations of the past. Hindsight would be her memory's only gift and this too, from time to time, to summon with acute displeasure and warn of an old foe. Hindsight and an eagle-eyed endeavour for an icy patience, keen to hold her still.

I Remember a Malaysian Plagiarist of Two Published English Language Short Stories. I Discovered It Recently. She Never Spoke the Truth

2009-02-11T10:39:00.000-08:00

by Suzan Abrams

Hurry me to the wayside of your displeasure that I be reconciled to the existence of my innocence. For I have unearthed by accident, a dark truth and revelations will follow, lest you pretend concussion and deny the possibilities of an ill-timed confession; masquerading your lies for a supposed tearful tragedy. Bury yourself in the deluge of a delusion of pretended writing whose credibility now rises like a hasty persuasion into question, and life will find you out, those secret dirt-scraped hands sticking out of a graveside rubble where the worms have been. For your fingers smell of trickery and deception and the theft of a literary talent, stolen from a dead woman's genius to pass on in the land of the living as your own. You wear her stories like a shiny pendant, thinking that a corpse cannot speak, her stories are too ancient to be ressurrected and that ignorant friends, fearful of a plagiarist in their midst, will kiss your feet and deny the crime. You grab the ovation for another's originality. But I shadow the genius of the dead woman's ghost and my eyes witnessed your thievery. Everyday you will wake not knowing if today is the day, my truth will crumble your bed of lies. You wait with devious thrill, locked in a state of nervous mousey apprehension while I bide my time wisely. Until that dreaded hour, no dove of peace becomes you.

Rest is Paradise

2009-02-11T00:32:00.000-08:00

by Suzan Abrams

Stir not the stillness, rush not the agitation! Give my overwrought joy a bed and pillow, I tell you and my muscled exhilaration in need of an unruffled massage, will grab solace somewhere between the folds of a satiny sheen. Let my restlessness twirl sublimation about before being enraptured into a statued pose and nosed up a plumped-up cushion. I shall drown in the silence of the night and raise my snores like an offering to quietude. May watching angels who catch my sacrifice shush my room up and grant me breathing space. I will not stir until after the alarm has run its course a 100 times and run my bath too at that! My dreamy peace will stretch the dawn's final yawn, demand breakfast from a torn timetable and orchestrate my safari action once again like a rhino on the run!

A Thought for Australia

2009-02-09T23:33:00.000-08:00

by Suzan Abrams

I will have another blog post for later in the day.

I mourn for the city of Melbourne in Australia, currently wounded by the current bushfire disaster. Its bandages are hard and heavy and still soaking with blood.

Melbourne was my first real home away from home. I stayed in the grand old city - so like England in its ways - for five years. Here I was introduced to eternal favourites made up of British soaps and dramas like Heartbeat and The Bill. When I worked as a magazine journalist in Kuala Lumpur and Singapore, my first international fashion assignment was to Sydney and I lived for a week on Darling Harbour. This was followed by several other trips elsewhere.

When I gave up full-time journalism to travel and to write as I pleased, my renewed destination was intially to friends on a farm in Rutherglen, Victoria State, Australia. You had to board an early morning or late evening train from Spencer Street Station in downtown Melbourne, and after a four hour ride disembark at Chiltern, a charming quaint town. I woke up in a little cottage in the thick of winter one June, surrounded by sheep and cows, all early risers, breakfasting on the bright green grass. The cows were territorial and stared menacingly at me. The farm-owner had strong business dealings with the nearby wineries.

These towns were not affected by the bushfires.

The Victorian countryside is similar to England and no less beautiful. On the way up to Belfast from Dublin, the passing farmlands in Northern Ireland still remind me of Australia. I didn't much care for the farm and moved to the city of Melbourne. Soon after, I rented an apartment in North Coburg. A 10 minute tram ride took me directly into the central business district on Elizabeth Street. I much preferred the fast lane, with all of its flamboyance and colour. I began once more to travel to Africa and thereabouts with Melbourne as a steady base.

This morning on reading the updated versions of the bushfires, I think about my old life and it finally dawns on me; the harsh mourning of its slightly scarred, burnt face.

Note

2009-02-08T22:34:00.000-08:00

by Suzan Abrams

I have to do a bit of running around here in Dar, East Africa, this Monday morning.

Meanwhile, I am surprised, touched and pleased that HausPublishing London which specialises in elegant non-fiction literature and with a great interest in the Middle East, has published one of my blog posts, on their website. Please see here.

HausPublishing has also opened a new venture in Arabia Books which distributes and publishes an eclectic collection of Middle-Eastern fiction from the Arab world.
Also, the publishers recently opened a book showroom in London, a few minutes walk from the Sloane Square Tube Station.

Since writing that review and possibly unknown to Haus, I had already purchased a pile of literature from Arabia Books. It's in my Dublin flat at the moment. I'll read them all when I return in March. And I shall definitely be stopping at the London showroom. I ordered the titles from a favourite Irish bookseller. For an affordable price, the paperbacks are of a sophisticated quality and would definitely make for collectors' items.

Thank you, Haus. I should have great pleasure in writing more about your books and showroom, after I've been. There should be some new reviews by the end of March.

Sincerity

2009-02-07T21:57:00.000-08:00

written by Suzan Abrams

I take a flight of fancy and creep into the destitution of my confinement that my valour be promoted to an indulgence stemmed from goodwill and my thoughts be aligned to the muteness of the self. In my aloneness, I am one. I seek a harbouring of affection that my heart be given a rest from treachery. I toss betrayals into the air and look for sincerity in the burrowed holes of

imaginings and deep pleasures known to the pursuits of the mind. To where can I run if not for blanketed dreams that I be cherished in a need for forgiveness and restitution. I value only truthfulness and the coyness of the moment wrapped into the need of the self. Life is movement and speed but reined only by willing hands. On the contrary, it may be designed to tailspin the secondary motion of a half-hearted whine dismissing passion like a paradise lost in the sun. Today knowing what I do, I seek not the slippery carefree pangs of childhood so carelessly attained as I would the sophistication of age that swirls the quiet mind with needful charity and from time to time, the swing of my step, moulded from an exhilarating noise.

Something Theatrical

2009-02-07T07:40:00.000-08:00

by Suzan Abrams

I am a penguin, a clown, a joker, a skeleton and a blue whale dressed in moondust, all at once.

my distrust

I am indebted to the fallacy of disbelief, where suspicion crowns my giddy head with an Eden thorn and so, I must take my leave at noon, for a swoon so soon - and with dignified huff, while scraping away at the scales of my mermaid skin and riding the crest of an ocean wave that slid down from somewhere in the spying moon.

my last card

I am an illusion after the fact,
always you were seeing, now finally unseeing,
and by the time, my shadow spirits away into the sly dusk
I would have committed the perfect crime
of having outstayed the prime of my time.

my heartbreak

And then your eyes popped out unexpectedly from your beautiful face
and lay at my feet, gazing up at me, they looked like wires mangled
in a sphere of darkness, from where I stood, a lantern to your
sorrowed blindness, a charcoal maze of broken kisses.

my hope

I hide and sigh sadly, in the state of your plastered mind.
Will you see me?
I must ask again in a 100 years.
Remind me where we sit holding hands to the last supper in eternity.
And neither saying a word.

my escape

And now like a mad woman, I run. I scream and fall but I do the noble thing of never looking back. I run to the light in the blighted night. Yes, there is light even in the hagridden face of the cold, expansive night.

