Magali's tour around the world – meeting and interviewing literary professionals

Visit to the Museum of Literature in Malacca, Malaysia

Tossed about for centuries between Islamic, Hindu, British and Dutch influences, the city of Malacca was so strategically situated between the southern seas that the Batavians used to say: “Those holding it would have Venice by the throat”. Today, the past lives on in the ruins of the fort, the old red church, the cemeteries of all confessions, and the ancient sailboat docked on the quay. Bicycle taxis overloaded with plastic flowers and electric garlands offer tourists (often from Malaysia and Singapore) a spin through the charming narrow streets. And if it rains — as it did during our visit — there are always the museums, from the traditional History Museum  to the more unusual Museum of Marriage and Education Museum.

In one building — formerly a detention centre for death row inmates during the Japanese occupation and later an administrative centre for the State of Malacca — there is a collection dedicated to Malaysian literature which was founded in 1984. At least, that is the stated ambition of this museum which is spread out over two stories. As we already saw at the Casa de la Literatura in Lima (Peru), setting up a permanent exhibit on this topic is always hit or miss. Here, however, to put it frankly the Malacca museum has really missed the mark.

It starts out looking at the writing paraphernalia of yesteryear, such as paper, lontar, feathers, inks, and desks. Then it goes on to give a detailed presentation of oral folklore (myths, legends, tales), followed by the history of literature in Malacca itself. Finally, we end up looking at a series of biographies on contemporary Malay authors. Anecdotes are scrounged up from here and there, and the information is scanty: on Abdullah bin Abdul Kadir Munshi who was one of the first authors to give a realist spin to his writings; on the musical instruments used to accompany the dendang sayang, a popular type of song in Malacca; on the verse rules of pantuns, a traditional type of popular poem; on compilations of Malaccan laws written in the fifteenth century and based on Islamic law; on the sole extant copies of the Hikayat Hang Tuah, an epic poem of the 17th century that relates the adventures of a hero living during the sultanate…

As in Lima, we often perceive the underlying goal of imparting a feeling of unity, through the history of literature, for a still-fledgling national culture.  In fact, it is no coincidence that at the same time that the museum of literature was being founded, another was also being prepared: the army museum. It should be remembered that Malaysia has only been an independent country since 1963. However here, the desire to present authors as participants in the country’s construction borders on the absurd. We almost learn more about Hassan Ibrahim’s work at the Road Transport Department, or Zaiton Ketot’s work in Malaysian radio and television (she is one of the few women presented here) than the literary output of either individual, which is reduced to a list of titles without commentary.

As ludicrous as it might seem for a museum of literature, there are no literary excerpts, let alone any analysis of literary works or movements. We soon tire of the portrait gallery and display cases full of books, and we leave without reading everything. In spite of the apparently considerable resources which went into making the museum, perhaps one essential element was overlooked which would have been let visitors set sail on the sea of Malaysian literature: enthusiasts of the field eager to share their knowledge.

Perhaps the virtual on-line museum is more convincing. You be the judge: www.virtualmuseummelaka.com.

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Meeting with Rebekah Mak at Sang Choy printing house, Singapore

Since our earliest excursions into the world of books, we have regularly heard high praise for the competitiveness of Chinese and Singaporian printers. Although this trip will not take us to China, Singapore was on our itinerary, so we were able to meet Rebekah Mak who has been working for Sang Choy Printing for eight years. Founded in 1992, the business was initially a “Colour Reproduction Company”, which used films in the printing process. Today,  the “Computer to plate” (CTP) technique makes it possible to transfer a digital image directly to a printing plate; films are no longer required. Sang Choy Printing still specialises in colour reproduction and offers slide scanning, colour correction, large format digital printing, and especially, printing services for magazines and illustrated books.

The Singapore branch, which employs about one hundred people, manages the offset work, a process which uses real colours, while the Shen Zhen and Shanghai offices in China work with laser. “If only you could see our factories in China!” says Rebekah. “In Shanghai, 300 people make packaging by hand, not only for boxed book sets, but also for items like wine bottles or gift packages for tea. In Shen Zhen, our factory employs 1,200 people who mainly work folding, cutting and sewing — all manually. They are vast worksites, really impressive to see. Around the factory, it is almost as if a small city has developed, with housing and cafeterias. The workers live on site with their families!”

As for the machines, Japanese Mitsubishis have taken over from the German Heidelbergs which ran for ten years. “We change machines quite infrequently, not only because they are so costly, but because they are extremely complicated to instal. The last time, the street had to be blocked off for half a day while a crane lowered the new machine through a hole specially knocked through the front of the building! You can easily understand why we don’t do that every day.”

