Category: Books

“Cambodians who lived through this period refer to it in different ways… one such phrase is neuv pel porpok thlak pi leu mek, or ‘the time when the clouds fell from the sky.’”

Several recent books have tackled the most vexing questions – the how, what and why – of Cambodia’s Khmer Rouge past. They include Rithy Panh’s The Elimination and Thierry Cruvellier’s The Master of Confessions. Robert Carmichael’s When Clouds Fell From The Sky is the latest effort and could well be the best of the crop.

At the centre of Clouds is the fate of Ouk Ket, a Cambodian diplomat who in 1977 received instructions from his Khmer Rouge masters to return home for “re-education.” Like other returnees, Ket came back to Cambodia optimistic about the future, leaving behind a wife and two children who, it was planned, would join him soon after. But then, after a final postcard, nothing. Ket simply disappeared.

From this beginning Clouds divides much of its story between the efforts to uncover the truth around Ket’s fate and the events surrounding the trial of the man who approved his eventual execution: Comrade Duch, the commander of S-21. To frame his story, Carmichael uses the experiences of those affected by these events, including Martine and Neary, Ket’s wife and daughter. Inevitably, the story features numerous twists, turns and personalities, which climax around the verdict and sentencing of Duch.

Carmichael draws on an impressive range of sources and interviews in Clouds, leaving few stones unturned as he weaves together events of the past, with the efforts by its victims to reconcile with its legacy. Yet, sometimes it is the little things the author notes that are the most intriguing. This includes the way that Duch would pour and drink a glass of water while seated during his trial. Meticulous and exact, Carmichael speculates about the events that led Duch to develop such precise behaviour, while wondering what it tells us about the man who so diligently recorded the fate of S-21’s victims in its infamous photographs and files.

Above all, Clouds reminds us of the positive strengths of Khmer character – dignity, reverence, defiance – and, tellingly, the capacity of people to do evil. Yet beyond this, turning the final page, it is the light of Ket’s memory carried by friends and loved ones that reminds us that respect and love can surpass evil. Affirming this could be Carmichael’s greatest triumph and the nugget of hope that lies at the centre of his tale of tragedy and reconciliation.

5 out of 5

Q&A

What is the history of Clouds? When did the idea come to write it and why did you choose to tell the story through the story of Ket?
RC: I decided on it in 2010 and wrote the first draft over eight months in 2011. That was preceded and followed by lots of research and interviews and, of course, rewriting. All told, it took a little under two years. The story of Ket’s disappearance – and the impact that had on Martine and Neary, both of whom are French – is a powerful one and mirrors the experience of millions of Cambodians.

Parts of Clouds, especially Duch’s trial, are reminiscent in form and story of Thierry Cruvellier’s recent book The Master of Confessions. Interestingly, you do not cite this work among your numerous references. Was this simply a matter of timing or is there another reason?
RC: Nothing more than timing. My book was completed by the time Thierry’s was published in English.

There are some excellent images in Clouds that add to the story, but two prominent photographs referred to in the book do not feature: the one taken of Chan Youran in the Geneva park and Ket’s (suspected) S-21 photo. They seem to be key images, so what was the rationale for their exclusion?
RC: The Chan Youran photo isn’t potent (though the story behind it is) so I discarded it. As for the other: both Martine and Neary believe the image shown at trial is Ket but – and this is a very sensitive subject, of course – I’m not convinced, so I omitted it. That said, there’s no doubt Ket was held at S-21 and was later executed – the prison records prove that. Many prisoners’ photographs have disappeared since 1979.

Having completed Clouds, what for you were the biggest lessons learned about Cambodia’s Khmer Rouge legacy?
RC: That as political systems become less accountable, the dangers for their citizens increase rapidly. In Cambodia’s case, the leadership’s paranoia, brutality, incompetence and their utter negation of the worth of the individual were embedded into a system of zero accountability. It doesn’t get more dangerous than that.