2009-02-05T22:17:00.000-08:00

A question from a Yemeni driver in Dar: What music you like you?
My answer: This music I like me.

- susan abrams -

Madness

2009-02-05T21:44:00.000-08:00

written by Suzan Abrams

I am a little old lady who once secured cantankerous motions for everyday living. Thus, with considered alacrity, I defined for myself, a set of logistics for the measurement of a high madness, that I myself be kept wholly sane. Pardon the conjecture for disbelief but where else can I hobble to with my story.
I took to drinking my biscuit with a straw and to closing my eyes that I might view the pictures on the wall. Then I ate the oven-hot lamplight for supper and what a tame meal too that might be. Next, I curled up to sleep in the air. My bony creaks, grunts and snores did a waltz but I did not fall over. My alarm rang with laughter from the ceiling fan, from where my mattress stood suspended. A fleeing mouse shut it up again and the magic fan turned itself off. I jumped from my bed with youthful candour on my one bad leg and landed in the cupboard.

The pictures on the wall were locked in the shower, fixing their makeup with watercolours. Bent and huddled, I still paint an opera now and then. I can also sing Shakespeare if I want! My pencil-slim toothpaste was in the kitchen toasting bread. My cornflakes were eaten by an ant and the sun stole my milk. The boiled egg turned to pudding in my mouth.

I would shiver in the heat as I woke to face the daylight and the daylight would summon up a thunderstorm on catching the horrendous sight of me, that I be kept warm.

I crawled to the shops with an umbrella on my back and ate up the groceries so I could ferry my goods, safely back in my belly.

My house welcomed me while hanging upside down on its newly painted hinges with the red carpet at the back door for a happy entrance. The storm and wind had toppled it about a bit. But never you mind! My rootop will now realise its ambition for acrobatics and as for me... well, I have always wanted to sleep on the stars. - suzan abrams -

Animated Clip Art courtesy of: Feebleminds.

2009-02-05T09:15:00.000-08:00

I move into the psyche of human relationships on the wrong flight and clumsily manouvered like a bird gone drunk. - suzan abrams -

The Disillusioned Individual

2009-02-05T01:00:00.001-08:00

written by Suzan Abrams

We live in an ephemeral existence, shouldered by any one number or more of varied transient tragedies that may be soluble and interchangeable in their masquerade to demonstrate the careful balance of ordinary life. We could bubble ourselves up into the fat round sphere of a still moment, engaging in its lively discourses and receiving in its meditative light; but only if we draw away the long evening shadows from curtains of the past. Then remembrances become impossible and time...once more unhurried and newly-born, succumbing to the infancy of the virginal.

The disillusioned individual likens his ordinariness to a self-imposed grandeur. He carps about the madness of monotony and rests in the limelight of attention, company and want. He craves his audience and cannot escape. He fears holding the solitary card. He hides his grovelling under the table and reduces it to a drone of mutterings. In this orchestral sphere, the watchful dust floats on its raft of nothingness where even time is tuneless and the ghost of death snores from too much sleep.

The disillusioned individual serves his dullness light and to perfection, balancing friends and foes with uneasy acumen that all would colour his distorted observations with a haphazard symmetry of tall black specks that playact light. Happy giddy lines like bright 'n sparkling avoid his sphere...they wouldn't dream of trespassing surely for what else is there except to plod the chosen tunnel of a celebrated darkness and to then label his imprisoned pessimism as truth.

He struggles for a view beyond the wreckage of broken gravel under his feet. He may not see that he wears a shoe at all but harps on the missing shoelace or the wear and tear of a heel. The disillusioned individual is blind in his insistent self-proclaimed imaginings. Let no man tell him otherwise. In his life,there is no light and even the soft low flicker, courtesy of an industrious torch may fail to showcase a performance. All life offers is the sound of his own sad voice and the proposal to a marriage bent on listlessness.

I take you now in bad times and in tears, in sickness and in a coma, for worse and for the worst till death drags us down and till death makes us one. But then we never believed in life's fat alluring promises or its long slow crawl ...so what of the encumbrance of indolence. We were never really there. And so the disgruntled individual swears... all the while the sharp taste of acid, rancid in his mouth. - suzan abrams -

From my Window: The Ships in Dar

2009-02-04T02:58:00.000-08:00

by Suzan Abrams

February 4, 2009

Last evening on drawing the curtains, my absent-minded thoughts as distant as the stars... I was startled to see a prim cargo ship march by in a close-up huff. I may have touched its taut mottled deck that made for a snakish straitlaced pose, had I reached my hand out far enough.

As a child, I would have wished this magic.

The grim tight-lipped ship appeared to sulk and be running away from it all with puritanical abandonment, I know not from what. It may have left lovers, family, friends while bearing sufferance with its oversized luggage.

It suddenly turned on its heels with a noisy whoosh and may even have gathered its starched skirts in the messy waves had it worn one. Its many colourful crates stood precariously atop the other and trembled rather dramatically, what with the heaving-and-sighing passion of it all. They reminded me of a memorable Lego toy. I watched the ship sail wistfully into the sunset and knew I would never see it again. I was momentarily aware of the fragility of my own mortality, that I too would someday be called into a beckoning dusk and be summoned to hurry, with no time left for a final goodbye. I could only wish the old prude well.

************

also February 4, 2009

The dhow song unfolds, a kite on tide...and swallows jazz up a beat with borrowed twigs.

*********

and also February 4, 2009

The tall blue ship having complained in loud shrill hoots about the scorching summer, has been stripped of its handsome electric blue coat in the harbour's sauna of a dockyard. Finally... for the breathtaking silence of it all! Far from a serenade at my window ledge, the cheeky vessel in question, had chosen to playact a jacuzzi.

Don't tell but I heard it whispered in the sharply cool twilight wind just yesterday, on walking out to a late supper when Tanzanians were still sauntering home; their bellies fat and full... that the hardy vessel has gone quite mad and is planning to streak about the sea-green ocean, dressed in the buff! I've heard it say that acquamarine would go magnificently with its pearly skin. The snoopy palms are rife with rumours. The costly tickets at the Zanzibar ferry office, could only suggest an exclusive performance. Clearly, my window view would be rudely barred.

Open secrets are gossiped about with relish on market days from the lively Kigamboni to the watchful Bandari shores. Whatever can the Captain and his audacious crew be thinking! Or maybe I'm guessing, they had one potent Kilimanjaro lager too many at the ultra-modern Milimani mall that's all the rage.

*********

and also and also February 4, 2009

Oh...the stylish white boats have quarrelled today. They dash helter-skelter to pout here and there; sulky and grumpy while moored on the fringes of the harbour. They look a picture of midget dowagers what with such petulance but then too, their patterned polka dots are like a shiny sequinned ballgown in the afternoon sun. I want to catch them all and hide each one up in my secret wardrobe. The boats had wanted the sea to masquerade a riotious playground. The waters had insisted on all and sundry toeing the line. The boats refused and scattered like an urgent crowd. Now, a tiny tugboat who gatecrashed the scene, feigns innocence and in a desire to show off, spins round and round in fat dizzy circles. How joyous like a baby, piloting its first celebrated crawl. The wide-ringed ripples mimic gurgles. The cajoling waters rise for a slippery slide and humour the tot. The older boaties can only watch in disarray and slight dismay.