Of course, what moves western publishers (United States, Europe, Australia) and more recently Latin American publishers (Argentina, Brazil, Mexico) to entrust their work to Asian printers is, above all, cost. Labour and leases are cheaper in China, where production is concentrated. “It is good to bear in mind, though, that this is only advantageous for colour books,” states Rebekah. “The only factor of black and white printing is the cost of paper. Since there are paper mills in Europe, it is cheaper for European publishers to print their novels, for example, in their own country. In fact, Spain and the Czech Republic are known for low printing costs. However, if colour comes into the picture, Asia can’t be beaten!”

Rebekah also emphasises the efficiency of Chinese workers. Up to 20,000 copies of  a handmade cardboard book may be ready in only three weeks! “On the other hand, our down point is the time it takes to ship by boat. At Sang Choy, we have our own shipping service leaving from Hong Kong for books produced in China, and from Singapore for books coming from here. That makes things easier, but a two- or three-week lead time should still be expected for books shipped from Singapore. As a result, for tight printing deadlines, European publishers prefer dealing with local businesses”.

The line of books published by Sang Choy grows with each passing year. There are children’s books (often co-published) such as Dinorama. The book was published by Casterman in French, but Sang Choy has also printed it in Japanese, Russian and English. There are also art books, such as the thick Art in All of Us. Belgian authors Anthony Asael and Stephanie Rabemiafara produced the book and donated the proceeds to UNICEF following a world tour meeting children and teaching them photography, drawing and writing. That means 800 colour photos and 5 kilograms of book including the book sheath — all custom made by hand! Similarly, museums like the British Museum in London call on the Singapore company to print their exhibit catalogues. During our visit, piles of Realism in Asia were awaiting shipment. For once, they will not have far to travel: the beautiful temporary exhibit is being held at the National Art Gallery of Singapore.

Occasionally, less typical customers work with Sang Choy. Rebekah shows us Spark your Dream, by Candelaria and Herman Zapp. “They are two Argentinians who travel in an old car with their children,” explains Rebekah. “They wrote and self-published this book, and when they want to organise a book sale in a certain location, they order a few copies. We take care of the printing and ship it to wherever the family happens to be at the time”.

It is still indispensable both to attend international book fairs and to deploy representatives in Belgium and the United Kingdom. I ask Rebekah whether speaking to customers who might be anywhere in the world, from London to Sydney, does not sometimes have surprising consequences. “Of course!” she answers. “First of all, we always have to remember not to call European customers during their lunch break. We try to make it seem like there is no time change between Europe and here. In any case, e-mail and the telephone truly are simple ways to communicate, all the more so since in Singapore English is widely spoken. Sometimes there are customers who come to our offices in person to speak about complex projects. That was what Anthony Asael did, and he stayed here one week”.

Working in such a globalised context can entail an occasionally disruptive vulnerability to international events. As unbelievable as it sounds, the recent earthquake in Chili had consequences for Asian printers, since the country’s forests and paper mills reduced their usual output following the disaster. However, such a large company as Sang Choy takes care to diversify its paper procurement, looking to Indonesia, Thailand, Japan, and even Scandinavia. Additionally, some financial fluctuations, which can vary immensely from week to week during crises like the one of 2009, force the company to increase its prices to stay afloat. Breaking this news to customers takes diplomacy. After all, despite its reputation for work and thorough post-printing checks, Sang Choy does not have the market to itself. In Singapore alone, three or four printing houses also offer their services to publishers from around the world. So the next time you have an illustrated book in your hands, look to see where it was printed: it’s an eye-opener!

Even the pastries Rebekah Mak serves us during our interview are brightly coloured!

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Interview with Michael Goh in Singapore

We enjoyed a rambling discussion of the world of books within the Singapore microcosm, covering such diverse topics as new careers, foreign bookshops, multilingual publishing, and printing. Michael Goh has a wealth of experience… and a gift for conversation!

Magali Tardivel-Lacombe — You say that you have been in the book business for 48 years. Tell us about your background.

Michael Goh — First I was a teacher, but I quickly realised that that was not my calling. So I spent five years in a religious bookshop in Singapore as an apprentice. Afterwards, I ran a small bookshop myself until the rising leases forced me to close. Now, I work as a freelance sales rep for Western publishers.

MTL — What does that job involve?

MG — I attend international book fairs, including the one in Frankfurt, where I offer my services to publishers, representing their catalogues in Asian bookshops. Once an agreement is signed, I work like any other sales rep, going to bookshops to pitch the books published by firms I work for. Since I specialise in scholarly books, I also go to university libraries. I work for Dutch, German, British and American publishers. Strangely enough, I still haven’t managed to attract one French customer! I think they aren’t very open to exporting, all the more so since the French readership in Asia is almost exclusively limited to Vietnam. I also have the impression that French publishers don’t really like granting discounts to bookshops. On the other hand, American publishers like Pearson and Cengage offer discounts of up to 60%!

MTL — For several years you were chairman of the Singapore Booksellers And Stationers Association. What is the purpose of this association?