A new book offers a tantalising insight into China’s lesser-known regions. Wayne McCallum reviews The Emperor Far Away: Travels at the Edge of China and talks to its author, David Eimer.

…..

“…China’s distant frontiers are places where nationality is a nebulous concept, where the passport a person possesses is less important than their ethnicity… [T]hey are areas where the old Chinese adage ‘The mountains are high and the emperor far away,’ meaning Beijing’s hold over the locals is tenuous and its influences unwelcome, still resonates.”

So writes former Sunday Telegraph China correspondent David Eimer, setting the tone for his travelogue that shines new light on the less visited margins of the Middle Kingdom.

And what a journey.

With the world’s longest border (22,117 kilometres) and 14 country neighbours, Eimer does a remarkable job to travel to all four corners: from the borderlands of Russia and North Korea, to the desert margins of Mongolia and the humid jungles of Burma. It is a long, sometimes difficult trip, but one where Eimer’s journalistic eye is constantly at work.

Eimer’s travels are seldom dreary and at times he is required to exhibit the tenacity of Richard Burton (the explorer, not the actor) in order to continue. This includes being virtually force-fed yaba under the gaze of fawning hostesses in the narco-state of Wa. For his craft, Eimer is able to stay the course for reasons of survival if not always choice.

One key question that Emperor raises is the capacity of China to hold its ethnically diverse regions together, the author describing the country as a “huge, unwieldy and unstable empire.” Yet, as experiences from Manchuria show, China has shown incredible persistence on its fringes. Here in Manchuria, a combination of Han chauvinism and party rigidity has perpetuated a process of assimilation to the point where only a handful of native speakers remain.

A satisfying aspect of Emperor is the way Eimer brings out the stories of the people and places he encounters. In doing so, inadvertently perhaps, he offers a timely update to a similar journey made 20 years earlier by the Chinese writer Ma Jian (Red Dust). It leaves one wondering what Eimer will do for an encore from his new home in Phnom Penh: retrace the steps of Andre Malraux?
4.5 Emperors out of 5.

INTERVIEW WITH DAVID EIMER

Western writers seem drawn by a desire to travel and document China. What was your inspiration for Emperor?
The thing with China is that there are so many people. The more people, the more stories there are. The landscapes are incredibly varied. It’s a continent rather than a country, and the contrast between the cities and rural areas are huge. I liked China. I first went there at 21 and fell in love with it, and that’s why I moved there, eventually, to live and work. In China it’s never boring. Stressful sometimes, but not boring.

Were there times during your China travels when you thought, “Okay, this is it?”
No. I always think in China and Southeast Asia generally the greatest risk comes on the roads. I have certainly had bus rides in China where I have asked, “Has the driver been up all night drinking?” I never felt like I was going to be attacked. In Wa, we were there as guests, so that was okay.

Do you think that China will be able to hold its ethnically diverse regions together, or will it collapse under internal pressures and contradictions?
That’s a key question and one of the reasons I did the book. We used to think that the biggest risk to the CCP [Chinese Communist Party] would be another democracy uprising. But I do not think that will happen. I think the biggest challenge is at the far ends of China. And they have recognised that now. In Yunnan, Tibet and Xinjiang the borders are now a lot tighter than when I traveled there. I think Beijing is very concerned about maintaining control of its borderlands.

Can you tell us anything about your next book project?
I am writing a proposal for a book on Burma, so wait and see.

There’s something dark happening along the edge of the forest and across the minefields of Battambang. Young women, solo mothers, are disappearing and being discovered brutally murdered. Tess Hardy, demining expert, has arrived from the United Kingdom to uncover the truth – but if she is not careful it just may cost Tess her life. Welcome to the world of the White Crocodile, K.T. Medina’s debut novel.

