Book Review: Only a Girl by Lian Gouw

This is not a book that I would have found on my own but how we come to read a book is often an important element of our understanding and appreciation of the book itself. I will go into that circumstance further on near the end of this review.

As an American, and as I work in the construction industry in New York City where in a single day I encounter one-on-one a wide range of national identities, I am interested in the process of immigrant and cultural assimilation. As a writer I am interested in how an immigrant population that arrives in America, with the isolating aspect of different language will eventually work their way, often through generations to a point where individuals begin to contribute to the arts and literary culture of the American experience, in ‘mainstream’ American English, and to describe the history of the process of this ‘coming to America.’ And, though many consider America a destination, the path through America is not always the end of a cultural migration as much as a beginning. This book takes place in Indonesia and ends at the airport in Jakarta as the young protagonist leaves to America.

The author’s native language is Dutch. The book begins when Indonesia was the Dutch colony of the Netherlands’ East Indies. There is a whole lot to deal with the cultural and real politics of language in this book. In seeking out information online about the author I found a video interview where Lian Gouw describes how she had to learn to write her story in English. It does seem very much to be ‘her’ story, the book feels autobiographical. It is presented as a novel. As an object within a cultural vortex it says a whole lot about family, and feminist structures within the context of a politically volatile geographic place, growing up in Indonesia through WW2, a sort of growing up very modestly presented, with hopes, and fears, love, and pain that eventually necessitate departure.

This is not a prose to inflame the new-literati of the internet. The technical and stylistic elements of the story telling are not flashes. It all moves slowly in a relatively safe and traditional manner of telling it fairly plain without gew gaws. This lack of flair I mean as a solid compliment to the tenacity and strength of the author, the courage to simply get on with it as best as possible. When I first started to read the book I thought it was outright boring. By page six I was captured. Toward the end of the book the young protagonist is essentially raped, at first I was like, “Oh, great, the obligatory sex scene,” the sensational steamy bit that all romantic readers have been waiting for, but it was actually handled quite well and did not advertise itself as a deux ex machina. I would be curious if the author were to venture to explore this volatile element in depth, to provide a more dynamic emotional context to the incident and her feelings about it in a short story form. In fact, for reasons of visibility and access, that I will get into further on here, I would suggest that the author move into writing and distributing online shorter, more densely focused texts to explore a whole lot of the panorama of issues and emotions that this novel presents. I very much admire this writer.

Now for the downside.

Immigrants to any other place are at a disadvantage for a number of reasons. Often these disadvantages are never overcome in a single lifetime. Often these disadvantages are taken advantage of by the very community and culture from which the individual derives, but as well from the existing opportunities that are accessible. It is a tough life on this planet and one needs to admire anyone who obtains any level of satisfaction in the accomplishment of their goals. When I thought that I would want to write a review of Lian Gouw’s novel it occurred to me that I should look into where it had been published. The book is fairly expensive, particularly for a paperback. I will let you find that out for yourself (cheapest if you buy direct from the author). And there is the manner in which the book came to me that made the publication of the book more curious.

A younger generation relative of mine is a friend of the author and it was through a status update on Facebook that I was informed of the existence of the author, and of the novel. A book, and an author recommended up through the family seemed relevant to me. Usually I find out what is going on with various babies and young children that I do not know, but would like to know, in the family through Facebook. In part I wanted to procure the book in order to share it back through the family (which if you read the book will seem particularly circular and relevant). This share back remains my intent, and it is the main reason that the cost of the book did not dissuade me from the purchase. So I ordered it through the author’s attractive billboard website, paid with PayPal.

Next thing I get an e-mail direct from the author that thanks me and asks how I had come to find the book. I thought, wow, this is nice! I pay for a book and within the day I get a direct communication with the author. How neat is that? I explained the family connection. We shared over that. The book arrived in the mail. There was a note from the author, sort of — it looked like it had been a copied note to again thank me for the purchase, with the PayPal receipt information. It felt sort of like when you buy a used book through Amazon and it shows up in an envelope that has seen a few global excursions and the system wants to know if you were happy with the exchange. I was happy.