MG — Essentially, it organises the Singapore Book Fair, held in June. Otherwise, its role continues to decline, since it is increasingly difficult to find volunteers. At any rate, even if there are over 500 bookshops in this tiny country with 5 million inhabitants, most of them mainly sell magazines, confectionary and drinks. As a result, I only count about three or four good bookshops in Singapore, and they are all groups: Kinokuniya, a Japanese chain mainly offering books in English and Japanese, and the English chains of Borders, Times Bookstore and MPH, which all focus on imported English books. There isn’t really a truly Singaporian bookshop to speak of!

MTL — Yet, this country’s printers are renowned throughout the whole world.

MG — It’s true that western publishers once found it advantageous to print here. But today, China offers more competitive prices while using the same state-of-the-art machines as Singapore; in fact, noone can beat their foldout books, window books, and pop-ups, since they are all hand made. Here, labour is more expensive, and we use paper imported from China or Indonesia. However, the country’s geographical location may still be advantageous in terms of sea shipping to Europe, Australia and North America.

MTL — That’s true, the island of Singapore is located between the southern point of the Malaysian peninsula and the northern tip of Java. In fact, it reminds me of the Tower of Babel — Malay, English, Tamil and Mandarin can all be heard. As for you, Michael, your grand-parents were Chinese. What does this language mix mean for publishers?

MG — You should remember that Singapore is a land of immigration and that it has been independent for under one hundred years. As a result, national identity is not particularly strong, and that can be seen in publishing. There are only a few publishing houses here, and they are very small. At any rate, Singapore residents barely read any English. Most of them know nothing about what books are coming out here, let alone in other countries. For five years, the Book Council has been carrying out a reading campaign, but I doubt that local authors like Tan Guan Heng (Night Butterfly, G.H. Bookforum, 2001) will end up becoming known by the audience of their own country. Here it’s as if we were on a western island in the middle of Asia…

MTL — Speaking of islands, I have a pet question I ask everyone: what single book would you take to a desert island?

MG — Return question: why do you ask?

MTL — I like to know what readings have left a deep impression on the people I meet. With their answers, I hope to someday form the ideal library… So, what’s your pick?

MG — I think I would choose an anthology of poems from around the world, in English. After all, as a Singaporian, I like that feeling of being at a crossroads. And in my profession, you can see several countries. I would miss that stranded on a desert island! So an international anthology would be best…

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Part two of the meeting with John McGlynn, co-founder of and publisher at the Lontar Foundation Lontar, Jakarta (Java, Indonesia)

The Lontar Foundations publications are generally sold in major Indonesian bookshop chains, such as Aksara, Kinokuniya, Periplus and Gramedia. They are now available in print on demand (POD) format with Lightning Source, a company with printing presses in Tennessee and Europe. Problems that once plagued books, such as humidity, hungry mice, expensive shipping, and problematic storage, are a thing of the past with this production technique.  John also takes advantage of it to revise texts as soon as errors are detected; that is the chief advantage of digital files.

For more ambitious books, traditional printing is still the standard. Lontar also publishes coffee table books such as Illuminations, the Writing Traditions of Indonesia. This sumptuous book explores the history of writing in throughout the archipelago, where there are no fewer than 600 languages spoken and 11 written cultures. In this book, we learn that the lontar is a tree whose bark was the region’s first writing medium. The eponymous Foundation’s logo, in fact, features the fan shape of traditional lontar “books”.

In addition to involved projects like the coffee table book, the Lontar Foundation also publishes anthologies of plays  (35 plays in English and 65 in Indonesian), short stories (being developed) and poetry (also being developed). It also publishes English translations of Indonesian novels that have been well received by the general public: Supernova by Dewi Lestari (50,000 copies sold in Indonesian), The Dancer by Ahmad Tohari, which Gramedia is seeking to publish, and The Family Room, by the young short story writer Lily Yulianti Farid. As surprising as it may appear to a French reader, John can reasonably expect to sell 5,000 copies of short story or poetry books. Not only is there a deep-seated poetical tradition in Indonesia, but also, few authors can spare the time to write long novels. The public is therefore used to short writings, which are often published in local newspapers. For example, the well-known daily Kompas regularly features a two-page section on poetry.

In conclusion, the potential readership is there, but the obstacle course leading up to publication makes the publisher’s job a difficult one. Not only must he find financing, but also good translators. John sighs while talking about the over 200 individuals with whom he has worked. Even once competent translators are found, it is difficult to find ones who are willing to base their fees on the Indonesian rupiah, i.e. barely USD 5 a page. Not an easy task, given that most translators work by correspondence from an English-speaking country.

Despite the challenges wrestling with these monsters, John is determined to tame them and pursues his ambitious projects. He talks about his dream of compiling La Galigo, a Bugis epic, and having it translated for the first time. At an estimated 6,000 pages, it may be the longest book in the world, and John would be happy to take it with him to a desert island (if he could not, he would settle for the Mahabharata). He is currently producing a documentary on Indonesian shadow puppetry. Three cameras, 54 CDs, sub-titles in at least four languages, and a total of 20 hours of film… Is this the thwarted puppeteer’s way of getting revenge?