February 3, 2009

On the famous Selander Bridge which is a coastal line that partly skirts the city and lies about a kilometre away from Dar, a distant cargo haul, caterpillars its way to the high seas with obedient docility. One by one, 10 steely ships pay homage to their regal procession, each shouldered by an eternal skyline. In the brush of mist and cloud, there is no turning back. Only two on faithful watchmen duty, offer a sudden telescopic glance at the curious observer. Their snouts hint at gloom and ferocity. This, should any adventurer trail their secret willful journey.

***********

January 30, 2009

I woke up this morning and a long blue ship waited outside my window. It stood brave and tall, proudly anchored in the harbour. It dwarfed the vain sleek Catamaran without a second thought.
Unless you live close to a waterfront or dockyard, how often in a life could one wake up to spot a ship poised majestically outside the bedroom window...Not for me, a true child of suburban living. Not a chance, I'm afraid. This afternoon, a black cargo ship with a strip of shocking pink circling its belly, and a reckless jet boat, both jostled for space on the way out to sea. How gruff and grandfather-ish appeared the stern ship dressed in its eccentric party bow and how unrepentant, the beautiful brazen boat while tossed about on the waters in its high dance of flamboyance and agility. I wish I could have gone to the party.- suzan abrams -

*******

January 27, 2009

Last evening, I rushed to the bay window of my hotel room, like a child at Christmas. The loud trombone groan of the Catamaran called out sternly to warn off a small but brave fishing boat. How it bellowed up a roar! It could have been a case of a stubborn David with Goliath but for the naive Dar fisherman and his ancient wooden companion. Armed with its striking flourescent red light as an only weapon, the fisherman cared none for the Catamaran's snobbish rumble and with a lone oar, beat a hasty retreat.
A passing dhow shrugged at this mad truancy.
Here the super-speed ferry was returning with the usual blustery pomp from the Zanzibar. Soon it would retire for the night anchored at the harbour, along with other rackety ferries devoid of their makeup and lost in snores and yawns. Clearly, the spanking white Catamaran was queen of the Waterfront. It would be lulled by the sounds of a soft rain as it rested amid the wind. It was dusk after all and the waters had trembled madly under the ferry's bulky cellulite weight, in an earlier teary bid to float regally to attention.
Bold ripples made the coast look like a parade of wrinkly ladies, their skin creamed with a buttered sheen. Not that the army of birds which rested on the nearby palm trees cared as much for this vanity. Intent on a last supper, the greedy swallows black in the darkening twilight would polka-dot the brim of the ocean like the latest design of smooth slippery fabric sashaying up the Parisian catwalk.
Together they waltzed; the amorous birds dipping kisses into the shy pale sea.
In the middle of the waters, sat an old dame of a forgotten homeless barge, still panting and puffing her way to an unknown destination from three days ago. She twirled and swayed on her last rusty hinges, this way and that, almost as if she would lift first a weathered knee, then a broken toe, then a stiff ankle and so be it.
Was there a hospice at sea? She would find it!
Occassionally, the other boats would extend a courtesy call by sailing carefully around her, then dashing past afraid that she would attempt a watery hitchhike and steal their catch.
Only last night in the heavy rain, the coast wore a mist of tears, hiding its strange blue face. The storm clouds watched anxiously but decided they would gatecrash anyway.
Today, the happier emerald waters of the Indian Ocean play their carefree game of sink-n-swim. I wonder if deep in their bottom hearts, there lay still the wreckage of a treasure chest from the days of when Tanzania first sheltered its famous slave towns

********

January 25, 2009

I am in East Africa today. I actually arrived here on Sunday. What can I say? Scenes spell the exactness of films. Clamour, chaos, crowds and a colourful clutter about sums it up.
My harbour-front view paints the picture of a sparkling Indian Ocean. It splashes up a rich shade of royal blue ink. I'm close to the coast and the wide windows reveal the remnant strips of a closing sunset.
Other friendly greeters stay the anchored fishing boats, steamers, ferries and the last Catamaran for the day, sailing eager passengers off to the Zanzibar.
The occasional dhow as light as a feather tails the wind. It zooms past the tall window. The Tanzanians saunter along the coast and mud-tracks, content that it's a Sunday. I want to weep with the bitter sweet-sadness of an old forgotten nostalgia, far more beseeching than childhood.
In the night, only the magnificent shimmering lights shape an ocean in twilight. They beckon at my shadowy face. But I spy the sea anyway.
Restless in its tranquility, it shivers and shakes, its shine too beautiful to resemble a grumbling bellyache. Instead, I imagine cold wobbling jelly...majestic and decorative, styled on a tray.

end

2009-02-03T04:18:00.000-08:00

by Suzan Abrams

On the famous Selander Bridge which is a coastal line that partly skirts the city and lies about a kilometre away from Dar, a distant cargo haul caterpillars its way to the high seas, with obedient docility. One by one, 10 steely ships pay homage to their regal procession, each shouldered by an eternal skyline. In the brush of mist and cloud, there is no turning back. Only two offer a sudden telescopic glance at the curious observer; their snouts hinting at gloom and ferocity. This, should any adventurer trail their secret willful journey.

Chiew-Siah Tei, Scotland based Malaysian Novelist Participates in the Man Hong Kong International Literary Festival March 8-18, 2009

2009-02-02T02:56:00.000-08:00

by Suzan Abrams

The Man Hong Kong International Literary Festival to be held from March 8-18 2009, has just displayed its new list of participating authors and full programme.

This year the big name author in attendance will be Margaret Atwood. Also, one of the rare times when the Man Booker Winner in this case Aravind Adiga for The White Tiger, does not present an appearance.

You may catch the author list here and the full programme here.

The new Malaysian novelist participating is Scotland-based Chiew-Siah Te of Little Hut of Leaping Fishes who together with Xujun Eberlein and Neel Chowdhury will talk to Marysia Juszczakiewicz about diaspora writers, the idea of geographical displacement and a possibly redundant homeland. (Saturday March 14, 10.00 to 11.00 at the Fringe Theatre - a ticket costs HK$110 for general booking and HK$85 for priority booking). Title: Dislocated Voices

On March 16 (12.30pm@the Foreign Correspondents' Club HK$180), Chiew-Siah Tei who is also a billingual Malaysian author, will discuss the trends and consequences to English Language and Literature as an increasing number of non-native speakers worldwide experiement with writing in English. Title: The Latest Trend: Writing in English.

On March 17 (10.00am at the Helena May Blue Room - tickets HK$110) , Chiew-Siah Tei who is also a screenwriter and playwright, once more holds conversation with Marysia Juszczakiewicz as she talks to Janice Lee, author of the popular The Piano Teacher, on the development of strong female characters. Title: The Female Pen. Coffee and tea included.