A psychological thriller with deep undercurrents, Medina sets her story across eight action-packed days in Battambang. Her plot, however, is woven with events that occur simultaneously in current day Manchester and in England 23 years ago. It’s a complex montage and you wonder at times how she is going to make all the threads fit as the story hurtles towards its conclusion. That they do, and in a compelling fashion, is one of the exciting features of White Crocodile. The dialogue is tight and believable, even when between Khmer and “barang,” and Medina handles the use of Khmer language well (used sparingly, granted). She also brings her past as a psychologist and weapons expert to the fore, blending both in a way that seems authentic and comprehensible for the reader.

Of course, Cambodia has always been a place of shadows and ghosts, dark realms on the edge of town and forest, where the supernatural lie in wait for the unwary or non-believing. Medina is, therefore, on good ground using this to drive her story. But it also proves to be an area of missed opportunity for the author. She never, for example, draws out the role that the crocodile occupies in Khmer legend, despite the centrality of the animal in her story. It is a shame, for the crocodiles’ reputation in Cambodian folklore as untrustworthy and deceitful would have fitted superbly with the climax and revelations at the end of her novel. But for all of this Medina does a good job, with some noteworthy exceptions, of catching Cambodia and the character of its land and people (the reference to a baboon on page 200 represents the first documentation of this creature in the Southeast Asian wild).

There is, however, one nagging concern with White Crocodile: the overwhelming darkness of the tale. One aspect of this is how difficult it is to bond with any of the story’s key characters, even Tess Hardy, all of who seem to bare traits that make sympathy hard to foster or maintain. This markedly reduces the emotional threads connecting the reader to the story. As a result, at the end of a climatic finish the truth is revealed, but it’s difficult to rally compassion for the people who remain or those who have perished. Compare this to the way Philip Coggan develops and uses such bonds to underscore his Phnom Penh-based thriller, Shining Objects of Desire, and you will appreciate the difference: a plot that leaves a positive glow despite the dirt that has preceeded it.

Despite this reservation, White Crocodile remains a taut nail-biting tale in a convincing Cambodian setting that will keep you turning the page. Moreover, as Medina’s first novel you feel that her next one will be even better. Just be sure to read White Crocodile with a torch – it’s pretty dark in there.

Four white crocodiles out of five.

1. Why did you choose to set White Crocodile in Cambodia?
White Crocodile is very personal to me and, however many thrillers I go on to write, it will always be my favourite. I had the idea for the novel while I was responsible for land-based weapons for Jane’s Information Group, a global publisher of defence intelligence information. As part of that role, I spent a month working alongside professional mine clearers in Battambang Province, Cambodia. I was privileged to be able to get to know both Western and Khmer clearers and to spend time talking with Khmers who had lost limbs to landmines. I was also able to visit many of the locations that appear in White Crocodile.

2. What challenges did you find in choosing Cambodia as your setting?
Cambodia is a stunning, diverse and incredibly interesting country, but it also has a tragic history and many existing problems, and is an unbeatable setting for a dark and disturbing thriller. I loved writing about Cambodia and, for me, the main challenge was making sure that my writing was authentic in terms of communicating both the beauty and ugliness of the country and the hardships that many people face. I also had to make sure that I got the voices of the individual Khmer characters right, which I have hopefully achieved.

3. The novel weaves together some complex threads. Did you always know where the story was going or did it change as the novel evolved?
I had a very clear idea of the key threads of the story and outlined a detailed plot before I wrote a word. I tend to make my story mistakes in the plotting phase, so that when I actually start writing I know exactly where I’m going!

4. You attended a creative writing school in Bath (UK). How do you think this helped you with your development as an author?
Unlike many novelists who have journalistic backgrounds, I have no formal background in writing and, while I had a great idea and plot, I thought that I would benefit from some training in the technique of creative writing. I wrote the first draft of White Crocodile while at Bath Spa and it was wonderful to have the advice and support of so many great writers amongst the faculty.

5. Is there an actor out there that you could see playing msin character Tess Hardy’s role if there was a film made? How about some of the other characters?
Many people who have read White Crocodile say that it is very cinematic, so I hope that it will be made into a film one day. I think that Jennifer Lawrence of The Hunger Games fame would make a great Tess Hardy, as she is strong, clever and independent, yet also vulnerable.