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Meeting with John McGlynn, co-founder and editor of the Lontar Foundation, Jakarta, Java (Indonesia)

Somewhere in the United States. A Catholic family: father, mother, and ten children. One of them, John, loved puppet shows. As he grew up, he wanted to be on the other side of the curtain. It was the 1970s, and anything was possible — so why not learn to pull some strings himself? Very quickly, he became fascinated by shadow puppetry. It was the Cold War era, and Vietnam was in flames. Like the world traced out by politicians, shadow puppets played out their parts in black and white, substanceless silhouettes fleeting across a hung backdrop.

John knew that the masters of the genre were the Indonesians who, in some families, transmit the secret of how to cut the buffalo leather from generation to generation. They tan the hides, cut them, and work them, turning them into a dark lace. Shadows and light dance to the rhythm of percussion, female voices and a storyteller, recounting tales of wise gods, courageous heroes, and happy lovers. The silhouette of each character contains small guardian dragons. Its belly, the seat of emotion and instinct, is full of the dragons’ swirls, while its head, crowned with a headdress, is the seat of meditation for the soul.

John was fascinated by the fine handiwork of these puppets which, without simply being beautiful, represent humans in all their complexity. Determined to learn how to work them, he started learning Indonesian. Three years went by. Finally, he was ready to take the shadow puppetry course in Yogyakarta. The Javanese city is known for being home to entire families of artisans who for centuries volunteered their know-how for the sultan. There were instrument makers, painters of batiks (a mixture of silk and cotton) and, of course, puppeteers. John was in the right place to finally learn how to handle the flat puppets with jointed limbs. However, he became a victim of his own zeal: although he had arrived in Yogyakarta six months earlier to perfect his Indonesian, he was turned away from the puppetry course, which was “reserved for foreigners residing outside Indonesia”.

The curtain fell.

Now, John is American, and resourcefulness runs in his blood. He kept learning Indonesian. Although the language had popped up on his life path only to play a cruel trick on him, John didn’t hold a grudge. He kept honing his language skills to the point of being able to read and love the local literature. In fact, in 1987, he decided to found a publishing house entirely devoted to these writings and authors which are unknown to the world at large. Four Indonesian writers joined the endeavour, and the Lontar Foundation was created.

May 2010, Jakarta. The puppeteer has long since become a publisher. Around his blue eyes, crow’s feet show his happy nature, while worry lines also crease his forehead. Over 100 titles have been published since 1987, in three different collections: Lontar for English translations of classical Indonesian texts, Amanah for works in Indonesian, often translated simultaneously for the Lontar collection, and Godown, for English texts on Indonesia. Despite these attempts to get the country’s culture known to the world at large, financing is never fail-proof. The Government provides no subsidies, even though the initiative is the only one of its kind in the archipelago. That may be because here, publishing in English is seen as a sure source of profit. Yet John could cite a dozen examples illustrating the opposite. For example, even after a United States tour and an appearance on CNN, sales of works by Pramoedya Anata Toer did not increase (The Mute’s Soliloquy, an anthology compiled by John). As in other countries, the English-speaking market evidently shuns translations, while itself invading all other linguistic turfs. Of the roughly 115,000 books published each year in Indonesia, 60% are translations, mainly from the English but also from the Japanese and the Arabic. Apparently, the Lontar Foundation works in an under-represented niche.

Without State backing, therefore, the Foundation depends on the sales of its books and of works of art displayed in its gallery, as well as private donations, half of which are Indonesian. Until 2009, the Ford Foundation granted USD 500,000 a year to Lontar. However, a little problem called the Financial Crisis recently hit, wiping out the six-figure contribution…

Find out more about Lontar publications and Indonesian literature in part two…coming soon!

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The public is not always clear on the many steps involved between writing a manuscript and publishing that book for sale at your local shop. I have often come across people  who believe that a career in publishing means being a writer! Our guided visit of the Erlangga printery in Jakarta (Indonesia) was a chance to see and photograph (almost) all the steps in the book publishing process. Enjoy this visual tour…

1. Editorial stage

There are two different ways a book can be created. Authors submit their manuscripts to a publishing house, or the publishing house decides to write a book on a particular subject and commissions one or several authors to write copy. Erlangga, which mainly publishes schoolbooks, principally deals in this second way. Although authors often chafe at having to modify their copy, editors may decide to change the chapter division, to rework certain phrases, or even to erase or add entire paragraphs for the sake of coherence, ease of understanding, or appearance. The editor or a proofreader reads the copy to correct spelling, punctuation and layout.

In a large publishing house like Erlangga, several editors coordinate various teams: one manages the languages division, another the science division, another the children’s literature division, etc. However, small publishing houses such as Brandl & Schlesinger in Australia have only one editor.