2009-02-02T02:22:00.000-08:00

by Suzan Abrams

There is no electricity in downtown Dar today so out come dozens of hardy little generators with their whirring noises for the richer shops, restaurants and wholesalers. I feel I've slipped down a time machine...so ancient is the old world charm that beguiles me. Dar has preserved its British colonial history very well and I walk briskly amidst its treasured heritage of achitectural ruins and buildings and try not to knock over any crate carrying passengers or ladies bearing heavy baskets of vegetables and fruits with clever dexterity upon their heads. In between the lot of us, are honking cars, buses, vans, motorcycles and bicycles that speed by from dangerous angles. I go to take tea in Mr. N. Ali's popular tearoom...the haunt of businessmen who all crave a moment of leisure from dull dusty offices. The charming Mr. Ali with a few wives -all reputed to get on like a house on fire - serves me his best tea in his best cup and leads me to his best chair.

Having come from a Dublin winter, even earlier trips to Kuala Lumpur and Singapore could not subdue me, I sweat profusely, my perspiration betraying the clear fact that I am very much the foreigner and stranger to this land.

2009-02-02T02:20:00.000-08:00

by Suzan Abrams

If you read my posts further down, I think a couple of times, I did talk about going to breakfast at the hotel's restaurant and being regaled with the tinkle of old piano tunes that often reminded me of my childhood. A day ago, it was the Elephant Walk.

This morning I was late and on rushing in, got the shock of my life to observe an elderly but stately African pianist playing the baby grand in the far corner of the room. I think it was an old Broadway hit and he appeared oblivious to the rest of us, being utterly devoted to his mission at high early-morning entertainment. Soon, he would turn to Doris Day.

With his coattails and handsome bow, I felt the pianist to be directly plucked out from a character in the Orient Express or a stylish cabaret...reminiscent of a Hollywood classic. Once more, that sense of surrealism and what a strange but splendid way to celebrate a Monday morning.

Notes

2009-01-31T22:15:00.001-08:00

by Suzan Abrams

I have moved to a slightly bigger executive suite in the hotel and now have a vast view of the harbour and Indian Ocean that tails my movements in the rooms, in a circular motion. The furniture are of mahagony and teak wood, the chairs are wicker and the carpets, long curtains and pictures on the wall hold flamboyant African decor and designs. There are also potted palms and scattered comfy sofas. I also have double of everything, baths, televisions, six telephones and before I start counting and appearing very much the hillbilly, you would know all the usual that comes in this case, with a small suite.
It is such a festive Sunday morning and near the waterfront, a group of professional dancers in colourful costumers, accompanied by lively beats are practising Congolese and Tanzanian dancers. The restaurant that serves a buffet breakfast, blared old African hits today like Elephant Walk which my father often played for me. Naturally, I mulled about a fair bit over my food and drink.
I feel so ease and confident as a woman traveller who can hold my hold. No more aware was I of this then today because of reasons I may write about later. In a way, I feel grown up that I have come into my own although truth would dictate that I already had, a long while ago.

Now, the thing is, that I don't know how to carry on with this blog. I experience different things everyday and sometimes different passions in my life dominate others. I don't live an ordinary life and so it is hard to be focussed and definitely not possible to slip into a routine for anything.

For instance, I could tell you about the Masai children who surrounded me yesterday and of how I find Masai toddlers to be some of the most congenial babies in the world. They are so affectionate that they will naturally endear themselves to any smile. They will come to you and hold you as if you were their mother. They would touch you, feel you and cling on like soft cuddly Koalas as if you were the dearest thing in their lives. That's how Masai children are. They don't want anything from you but just to be with you. When you do say goodbye, they are sad.

This is how life prisms up my multi-faceted endeavours. I am missing my beloved literature, want to spend more time on it and definitely want to complete my stories. I plan to rest on those wicker chairs, look out to the nearby sea and read since it is too dangerous for me to walk on the coast alone without a guide. The trouble is that East Africa smoulders with so much exoticism that many other things may claim your attention all at once.

I am well aware of the poverty that surrounds people. How can anyone not be moved by what one sees here. I myself, was once in dire straits for years so I know how it is to have nothing or very little. I am aware that today while I have a suite others don't have a bed. But I am constantly humbled, thankful and appreciative for everything. And I have done much to help needy African individuals although my personal charity for others, is a subject that my conscience will always forbid me from discussing openly.

Anyway, let's see what I feel like doing with this blog. I may take an interval until I get to Dublin or even longer. I may just write about books again and stop recollecting my African experiences here altogether. At the moment, I still don't know. Today, I'm going to Coco Beach...which is a very beautiful shore and so called as it is ever so famous for scattered and shapely coconut trees.

By the way, when I have left I will give you the name of the hotel where I stayed, the room numbers and the name I checked under. That's only fair. At least you would know it was all real.

The Window in Dar - East Africa III

2009-01-30T01:59:00.000-08:00

I woke up this morning and a long blue ship waited outside my window. It stood brave and tall, proudly anchored in the harbour. It dwarfed the vain sleek Catamaran without a second thought.
Unless you live close to a waterfront or dockyard, how often in a life could one wake up to spot a ship poised majestically outside the bedroom window...Not for me, a true child of suburban living. Not a chance, I'm afraid. This afternoon, a black cargo ship with a strip of shocking pink circling its belly, and a reckless jet boat, both jostled for space on the way out to sea. How gruff and grandfather-ish appeared the stern ship dressed in its eccentric party bow and how unrepentant, the beautiful brazen boat while tossed about on the waters in its high dance of flamboyance and agility. I wish I could have gone to the party.- suzan abrams -

Here in Africa

2009-01-29T23:07:00.000-08:00

by Suzan Abrams

Did I say that I would be able to devote more time to my blog once I reached Africa?

Well, to be candid, I am living a dream...not one dominated by materialism but another kind of dream shrouded by the hedonistic pleasures that denote bliss.

The kind that triumphs over the searching heart and defeats the life of the ordinary.

I recognise that I am one of very few writers who are fearless and lucky enough to live life this way and I am still writing my stories. I've not yet published a book although I soon will.

I don't mean to boast and I apologise for any arrogance.

On the contrary, I am humbled by this gift from the Gods and am to put it mildly, like a child in a lolly shop or skidding across a tempting playground. Forgive me if I sometimes get carried away by the wonder, beauty and exhilaration of life that surrounds me. I have worked so painfully hard to catch my dreams.

Because of my lifestyle, I am allowed to take my writerly inspiration totally for granted. I have chased my heart's desires and am discovering them like buried treasure.

Here in Africa, I could have once been a little girl of 4 in Malaysia, watching my father carefully turn over the precious pages of a Life Magazine or a copy of his library collection of the Reader's Digest. I was the apple of his eye and would hang about him as often as I could, posing questions about people in different lands. I was also influenced by old Hollywood classics on safaris that my parents chose to watch on the television. Daktari was another weekly series I loved and would beg my mother to include that in my entertainment schedule right after homework, although I couldn't understand much of what was going on. My mother was always kind like that and obliged my pleas.

How I longed to be part of the scene. The Jeeps, the adventures, the animals and the romantic allure that spun mercilessly over this vast landscape with its immense skyline, even in the midst of thousands of simply led lives.