6. Are you working on a new novel? Can you tell us anything about the setting or plot?
I have just finished my second thriller, which is provisionally titled The Shadowman and is due to be published in January 2016. The Shadowman is set in England but as with White Crocodile it features a strong female protagonist with a military background.

7. Can you offer any words of advice for any budding authors out there?
Three pieces of advice: Firstly, read what you write. Or, to put it another way, write what you, yourself, enjoy reading. You need to love a genre to write in it, because writing a whole novel is hard work. Secondly, set yourself a minimum word count and write every day. I write a minimum 1,000 words a day and won’t get up from my desk until I have done those 1,000 words. Some days every word is a struggle and other days they flow easily, but having a goal focuses the mind. Thirdly, persist. Every successful novelist has had many rejections, so believe in yourself and don’t give up.

…..

Title: White Crocodile
Author: K.T. Medina
Publisher: Faber & Faber
Price: $19.50, at Monument Books

There was a solemn mood around the hospital bed as the priest was asked to administer the last rites to JFK, his brother Robert looking painfully on. Dallas, 1963? No, the year is 1951 and the future president, fresh from an orientation tour of Vietnam, lies perilously close to death in a hospital bed in Okinawa, the Addison disease that shadowed his life threatening to end it well before an assassin’s bullet. Tantalising, this is just one of countless vignettes that occupy Fredrik Logevall excellent Pulitzer Prize-winning book Embers Of War.

It is John F Kennedy’s encounter with Indochina that opens Embers, when the unwinding of the French Indochina mission civilisatrice was being played out against blood, sweat, tears and the diplomatic machinations of the world’s powers. And while these events culminated in an uneasy peace – including Vietnam’s partition along the 17th parallel – it is precisely in these, Logevall argues, that the origins of America’s Vietnam War lie.

At 700+ pages and an additional 77 pages of footnotes, Embers is a BIG read, but as its size suggests it’s also an exhaustive work of scholarship written, predominantly, in the narrative style of ‘great men, grand events’. This is especially so in the last third of the book, where attention falls on the events before and after the Geneva peace agreement, which ended the first Indochinese War in July 1954.

Yet arguably the most enticing aspect of Embers are the stories of the ‘little’ events and people, who provided the colour, intrigue and drama that make this period of history so unique. Thus we read about Allison Thomas, an American agent who parachuted into northern Vietnam in 1945 and collaborated with Ho Chi Minh’s guerrillas in operations against the Japanese. And Tom Dooley, an American medic whose accounts of working with Vietnamese refugees, published in the book Deliver Us From Evil, convinced Middle America of the horrors of the Vietnamese communists, only for the work to be revealed as a fabrication. And the journalist Seymour Topping, who introduced Graham Green to the opium dens of Saigon; the author of The Quiet American thereafter developing a taste for both these and the city’s brothels.

If the book has a fault, however, it’s the attention given to half of the world’s population: women. Their role and significance are largely absent from the pages of Embers (although Logevall is smitten by the fact the French forces at Dien Bien Phu included a team of prostitutes, mentioning it more than once in his description of the siege). Perhaps this is a reflection of the way events were recorded at the time, but Logevall could have acknowledged this fact and done more to introduce the role of women into his work. I also remain unconvinced by his largely uncritical assessment of Ho Chi Minh, who emerges from Embers as a man of few flaws or weaknesses.

Cambodia features sparingly in Embers, although it was unwillingness by the country’s delegates at the 1954 talks that nearly scuttled the entire peace agreement. Instead, drawing from Logevall’s research, one can see how, by the early 1950s, the French were desperate to throw their entire Indochine experiment under the bus. This suggests that the credit fawned on Norodom Sihanouk for negotiating Cambodia’s independence from its colonial power, in 1953, was due to these circumstances as much as the young king’s diplomatic skills.

