Another short story collection review! This one comes from an Indonesian author, Norman Erikson Pasaribu; it has been translated to English in 2021 by Tiffany Tsao, and was longlisted in The 2022 International Booker Prize, also won The Republic of Consciousness Prize in 2022: Cerita-cerita Bahagia, Hampir Seluruhnya—or, Happy Stories, Mostly.
Its Indonesian version was published in 2020, and I have been eyeing and adding it to my endless to-be-read list, forgetting about its existence, until its news about being listed in The 2022 International Booker Prize filled my booktwt account. I bought it approximately one month after the news, and it sat in my bookshelf before I finished KPHI.
Enough about my experience, let’s dive into the book more!
Cerita-Cerita Bahagia, Hampir Seluruhnya
The title is, let’s say, misleading much. Yet, since I have dabbled with angst-y fan-fictions and internet fandom culture in general, I’ve known enough to not believe everything written in the cover, haha.
The stories are, in a way, happy stories. Mostly. I’d say, in each twelve stories, the main character will reach some state of happiness before reality crushes it. This way, the title matches with every story. You define yourself what happiness is, though.
The overall theme here is about what Indonesian queers are possibly facing in everyday life—probably something that we, the South East Asian queer people, won’t see much in literature. (I said ‘probably’ because my SEA queer literature knowledge is very limited.) The stories are heart-warming, both in the way that your heart will warm with happiness and warm with anger. Well, not really anger—it’s a typical ‘disappointed-but-not-surprised’ kind of emotion.
Reading this after KPHI is a funny experience. I have to adjust my brain from reading Ziggy’s children-literature-ish writing style, in which she explains everything clearly—to Norman’s typical Indonesian short-story writing style. And also, since they are short stories, nothing has to have a proper ending, or resolution, or make sense—and that is what I like about short stories!
Also, I learned a lot about Batak language through this book. Norman uses words like inanguda instead of aunt, but it is not exactly translated to aunt since it has several rules to use that title—so, since it also doesn’t have a direct equivalent in Indonesian, keeping the title as it is is the best way instead of describing it. Especially in Siapa Namamu, Sandra?, because it is a story about names—about what should she, Sandra, be called with? She questions her identity, which she associates with how others call him, because now she has nobody else left in her family.
Click here to read this book’s Goodreads page—while I will move onto the next section: stories that vibe with me the most.
Stories That Vibes With Me The Most
There are several stories that vibe with me the most. These are listed in order of their appearance in the book, definitely not a rank list. In my opinion, each of the short stories cannot be compared to each other.
PSA! All the English translation here is done by me, because I don’t have the English copy of this book. Please don’t use them as a source material, use the original one, translated by Tiffany Tsao instead! That being said, all the mistranslations or things that got lost in translation are entirely my mistake. Thank you.
Now, onto the stories.
Enkidu Mengetuk Pintu di Malam Tahun Baru
Or, [Enkidu knocks on the door on New Year’s Eve.] This one is such an opener. It only lasted two pages, in its Indonesian version, and only consisted of a dialogue by an unnamed narrator—or is it Enkidu? (When I searched up Enkidu, I stumbled upon a legendary figure in ancient Mesopotamian mythology, but sadly at that time I didn’t have the energy to link them together.)
What fascinates me is the last line.
“—katanya, wajahnya samar karena mati lampu, membuka pintu bagi sebuah akhir.”
[“—they said, their face indistinct because of the electricity shut down, opening the door for an end.”]
(Pasaribu, 2020, p. 2)
(Sorry, I’m about to throw a linguistic fit here, because dia can be a he or a she in English, and that mati lampu is literally “lamp that shuts down” but usually we in Indonesia said the electricity shuts down is a mati lampu, and I don’t know if Norman meant actual lamp or the electricity and—*gets hit by a bus*)
Ahem. Somehow this sentence feels like it foreshadows the whole book. At some point, one or two character’s life and/or existence in the book reaches a “shuts down.” It is where they find out that something is not what they initially thought it is.
After this “realization” then the story (or the character’s life) ended, describing the rest of the sentence. If it is read like this, it also serves its purpose as the first story in this book—the opener. Pretty great, huh?