Now I am here for the countless time. I really have lost count and will have to think carefully about how often already it is, that I have come to Africa. Each time I arrive, I understand East Africa a little more. In the past, I've also been to Johannesburg and to Zimbabwe.

At this moment in time, I feel that I am shrouded in surrealism, that destiny will define while I am here...the hour and the day. So far, I have been gently prodded by the grandeur of unpredictability and the weighlessness of being rocked along.

************

All through this week, I have spent it simply blending into the city of Dar. I turn into a subtle figure of the scene. This is real and not any kind of pretentious attempt to renact any African mood seen at expensive clubs and discos in different parts of the world. This is the real thing.

I remember a scene in a Jeremy Irons film where the actor walked along the streets of Morocco, surrounded by a similar clutter. And how he had looked curiously all about him, but unafraid and confident enough that no one would dare cheat him. He was pleasant towards all and and so people reacted likewise. He walked, the eager lone adventurer surrounded by a strange foreign crowd. That is exactly how it is with me. I walk so much...I look at everything again and again as if I am seeing the seaside town of Dar for the first time. I have been here so often and yet I try to soak in as much as I can of the naturally exotic flavours, moods and atmosphere that I may wish to smuggle back to my beloved Des in Dublin, for a poignant memory.

Greetings shade the face of this electrifying power. Assanti sista or jambo sista, otherwise, ...taxi sista?

So far, I have visited my old friendly acquaintances, 2 popular North Indian restauranteurs, my favourite North Indian money changer who gives me good rates, a group of pretty Tanzanian girls - yes, the one called Tusha who cried when I last left and who hugged me ever so tightly yesterday and there's also Maya who I like very much - and these girls are a whizz at running their internet cafe downtown. Tusha is terribly petite. She is small, shapely and very cute...like a fragile porcelain doll. How between them they manage the scanning, binding, photocopying, printing and also cope with fussy customers and always with terrific smiles on their faces; I'll never know.

Then there's Katana, my former Tanzanian safari/tour guide who taught me as much as I needed to know of Dar once upon a time and who now works full time at the airport. Two days ago, Katana came to meet me at my hotel and together, we went to see his young wife Agnes. They've just had their second child, a baby boy called Emmanuel, born on Christmas Eve.

The baby looks so tiny and divine. There's also Katana's sister, Sophie who's always ready with her flasks of tea and generous with her embraces. Tanzanians may look a dour lot but are affectionate once they know you. Their smiles mostly rare, are always ravishing when you finally catch one.

Tomorrow, Katana and I will visit the bustling wholesaler market called Kariyoko where expatriates and tourists dare not venture but where locals would happily purchase their provisions. I'm been before and feel quite at home there what with all the bargaining and haggling of the abundant colourful ware, that could well deafen the ears. That's if you don't get knocked down by a ramshackle car first of all. I am going to buy Katana and Agnes who are my dear friends, some good things for baby Emmanuel. Let the little tot be properly blessed and grow up in style!

I still have other friends to see and will write you of my experiences along the way.

Yesterday, I was at my favourite place,The Slipway in Oysterbay, to indulge in its bookshops and cafes that directly face a picturesque Indian Ocean. You need just a minute to walk up to the coast and dip your toes in the waves. I bought some books and cards. You can get any amount of British contemporary fiction, poetry and the classics plus all that excellent literature on Africana at A Novel Idea. This meaning, fiction as well as non-fiction. Naipaul is of course, a mainstay.

This is where you'll find the adventurous expatriates living the kind of lives you see only in Hollywood films. Whites (as is the everyday phrase) who are South African or Kenyan mostly passing by or else working here in Dar. Perhaps too, travellers from other regions but a more stately cultured group and not the backpacker variety. Sunburnt and quiet in their disposition, you'll observe lone European women writing letters, viewing the artefacts, reading, or men engaged in business deals over their lagers. Being at the Slipway offers the adventurer a euphoric experience of Africa. I had myself a glass of red wine and a sandwich - I wasn't feeling too well yesterday. As usual in places like this, I am the only Asian.

The Slipway also reminds me of when I go to breakfast at the hotel's restaurant every morning. Here the piercing tinkle of old piano tunes from the Hollywood classics, faithfully regale us in the background. Both venues conjure up the same nostalgic pictures of Gregory Peck, John Wayne and Clark Gable promoting the African safaris through their films.

Next week, I'm thinking of moving to the Zanzibar for awhile or else going up to stay in Arusha, home of the Kilimanjaro for a few days. My God! just the thought of it feels like paradise.

In Africa: The View

2009-01-27T23:40:00.001-08:00

January 28, 2009

by Suzan Abrams

Earlier Entry: The Window.

Last evening, I rushed to the bay window of my hotel room, like a child at Christmas. The loud trombone groan of the Catamaran called out sternly to warn off a small but brave fishing boat. How it bellowed up a roar! It could have been a case of a stubborn David with Goliath but for the naive Dar fisherman and his ancient wooden companion. Armed with its striking flourescent red light as an only weapon, the fisherman cared none for the Catamaran's snobbish rumble and with a lone oar, beat a hasty retreat.

A passing dhow shrugged at this mad truancy.

Here the super-speed ferry was returning with the usual blustery pomp from the Zanzibar. Soon it would retire for the night anchored at the harbour, along with other rackety ferries devoid of their makeup and lost in snores and yawns. Clearly, the spanking white Catamaran was queen of the Waterfront. It would be lulled by the sounds of a soft rain as it rested amid the wind. It was dusk after all and the waters had trembled madly under the ferry's bulky cellulite weight, in an earlier teary bid to float regally to attention.

Bold ripples made the coast look like a parade of wrinkly ladies, their skin creamed with a buttered sheen. Not that the army of birds which rested on the nearby palm trees cared as much for this vanity. Intent on a last supper, the greedy swallows black in the darkening twilight would polka-dot the brim of the ocean like the latest design of smooth slippery fabric sashaying up the Parisian catwalk.

Together they waltzed; the amorous birds dipping kisses into the shy pale sea.

In the middle of the waters, sat an old dame of a forgotten homeless barge, still panting and puffing her way to an unknown destination from three days ago. She twirled and swayed on her last rusty hinges, this way and that, almost as if she would lift first a weathered knee, then a broken toe, then a stiff ankle and so be it.

Was there a hospice at sea? She would find it!

Occassionally, the other boats would extend a courtesy call by sailing carefully around her, then dashing past afraid that she would attempt a watery hitchhike and steal their catch.

Only last night in the heavy rain, the coast wore a mist of tears, hiding its strange blue face. The storm clouds watched anxiously but decided they would gatecrash anyway.

Today, the happier emerald waters of the Indian Ocean play their carefree game of sink-n-swim. I wonder if deep in their bottom hearts, there lay still the wreckage of a treasure chest from the days of when Tanzania first sheltered its famous slave towns

John Updike Dies

2009-01-27T12:18:00.000-08:00

January 27, 2009

by Suzan Abrams

USA: Legendary American author John Updike passed this Tuesday morning from lung cancer. He died in a hospice in Massachusetts. He was 76.
Please read here of his illustrious life and celebrated writings. Updike's book of short fiction titled My Father's Tears: And Other Stories is scheduled to be published at the start of June.