So I went to look further online into Publish America (ironic since I have been on about assimilation into America) and what I gather is that they offer to publish nearly any author on the planet... with a royalty (seems to be $1.00 which I suppose qualifies as a royalty) with promises of promotion (best I can tell they do a bit of cover artwork, nothing fancy, print up a blurby book marker and a large postcard, and take the author’s e-mail list of friends and relatives then send them all a mass e-mail)... and the book is POD (publish on demand) meaning that when it is ordered each copy is printed (a friend recently told me he wants to buy one of these machines that does this, they cost like $100,000 and you can set it in your living space and have an instant publication empire) and the author is allowed to purchase up stock at ‘discount’ with which they are able to sell, promote and distribute as they so please, and their book is locked into a multi-year exclusive contract with Publish America. Oh, yes, it is available through Amazon and Barnes & Noble, those conglomerations of enabling of the moving of books. Meaning that, best as I can tell when you click on your PayPal at the author’s site it goes to the author who collects a small amount of money, takes the book off the pile in the pantry and wraps it into an envelope and then off to the post office, but they do get one more copy of a book, in this case a novel that took the author seven years to produce, hard to tell if that time included all of the English language writing workshops, out into the hands of a potential reader... someone most likely in the family or a friend or a relative of a friend who is curious about reading stuff. In short, it is ALL up to the author to give their book legs.

I felt really bad for this as I do believe Lian Gouw deserves a whole lot more exposure. I get the impression that she may feel bad for this as well. But as Lian explains elsewhere on the web, there is an expedient to the need to get a book out into the world as life moves on. Her novel moves on through life and if any of all of what I have said above makes sense to you then I strongly suggest that you pay attention to the work and future appearances of this author. (And check out her traditional Indonesian recipes.)

Videos frm KabariNews.com (which I did not watch all of before writing the above review)

Book Author "Only a Girl" by Lian Gouw, from Indonesia

What is the legacy in the book of "Only a Girl" by Lian Gouw?

"Only a Girl", by Lian Gouw, explain Why she become a writer?

1. Lian Gouw shares her experience how to write a book

2 Lian Gouw shares her experience how to write a book

Starlings

Not too many years ago we had a pet starling. I found it as a chick on the sidewalk outside of our then shop in Brooklyn. It obviously needed some help so I took it home, fed it baby bird food from an eye dropper and nursed it along. Named the bird Persnik... because he/she was always complaining about everything.

Leave the room Persnik would complain, enter the room Persnik would complain. Feed Persnik and all sorts of complaints. The bird was not exactly musical, not like the blue jay Blueboy that we had when I was a kid. Blueboy liked to sing along w/ Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos... Persnik liked to complain, bitterly. Whistle a little tune and Persnik would go nuclear. All the same I thought we were friends. It can be like that with friends.

In the spring I decided to give him/her freedom and took the cage out onto the front porch. When we let Blueboy loose he would not go away. The jay always hung around the house and would come visit us, and prefered to sit in his cage at night. Persnik had no such idea of human-bird communion... once the cage door was open he/she/it flew off across the street screeching and complaining the whole way. I felt... I felt abandoned.

My wife made up for my feelings of loss by giving me a pygmy African hedgehog that turned out to be a she and pregnant. Little hedgehogs do become attached to their human handlers.

Regardless, whenever I see a lone starling at the feeder I tell Persnik what is up for the day. Honestly, I can’t tell one starling from another.

Writer's Workshop Along Bird Cemetery Road

In the barn studio below the amazing skylight the names were put in a large galvanized hopper and churned around.

