Introduction to ‘Graffiti In The Toilet’
At the age of only thirty-two, the Sundanese Eka Kurniawan is without any doubt the most original, imaginative, profound, and elegant writer of fiction in Indonesia today. If anyone has a chance of filling the aerie in Indonesian literature left empty with the death of Pramoedya Ananta Toer, it is he. It is no accident that his first book, published in 1999, Pramoedya Ananta Toer dan Sastra Realisme Sosialis, is by far the best work, admiring and critical at the same time, on the master written by an Indonesian. Traces of Pram are visible everywhere in his fiction, yet Eka, born into another culture and in another, gloomier epoch, writes in an inimitable manner, which is immediately recognizable in any paragraph. Over the last six years, he has published two outstanding novels, the enormous if unwieldy Cantik itu … Luka (Beauty is … a Wound) in 2002, and the fiercely dense Lelaki Harimau (Man-Tiger) in 2004. In 2005 he published his first collection of short stories, Cinta Tak Ada Mati (No Death for Love), and, in the same year, a second collection, Gelak Sedih dan Cerita-cerita Lainnya (Sad Laughter and Other Tales), from which the story translated below has been drawn.
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Graffiti In The Toilet
John 19:22: “Pilate answered, What I have written I have written.”
He pushed open the door of the toilet, enjoying the smell of still fresh paint. Then he closed the door, locked it from the inside, and, a few moments later, standing in front of the toilet-hole, undid his pants.1 With a hiss, the liquid sprayed down into the hole, giving off an ammoniac scent. The kid smacked his lips, grinning with satisfaction. When he was done, he shook what he was holding in his hand and bathed it with a few splashes from the dipper, tossing the rest of the water down into the hole. Then buttoned up.
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Eka Kurniawan: An Unconventional Writer
He has been compared to the late Indonesian man of letters, Pramoedya Ananta Toer, but Eka Kurniawan is averse to that confining, imposing description of “literary figure.” Best known for his sometimes brutal portrayal of ordinary lives, he speaks with Maggie Tiojakin about the roads yet traveled.
Like many aspiring writers who need to pay the bills, Eka Kurniawan started out as a journalist. The 33-year-old native of Tasikmalaya, West Java, then submitted a few short stories to Kompas daily’s respected literary page, and they were accepted.
“People always asked me how it happened that I had my stories published in Kompas,” says the Gadjah Mada University graduate. “But there’s really no magic to it. I sent [the stories] out to the editorial department, even though I didn’t know anybody there.”
Gradually, his journalistic days of meeting deadlines came to an end.
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Bi wa Kizu and the Image of Cultural Globalization in Contemporary Japan
A Case Study of an Indonesian Novel Translation
Japan’s role in globalizing Asia has been widely recognized. Ever since the 1990′s, Japan has been exporting waves of it’s cultural products such as anime or animated films, television dramas, music, manga or comics, novels, and so on. These spreads of cultural products across the borders of Asia have sprung new hope for Japan’s relationship with other Asian countries. Through the consumption of Japan’s cultural products, it can promote cultural dialogue, and hopefully Japan can overcome its unfortunate history with the rest of Asia, especially regarding to the World War II.
However, globalization not only demands an integration of cultural diversity in the global community. It also reflects peoples’ (nations’) needs to develop a strong self or cultural identity (ies). In this light, one can see that Japan is not only an exporter of media. Rather, Japan has also been receiving various media from other Asian countries; such as Korea with its television dramas.
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Confessions of a Netherland East Indies Opium Eater
But who are they (this whole class of opium eaters)? Reader, I am sorry to say, a very numerous class indeed … I do not readily believe that any man, having once tasted the divine luxuries of opium, will afterward descend to the gross and mortal enjoyments of alcohol. I take it for granted: that those eat now, who never ate before … and those who always ate, now eat more.
– Thomas de Quincey, Confessions of an English Opium Eater
Her eyes were dreary, with her very curved eyelashes. And if she spoken, we could hear that melodious voice of her. Once in a while her lips would give us smile, making our heart intoxicated, going up to the seventh sky. The more I loved her, the more she loved me too. Then I would touch her fingers and we hold our both hands for so long. Everyday was like that, until she had to leave this cruel world. Alone and languish.
This is not a tale nor a roman. No, my sensible reader, these notes not mean by the writer as that. I wrote this as a warning for anyone that were willing to see for a while, on what things had happen to me. Maybe one of them will be useful to be pick on its goodness.
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Kitchen Curse
And we caused the clouds to overshadow you, and we sent down manna and quails upon you.
– The Koran 2:54
Initially Maharani had hoped to find a new recipe at the city museum, but this was what she found:
A long time ago, a Bugis fishing ship sank in a storm in the Atlantic. There was only one survivor, a young man with leather pouch filled with spices, who had been rescued by a Portuguese merchant ship. They provided him with the plainest of European food, which sent him rushing into the kitchen where he took over as undisputable master of spices. That evening the tongues of all the ship’s occupants tingled, experiencing a sensation that their ancestor had never encountered.
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