Update

2009-01-27T01:55:00.001-08:00

January 27, 2009

by Suzan Abrams

I haven't had time to write anything yet. It's my third day in Africa and as usual I'm recovering from a brand-new jet lag!

I have also been walking a fair bit, downtown. In reality, I don't need to do this at all. Tanzania offers a generous number of taxi-drivers who will eagerly transport the foreigner.

The wonderful difference is that it's nothing like Kuala Lumpur where many taxi drivers have used taxi ranks to haul up only tourists for exorbitant fares. This is illegal as they don't use the meter.

For example, the taxi rank in front of the Central Market seems controlled by a specific group of taxi drivers and I really don't know who they wait to pick up. By right, a taxi should just come into the rank, pick the waiting passenger up without ado and leave immediately. But this group hangs around, chats profusely and park their taxis here and there, as they linger for a catch or two. I come back after 14 months from Europe and there's no change. So too, at the top of Petaling Street (Kuala Lumpur's main chinatown) where sly taxi drivers suggest no inclination to use the meter but instead charge exorbitant prices.

Singapore is always ethical and honest. You go to a rank. Everyone queues politely. The taxi comes, you hop in and the driver not only takes you where you want to go but will also greet you politely and exchange a few pleasantries. If the driver for some reason cannot take you - say, nearing the end of a shift - he'll actually apologize for the inconvenience caused. I've never had a bad taxi experience in Singapore and when on that little island, I take taxis all the time.

So here in Dar es Salaam, I'm always getting politely asked if "I want a taxi ride?" or I may get called out with a wave or honk. And my God! there's so much honking going on about the place, one straightaway senses an old-world charm. Picture the early chaotic train scene in Murder on the Orient Express or a harbour/waterfront conversation going on somewhere in an Agatha Christie cinematic mystery and you would immediately get the picture.

Tanzanians love their city. They don't spit or litter and their roads, besides muddy puddles from the rains, are always clean.

In Africa, I'm seen as either Hindustani who's from somewhere in the West like Canada or white & foreign because of my complexion.

I have been told this especially when trying to buy something off the street. Prices for me unless I am accompanied by a Tanzanian who must argue that I am not white-and-foreign are automatically hiked up about US$3 to US$4 extra.

Once I learn Swahili in the by-and-by, it will be easier.

At the moment, I'm just soaking in the moods, flavour and atmosphere to this quaint if not crowded seaside city. I've also been doing lots of witing writing on my notebook in my hotel room, as I have ongoing wireless facilities. As a result of my own creative pursuit, I find my blog at the moment, secondary in relation to priorities.

My view of the harbour/seafront is spectacular with the changing colours of the skyline that denotes the hour and the season.

My first impression of Africa in 2009

2009-01-25T16:24:00.000-08:00

January 26, 2009

by Suzan Abrams

The Window

I am in East Africa today. I actually arrived here on Sunday. What can I say? Scenes spell the exactness of films. Clamour, chaos, crowds and a colourful clutter about sums it up.

My harbour-front view paints the picture of a sparkling Indian Ocean. It splashes up a rich shade of royal blue ink. I'm close to the coast and the wide windows reveal the remnant strips of a closing sunset.

Other friendly greeters stay the anchored fishing boats, steamers, ferries and the last Catamaran for the day, sailing eager passengers off to the Zanzibar.

The occasional dhow as light as a feather tails the wind. It zooms past the tall window. The Tanzanians saunter along the coast and mud-tracks, content that it's a Sunday. I want to weep with the bitter sweet-sadness of an old forgotten nostalgia, far more beseeching than childhood.

In the night, only the magnificent shimmering lights shape an ocean in twilight. They beckon at my shadowy face. But I spy the sea anyway.

Restless in its tranquility, it shivers and shakes, its shine too beautiful to resemble a grumbling bellyache. Instead, I imagine cold wobbling jelly...majestic and decorative, styled on a tray.

I'm Off to Africa!

2009-01-23T20:44:00.001-08:00

January 24, 2009

by Suzan Abrams

I'm off to East Africa!

I am always so relaxed in Africa - Tanzania - and will be able to fill up this blog with a lot more reflections on books and writers and also my own writing experiences. I've got my new Notebook now and know all the places, I could use a wireless and if not, there's my hotel and failing which, the girls at the downtown internet cafe are great fun.

I remember one even cried when I left last June and I wondered if that said I had spent an excessive amount of time on the Net or else...well, it's nice to know that someone liked me.

Oh...I am so looking forward to my favourite haunts and only where the Tanzanians go...on the Kigamboni and the Bandari...local eating places and both of which face the sea and a horde of colourful fishing boats. And there's always the bookshop/cafe by the sea where expatriates go to spend their time, on the Massani Slipway. Here yachts abound!

I can't just can't wait to see my old friends and give them big hugs.

And of course, you know, the Masai are everywhere!

The only thorn in my flesh is that I am missing my Des so very much.

2009-01-22T23:37:00.001-08:00

January 23, 2009

I will reveal my new international destination on Sunday or Monday and my blog posts will start again far more methodically than this present time. - suzan abrams -

So Glad I Met the Late Sir John Mortimer

2009-01-21T00:31:00.000-08:00

January 21, 2009

by Suzan Abrams

Very sorry to read - I have been sadly out of touch with things being in a different country - that Sir John Clifford Mortimer, the once popular barrister, screenwriter and novelist of the famous Rumpole stories passed away a few days ago. I have read all of the Rumpole books but most of all, enjoyed the scenes with his wife in which the fictional longsuffering character simply termed his nag of a beloved, as She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed.

It all reminds me of a younger version of the popular television character, Sir John Deed, a talented judge who often juggled problems with his ex-wife. The illustrious comic novelist was 85 when he passed away last Friday.

I must also say how glad I am that I had the pleasure of meeting and talking with the great gentleman himself one morning when he was wheeled in to the Hatchards bookshop in Piccadilly, London, to sign our novels sometime in 2005.

I had the choice of if I wanted to make an early morning session of it and I'm glad now that I caught the tube on time. The silver-haired writer sat snuggled in a wheelchair, looked terribly frail but was absolutely cheery. He was already poorly at the time and sat wrapped in a blanket. Of course, it helped that he was surrounded by a highly affectionate audience. The gifted dramatist could strike up a fine conversation even then, asked me some questions on Asia and offered contributions to the subject of travel.

I was the only Asian present among his loyal British audience, in any case so it was easy to catch his interest. I remember him as with a sanguine complexion, pint-sized, kindly, gentle and welcoming. He also wore no dentures which made his mostly toothless smile, benevolent.

Notes

2009-01-20T04:39:00.001-08:00

January 20 2009

by Suzan Abrams

Oh my God!

What a week!

I'm flying again in the next couple of days and I'll soon be able to tell you where I'm at. It will be my sojourn...beach, my notebook and the sole task of rejuvenating my writing. This is the year for me as I've found my style and form as a writer and know the way I want to go and the work I want to produce. Besides, lazines, I have managed to experiment a fair bit and am ready to call time out on my interlude these last years after a long while, working as a magazine journalist.