2. Design stage

The educational books produced by Erlangga obviously contain many illustrations. They might be specially ordered from a graphic designer or photographer, but more often, graphic designers use image databases that offer illustrations for a lower cost. However, design issues also arise for non-illustrated books, such as book format, font, and the cover illustration.

3. Printing

Once the dummy, or preliminary layout, is ready, the book can go off to the presses. At Erlangga, this step is facilitated since there are presses on-site, where the company’s books are printed; at other companies this stage is often outsourced, as are proofreading and layout. Here, the printing presses are from Sweden, India, Germany and Japan; the paper, on the other hand, comes directly from Indonesia, the leading Asian manufacturer.

The complexity of colour printing varies, anywhere from two colours for pages of text only (most often black on white) to eight colours for covers. Employees are entrusted with quickly checking printing quality, for example whether there are any spots of unwanted ink.

Finally, there are various binding techniques: some books are sewn with thread, while others, such as those printed by Erlangga, are bound with an adhesive.

We should stress that Asian printers are quite widely called upon by western publishers to print illustrated books. This topic will be discussed in future posts.

4. Marketing

As I explained in my previous post, Erlangga markets itself by presenting its books directly to teaching teams. However, as a general rule, the publisher also sends representatives to bookshops at least once if not several times a year to promote the company’s catalogue. In this way, booksellers purchase new releases, sometimes in a rather risk-averse fashion, given the drastic conditions for returning unsold inventory to the publisher. In France, many editors offer free returns for works that stay on the shelves for over three months, while in Australia, the publisher must pay any return charges.

5. Distribution

This is yet another step that is often outsourced to a specialised company, yet which Erlangga performs itself, both for its own books and those from other publishing houses. In this step the book is sent out to bookshops and institutions (e.g. universities, libraries, clubs) which ordered it. The distributor boxes the correct number of copies which it then personally delivers or posts to customers. The process varies in length from country to country: in France, the usual leadtime between the placement of an order by a bookshop customer and the delivery of that book is 5 days, whereas in Germany, a book ordered under similar conditions is delivered overnight.

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Meeting with Raja Hutauruk and his team at Erlangga Publishing House
Jakarta, Java (Indonesia)

In the early 1950s, the headmaster of a large state school, Marulan Hutauruk, wanted to remedy the lack of textbooks afflicting his students, so he made educational books himself and distributed them. In the 1960s and 1970s, by which time he had become director of the largest state publishing house in Indonesia, Balai Pustaka, he simultaneously worked to consolidate Erlangga, an educational publishing house where he mainly produced textbooks for his two favourite subjects: history and law. A decade later, after finishing his finance studies in New York, his son Gunawan came home to help with the business, a step which helped Erlangga grow by publishing university works translated from American English.

At the time, students bought few books, and university publishers barely eked out a living. Even today, “copying centres” thrive, and copyrighted texts freely circulate over the Internet. Likewise, counterfeited works still represent a major source of competition for publishers. For example, a pirated copy of a book costing 100,000 rupiahs (around  8 euros) will be sold for only 40,000 rupiahs. Book pirates often cover themselves by also offering the originals for sale.  To the difficult challenge of uncovering book pirates may be added a second undeniable fact: for most Indonesian students, book expenses are relegated to fifth place in their budget. Aware of this, even professors cannot condemn the use of photocopies and counterfeit copies.

Erlangga therefore had to widen its scope of activities. In 1991, the publishing house started to produce its first primary school textbooks, and in the early Aughts, brought out its first books for toddlers. Today, Raja Hutauruk, Marulan’s grandson, has taken over the family business with his three siblings. With ten branches, and several offices throughout the archipelago as well as four Eureka bookshops in Jakarta, Erlangga is the second largest publishing house in Indonesia, after the far-reaching Gramedia which also dabbles in hotels and newspapers.

From the days of the headmaster who made his own books to those of the large company employing some 3,000 (including 500 in the office’s integrated printing press) barely 60 years have passed. The transformation seems dizzyingly fast and incredible. It can be explained firstly by the company’s intelligent strategies. It seeks textbook authors directly in the schools, from the teaching workforce itself. In this way, Erlangga is sure that its books will meet the needs and expectations of teachers. Additionally, publishing house reps are sent out directly to schools to convince educational teams to choose their titles and include the books in the  school’s enrolment package.  These steps are boosted by free seminars for teachers choosing Erlangga books. For example, the publishing house organises workshops on teaching English to young children, or on how to set up an interactive class environment. This last topic was delivered to help Indonesian teachers with the difficulties they have had implementing the “Competency-Based Curriculum” introduced by the government in 2006 to modernise teaching methods. The purpose was to switch from the model of the unchallenged, almost dictatorial schoolmaster rapping the knuckles of poor students with his wooden ruler, to that of the modern schoolteacher who nurtures the creativity and individuality of each student. It was a huge, unsettling reform which helped Erlangga consolidate its position as an advisor. It even addressed the children themselves, offering “Speech Competitions” to reward the most eloquent presenters of… Erlangga products!