At the end of the first Indochinese War, 110,000 French combatants were dead or missing (not all of them were native French, a large number had been drawn from colonial territories). This is nearly double the number of Americans who died in the Second Indochinese War. Yet despite this difference, the events of the first conflict have failed to generate the same volume of quality research. With Embers Of War, Logevall has gone a long way to righting this balance. Strongly recommended.

Embers of War: The Fall Of An Empire And The Making Of America’s Vietnam, by Fredrik Logevall, is available now at Monument Books for $24

Stupa debates at Tuol Sleng, bomb-crater tours in Kampot, Agent Orange demonstrations in New Zealand; the Indo-Chinese wars (three and counting) may have been completed on the battlefield, but as Vatthana Pholsena and Oliver Tappe’s recent book Interactions With A Violent Past: Reading Post-Conflict Landscapes In Cambodia, Laos And Vietnam shows, conflict over interpretation continues to rage.

Exploring this through the vehicle of landscape, Interactions With A Violent Past brings together a series of studies that shows how meaning and power have contributed to multiple interpretations of the way the impacts of war are remembered in Indochina. Linking the studies is an interest in how these interpretations are expressed through memory, memorials, protest, performance and words, and the ways different groups vie for their representations to be accepted as the pervading understanding of history. These contests are, as the authors point out, inherently political, because the acceptance of one interpretation over others permits access to things as divergent as courts and compensation, while others find themselves excluded.

Unsurprisingly, this is an academic enterprise and Interactions is unlikely to appeal to those seeking some light beach-reading over the August break, with layered jargon (‘polyphonic memoryscapes’, ‘mneminic worlds’) and theories from people with long names persisting throughout the book. But for those seeking to exercise the grey matter, Interactions offers some nice rewards, while providing a whole new way of viewing the Kingdom and the wider Indochina region.

In terms of Cambodia-based research, the chapter by Sina Emde is especially insightful. In his study the author explores the roles of Tuol Sleng and Choeung Ek as memorial sites and the part played by the Extraordinary Chambers of the Courts of Cambodia (ECCC) as a forum for the expression of memory. Emde starts with the argument that Tuol Sleng and Choeung Ek have evolved into economic enterprises that have commercialised the suffering of the past, while providing a distinct state interpretation of Cambodia’s Khmer Rouge history.

As a rejoinder to this bleak interpretation, Emde shows how the testimony process for Case 001 (the trial of Duch, see Advisor, April 11 issue) has offered individuals the opportunity to assert their memories, both at the hearings themselves and during court visits to Tuol Sleng and Choeung Ek (a consequence of the ECCC process that has been seldom articulated elsewhere). Nevertheless, as Emde writes, the blurring and shifting lines between who were the victims and perpetrators make questions about how to record and remember the past at these sites complex and difficult.

This was demonstrated aptly in the recent debate over the intention to place the names of those who perished at Tuol Sleng on a stupa at the site. Those opposed to the proposal argued that doing so would result in people responsible for Khmer Rouge atrocities, and who were later killed at Tuol Sleng themselves, being recorded alongside those they had helped murder. It’s a deep argument, but through the vehicle of Emde’s research one is given a map to guide the way through the complexities of this and other memorialisation processes underway.

Other chapters feature the ‘landscapes’ of unexploded ordinance, Agent Orange protest, and the impacts of war-driven relocation on indigenous groups in Vietnam. Numerous plates, tables and maps are included in what is a well-presented set of studies, neatly woven together with a good summary introduction at the beginning of the book.

Interactions is one of those reads I describe as a ‘sleeper’: it sits on the shelf in the store and you hardly notice it’s even there, but when you do pick it up and start scanning its pages you receive a pleasant surprise. Give the research between its covers the attention it requires, but be aware: things will never look the same again.

Interactions With A Violent Past: Reading Post-Conflict Landscapes In Cambodia, Laos And Vietnam, edited by Vatthana Pholsena and Oliver Tappe, is now available from Monument Books for $36