MHS World Cup of Literature 2020: Round 1 — Ethiopia vs Thailand
To get the metaphorical soccer ball rolling, I thought I’d mention that this post is in no way meant to serve as objective analysis of the two texts, and much less so the countries themselves, and even less so their unique and wonderful cultures. This post is merely a justification for which story resonated with me most, and which I feel is a better exemplar of world literature as a genre. To measure how well a text shakes my world view, I’m using a shock meter, measured in electrical metaphors. The more a text shocks me, the more I’m compelled to award It goals and send it to the next round.
That said, let’s kick this post off. Expect more soccer puns where I can fit them.
Ethiopia — Gabriella Ghermandi’s The Neighbourhood Phone (2008)
The Neighbourhood Phone was a fun read. Ghermandi characterised all the people she met in such a colourful way. These were real people (at least, I read them to be), and she made that clear from the dynamics between them. Even small interactions carried so much weight, as shown by the little girl and her gum. What seemed so insignificant ended up helping Choni close the gap in her long-disty. Aww.
Ghermandi wrestles with a theme familiar to most of us — culture shock. She mentions the fast pace of Bologna and brings up the idea of one’s internal rhythm. When a disconnect occurs between our heart’s and our land’s, we lose our sense of identity, and experience discomfort in what should be home. We see only the dirt of the children and not the love they have to give. Ghermandi had, like many of the people in our class, acclimated to the faster pace of modern Australian life. It’s all we’ve known, and that is why we’re conflicted with our parents, who don’t necessarily think of home the way we do. Our rhythms are so different, and it may be worth tossing our biases and material swatches away to reconcile that. Even with this, she continues to immerse the reader in Kechené, with incredible descriptions of the foreign smells and sights.
There was one bit from the text that shocked me especially:
Beaming with satisfaction, she went and sat on a stone. Her dress slipped up, revealing the fleshy labia of her small sex. I looked at her in embarrassment. She kept smiling at me.
The free description of a little girl’s privates kept me thinking until the end. It was such an odd inclusion to me. Why would Ghermandi write something so…taboo? It wasn’t until the word crossed my mind that I realised. Western culture is so heavy with sexualisation, that something as small as this finds me at odds. The culture of Kechené seems to be more innocent, not caught up in the apparent implications of it. But if she’d spent so much time in Italy, why would she have persisted in keeping it? Did she know about the potential reaction to it?
…typing this, I realised she’s succeeding in shocking me — something good world literature is supposed to do. Well played, Ghermandi.
As the first story I’ll be judging, The Neighbourhood Phone gets a sturdy six-volt battery on the shock meter. Voltmeter? No, shock meter.
Thailand — Prabda Yoon’s Ei Ploang (2016)
After the trip Ethiopia took me on, I imagined it difficult to top the blend of characterisation and humanity that Ghermandi gave us. With the bar set so high, there was no way Yoon could snatch the win here…right…?
Why should I care if I’m going to heaven or hell? Both places are founded upon beliefs that are fading over time. Evil teaches people to stop being hung up on superstitions. It teaches us to learn to live life fully here on this earth. Even if you’re condemned to boil in hell’s cauldron or drag your naked body up the adulterers’ thorny tree, you’d be sharing in those activities with your fellow sinners. It’s no different from going to camp. Everyone would rather meet the Guardian of Hell than God, because the Guardian of Hell is humanity’s true teacher, covertly indoctrinating us from the cradle. He stands close by us when we want, when we hurt, when we ache, when we love, when we lust, when we hate, when we obsess, when we’re hungry, when we’re greedy, when we’re angry, when we’re vengeful.
God only watches from afar. He never lends a helping hand.
Did…did he just…play…the devil’s advocate…and make a sound case…for being…evil…?
And…did…he just…convince me?!?!
…holy som tam Thailand.
There are a few reasons why Ei Ploang knocked my boots off.
1) The philosophical exploration. In the text, Yoon deliberates the balance between good and evil in people. He claims there is an “imbalance” between the two in humans, with a perfect balance in inanimate objects. Without evil, the world would turn to chaos. He emphasised the need for bad, and it was this unorthodox, yet irrefutable argument that snatched the win for me. But wait! That’s not all:
2) He talks about a foreignness within us. In a sense, the text is more relatable because it focuses not on the contrast between cultures, but the similarities between humans. Rather than using an individual perspective and holding it, Yoon uses protagonist Praj’s exposition to talk about one’s connection to the environment around them and to serve as an inwards reflection of things I certainly hadn’t explored. My whole life, I’d been taught to eradicate the evil and to only embrace the good of the world. To quote rapper Tyler, The Creator; “that was a f[rea]king lie.”
3) It’s so incredibly well written. While featuring only two major characters, Yoon knows that’s all it needs to thrive. Ei Ploang explores Praj and Ploang at a much deeper level than Ghermandi’s text, and that allows it to better answer the one overarching question of all literature: what does it mean to be human? With the insight into heaven and hell, sinning and virtue, appearance and reality, good and evil, isolation and connection, and the purpose of the human life, Thailand’s text is a much more thematically complex story. With generalisations and dialogue between only two characters, Yoon critiques all of humanity, allowing for a greater reach than Ghermandi’s recount. In addition to all this, the story is peppered with odd and thoughtful figurative language — even comparing the patrons of Lumpini Park to aimless “ants” with no goals in mind. Ei Ploang is introduced with a flurry of calm, yet chaotic lexical fields in his similes. Yoon proves that literature can have fictional elements that elevate it and help it to relate to the reader even more than a purely factual account. All these techniques come together to create an incredibly engaging, thought-provoking, and vivid piece of creative writing.
With all of these, Ei Ploang made me question my morality like I never had before. Phenomenal work, Yoon. You’ve earned Thailand a coveted catch of electric eels.
I found it most interesting that both texts talk about how people are connected to the land they occupy. Ghermandi talks about reconciliation with her homeland, and Yoon described his growing familiarity with the park. They also both mention the interconnection between peoples’ lives. The eponymous neighbourhood phone helps everyone from Kechené to hear of Ghermandi’s tales, and she gets to see how the phone ties so many lives together. Yoon takes a less upbeat, but more realistic approach. He shows the lives of all the patrons at a surface level, revolving around first appearances and Ploang’s insight. They meet for brief seconds…then move on. One author romanticises community bonds, and the other paints them dismissively. However, while Ethiopia mentions that friendships and deep relations can happen, Thailand goes on to show the effort than then goes into the creation of these bonds. This, coupled with the copious other hat tricks Yoon pulls out of his rabbit elevated his text to the next level for me.
Wait, no. The rabbit comes out of the h — whatever.
Verdict:
As a piece of writing, Ghermandi’s text stands out as unique amongst other recounts, recalling and reminiscing on her home and its lively culture. But as a carefully written blend of anecdote, creativity, and philosophy, Yoon’s text exemplifies the difference between world literature and a postcard. Sorry Ethiopia, but this round clearly isn’t a Thai.
WINNER: Thailand, 2–4
That’s time.