The publishing house’s ability to adapt to changing educational conditions in Indonesia is clearly its strong point. For example, for four years, as free education has become gradually accessible to all, the publishing house has focused more on private religious schools. It also answers calls for tender issued by state schools purchasing books to subsequently lend to their students. This is more difficult than the traditional door-to-door sales carried out by the company’s agents, all the more so since the government has commissioned inexperienced authors (paid a pittance) to write schoolbooks since 2006; the books are then posted online for free, or sold dirt cheap in a paper edition for 9,000 rupiahs. This initiative, intended to encourage students’ parents to buy books, is seen by publishing professionals as shoddy work and, especially, unfair competition. Erlangga, whose schoolbooks cost 25 ,000 rupiahs each, is attempting to counteract this trend by producing e-books that stay within this policy’s framework. However, the economic effects of this tactic are still weak.

By managing all steps of production itself, from writing to design through printing and retail, the Erlangga team ensures genuinely smooth operations.Yet, market conditions vary, and to follow these changes, the publisher must add good management to his palette of skills. This is still an effective way to keep revenue relatively stable, and should help Erlangga expand its catalogue, of which only 15% is currently non-educational, and an even tinier fraction fiction. That is why Raja’s sister, head of Erlangga’s children’s literature division, plans to create an illustrated book of Indonesian princess stories, modelled after Princesses of the World (English translation published by Hammond, 2009), which will soon be transated into Indonesian.

Don’t miss our next article for a guided visit of the Erlangga offices and printery!

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Meeting with Stella Maris Stutina, author of I love U by God
Jakarta, Java (Indonesia)

“One day when my daughter was almost four, she heard someone on television say ‘Oh my God!’ She was puzzled and asked: ‘What does that mean, Oh my God?’ I told her it was an expression, and that God was like someone who loved you a lot. That only made her more puzzled: ‘What do you mean, a lot?’ Children unwittingly have that knack for painting you into a corner! So I tried to explain to her in terms of things she already knew. ‘He loves you from further away, and stronger than anything else around you. Farther than the sky, deeper than the sea, higher than the highest tree you have ever seen”. The child pondered this for a while, with the same puzzled look, then asked: ‘Even when I’m sleeping?’ ”

“That’s how it all started”, explains Stella Maris Stutina. At the time, she was working in communication, and realised the book potential of this short conversation with her daughter. She contacted designer magazine Concept, since she was really impressed by the magazine’s freshness and creativity. They liked Stella’s idea and helped her illustrate it. Then they put her in contact with Indonesia Printer, who created the “Bright Idea Publishing” label, whose first book was…I love U by God. Based on the conversation with her daughter, she produced an interactive book that children can touch, unfold, and watch glow in the dark. There are only a few words per page…and they are in English. “I chose to write in English and not Indonesian, because I wanted to reach the whole world. I really focused on keeping the language simple, and now my book is used in primary schools and fishing villages for English classes”, Stella continues.

The young woman also talks about the overwhelming loneliness she felt when the large-format carton edition came out at the same time as a media frenzy on the anniversary of Dora Emon, a blue Japanese robot-cat. Fortunately, she was able to launch I love U by God at the 2008 Frankfurt Book Fair. The first copies were hot off the presses. Her gut instinct told her that she could get the ball rolling if she knocked on the right doors, so she promoted the book in the media: among others, Kompas (the largest Indonesian daily), Femina, and Nakita, all published an article on her. She secured the support of the Kiwanis International Asia-Pacific Conference, as well as the National Commission for Child Protection. Still in 2008, she won the Indonesian Printing Award, created especially for this book, apart from the regular categories.

And since then, Stella has taken the book wherever she goes.

“Before, I only entered schools for my daughter, but now with the book, I am invited to do readings or run workshops to explain how to produce a book. I often tell the children I am missing a page and that I need their help. That encourages them to express their ideas and think about their understanding of God’s love for them. Each time I read the book in public, I see it through fresh eyes. I am always moved to see the extent to which it speaks to adults, as well, even though the worries of daily like make them forget that God loves them!”

Following this resounding success, which got her name on the map in Holland, France, Russia, Korea, and elsewhere, Stella decided to devote herself full-time to writing children’s literature. First off, she wants to continue developing the topic of love, with I love U by Mum and I love U by Dad (soon to be published). Likewise, a series of books on peace is in the early stages, as well as another promoting acceptance which will feature ten titles.

Stella explains that she sees the number of children’s books growing in Indonesia, but that they are mostly translations. That places  her in one of the very first generations of Indonesian writers of children’s literature. It is still a difficult niche to fill since, although the middle classes readily buy books for their children, they strongly prefer foreign works which are quite often more attractive than those produced in Indonesia. Little by little, local publishers are realising that it is in their best interests to choose better quality paper and clearer publishing quality. Although sales prices will be higher, in the medium term, buyers will become increasingly interested in nationally produced books. Indeed, the success of I love U by God confirms that fact.