I haven't yet revealed my present destination but will let you know this weekend where I was.

Still having bad jet lag.

Drowsy at odd times! Nauseous at odd times! These parts to my lifestyle are pretty painful. You don't know when the body gives way.

I've crossed about 3 climatic regions I think non-stop since December 14. I've already taken on more than 12 flights in just that time alone. It's not the to-ing and fro-ing as such but just the fact that I've been in a freezing West European climate straight up for over a year now. There was a month's break for East Africa last June but that's all. We didn't have a summer in Dublin last year and Belfast when I visited friends in July and how windy and cold it was already then - told me that their city had turned autumnish in May.

"At the start of spring, we lost the summer," my good acquaintance Paul had said, sadly.

2009-01-18T22:25:00.000-08:00

January 19, 2009

I should write something soon for this blog. I do have subjects to write about but am on the move, which makes any sedentary activity hard at the moment. I will reveal the new international destination I'll be at the for the next few weeks, by this weekend and am sure I will write something before that. And then let my blog start again properly from there. - suzan abrams -

2009-01-15T22:22:00.000-08:00

I should be back with a post tomorrow - Saturday, January 17.
Just recovering from some jet lag.

2009-01-13T10:41:00.000-08:00

January 13, 2009

Most probably not able to write for the next couple of days.

Notes

2009-01-12T10:33:00.000-08:00

January 12, 2009

by Suzan Abrams

Since I have somewhere to go in these next few weeks and especially that I'll be on the move, I won't be able to provide the latest book news until the last week of February. When I offer publishing stories, I like to be on top of my game. The news I provide is never stale or more than a couple of days old.

Now this is going to be hard so I'm going to take a raincheck on writing about the publishing industry or book events for the next month.

Saying which, that short of closing this blog, I'd prefer to leave it for jottings and for my impressions of whatever takes my fancy in wherever I end up, probably the African continent. That is the best I can manage for now. I'm sure it will have the usual literary bent with the exception that my thoughts may be projected differently.

In the following month, I'd probably concentrate on rediscovering and recording my experiences as a traveller and writer.

Today, I bought myself a Samsung Notebook and bearing in mind that I already own 2 laptops, it was such a treat. The more I travel, the lighter I like my bags to be and it's an art form to master packing the essentials for 2 or 3 different climatic regions at a time. I've taken years to learn the science of it all. Each individual taste differs. I find even the idea of carrying a laptop troublesome so I purchased an an impressive-looking Notebook for just 444 euros, that was still part of the January sales here in Dublin. Mine has got wireless and bluetooth connectivity.

I want to take my creative writing seriously where in all honesty, I have been lounging in the last years. I have practised very hard on my language skills and am happy with my progress todate. So I'd like to start writing my stories while on the move. And if I do manage a safari in the outback, it'd be handy to lug my Notebook as well and to immediately record observations. I wouldn't dare do that with my laptop. It would have been too dangerous.

Love American Style: Author Shashi Tharoor in Trouble over National Anthem in Kerala

2009-01-12T07:36:00.000-08:00

January 12, 2009

by Suzan Abrams

India: The distinguished author, newspaper columnist and former United Nations under secretary-general Shashi Tharoor, has come under fire for allegedly showing disrespect towards India's national anthem by forcing an unwelcome interruption for 10 seconds, as it was being sung at a prestigious event to herald the end of a lecture held by Federal Bank, in Kochi, Kerala, South India, last month.

According to a furious 56-year old Joy Kaitharam, general secretary of the State Human Rights Protection Centre, Tharoor insulted the national anthem in the presence of senior civil service officials of whom there were at least nine; at a city hotel function when he urged about 2,000 odd audience members to proclaim the anthem in a US style. This by placing their hands on their chests and looking upwards as Americans do when they sing the Star Spangled Banner.

He was alleged to have told the audience not to stand to attention like the traditional Indian style as it proved an imitation of British protocol.

On the contrary, B.S. Jacob, an aide of the former diplomat has pronounced Tharoor's innocence by saying that the latter only meant to suggest to the audience that they should sing aloud their anthem from the bottom of their hearts and that by placing a hand each on their chests, they would feel their hearts.

Kaitharam who has fought several high-profile legal cases on rights issues in the past refuses to be convinced and banks stubbornly on Tharoor having insulted his country, people and pride simultaneously.

With a view to the controversy, Kaitharam has suggested maximum punishment for Tharoor and plans to lodge a complaint either with the courts or the Panangad police station in the next day or two.

He bemoaned the fact that the police had failed to take action even though a newspaper reported the incident from as way back as December 17.

Incidentally, Shashi Tharoor's hometown is Kerala!

Further Reading:
Shashi Tharoor & His Books

Credit: Photo of Shashi Tharoor courtesy of IndiaDaily.org/Images.

Diary

2009-01-11T12:58:00.000-08:00

January 11, 2009

Gales in Dublin today on a dark and rainy afternoon. How the winds lashed against the rooftops and the trees sashayed up a flamboyant dance. Puddles on the street and slippery, wet pavements. Dublin knows how to conjure up a mood all its own. It's a much harsher winter than what I remembered of last January.

I ate dark chocolate, drank wine and watched British thrillers on the telly. I was utterly lazy. I chose RTE's Miss Marple, Hetty Wainthropp Investigages and of course, there's Gordan Ramsay's Hell's Kitchen series. I'm going to miss the final next week. The scripts produced for a Hetty Wainthropp detective series is full of wry humour and dry writ. Just listening to the language always teaches me to write better as well. Tomorrow, I must do some last minute shopping, pack for the last time and I can have a relaxing 2 days after. I'll be back in Ireland in just over a month but I'll stop in London first. - suzan abrams -

Return to the Hundred Acre Wood - A New Winnie-the-Pooh storybook after 80 years!

2009-01-11T04:25:00.000-08:00

January 11, 2009

by Suzan Abrams

London: The first sequel to the original Winnie-the-Pooh storybooks will appear on October 5, 80 years after the cuddly honey-loving bear first saw the light of day in print. This was announced by the books' publishers on Saturday.

The new title to be called Return to the Hundred Acre Wood, follows the earlier highly-popular delightful tales of Winne-the-Pooh and *The House at Pooh Corner by Alan Alexander Milne (A.A Milne); both of which were beautifully illustrated by E.H. Shepard.

Described universally as one of childhood's greatest celebrations, Return to the Hundred Acre Wood is to be published by Egmont Publishing in Britain and Penguin Imprint Dutton's Childrens' Books, in the United States. The story will be written by illustrious author David Benedictus who once produced an audio adaptation of Winnie-the-Pooh starring the famed British actress, Judi Dench.

Mark Burgess who in recent years, has provided splendid illustrations for other classic children's characters like Paddington Bear, will do the honours for this title.

Last month, a collection of Winnie-the-Pooh drawings by E.H. Shepard fetched US$2 million at a London auction.

Further Reading:

*Do read the classic: The House at Pooh Corner.
Catch the vibrant Disney Version of Winnie-the-Pooh's Hundred Acre Wood.

