Josephine Chia
1. BIOGRAPHY
2. CRITICAL INTRODUCTION
3. SELECTED PUBLICATIONS
4. SELECTED PROSE
an excerpt from Goodbye My Kampong! Potong Pasir, 1966 to 1975
CRITICAL INTRODUCTION
Written by Charlotte Hand
Dated 28 May 2021
Josephine Chia is perhaps best known for her 2014 Singapore Literature Prize winner, Kampong Spirit – Gotong Royong: Life in Potong Pasir 1955 to 1965 (2013). A memoir of her years growing up at Kampong Potong Pasir, Chia’s non-fiction clearly embodies her desire to “weave anecdotes of her kampong days, Peranakan heritage, food…and Singapore’s history into her stories” (“Biography”). A survey of the text’s reviews on Goodreads demonstrates the cultural work Kampong Spirit performs: it informs its readers of the social fabric of pre-industrial Singapore. [i] Yet it is in her recent works for children and youths that Chia accomplishes her most compelling cultural work. In particular, Chia’s winner of the 2019 Singapore Book Awards (Best Middle Grade/ Young Adult Title), Big Tree in a Small Pot (2018), a juvenile fiction written with “children who are estranged from their parents or grandparents” in mind, carry out a specific function: if Chia’s works for adults familiarised them with Singapore’s past, her works for children instill a heritage consciousness in them with the intention to shape Singapore’s future – more specifically, its social fabric (5). In Big Tree, the past and present are in stark contrast with one another but work in tandem to produce futurity. Chia suggests to her young readers that knowing and embodying the spirit of the past, namely, the spirit of cultural heritage, is necessary for personal and national progress. What Chia’s argument indicates, ultimately, is a worry of a generation without cultural roots – a desire to fashion a national identity that privileges culture over pragmatism.
To understand the cultural influence Big Tree wields over its young readers, it is crucial for us to first comprehend the relationship between childhood and nation in children’s literature. Since John Locke theorised that children were born with minds like blank slates upon which early education “ha[s] very important and lasting consequences [on],” the role of children’s literature has been to instruct as much as to delight (1). The themes and morals in literature for children often reflect the concerns of writers, parents, educators, and policy-makers who seek to not only shape children’s emotional and intellectual development but also aid them in their understanding of the society in which they live in and the role they play in it. [ii] In this respect, children’s literature, as Kit Kelen and Björn Sundmark aptly put, “is a key instrument of culture [that] connect[s] the child to nation, and defin[es] their relationship” (4). The way in which “children and childhood are represented in a dedicated literature,” Kelen and Sundmark explain, “will affect a nation’s self-understanding; conversely, the way a nation wishes to see itself will have a bearing on the possible ways in which children and childhood can and may be presented” (4).
In Singapore, the commercial publishing sector appears to have understood the cultural power of children’s literature better than governmental organisations. Sandra J. Williams, in her 2006 study on Singapore’s struggle to develop a distinctive children’s literature, observes that although the Ministry of Education has commissioned most of the titles for children since the 1970s, none has depicted a strong Singaporean setting. Instead,
[m]any illustrations appear to be inspired by Disney and the characters usually resemble Caucasians. In addition, animals that appear are not equatorial, and neither reflect either urban Singapore or jungle. Ethnicity is depicted when the text is a retelling of a folk tale but not where there is a contemporary setting. (106)
This void of locality in the children’s literature of Singapore is filled by commercial works. [iii] Most prominently, Jessie Wee published The Adventures of Mooty in 1980 with the intent to provide stories that Singaporean children “can identify with, stories they can call their own” (152). A collection of ten short tales, Wee’s fiction explores Singapore’s geographical and social landscape through the eyes of a young mouse named Mooty, introducing young readers to local figures like the satay-man and, perhaps more importantly, familiarising them with the ideal path of a Singaporean: Mooty studies hard while being a productive member of his community, acquires a house, and eventually starts a family of his own – a reproductive act that ensures a continuous cycle of this social process.
This nationalistic culture – the prescribed trajectory of a Singaporean – established by Wee in local children’s literature is what Chia critiques and departs from. Big Tree is a bildungsroman that begins with the discovery of its protagonist, Eric, of his Peranakan heritage – a culture of which his knowledge is confined to its food – and of his living Peranakan grandmother. Livid that his parents had kept secret his grandmother’s existence, Eric stomps out of the primely located Manis-Manis, a Peranakan restaurant at Seaview Tower. From there, Eric’s search for his grandmother expands his world from the confines of District 10 to encompass the heartlands and outskirts of Singapore. [iv] But Eric’s environment does not merely expand spatially: it extends temporally. Through Eric’s interactions with Rajah Devan, a blind teenager who quickly becomes his companion in his endeavor to rediscover his heritage, Chia plays out the contrasting rhythms of Singapore’s progressive modern civic identity and the slow time of affect and culture – of personal, intimate human connection. Chia’s didacticism is obvious: Eric’s reconnection with his cultural roots leads to his self-realisation, demonstrating the need to return to the latter time to grow into one’s potential, that is, to progress. If Mooty encouraged children to pursue material success, Eric’s journey argues for spiritual fulfilment.
