THE STAR, Sunday January 20, 2008
Layered masterpiece
Review by AZMI SHAROM
Assoc Prof Dr Azmi Sharom teaches law at Universiti Malaya and writes the fortnightly ‘Brave New World’ column in The Star’s Views pages.
A new English translation of one of Pramoedya Ananta Toer’s works reveals a story that is still as relevant today as it was when it was composed in the 1960s.
THE life of Indonesian journalist and author Pramoedya Ananta Toer is nothing short of awe inspiring. Despite the harshest of treatments, first by colonial Dutch authorities and then by Indonesian dictator Suharto, he lived his life with his ideals intact. Even more impressive is that he was able to express those ideals in beautiful works of literature created under unimaginably harsh conditions.
Imprisoned with hundreds of other political prisoners on Buru Island in 1965 by Suharto, Pramoedya faced living conditions that can only be described as brutal. Though “imprisoned” is perhaps a misleading term as there was no prison as such. They were simply dumped on an island from which there was no escape and were expected to survive on their own.
Amidst this struggle to survive, with no access to any writing material, he was able to produce the famous Buru Quartet.
The Quartet comprises This Earth of Mankind, Child of All Nations, Footsteps, and House of Glass. Together, they tell the tale of Indonesia’s nationalist awakening in the 20th century through the eyes of their main protagonist, Minke, a young man whose personal experiences reflect those of the emerging nation he was a part of.
Pramoedya composed the tales in his mind and recited them to his fellow prisoners. Only upon his release 14 years later did they see print. They were then duly banned by the Suharto regime, supposedly for having communist messages embedded in them. Embedded so deeply and subtly that the Indonesian Government was completely unable to identify said elements....
The achievement of authoring the Buru Quartet, Pramoedya’s most celebrated works, is an astounding one, but there is more. On Buru, he had written two other novels and a play that never became as well known as the Quartet. Taken together, this tetralogy is a literary expression of Indonesia’s 1,000-year journey towards a political identity.
But this review is concerned only with the first (in chronological order) work: Arok of Java. First published in Bahasa Indonesia as Arok Dedes in 1981, Arok of Java is the English version translated by Max Lane.
Set in 13th century Java, this is Pramoedya’s telling of the legend/history of Arok, a young man who rebelled against the governor of his region, seized the throne and reinstated laws banning slavery. The bare bones plot appears very simple, but there are enough episodes of political machinations and intrigue to keep the story satisfyingly multifaceted.
The plot is not the thing, though. It is the telling of the story that shows us Pramoedya’s genius. The richness of his descriptions of ancient Java is utterly compelling. One is drawn into the world and its rituals and beliefs so completely that reading the book is akin to being there.
This is largely due to his totally unsentimental treatment of the subject matter and characters. They are people of the time, with no 20th century revisionism of their attitudes and thinking, and as such, we experience something refreshingly alien.
The past, as they say, is a different country, and here it most certainly is that. In some passages, legendary supernatural exploits are included that – although jarring to some considering the largely realistic narrative – adds to the sensation that we are peering into a world that is different and exciting.
The late Pramoedya Ananta Toer – in a 2004 photo, below right, and as an angry young man in the 1960s, above – lived his life with his ideals intact. – File photos
This is not to say that there is no relevance to the present day to be found. One of the reasons that Pramoedya wrote Arok was to illustrate that the sophistication of politics in the distant past is no less complex than that of the present day. Indonesia’s political awakening is not something that was birthed in the 20th or even 19th century but whose roots can be found hundreds of years ago.
Naturally, scholars of recent Indonesian history excitedly try to draw parallels in the story of Arok and modern Indonesia. Is Arok representative of Suharto? He was, after all, a lieutenant of the governor who, basically, double-crossed his leader. Or perhaps he is more akin to Sukarno, who worked with the Japanese and for Indonesian independence at the same time.
You can find parallels if you look for them and, indeed, if that is what you want to do, knock yourself out. And it is not limited to personalities. The philosophical and religious divide of Arok’s world, where people ask suspiciously if a stranger is a worshipper of Vishnu or Siva or if he or she is Buddhist, has a resonance in a world where political ideologies have replaced the gods.
It would be folly, however, to just read and examine the book in this light. It is a testament to Pramoedya’s skill that this tale is satisfying on many levels.
For example, Arok’s straddling of the three Javanese Hindu castes, Sudra (labourer), Ksatria (warrior) and Brahmin (intellectual), is a powerful treatise on the need for holistic qualities in order to effect social change. It is not enough to intellectually argue for 200 years in grand conferences (as the Brahmins did), one has to have the skill of the warrior to make any change and the soul of the oppressed to ensure that justice is done.
Max Lane’s translation here is excellent. Like his work on the Buru Quartet, Lane has managed to write in English but sound Indonesian. His sentences are structured so as to make the words sound like they come from the Nusantara, and his adherence to linguistic tics and specialised expressions add to this.
Mention, too, must be made of Mohamad Yusof’s paintings that grace the cover and the pages of this book. They visually represent his perspective of Arok’s tale and they are detailed and beautiful with a primitive sensual power that captures the spirit of the tale and a sense of the time.
It is a shame that the prints are so small and (at least for the ones in the body of the book) in poor black and white. Perhaps in future editions, they could be given the treatment they, and the reader, deserve.
Pak Pram died in April 2006 and this region, indeed the world, has lost a great literary figure and an inspirational man. His works will continue to be read and appreciated for many years to come.
As sad as it is that we will not have anything new coming from his kretek-stained fingers, there is some measure of comfort in knowing that there are still works to be translated, studied, examined, learnt from, and enjoyed.