The literary gardener | Bangkok Post: food

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When reading Manote Phromsing, one had better not do it in a hurry. Lest the inimitable experience of relishing his carefully crafted prose ends up a big waste. For the Isan writer, who describes himself as "the laziest writer in Thailand", each line, paragraph and page do take a long time to conceive. In an interview with the Underground Bulletin a few years ago, the 50-something schoolteacher-turned-gardener/writer remarked how it could take him three months to get the ideas crystallised and another three to put the story onto paper. In a span of one year, Manote may thus produce only two short stories. And he holds no qualms about that.

Photo courtesy of KOR KON MAGAZINE

"I am just a lazy writer. Besides, I am not that good yet. I still need to practice a lot more."

Over the last two decades since he quit teaching to take up writing, Manote has seen only three books in print: two collections of short stories and one of poems. Despite the starkly small corpus of published work, however, the man has been regarded as one of the few quality writers worth serious literary consideration. There are intricate layers of symbolism that permeate his writings, an odd mixture of psychological stream-of-consciousness and indigenous Isan-style magical realism and mythology (occasionally even mathematical theorems get thrown in), all couched in impeccably nuanced, poetic language. Manote's short stories usually revolve around the perennial struggle of individuals against their oppressive conditions. To dismiss them as just another trove of bleak tales, though, would be depriving yourself of an opportunity to delve into an existential pursuit, to seek an answer to the real, relevant questions about your own core of being. What exactly are we searching for in our lives? Can we ever be genuinely free to follow our dreams till the end? Or is it like one famous thinker once observed, that humanity will forever be chained to some sad destiny, and any attempt to escape it is merely an exercise in futility?

The Flower Jail, translated by Marcel Barang and featured on today's 'Outlook' page 1, is one such example of Manote's inimitable less-is-more approach in telling a bigger story of everyday tragedy through small, at times seemingly incongruous incidents in an ordinary person's life. There is that foreboding sense of loss and alienated agony. But Manote is not a complete pessimist. Every now and then come redeeming moments of hope, however fleeting. The Isan writer seems to have a fondness for nature, specifically flowers, and a child's innocence; he often make allusions in a number of his stories about how such little delights can powerfully soothe a man's soul.

Wrote Manote in the foreword to his first book: "For me, writing is like growing flowers. And if in this life I can write just one short story that is as beautiful as a flower in a big garden, I will be very happy."

Such is Manote's trademark understatement. But through his tender, meticulous hands, several noteworthy blooms have been brought into the world. One of his first short stories, titled Rawang Roi Meed (In Between the Cut), was named best of the year by the PEN Thailand Association and also won the most votes from readers of the literary magazine Chor Karaked. In 1998, his first collection of short stories, Rang Hae Haeng Wihok (The Web of Wings), won the National Book Award for its category. In 2005, his second book, Sai Lom Bon Thanon Boran (Winds Along an Ancient Road), was shortlisted for the SEA Write award. And two years ago, the Thai Writers' Association bestowed on him the inaugural Rapeeporn Award, launched as a tribute to the late senior writer Suwat Woradilok, aka Rapeeporn.

Photo courtesy of TEERAPON ANMAI

It has been a long journey for the son of a soldier and a bankrupt farmer, who after the massacre of student activists on October 6, 1976 had to go into hiding for a while. That political incident was also the cause of the one-year delay to his graduation, due to conflicts with the school authorities where he undertook an internship. A subsequent stint of teaching mathematics to high school students lasted a decade, and then Manote shocked those around him by submitting a resignation letter. He eventually took up gardening at his family's orchard in Ubon Ratchathani, which until a couple of years ago was his primary means of earning a living. Material scarcity may have been a fact of life, but Manote found, ironically but wonderfully, his form of compensation in the richness of time to "read" _ the pulse and rhythm of nature as well as of his own heart _ and to render his discoveries onto paper.

Despite his rather reclusive lifestyle, Manote has in fact played a vital role in shaping and stimulating the literary circle of the lower Isan region. His garden-home in Warinchamrab has served as one of the limited forums for young writers, poets and social activists in Ubon and nearby provinces, where they meet and engage in intellectual discussion and campaigns. For a couple of years, he ran a local newsletter called Tai Ban (Village), to give further opportunities for alternative writing with a social message. In the wake of the present repression of critical voices in Thailand, Manote and his young peers have set up an ad hoc group called Khana Khian (which they refer to in English as "like write light to live"). They plan to put out one or two books annually over the next five years. The first in the series, a collection of short stories titled Mayakol Haeng Phawa Chukchoen (The Myths of the State of Emergency), is slated to come out next month. Hopefully a few new seeds of those who go against the grain will by then be sown and will grow and get stronger down the road. For Manote, you can never underestimate the power of writing and reading for bringing about change.

He took time off from gardening and writing to talk with 'Outlook'.

What's the story behind 'The Flower Jail'? It does feel a bit semi-autobiographical, doesn't it?

The Flower Jail is the first short story I wrote after quitting the bureaucracy to toil as a manual worker. I sent it to editor Suchart Sawadsri who got it published right away in his Chor Karaked magazine. It was partly based on my experience growing flowers and also on the philosophy of existentialism which shows how every human being has been more or less encaged in a 'jail', be that the bondage of laws, rules and regulations, politics, traditions, moral values, the notions of good versus bad, etc. But humans do have the freedom to live, to be whoever they want to be, and importantly, to keep their spiritual essence, happiness and creativity regardless of their milieu.

