Hello, friends. It’s been a while since I talked about my work-in-progress, and that’s no accident. I have been tussling with Monsoon Season, aka the Next Book, for ages now. I’m almost ashamed to say how long, but there’s no point in being coy: I first started it about 18 months ago. Then I scrapped what I had, and re-started it. Then I junked the second version and began afresh. And guess what? Uh huh. Monsoon Season 3.0 is now in the dustbin. (That’s an exaggeration, btw – I keep every word of the old stuff until I’m truly happy with a finished manuscript.)
So what happened? I’ll begin by saying that I’ve had doubts, all along, about my ability to pull this one off. The novel is set in Malaya (now Malaysia) during the Pacific War – that is, during the Second World War as it played out in Southeast Asia. It’s a terrible and fascinating few years in history, and one that’s very seldom acknowledged in the West. So part of my uncertainty definitely grows from the heavy responsibility of representation. If I’m going to write a novel about events few have ever heard of, I’d better do a stellar job.
The second weight on my conscience is that of family responsibility. My grandparents all lived through the Pacific War and it marked them deeply. I want to pull their experiences into a book. Yet who do I think I am, embroidering upon their trauma? Again, it’s the responsibility of representation – this time on a family-history scale, with all its guilt-making problems of loyalty and love.
Third, and probably the one that makes me wince and flail the most, is the ghost of the Novel of Asian Experience. (Helloooo, Harold Bloom! I do not pretend to be a genius of any sort but I’m still struggling with the Anxiety of Influence.) There’s a great deal of important, well-regarded fiction about the immigrant experience (this list of immigrant fiction is exclusively American in its focus, but a good starting point nonetheless). There are even a few novels about the period I’m interested in: Tan Twan Eng’s The Gift of Rain and The Garden of Evening Mists, Madeleine Thien’s Certainty). I find them interesting and highly skilled – Tan’s in particular – but these are not the kinds of book I aspire to write. The problem is very basic: they are profoundly earnest books about profoundly earnest characters in a profoundly earnest culture. And I don’t want to write that. I’m not sure I can write that.
What to do? I was complaining about this to my friend Sarah, who said, “Look. I think you’re a very funny person. I think anything you write is going to turn out funny.” (By the way, it’s such a privilege to have friends who listen to you whine about how hard it is to write a novel and then call you “a very funny person”. I have splendid friends.) The unspoken corollary to Sarah’s observation, I think, is that anything I write that twists itself into the category of Earnest Novel of Asian Experience will be unrecognizable as me.
So here’s my plan: I’m heading off, once more, in a new direction. There’s a comic thread in Monsoon Season 3.0 that I found very enjoyable but had cut out, because it just didn’t seem to fit with the rest of the book. And I’m going to follow it for a while. See where it goes. It could be a dead end. But it might also take me somewhere new entirely.
What do you think, friends: funny vs. earnest? Is that a false dichotomy?
Cassie says
I think (and my thoughts may not mean much, being 15 and all) a mix of earnest and funny makes a book better. I think that it makes a book more interesting and more memorable. It may just be my personal taste, but I prefer it when books with heavy topics, (as I am imaging the Pacific war is) have a little comic relief. And I think that, considering how fabulous the Mary Quinn books were, that you could add some humour and still manage to portray the importance of what happened to those involved in the war. Again this is just my opinion and it may not mean much but I think that it can be done.
Ying says
Cassie, thank you very much for your encouragement! I think you’re right about a blend of humour and serious insight, and that’s what I still hope to pull off, fingers crossed. I really appreciate your kind words.
Cassie says
Your welcome! I’ve put it down on my list of books to keep an eye out for. I can’t wait!
Chris says
Ying, there is nothing wrong with humour. I trust you enough to weave a story that satisfies the best of both worlds. I have a feeling your gut will take you where you are supposed to go. You’ll get there, you are a talented writer. Enjoy the journey as much as it will allow it. 🙂
Leanne says
Hi Ying,
I feel your writing pain. And I thank you for sharing your experiences. I too am wrestling with a book I may be writing, set in the 1880’s in India. It’s about a woman from England and what she hopes India will be like for her, and what it really is like. I’m not sure what I’m doing with it right now, so I’m working on something contemporary (and Jewish) instead, which feels a little safer.
Good luck with your work,
Leanne
Khai says
I understand that it’s very important to be Earnest…
(sorry, can’t help myself!)
Stephanie Burgis says
Did you see my blog entry from yesterday? The book I just gave up on (after 18 months of trying) had become a very earnest book about a very earnest girl, and I just Could. Not. Bear it. I think some of us are naturally earnest writers and some of us aren’t, and it just doesn’t work when we try to do that.
Ying says
OH THANK YOU for the moral support, Chris and Leanne and Steph! (Not you, Khai: get back to your hipster food-truck sandwich.) Steph, I somehow missed your blog post but just read it now. So much sympathy, especially since a massive amount of your pressure was external! I guess I just wish I could better distinguish between unnatural contortions and growing as a writer BEFORE putting in all that time. ARGH.
Ann-Maureen says
Ying, since it is so often seeing the humour in (sometimes dire) situations that helps us get through them, I think you should follow that thread. The Pacific war needs more attention in western discourse, so add your voice. I too enjoyed Tan Twan Eng’s book but he’s not you.
Ying says
Thank you, Ann-Maureen! I really appreciate hearing that from you.
Cat says
It sounds to me like you have that most rare of gifts right now: the germ of something original. How exciting! I think you’re wise to follow it to see where it brings you.
Ying says
Wow – thank you, Cat! I spend a lot of time telling myself that nothing is original, so I will clutch that observation tight and sneak a peek at it from time to time.
Starstruck says
Maybe it’s like reading a half dozen books and finding five mediocre and one a true gem. Maybe you have to try to write it a few mediocre ways first before you find the gem.
Ying says
That’s a lovely way to think about it, Starstruck. Thanks. How is your NaNoWriMo going?