A one-man aviary band Jeffrey cranked the curved handle on the reclaimed writer’s desk and some of them came down like sounds of wind or car horns, rude expletives or to mimic the crazy cawing from above. The names dislodged then rattled then spun down around a copper spring-tubing as with a timeless still where they slowly echoed down; in the shiver of small quills they left trail marks, as they revealed a more pure essence.

Other names got jammed at the top. They formed boldly arched natural bridges against gray metal skies; they were as dark bouillon cubes contaminated with moisture that stuck them together. No vibration of the writer’s mechanism could break them free.

Jeffrey cranked hard he blew the call. Caw. Caw. Caw.

As he cranked his name changed shape with their names and he became Jeff. Less black birds encircled in flight above the skylight and above the clattered pace of wooden gears. He thought of a windmill near the seaside and the dream of rye flour. The light of day that is special.

From our muffled station behind a sliding door we could hear the sound of cracking and cawing into a more centered sentience with the pressure of his hand against the gritty lever where he worked in the antiquities room. Then it was Jay, then it was just… and a list of small hearts which were previously homogenized with a kitchen cleaver in separate identities became like a nude perfume.

It leaked, spilled and flowed to etch identities to the desk, then rivulets down the oak legs then onto the pine floor where it mixed with dust-of-radon and congealed bird's blood, or boat varnish and copper flakes that smelled musky with a hint of greenish organic form.

As sun set the now fluid bird names eared themselves into the structure of the barn walls where all that night to next century they confused spiders and black crickets with their cackled noises.

Bullamanka-Pinheads, Building Virtual Community Before Facebook and Twitter

Over a decade ago there was a listserv called Preserv-L that had 600 or so subscribers, mostly professionals within the Historic Preservation field.

The person who formed this listserv was a computer science major and had an idea to start a list. He had nothing more than an idea to create an online vessel and not much of a connection w/ historic preservation. There was very little done to cultivate the list, and there were no rules of engagement stated once a person signed up. People subscribed to the list I think because of the word [Preserv], but I believe the oddest thing about it is that less than 1% of the correspondents actually wanted to receive any e-mails.

I found this uncommunication out when, wanting to explore how to develop a virtual community, I started to write a tongue-in-cheek series about a brother and sister who inquired as to how best to treat the preservation of a fiberglass outhouse that may have been used by Alan Ginsberg and Peter Orlovsky at a 1970s War Moratorium in Washington, DC, and that their father had acquired prior to his decease. [SOS Gab & Eti... SOS = Save Our Shitters, it went on as a serial e-mail narrative for like 2 years. T-shirts are no longer available. And since Geocities has shut down the series seems no longer to be hiding along the I-way. No more leaftime I suppose? No more recreation of bubble gum splotches on historic Levittown sidewalks?]

This vein of humor got a whole lot of people pissed off. [Also confused my mother since in a brilliantly inspired sleight of hand I used her e-mail address.] Eventually I found myself scorned in public in business, spurned on visits to historic sites where my name was mentioned, and in time I received virulent death threats (a lot of screwed up people have Masters in Historic Preservation along w/ debt load) against the characters... but I also found an audience, and friends that did not take historic preservation with quite so much of a Blue Blood Holy Grail fanatic obsessive religious attitude.

With all of the death threats and angst and other unpleasantness (that included my enduring a life sustaining heart operation for reasons not having much to do with social network media, but having something remotely to do with a long weekend in a Polish hospital w/ a visit to cardiac intensive care w/ 24 hr surveillance, pretty nurses to watch through the window at their station) I went looking for a host for a listserve independent of nasty people that don’t want to hear from each other, don’t want to know each other, have hatred in their hearts, small brain capacities and feel very proprietary in protection of their career investments.

We landed w/ St. John’s University at the psychology department. Our list was hosted alongside support groups for mental depressives, recovering drug addicts, and people with odd psychological disturbances and bizarre illnesses that to this day I cannot even pronounce the names of.

For the longest time we imagined that we were lab rats.