From the beginning of her tale, Chia makes it clear that Eric has no purpose in life even though he is on what many Singaporeans consider to be (or are brought up to believe) “the right path”. Eric is well-off, in a reputable school, and, in accordance with his mother’s wishes, will pursue a law degree in the future. Chia’s critique of this rigid definition of success unfolds in her representation of time in the Teo household. The Teos move at a mechanical pace set by Eric’s mother, Clara. “Growing up,” Chia’s narrator revealed, “Eric hardly saw her in the weekdays as she left for the office before sunrise to avoid the ERP and returned after he had gone to bed” (6). This pragmatic, expeditious, and unfeeling time is made more obvious in Clara’s constant replacement of caretakers. Her mothering role, the reader is told, “was relegated to a series of maids: Indonesian, Filipino, Thai, Myanmar, Sri Lankan – the whole South East Asian gamut” (6). Easily displeased and wanting “only the best” for Eric, Clara had repeatedly replaced Eric’s proxies for motherly care with little thought of “how difficult it was for Eric to adjust” (6). In this way, Clara embodies the chronometry of Singapore’s fast-paced modern economy – a continuous race for betterment that has been criticised for its neglect of culture, individual well-being, and the country’s social fabric. [v] Indeed, Clara, being “a stickler for timing”, sees little point in slowing down, particularly for matters of culture (92). Clara is unable, or perhaps unwilling, to understand Eric’s desire to connect to his culture. For Clara, it is far “more important to be able to afford a roof over your head and enough to eat” (11). Following this logic, Clara argues that it would be far better for Eric to identify as Chinese:
Surely there’s more potential to attach yourself to an ancient civilisation? In the twenty-first century, China has become an important economy. It will be good for us to relate to them, be one of them, and able to do business with them, rather than strive to belong to some half-past-six culture that should be assigned to history books. (11-12)
Clara’s pragmatic efficiency, however, does not instill in Eric the principles of success as she had hoped. Rather, Eric grows feckless. In this environment, Eric fails to grow into his own person. Instead, he takes on a performative role of the dutiful son “[f]or the sake of appeasing his mother” (6). Without any agency of his own, Eric does not own his time. Rather, he moves through time aimlessly, never making any personal developments. Put simply, Eric is static.
In stark contrast to the mechanical time of the Teo household is that of the Devans’. Filled with love and respect, the Devans’ home is affective time made manifest. Chia skillfully juxtaposes this slow, affective time to the pragmatic efficiency of Singapore’s modernity in her depiction of Eric’s encounter with Rajah. Hot-headed and with adrenaline pumping from the revelations about his heritage and grandmother, Eric takes the MRT and notices Rajah, a visually impaired teen who appears out of pace with the bustle of commuters – “robots” who “push their way through the throng” (20). Due to his visual impairment, Rajah is unable to “thread his way through” the fast-moving crowd (22). But it is not Rajah’s physical condition that truly distinguishes him from the mechanical and monotonous chronometry that most Singaporeans operate in—it is his spiritual inclination, that is, his humanity. Well-versed in empathy, Rajah senses Eric’s tensed disposition, and advises him to “relax” (25). Eric observes that “Rajah speaks in an unhurried voice and it does help [him] to calm down” (25). This rhetorical inclination, Eric discerns, sets Rajah apart from most Singaporeans who “speak at the speed of a bullet train, not paying much heed to word endings, consonants or rounding their vowels” (25). Although a seemingly elitist statement, Chia’s argument that most Singaporeans care little for enunciation alludes, in fact, to their neglect of culture – words, after all, are the building blocks of literature, which both adds to and describes culture. Indeed, Chia traces Rajah’s affective time to his family’s appreciation for culture. Rajah’s parents are gurus, his brother is involved in the performing arts, and the entire family enjoys partaking in song and literature.
Being out of sync with the progressive linearity of modern nationhood, however, is not a disadvantage as one might expect. Rather, Chia delineates this asynchronism as an advantage – an ideal. Eric discerns that the atmosphere of the Devan’s household “is vastly different from mealtimes in his own home, [where] his mother is constantly on her iPhone or iPad, his father on his iPhone or in a different world” (43). In his family, “[i]nstant communication ha[d] replaced the art of conversation and of being present” (43). Put differently, modern technology had displaced conscious existence and personal connection. Among the Devans, however, “Eric feels included; the family’s friendliness and warmth envelops him and in their midst he feels comfortable and wanted. He does not feel the tension that grips him at his own family meal” (43). This slow, intimate movement of time is, for Chia, reminiscent of “kampung spirit” – a disposition she characterises as having been “born from community sharing and oneness” (37). And it is within this nurturing temporal environment that Eric first reconnects with his cultural roots (symbolically depicted when Eric uses his fingers to eat because he “believe[d] that Peranakans, like the Malays, used to eat with their fingers”) (42). Ultimately, the Devans’ influence not only leads Eric to his grandmother but also, more importantly, to realise that he is a “big tree in a small pot” (59). Determined not to be “a cog in a corporate machine,” Eric decides that his purpose in life is to be a travel writer (60). However, instead of merely exploring the world only through a material lens, as the conventional travel writer would, Eric sees this occupation as a means to explore cultures that define humanity (60).