Panduan Menyintas Patah Hati Bagi Penyair Muda
Or, [the guide to survive heartbreak for young poets.] I want to mention specifically about how Indonesian is a versatile, genderless language. Literally, not pragmatically (because, oh boy, is there any language in the world that is not pragmatically affected with patriarchy.)
I read this one assuming that the one heartbroken is a girl. I didn’t know how it came, but it did. It wasn’t until the seventh page that I realized that it was a boy. Or, I assumed as a boy. I paused my reading for several seconds, my mouth agape, “oh!” and then proceeded to reread it with a new perspective, lol.
This one in particular is the most fun among the others. It is formatted like a guide, with the narrator telling the reader what to do. Basically, after being dumped by your partner, you should engage further in a philosophical media, read self-deprecating books, find another person to replace your ex, only to leave them then, with a cryptic note in between their book pages.
There are several fun quotes that I underlined here. One of my favorite is,
“Hibahkan ia satu kardus mie instant untuk bilang, “Hubungan kita memang cepat tandas, dan menyebabkan kanker.” Ia pamit. Jangan antar ke pagar.”
[“Gave them a box of instant noodles just to say, “Our relationship does easily fall apart, and causes cancer.” They say goodbye. Don’t walk them out.]
(Pasaribu, 2020, 38)
Keturunan Kita Akan Sebanyak Awan di Angkasa
Or, [our kin will be as much as the clouds in the sky.] This one is told from the perspective of a concerned mother, regarding his married son. At some point in the story, it is written that—
“[ia] paham prinsip-prinsip dasar soal homoseksualitas dan bukan seorang homofobik, tetapi kondisi ini membuatnya sungguh tak nyaman. Ia merasa Thomas telah mengubah anaknya menjadi sesuatu yang tidak ia kenal.”
[“she understood the basic principles about homosexuality and she wasn’t a homophobic, but this condition made her uncomfortable. She felt like Thomas had changed her son into something she didn’t know.”]
(Pasaribu, 2020, p. 160)
—and yet her behavior told the readers otherwise. I feel like this conflicted feeling is common here. It’s not like I am okay with it (and at the end the Mother lost her son, anyway) but it perfectly captured the hesitancy of someone that, in life, never thought that they will come across an actual homosexual couple—and turned out that particular couple is her own child.
And, even more, she also ruined her son’s life because of her silly, small remarks that she had thought insignificant.
It’s more than that, though. It’s also about a relationship between an old mother and her son—there’s another story depicting older women, and both are talking about how older people are starting to grow further from whatever occupied them in their younger life. In this story’s case it’s her son.
Pupil Matanya Cokelat Gelap Hampir Hitam
Or, [their pupils are dark brown, almost black.] This one in particular is a sweet plot twist because it includes murder! If Enkidu opens the book neatly, this one closes it nicely.
It’s about a mission of someone called Yudas, to find you, an unnamed character. Here, Yudas finally met you again after a long time, and then Yudas went on a quick flashback about how both of you were childhood friends, and how you both met again, bumping knees inside an cramped public transportation.
Of course, later it was found out that this person wasn’t you at all. Yudas sneaked into your house, only to be found out, and then Yudas killed you out of self-defense. Your sister witnessed this. And only then Yudas realized that your eyes were not black; they were dark brown, almost black.
This one appeals to me because, aside from the murder, its ending sentence was great.
“Sementara aku harus mencarimu. Kamulah yang harus kutemukan. Tunggu aku.”
[“Meanwhile I need to look for you. You are the one I need to find. Wait for me.”]
(Pasaribu, 2020, 199)
Somehow it felt like this book, this story, won’t end because I haven’t found you yet. Yudas won’t give up until Yudas finds you.
What are you? Yudas’s happiness, maybe?
Final Thoughts
I finished this book ages ago, but I only have the energy to finish the review now, I’m sorry. On the Acknowledgements at the end of the book, Pasaribu mentioned something about how this anthology was a recovery project after his first Sergius Seeks Bacchus, and how I am glad he decided to strive and wrote this until the end.
It was such an enjoyable read for me. I learned so much about the cultural setting, the language, and the character’s experiences in the story. If you want to read a not-so-light-hearted story but written in simple and daring sentences, this book is for you!
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