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Summary
Summary
From the author of The Harmony Silk Factory and Five Star Billionaire , a compelling depiction of a man's act of violence, set against the backdrop of Asia in flux
Ah Hock is an ordinary man of simple means. Born and raised in a Malaysian fishing village, he favors stability above all, a preference at odds with his rapidly modernizing surroundings. So what brings him to kill a man?
This question leads a young, privileged journalist to Ah Hock's door. While the victim has been mourned and the killer has served time for the crime, Ah Hock's motive remains unclear, even to himself. His vivid confession unfurls over extensive interviews with the journalist, herself a local whose life has taken a very different course. The process forces both the speaker and his listener to reckon with systems of power, race, and class in a place where success is promised to all yet delivered only to its lucky heirs.
An uncompromising portrait of an outsider navigating a society in transition, Tash Aw's anti-nostalgic tale, We, the Survivors , holds its tension to the very end. In the wake of loss and destruction, hope is among the survivors.
Author Notes
Tash Aw was born in Taipei and brought up in Malaysia. He is the author of The Harmony Silk Factory , which was the winner of the Whitbread First Novel Award and the Commonwealth Writers' Prize for Best First Novel and was long-listed for the Man Booker Prize; Map of the Invisible World ; and Five Star Billionaire , also longlisted for the Man Booker Prize in 2013. He is also the author of a memoir of an immigrant family, The Face: Strangers on a Pier , a finalist for the LA Times Book Prize.
Reviews (5)
Publisher's Weekly Review
Aw's captivating novel (after Five Star Billionaire) revolves around a fateful moment of violence set against the backdrop of an ever-changing Malaysia. In an almost stream-of-consciousness work, readers become the proverbial fly on the wall as the main character, Ah Hock, a convicted murderer, tells his tale to a graduate student working on a book. In alternating chapters of Ah Hock's rambling confession and brief personal exchanges between Hock and his interviewer, Hock's story wanders through his poverty-ridden upbringing with a single mother, his unsuccessful marriage, his murder trial, his days in prison, and, finally, to the night he committed murder. A simple man, Hock has spent his life believing hard work would bring success; as the manager of a fish farm, he reaches that success, but when his workers develop cholera, he's forced to find replacements. Desperate for a solution, Hock seeks help from a boyhood friend now trafficking illegal workers, and this fateful decision leads him to an act of violence he never thought himself capable of. As Hock and his interviewer seek to understand what brought him to kill, readers are drawn into a Malaysia overwhelmed with thousands of immigrants seeking refuge, employment, and survival. Aw's potent work entraps readers in the slow, fateful descent of its main character, witnessing his life spiral to its inevitable conclusion. (Sept.)
Booklist Review
You want me to talk about life, but all I've talked about is failure, as if they're the same thing, or at least so closely entwined that I can't separate the two like the trees you see growing in the half-ruined buildings in the Old Town. This devastating opening line frames the life of Ah Hock, whose outsider status as a Malaysian of Chinese descent is only bearable because there are folks who occupy the darker fringes even Hock has the luxury of escaping. Growing up in a fishing village, he worries about mingling with the plantation Indians because they might infect us with their poverty. Hock has actually murdered such an outsider, a Bangladeshi migrant worker. In narrating his life story to a visiting journalist, Hock dives into the whys. The careful stratification that Hock's life is built upon is upended when new fish-processing plants are erected in town, and palm-oil plantations ravage the countryside. A slick but faithful friend helps Hock navigate this new landscape, but they become mere pawns in a larger game of chess. Aw (Five Star Billionaire, 2013) savagely erases any doubt that only the fittest survive in the ruthless world of global capitalism.--Poornima Apte Copyright 2010 Booklist
New York Review of Books Review
A couple hundred miles from where crazy rich Asians shop, preen and pout for selfies, crazy poor Asians struggle to survive. They dig for cockles, gut fish and pick the blood-red fruit of the oil palm. They sweat. Some are local Malaysians, others recent immigrants from more destitute places like Bangladesh and Myanmar. Occasionally, a storm, suicide or murder extinguishes a life unremarked. This sweltering Asian netherworld, where the air-conditioned malls of Singapore seem as far away as the Arctic, is exposed in Tash Aw's latest novel, "We, the Survivors." The story is told by Ah Hock, a Malaysian of Chinese ethnicity who has just spent three years in jail for killing a man. The why of the murder is not as important as how he ended up intersecting with "that kind of person. A foreigner. An illegal. Someone with dark skin." If poor Malaysians like Ah Hock are often ignored in the narrative of go-go Asia, with its propulsive growth rates and plantations of skyscrapers, undocumented workers fare even worse. When recognized at all, they are blamed for petty crimes or for stealing jobs from citizens. Asian scorn is no different from the American variety. Born to Chinese Malaysian parents and educated at the University of Cambridge, Aw was longlisted for the Man Booker Prize for two of his previous novels, "Five Star Billionaire" and "The Harmony Silk Factory." His Asia is neither sentimental nor a stereotype. There are no nubile maidens named Plum Blossom. The beach is not some shimmery backdrop to a holiday but a broad mud flat deluged by typhoons and tidal surges, submerging villagers yet again below the poverty line. "All of us worked at the mercy of the elements - the storms, floods, snakes, worms that burrow into your feet," Ah Hock says. "Nature is beautiful when you look at it from afar, or from a car that passes through it with the windows rolled up." After a childhood in an unforgiving coastal village, where the salt and sun shrivel everything, including memories, Ah Hock makes it to the Malaysian capital, Kuala Lumpur. In KL, as the city is known, he is employed as a bottled-gas deliveryman, a security guard and a waiter. Quickly, he learns the subtle restaurant chain of command in which a Chinese Malaysian like him will be given the honor of placing the food on the table rather than acting as "the sullen, silent person holding the tray - who was always foreign." That is the lesson of Asia today, where there is always someone more miserable, trapped on a lower rung of the social hierarchy.