The title, "The Flower Jail", was deliberately paradoxical (like that of another story Rang Hae Haeng Wihok, or The Webs of Wings, that I wrote later). In a way it was my personal bid for the power of literature to heal the first reader _ which was me _ after I had given up teaching (however much I love teaching, I can't help loathing the system) and turned to gardening and writing, both of which are generally associated in Thai society as equivalent to being a bum, a jobless person.

You once compared writing to gardening. How do you see your 'garden' growing over the last two decades?

All the beautiful flowers that we have admired and acquired, be they for ourselves or for others, are token symbols of goodwill, love, care, respect, inspiration and dreams on the part of both the giver and the receiver. A single flower that you have been offered or have marvelled at the sight or scent of could herald the birth of a good, completely new life. You never know. At the end of the day, I just write in order to create some aesthetic experience of goodness/beauty/truth for the readers in my own quiet way. I don't mind if I don't get any attention and my works live on; the writer can be treated as if he has passed away already. That's also why I usually keep a low profile and don't engage all that much with others in the circle.

Basically, over the past two decades, I have been trying to avoid repeating myself. I try to explore new ways of telling a story, new issues that have yet to be raised. But no matter what, there is still that essence of "Manote Phromsing" that I try to keep in every piece of my work.

Which is ...?

Hmm ... I think the person who could give the best answer to that question should be the reader. But if I were to define myself, it would be works with prose that has been carefully crafted almost like poetry, steeped in rather bleak, melancholic moods. Lately, my stories have become more and more indigenous, specifically Isan in flavour, whether with regard to the setting or characters and plots that are rich in local lore, beliefs and customs.

Samples of Manote Phromsing’s books—Rang Hae Haeng Wihok (The Web of Wings) and Sai Lom Bon Thanon Boran (Winds Along an Ancient Road).

Mathematics is a combination of arithmetic, algebra and geometry, all of which to me are a totally different kind of language altogether. Just imagine this: what could be the last last prime number? Or the result of zero divided by zero? See how much imagination you need just to mull these questions? Mathematics is also a subject revolving around reasons and proofs. There is certainly a way to find an answer for any one question, but how do we do that? We have to combine different theories, axioms, definitions, in order to reach that goal. It's the same as when we write a piece about human beings, about the process of living, we just have to search for an answer to the questions _ what? why? and how? _ and present it to the readers [as best as we can].

Mathematics is also about abstract matters. Like non-Euclidean geometry that disputes the pre-existing axioms of Euclid on the parallel of a line through a given point or how the sum of the interior angles of a triangle may not be exactly 180 degrees but more or less than that. Those sorts of things have made me think outside the box, to become very imaginative. As a result, I tend to look at an individual's life or an incident from both inside and outside the norm, to study it from as many perspectives as possible, and to turn up every possible stone before I put them into stories on paper.

As a co-founder and adviser to a literary group called Khom Dao, you have played a vital role in stimulating the literature in the lower Isan region. Could you tell us more about what you did?

The Khom Dao Literary Group was set up around a decade ago. The name came from "Planet B-612" in Antoine Saint-Exupery's The Little Prince. Students from the University of Ubon Ratchathani and Rajabhat University Ubon Ratchathani who are close to me usually dropped in at my house to chat with me. We ended up organising several activities together _ reading and writing and making critiques of each other's works. For a while we also produced newsletters. Eventually we decided to launch Khom Dao Publishing as an outlet for alternative works. We did everything ourselves, literally speaking, even binding books with needles and threads by our own hand! The money that we invested came from our savings. We put out two novellas, one collection of essays and two poetry books. Incidentally, there was a contest of handmade books organised by the Wannakam Issara group with the MBK Shopping Centre in Bangkok. We entered our works into the competition, and my poetry book, titled Na Duangta Thur Mee Dao Prakai Pruek (In Her Eyes Is the Morning Star), was given the best poetry MBK Indy Book Award for that year.

Over time, however, each member of the group finished their studies and took up regular jobs. So Khom Dao had to be disbanded eventually.

Early this year, the University of Ubon Ratchathani launched a project to research the local history of the lower Isan region. They want to compile oral history from the people's point of view. There are so many stories that have never been recorded before; a few even contradict the official version of history as produced by the state authorities. I was recruited into the research team; they want me to apply a literary approach and turn dry, academic materials into something more lively and appealing to the general public. There will be two books coming out, one is in narrative prose and the other in poetry. I have proposed the title "History of Our Isan _ The Villagers' Version". I couldn't do everything myself, so I called some of the old members of the Khom Dao group to help me in this.

The land of Isan still has so many stories, legends, waiting to be expressed in literary forms. It is a high land imbued with harsher conditions than other parts of the country. It is located near the Mekong, the cradle of Southeast Asian civilisations, with great ethnic diversity. It is the land where the "people's war" under the now defunct Communist Party of Thailand first took place in 1966. It is the land where the masses stood up, which later led to the riots in May this year. It is the land where the folks have been looked down on as being stupid, poor, exploitable, from times past until now.

Such qualities give Isan a uniquely rich soil for nurturing future generations of writers in this land.