I love U by God also changed the life of Kyla, Stella’s daughter. When her friends saw her name beside her mother’s on the book cover, they told her it was impossible for little girls like them to write a book. To help her get her confidence back, Stella suggested she write another book completely on her own. That is how at age 7, Kyla Christie Hambali wrote and illustrated herself Who wants to play with me?, in which she talks about her difficulties in finding a family playmate as an only child. It is self-published and available on Amazon, since Kyla wants to share it with all chidlren of the world. This title was followed by Who wants to help me? Gramedia publishing house, which has the largest chain of bookshops in Indonesia, expressed an interest in publishing these books on the condition that a series of five be printed. But Stella does not approve, since it would mean too heavy and binding a workload for Kyla. “At any rate, she is nine years old now, and says she doesn’t want to write books for babies anymore. Lately she’s been talking about writing a novel!” Until that work comes out, Stella answers immediately when asked which book she would take to a desert island. Can you guess which one?

Photos 1 and 4: copyright Steve Teo

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Interview with Dion P. Sihotang
Editor at Galaxy Puspa Mega, volunteer at IKAPI (the Indonesian publishers’ association)
Jakarta, Java (Indonesia)

Last May, Ikatan Penerbit Indonesia, the Indonesian publishers’ association more commonly known as IKAPI, celebrated its 60th anniversary. That makes it barely five years younger than the Republic of Indonesia. Indeed, IKAPI was founded close on the heels of independence, under the direction of ten publishers who had been deeply impressed by the youth slogan of the 1930s: “One language, one country, one  nation”.  Despite 300 years of Dutch colonial rule, which gave rise to bilingual publishing houses, books were published in the Indonesian language well before 1945, mainly religious works and fairy tales. The IKAPI founders, under the guidance of Achmad Notosoetardjo, wanted to have a part in the nation’s consolidation and draw the government’s attention to their cause and role. Since then the domestic book industry has grown so much that IKAPI has gone from 10 member publishers in 1954 to almost 1,000 in 2010 (including some 300 in Jakarta alone), for a country with a population of some 230 million.

It goes without saying that publishing issues have also considerably changed. IKAPI still speaks on behalf of publishers in government dealings, but more as a technical advisor, for example when setting up policies to promote reading, especially in the schools. Conversely, the association keeps members informed of legislation concerning them. It also organises seminars on copyright issues, and makes sure that government directives are implemented by publishers,from the standpoints of both school curriculum and public decency. Censorship still strikes works considered pornographic or anti-Islamic. To take a well-known example, Salman Rushdie’s Satanic Verses is banned in Indonesia.

In fact, one IKAPI committee focuses entirely on religious books, which account for 32% of books published each year in Indonesia, compared to 25% for fiction and non-fiction, 19% for children’s books and 16% for school books (2007 IKAPI figures). Yet, there are only around one hundred specialised publishing houses. In this mainly Muslim country, where several Islamic book fairs are held, many religious books come from the Middle East. Often, they are not even translated, since Muslims around the world learn Arabic to read the Koran. When these texts are translated into Indonesian, the question of copyright is rarely raised, since the authors often place the da’wa (the spread of Islam) above their own copyright. IKAPI has therefore taken on the task of reducing Indonesia’s dependence on imported religious books. From a political standpoint, this helps spread a more moderate message than those that may come out of the Arab Peninsula. From an economic standpoint, this goal is also a means of boosting the activity of local publishers, which should help increase GDP in addition to reducing imports.

After all, the book industry is officially considered a source of national wealth: this is what motivates the government to promote publishing for the export market. Thus IKAPI, which organises the Indonesia Book Fair and represents its members at the International Publishers Association (IPA), the Asia-Pacific Publishers Association (APPA), and at stands at international book fairs (Tokyo, Cairo, Frankfurt, etc.), therefore encourages its members to produce good quality books likely to draw the attention of ASEAN neighbours or even markets farther afield. This does not keep the association from organising translation seminars, especially to improve the quality of translations of foreign university works, which are still the standard for Indonesian students.

The internationalisation of trade brings publishers face to face with new difficulties. Whereas, in the early days of IKAPI, book publishing was not a lucrative business due to the small number of readers and very high production costs, today what threatens Indonesian publishers are financial crises and currency issues. With this in mind, after the 1998 financial crisis IKAPI established the Adikarya Foundation, which hands out awards to the authors of high-quality children’s literature. In this way, IKAPI hopes to offset both the trend of producing cheaper (and often poorer-content) books, and foreign genres making inroads in Indonesia, such as the increasingly popular mangas.