Bullamanka derives from the possibly Australian idea that it means “over there that away but we are not quite sure if it is there, or not, or even if it exists at all” and Pinheads derives from what was then called the Preservation Industry Network (PIN) and well, pinheads. We used to get various preservationists together in the NYC area once a month and share coffee and bagels for an informal breakfast gathering. Until we got sophistication, upgraded our act and abruptly stopped doing that.

We do not advertise the BP list, though your reading this is something of an advertisement, and sometimes I get the impression that as a community we do our best to chase people away from the list once they have subscribed.

Regardless, eventually St. John’s gave up their server status and we ended up w/ ICORS.

In great deal this transition and survival, and the retention of our archives (13 years of histo presto history, BS, noise, no or little signal, picnics, deviant stories, technical information, and plain good writing) is indebted to COD, our one subscriber who understands how to keep the internal lights of the machine burning. And seeing as how COD created light it makes sense that he/she/it wld know how to do that.

ICORS just got an award from L-Soft and they asked if we would mind contributing to a survey.

BP survey -- Please provide a brief description of your list:

- Name: Bullamanka-Pinheads

- URL/link to archives: To terminate puerile preservation prattling among pals and the uncoffee-ed, or to change your settings, go to: <http://listserv.icors.org/archives/bullamanka-pinheads.html>

- Purpose: Connect practitioners and otherwise, often in remote or urban locations around the earth, who are involved in the preservation of the existing built environment, outreach, community support, problem solving, education, idle entertainment.

- Content Overview: Preservation of the existing built environment within a closed-system earth, stories shared, help given, questions answered, people connected

- Subscribership: Just past 13 years of activity in October, roughly 100 subscribers on average. Traditional trades practitioners, writers, educators, architects, structural engineers, architectural conservators, and the curious and friendly.

Please provide one or two examples (without names/identifying information) of how your list has helped its subscribers: Currently one of our subscribers is in the Yucatan in the jungle attending an environmental conference. He is a stonemason and a story teller and as an avid audience we are keeping tabs on him. His writing stories about his work and adventures, and the audience that he has through the list, induced him to attend a week long writers conference in Minnesota. Another member recently lost her PALS glasses while traveling and we all pitched in with various comments to aid and confuse her. Post-Katrina a number of subscribers participated on-the-ground in various efforts in New Orleans, in particular to work in the historic section of the Lower 9th Ward. We also recently learned how to avoid cone nosed kissing bugs.

Please describe how your list provides a unique service and benefits to its subscribers: Serves as a community of support to answer to the needs of individuals who are in the business of preserving the built environment. It is relevant that the most green building is the existing building that is not thrown away. The people who help save old buildings often need a channel of support to save themselves from being thrown away. We connect people.

Please describe how your list makes use of various LISTSERV features: As the subscribers have various levels of computer skills, and various levels of connection to the internet, some of the connections being dial-up or through their local library, and in several different time zones, the lack of bells n’ whistles works best. We have tried in the past to move the community to web passed forums and other forms of social networking and in all cases the result was a total failure. We do not share photos, and we do not ascribe to the correction of grammar or spelling. [We do have a special hand signal with which to identify each other in public in RL. – this was not included in the survey response.]

What is the one thing you would most like people to understand about your email list? We long ago made a decision to promote quality of subscriber over quantity. We play a lot of games, joke with each other, and some people found the laughter to provide too high of a noise:signal ratio. What we have found is that when people play games together, that when real important business comes up that a context exists with which we have a sense of trust in the sincerity of the communications. Noise is not distraction, it is the environment within which depth of relationships are cultivated. But never never wax your porch screens with Thompson's Waterseal.

What are some of the key issues and challenges facing your subscribers and stakeholders? How does email list technology enable you to assist them with these issues? E-mail is asymmetrical in that a subscriber either participates in full, or does not participate at all. It is difficult sometimes to control the excessive flow of e-mails, to not overwhelm people in information that they consider irrelevant to their own personal perspectives.