Credit: Pictures courtesy of WinnethePooh.net & Bigoo.ws

Notes

2009-01-10T05:23:00.000-08:00

January 10, 2009

by Suzan Abrams

I find it very hard to keep a blog at this time as there is so much going on in my mind. I have such an enthusiastic love for life, fancy many artistic ventures that I could never be streamlined about anything.

I'll be travelling again and will have to pack this weekend. I always feel terribly sad on having to leave Dublin...it has become my proper enchanted place under the sun. Today and yesterday was a kinder moment snatched out of the cold snap, although the rains are on their way. It's terribly windy and I remember a similar climate feel when I was little in Klang, Malaysia and our father used to take us to the coast which lay in a nearby seaside town called Morib. I also remember the delight of playing hopscotch outside the verandah, in the wind, with friends. Our weather was much cooler than...there really was no such thing as overbearing heat for much of the day or night, in the suburbs.

The atmospheric mood makes the city glorious for long walks. The air feels doubly fresh. There is an abundance of fascinating literature to suit any moment. We get all the best of the Irish, British and American media. Yesterday, I enjoyed my little nostalgic visit of favourite bookshops and cafes. I finally filled a form for, and collected my Waterstones card. Oh, but I am rambling. I always feel that I'm tip-toeing on the closing pages of a fairy-tale picture book when I leave Ireland, although I'll soon be back.

As an aside, I tried to postpone the publication of my ghost stories for a later part of the year. My contract needs to be filled out by September at the latest. However, my publisher prefers to have the book out early in the year. I wanted to add in a little more material and I am given time to do this but before January ends.

Divandarreh, a Mountainous Region in Iran to Equip Barber Shops & Beauty Salons with Libraries!

2009-01-09T16:30:00.001-08:00

January 9,2009

by Suzan Abrams

Persian: The Tehran Times Culture Desk reports today that all barber shops and beauty salons in the western city of Divandarreh, a mountainous region located in Kordestan Province, will be equipped with libraries in the near future, to promote a serious book-reading culture in the city.

The town's Governor, Abdolsalam Karimi has offered sound reasons for this innovative idea.

The first being that since more people frequent these vanity places than anywhere else, bookcases would most certainly prove a valuable companion during waiting time.

Of course, the books would be especially tailored to suit young people since they proved to be frequent customers. The Governor also added that by selecting specific titles and subjects, literature could symbolise a subtle but essential guidance in influencing the younger Iranian generation's tendencies towards Western fashion and models.

Tayo Akiwumi writes his first novel Carlene: A Love Story - the fictional heroine is Malaysian-Chinese!

2009-01-09T14:48:00.000-08:00

January 9, 2009

by Suzan Abrams

Caption: Photo of Tayo Akiwumi & his family was supplied to Gulf News.

Dubai: Thank you, Anupa Kurian, Readers Editor for Gulf News, for your lovely, tender story on writer Tayo Akiwumi, a Dubai-based Nigerian engineer and his first romantic work of fiction.

In Carlene: A Love Story which is actually semi-autobiographical, Akiwumi describes his passionate first love while still straddled as a lovestruck 19; with an attractive West Indian woman who sadly, leaves him to pursue a dream in America. It is the Seventies and they part after just nine months. Akiwumi is stricken with grief. He never forgets her and years later, tries to track her down. He is restless for closure and feels the need to explain to his beloved the reason for the break-up and any derived hostility on his part. He succeeds in finding her while on a business trip only to realise that she has now married and moved on.

Akiwumi tells Kurian that his first love was so liberal that its loss felt like a sharp drop off a cliff. The 52-year old traveller who was raised in London- he has been up to 30 countries to-date but with a penchant for the Far East - hints that the first five chapters are true with the exception that the heroine's name is spelt differently.

The 100-page quality paperback describes a meeting on a train between Carlene Wong, a Malaysian Chinese beauty and Tobi Vaughan. It is love at first sight but he later, loses her as she leaves for America. The story also traces Tobi's early years in Nigeria and England and the plot later expands into Malaysia, Thailand and Dubai.

Akuwumi who is now happily married to a Japanese airline stewardess - they have a daughter - , also talks to Kurian about his love for writing. He first wrote Carlene: A Love Story years ago with large gap years in between, after sketching a framework and the first essential pages. Now drawn intensely to the craft of writing, Tayo Akiwumi is presently working on two coffee table books.

Read Anne Kurian's story here.
You may purchase Carlene: A Love Story here.

Note

2009-01-08T06:18:00.000-08:00

January 8, 2009

I am studying the Persian and Arabic languages in succession so that I would soon be able to enjoy the cinematic arts without the aid of subtitles and especially to read the classical texts.
In fact, while queuing at the airport for my flight to Dublin from Kuala Lumpur, I was able to understand slightly, an intense conversation in Parsi that was being ebulliently tossed about by three Iranian passengers in front of me. Beaming, I had spied on them with intent. To my horror, one of the ladies suddenly swung around, startled. Actually, it was just my delight at being able to fathom the language slightly. She would have thought that I understood everything. :-)

By the way, I am flying next week. - suzan abrams -

Breaking News: Further reductions as Zavvi UK Closes 22 Stores

2009-01-08T04:15:00.000-08:00

January 8, 2009

by Suzan Abrams

UK: Katie Coyne reports in The Bookseller today that Zavvi, a book and music retailer, originally the Virgin Megastores, in the United Kingdom, is set to close 22 of the chain's stores with immediate effect. This will result in the loss of 178 jobs. The remaining 92 stores will continue to trade throughout the United Kingdom and offer reductions stretching from 20% to 50%, from tomorrow. So far, 60 parties have expressed an interest in buying over the retailer whose biggest competition is HMV.

For the full article and list of stores which will down their shutters, please see here.

Jhumpa Lahiri among the top 10 sex symbols for the "Thinking Man"

2009-01-08T03:04:00.000-08:00

January 8, 2009

by Suzan Abrams

I am 2 days late with this news.

USA: The beautiful award-winning Indian writer, Jhumpa Lahiri, who published 3 international bestsellers called Interpreter of Maladies, The Namesake and Unaccustomed Earth with a view to literary fiction and who won the Pulitzer Prize for the first one, has been voted as one of the top 10 sex symbols for today's thinking man. Lahiri has been revered for her "hypnotic eyes" while novelist Zadie Smith has received an honourable mention.

Here is the full list prepared by the popular website The Daily Beast, run by former New Yorker journalist Tina Brown:

No.10: Jennifer Granholm, governor of Michigan.
No.9: Samantha Power, Irish American journalist, author and academic
No.8: Jhumpa Lahiri
No.7: M.I.A., stage name of Mathangi "Maya" Arulpragasam, British song writer and artist of Tamil descent
No.6: Meredith Vieira, American journalist and TV celebrity
No.5: Lisa Ling, American TV journalist
No.4: Katie Couric, American TV journalist
No.3: Sarah Silverman, American singer, actor, comedian, writer
No.2: Tina Fey, American TV actor, producer
No.1: Ana Ivanovic and Zadie Smith (Honorable Mention)

Captions: Jhumpa Lahiri in an official publisher's photo above & below, the Hounslow-born Mathangi Arulpragasam.

Credit: Photo of Mathangi Arulpragasam, courtesy of TamilNation.