None of these goals, however, will be met unless publishers receive more professional training. Only two universities offer a three-year degree in the trade, so only around thirty students graduate per year! All other Indonesian publishers specialise in one field for which they print books. This explain the pivotal role IKAPI has carved for itself, by organising conferences on such widely varied topics as creating a publishing house, using desktop publishing software, preparing an international book fair, and negotiating copyright.

From being a basically representative organisation, IKAPI has thus grown to become a professional body that takes concrete action, as decided upon and implemented by its volunteer publishers.  This pragmatic approach is surprisingly well-illustrated by the book Dion P. Sihotang would take to a desert island: The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People by Dr Steven R. Covey, a personal development guide with advice on improving your life, work methods and inter-personal skills.

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Meeting with Janet De Neefe
Director of the Ubud Writers and Readers Festival, Bali (Indonesia)

Janet De Neefe likes to roll her eyes while she talks, as she saw a Balinese dancer do during her first trip to the island in the 1960s. “I always dreamed of being a Balinese dancer”, she writes in her culinary autobiography, Fragrant Rice. Neither when speaking nor writing can she resist weaving her life story like a fairy tale. Born in Melbourne, she discovered Bali at the age of 15, when she holidayed there with her family. When she returned about ten years later, she once again found the perfume of the incense, the taste of the spices, and the colours of the flowers which had so dazzled her and, under circumstances which she recounts with all the dreaminess of a good romance, met Ketut, her Balinese prince charming. Believe it or not, they got married and, to literally translate the French for “they lived happily ever after”, they had many children – four, in fact. Janet, henceforth settled in the small city of Ubud, opened a hotel and two restaurants, and even ran Balinese cooking courses for tourists, who were flocking to the Hindu island in increasing numbers.

And thus the story might have ended, since fairy tales don’t generally get into the particulars of living happily ever after. But in 2002, this place which has so often been described as paradise on earth was hit by a furious act of violence: a bomb which destroyed an entire street in Kuta, the seaside village near the Denpasar airport. Needless to say, it killed at random. Like all those who cared deeply for Bali and were dependent on the fluorishing tourist industry, Janet De Neefe experienced the subsequent period with deep sadness and apprehension. In 2004, supported by friends and acquaintances of her husband, whom she describes as involved in and well-respected by the local community, Janet organised the first Ubud writers festival. “With my hotel and my restaurants, I was used to organising events and welcoming people”, she explains. She hopes thatKorea’s Chang-Rae Lee (A Gesture Life, 1999) and Indonesia’s Andrea Hirata (Laskar Pelangi ["Rainbow Warriors"], 2005, untranslated) will attend next October, in addition to  Alain Mabanckou (Memoirs of a Porcupine, published in French in 2006; translation to be published by Serpent’s Tail, 2011) and Abdourahman Waberi (Rift routes rails, Editions Gallimard, 2001, untranslated). “No matter where they come from, writers address the same questions and speak about the Humane”, stresses Janet who unwittingly echoes the words of Sandra Thibodeaux, directors of the Northern Territory Writers’ Centre in Darwin, on the other side of the sea. This year, the festival will welcome 30 Indonesian authors and 60 others from around the world. The financial support of Citibank, local businesses and various embassies has helped the event grow in size.

As for those who criticise her, an Australian, for organising a festival on Balinese soil, Janet De Neefe reminds them that the organisation team that works year-long is made up of five Indonesians and three Westerners; that 200 volunteers help out during the festival; and that six days of free activities are held for the children of Ubud and the surrounding area, all thanks to the financial support of the Mudra Swari Saraswati foundation. In fact, the 100,000 rupiah entrance price for Indonesians (about 10 euros) corresponds to the price of a football ticket or a good restaurant meal. That said, although the price is eight times less than that charged to foreigners, who pay 850,000 rupiahs a day (about 70 euros), it does not include the writing workshops, which are charged separately, nor the special events (e.g. writers dinners, readings by renowned authors, etc.) for which there is no special price for Indonesians. Likewise, the literary evenings she set up last April in her restaurant, Casa Luna, do not appear to be addressed to locals: the first two (held in English) were dedicated to Hemingway and Rimbaud, respectively, and drew a score of people… almost exclusively tourists or expatriates.

Yet Janet moves easily in this privileged microcosm and takes care to let the authors invited to the festival also benefit from it by checking them in to the most beautiful hotels Ubud has to offer. She confidently plans to organise another festival exclusively for Indonesian authors, to encourage local people here to write and then promote their work abroad. She also dreams of a festival dedicated to her first love: cooking.

Since the Kuta bombing, the waters of the Ayung River have flown under the bridges of Ubud. Tourists have learned to trust the area again, and they frequent the writers festival. As for the locals, many benefit at the very least from the economic ripples of an event of this type. Janet De Neefe, whose goal was to meet violence with hope and dialogue, can therefore consider her mission accomplished. It was one way to show love in a time of figurative modern cholera, for this woman who would take the García Marquez masterpiece to a desert island.

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