It’s been a long time since reading an essay has given me such pleasure. Tash Aw, undoubtedly one of the most famous Malay writers, talks about his family (or rather about the silence surrounding it and its story), about identity (or lack of it, because he comes from an immigrant family.) Strangers on a Pier is a book about the gap between real experience and the nationalist creation of what, for example, “Malaysian” means, about the fluidity of these categories, but also about the gap that separates the generation of the writer and his parents or grandparents.
Tash Aw writes about the culture shock he experienced while studying in the UK – the contempt of aristocratic students for those who can’t boast of extensive family trees full of famous names. He tries to search for his own roots, talking to a grandmother who is losing her memory, and to a father who has never been able to share what he thinks and feels. He tries to understand what his grandparents felt, the titulat strangers who set off at a similar time from southern China to Singapore, without any friends, knowledge of the local language or money.
Strangers on a Pier is points out how easy it is for us to put others (and ourselves) into appropriate boxes, or rather – how easily we learn to talk about ourselves and our experiences in the only acceptable way. Tash Aw writes how often he heard from white writers that no one is interested in the history of the part of the world he comes from (because the only war that can interest us is the one our ancestors experienced), how often they tried to force him to tell about his origin in a way that readers in the US or Europe are used to (meaning: it was difficult, but with hard work I achieved what I have now.) There is no room for nuances that go beyond the story the wide audience feels comfortable with. Tash Aw isn’t afraid to admit that he somehow fell for it, too – and then it’s often too late to discover one’s true story.