Guardian Review
A fearful young man carries out a seemingly random crime in this gripping and strangely moving novel From the very first page of Tash Aw 's new novel, the ghost of Albert Camus's The Outsider is an almost palpable presence. The detached tone of Aw's first-person narrator, Ah Hock; the fleeting impressions of societal contradiction and injustice that govern his life; the catalytic presence of a supposed friend and petty criminal, Keong; and, most of all, the fact that Ah Hock seems recently to have committed a random murder make him a close cousin to Camus's feckless, emotionally stunted Meursault, whose own drift into senseless killing provided the model for the existential antihero of the 1950s and 60s. There is even a racial element to both crimes: Meursault shoots an Algerian man he barely knows, while Ah Hock's victim is Bangladeshi. This, however, is where the similarities end. For while Meursault's homicidal impulse is a thing of the moment, the symptom of an undefined anomie, We, the Survivors provides an entire if barely visible history for Ah Hock. It is a narrative of exile, marginalisation and corporate greed, of abuses of the land and those who scrape a living from it, all of which have helped to form contemporary Malaysia. To his defence lawyer, Ah Hock is a convenient stereotype, a "miserable, badly educated, hopeless" victim of society whose attempt to compensate for his low status by adopting a new name (Jayden, which sounds "cool" to Ah Hock until he hears it repeatedly mispronounced in court) is in itself so pathetic that some jury members begin to pity him. 'We didn't want anything to do with them, in case their misfortune rubbed off on us' Ah Hock is less swayed, however, by his counsel's rhetoric; like Meursault, he feels disconnected from the trial, violated as much by his own attorney's exposure of his carefully crafted delusions as by the charge itself. "But then I thought: Wait, this is wrong ... I was happy. I was normal. I knew my lawyer was trying to help me but I wanted her to stop talking. I started humming a tune to block out the noise of her words ... I tried to remember what it was like to be myself again, but it was ridiculous." But he has never been the self he pretends to be, and the worst humiliation of all is to see that everyone knows it. Now, faced with this humiliation, Ah Hock retraces his actual history, starting with his grandmother's flight from occupied China to Indonesia and on to a remote Malaysian fishing village, a flight not only from the threat of internment camps, summary executions and rape, but also, in the end, from life. Unlike her grandson, who wants to be seen on social media as a success (preferably with his own Honda Accord full of gifts for relatives and neighbours), the old woman wants "her entire history, her entire self, to be scrubbed out from the world". Ah Hock's pathetic attempts at creating this illusion of worldly success, culminating in the gift to his long-suffering mother of a dodgy hearing aid, humiliate him even further, but the transactions with Keong deepen his sense of obligation to a man whose criminal career brings them both into contact with Ah Hock's eventual victim. There are elements of suspense that prohibit further disclosure here, if not of the who, then certainly of the how and why of the murder. The governing fact of the entire account is, however, present from the beginning, when Ah Hock reflects, from his own position of economic vulnerability, on the lives of the Indian migrants who work on the plantations that surround his childhood home. "We never mixed with them," he says of these near-slaves of the big corporations. "We didn't want anything to do with them, in case their misfortune rubbed off on us." Though he is self-aware enough to see this irrational dread as a "superstition", he cannot altogether dismiss it. As the novel moves through the lower levels of Malaysian society in the footsteps of two young men who are essentially afraid of everyone they encounter, we come to see the deeper, visceral impulses that underlie racism, casual animosity and violence in general. By the time we reach the climactic scene, in which Keong threatens and curses his Bangladeshi rival in Cantonese, a language the man cannot be expected to understand, and Ah Hock mutters the one thing he knows for sure - that "this is stupid" - Aw's gripping and strangely moving book has brought us, if not to an understanding, then at least towards some appreciation of the social complexity and steady flow of injustices that have led to this absurd yet terrifying moment.
Kirkus Review
A rumination on the way systems of power and currents of hope in modern-day Malaysia can influence a life.When Lee Hock Lye clubs a Bangladeshi stranger to death with a two-foot piece of wood, everyone is searching for a motive. Even after Ah Hock has served his three-year prison sentence, an American-educated sociology student wants to interview him for her dissertation. She wants to understand his story. "Why? That's what you want to know. Just like everyone else," he confronts her early in the novel, "But like the others, you're going to be disappointed." Ah Hock himself has spent months reckoning with the why of it all, but to no end. "I tried to excavate the layers of my thoughts," he explains, "digging patiently the way I used to in the mud on our farm when I was a child." Still, Ah Hock invites the student into his home and, over the course of several months, shares the details of his past, hoping she can "set the record straight" where his defense attorney got it wrong. Aw (Five Star Billionaire, 2013, etc.) drops readers into each phase of Ah Hock's life, beginning with his birth in a small Malaysian fishing village, moving through his childhood days as a passive onlooker to his friend Keong's reckless ambition, and capturing in warm detail the sense of "permanence" and "abundance" he once felt building a farm with his mother. As he crafts Ah Hock's narrative, Aw masterfully conveys his protagonist's specificity while also weaving together a larger picture of the class divisions, racial biases, unjust working conditions, and gender roles that pulse under the surface. Through his interviews with the studentand his reflections on his role as a subjectAh Hock shares the vital pieces of his story that escaped cross-examination.A raw depiction of one man's troubled life and the web of social forces that worked to shape it. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