Please provide a quote summarizing the way your list helps change and improve people's lives: The CDC updates on people biting bats is always a blessing. When all else fails we laugh about it.

Where the Wild Birds Go

Some who follow me, and they should probably know better than to do that by now, will know that for the last year I have been tending a bird feeder and watching birds... it has kept me somewhat sane when I would rather be working more often, earning a wage and paying bills.

My friend, fellow writer, and correspondent David Coyote earlier in the year sent me these photos.



I was intrigued by both the small bird and David's amazing hand. I asked him what the story is behind the photos.

When as a boy I delivered newspapers there was a an old man along the route who lived in a very very tiny house near 6-mile creek. He was a frugal man and lived simply. He had boards stacked up all around his yard against trees. Boards that he pulled up out of the creek. Often as I came up to hand him his newspaper he would be standing at the street beside an hawthorn tree and he would feed nuthatches out of his hand. He would make little noises and they would hop about and chatter at him. I was always amazed at this alignment of an individual with the delicate order of the bird world.

David kindly responded to my inquiry. Here is the story in his own words:

The bird is a common sparrow. As we did most mornings, Pamela and I had been sitting outside at the table, having our coffee and watching the birds. Not more than a few days earlier I'd said, "I wonder where birds go to die? I never see dead birds lying around - and there are so many birds - one might expect to see a dead one now and then." Pamela agreed. "Maybe they have a bird graveyard, like elephants, a place to go when they're dying." That's the last we spoke of it - until this particular morning.

The sparrow flew over to the table, and then to my hand. It sat there quietly - I didn't move. Pamela got up quietly and got the camera. She took a couple of pictures. I moved my hand closer to the bowl of water, thinking that perhaps the bird was thirsty or wanted a bath - the bird didn't fly away. Pamela and I looked at each other, questions behind our eyes.

"I think the bird is dying," I said. I turned my hand slowly and the bird got into my palm. It simply lay down and left it's body as I held it - as we watched.

"It's dead?" she asked - and then began to cry. I held her hand and told her that the bird came to the safest place - and to be glad that we were chosen to be with it at its passing.

I buried the sparrow in the garden.



PS: Now, there's an herb garden growing at the sparrow's grave.

Two vids frm Iguana House

frm Ohioan Larry C. Simpson, author of the novel, The Lost Cave of the Jaguar Prophets

It seems like only yesterday that Larry was warning us to look out for cone nosed kissing bugs.


Filmed in Kentucky, excellent canoe vid, and I like the eco-lit poem a whole lot.


If you lived through this era in American history then this vid will seem uber familiar. Otherwise ... it is a powerful historical interpretation. Share it with your parents? Share it with your grandchildren? Good music, too.

Last Man Living, But Don't Know It

"Hey ho all you good buddies out there! This is WPBX 131.2 FM pirate radio coming to you off the coast of Montauk. I’m not sure what is going on here today... I don’t mean the weather; it is sunny, those black clouds are gone, black, drack, clack clouds... ozone levels are low, not a single jetliner in the sky -- on the water we got gentle waves with a light breeze... oyeh boy! I’ve not had a call-in in three hours. I hate to tell ya’ll but it is a bit difficult to keep a call-in show going for eight hours without a single call-in. Ya know! So... buddies, listeners, if I don’t get any calls in the next fifteen minutes I’m going to have to put this mike on automatic while I go take my afternoon shower. I know how much ya’ll like to hear me singin' in the rain, now. That all-natural soap my Aunt Minnie made is real slippery. Hoots and hollers! Who wants to hear that? So do the whole world a favor and give a call right now to 917-237-9503. And while you at it take a minute, take a long minute and tell me what you think about that dead thing washed up on the beach in Amagansett last week. Was it man or beast or your Uncle Willie? Ha, ha ha!”