Chia’s high regard for this affective time of the past, for “kampung spirit,” is obvious outside of her fictional works as well. In her commentary for Channel News Asia, “Kampung spirit is not a wish to revert to the past, but a longing for togetherness”, Chia clarifies that her nostalgia for kampung life is not a romanticised longing to return to “improvised days,” but a desire for “that gracious way of living” and “sense of community” to be “incorporate[d] into our modern lives” (“Commentary”). When Chia writes of the kampung spirit, therefore, she is providing a model of community for her readers to emulate to “build a strong, united nation” (“Commentary”). And she hopes to write this collaborative, affective, and, indeed, human time of the past into Singapore’ future – a modern Singapore with a kampung spirit that would be realised by her young readers. It is unsurprising, then, that she seeks to familiarise her young audience with the communal and gracious manners of kampung life in her other work for children, Growing Up in Kampong Potong Pasir (2018).
Like Big Tree, Growing Up is a bildungsroman, detailing Chia’s own journey from an illiterate kampung girl to realising her passion as an author. Through this personal tale, Chia emphasises the importance of following one’s passion, no matter how unpractical it may seem in Singapore’s bid for modernity, and the illuminating role culture may have on one’s personal fulfilment. Indeed, Chia reveals in Growing Up that her passion for storytelling is synonymous with her longing to relate the cultural practices of her kampung’s racially diverse population. Moreover, it was with the help of her Malay and Indian neighbours (through small acts such as sharing food or helping Chia to harvest ingredients from the wild) that Chia’s mother managed to afford Chia’s education. Apart from acquainting her young readers with the kampung spirit – the affective time of Singapore’s past community – Chia also desires for this familiarity with the time of culture to perform the function of good literature, that is, to “feed the heart and expand one’s consciousness, [thus] freeing one from societal constraints and limitation” (“A Nonya writes her way home”). A common thread in Chia’s works for children, then, is her wish to displace the pragmatic, mechanical time that modern Singapore prioritises and operates in so that her young audience may realise that they, like Eric, are big trees in small pots.
Notes
[i] See Goodreads, https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17604896-kampong-spirit---gotong-royong.
[ii] See Sharmani Patricia Gabriel and Bernard Wilson’s introduction to Asian Children’s Literature and Film in a Global Age: Local National, and Transnational Trajectory for a detailed study on the national function of children’s literature.
[iii] It should be noted that locally written children’s literature only emerged in the 1980s while consumer interest only gained traction in the 1990s. For an overview of children’s literature in Singapore, see Lily Kong and Lily Tay, “Exalting the past: nostalgia and construction of heritage in children’s literature,” vol. 30, no. 2, pp. 133-143.
[iv] District 10 refers to the affluent areas of Singapore, namely, Bukit Timah, Holland Village and Tanglin.
[v] For a useful critique of Singapore’s pragmatism, see “Is Arts Education Being De-emphasised in Singapore?” The Epoch Times: Singapore Edition undated, online, Internet, 20 Oct. 2020. Available: https://epochtimes.today/is-arts-education-being-de-emphasised-in-singapore/
[vi] Chia expounds on this connection later in her novella: Eric traces the term “bumboat” to boomschuit, the Dutch word for canoe, which is a compound of boom (tree) and schuit (boat), before elaborating on the role of wooden boats in Singapore’s port culture, highlighting the intimate relationship between human culture and the spoken and written word.
Works Cited
Chia, Josephine. “A Nonya writes her way home.” The Straits Times. https://www.straitstimes.com/opinion/a-nonya-writes-her-way-home. Accessed 20 October 2020.
---. “Biography.” Prose.sg. https://www.prose.sg/josephine-chia-bio. Accessed 7 October 2020.
---. Big Tree in a Small Pot, Marshall Cavendish Editions, 2018.
---. “Commentary: Kampung spirit is not a wish to revert to the past, but a longing for togetherness.” Channel News Asia. https://www.channelnewsasia.com/news/commentary/singapore-kampung-spirit-not-a-wish-to-revert-to-the-past-10592846. Accessed 20 October 2020.
---. Growing Up in Kampong Potong Pasir. Ethos Books Singapore, 2018.
Kampong Spirit – Gotong Royong: Life in Potong Pasir 1955 to 1965. Marshall Cavendish, 2013.
Kelen, Kit and Björn Sundmark. “Introduction.” The Nation in Children’s Literature: Nations of Childhood, edited by Kit Kelen and Björn Sundmark, Routledge, 2005, pp. 1-10.
Locke, John. Some Thoughts Concerning Education. Cambridge University Press, 1880.
Wee, Jessie. “About the Author.” The Adventures of Mooty. Singapore, Marshall Cavendish, 2019.
Williams, Sandra J. “The Struggle to Develop a Distinctive Children’s Literature in Singapore.” New Review of Children’s Literature and Librarianship, vol.1, no.1, 2006, pp. 103-115.
