There are more than a million books published around the world every year, with short story collections accounting for less than 1 percent of them. Still, the last two years have seen the publication of some of the most intriguing anthologies by authors of all backgrounds, making 2008 and 2009 very successful years for short fiction. In the long run, it remains to be seen if the short story will gain the publishing upper hand.

Short stories are hard to write, that’s true; but they’re even harder to sell, and that’s a fact.

Ratih Kumala is known for her quirky and sometimes disturbing stories that appear regularly in leading national dailies, including Kompas and Suara Merdeka. She’s the author of three novels – Tabula Rasa (2004), Genesis (2005) and Kronik Betawi (2009) – as well as a collection of short stories, Larutan Senja (2006), distinguishing her as one of the most promising young writers today.

The 14 stories included in Larutan Senja (Potion of Twilight) feature some of Ratih’s best writing to date, recounting anecdotes of a world driven by faith (or the lack of it), mysticism, fantasy and (some) horror. Yet the anthology is almost impossible to find in local bookstores and available for purchase only through the Internet. This is despite the fact that Larutan Senja was listed as one of the few notable books in the year of its publication.

“Our editorial department has often expressed a great interest in publishing short story collections,” says Hetih Rusli, a senior editor at publisher Gramedia Pustaka Utama. “But our marketing department has always been more than a little hesitant to put them out there because they never sell as well as we expect.”

Nevertheless, according to Ratih, the lack of interest on readers’ part in purchasing anthologies of short stories may also be attributed to the fact that local short stories are readily accessible in newspapers’ weekly cycle.

“This is a unique tradition for Indonesian writers and readers,” she says. “We’re accustomed to reading short stories while browsing the weekend edition of the national dailies, whereas we read books when we’re in the mood to get lost in larger works, like novels or even novellas.”

Over in other countries—notably the United States and Canada—short fiction remains somewhere at the center of all literary preoccupation. How could it not? North America is home to some 800 graduate creative writing programs and more than 1,000 literary journals (both print and electronic) whose dedication to short fiction is unrivaled in any other English-speaking country. Supporting these journals are creative writing departments in more than 2,000 American colleges, as well as annual anthologies the likes of Best American Short Stories and The O. Henry Prize Stories.

Tom Perrotta is an American novelist, short story writer, screenwriter and essayist. He’s the author of the novels The Wishbones (1997), Election (1998), Joe College (2000), Little Children (2004) and The Abstinence Teacher (2007), as well as a short story collection, Bad Haircut: Stories of the Seventies (1994). For him, the short story as a form “has gone in and out of fashion” in the face of publishing challenges.

“The main role of the short story collection … is to introduce new voices,” he tells the WEEKENDER. “Publishers hope these new voices will follow with a novel … [because] only a handful of major writers – Raymond Carver, Alice Munro, Mavis Gallant – have managed to carve out distinguished careers writing only in the short form.”

For Simon Van Booy, however, at the heart of all forms of writing is the story itself. The 2009 winner of the International Frank O’Connor Prize, arguably the most prestigious for short story writers, Van Booy is a British author who has penned two short story collections – The Secret Lives of People in Love (2007) and Love Begins In Winter (2009) – three books on philosophy and countless essays. His first novel is set for publication sometime next year.

“I think some stories are just more suited to [the short story] format,” Van Booy writes to the WEEKENDER. “A few stories in my imagination are yet to find their mode of deliverance.”

Ratih, though, believes the short story form is the equivalent of a beginner’s class for writers experimenting with and trying to find their own voice before eventually graduating to a novel.

“Writing a short story is how writers begin their career,” she says. “It’s a training ground, and a difficult one at that, because not all writers can do it well.”

Lori Ostlund agrees. A recipient of the Rona Jaffe Foundation Writer’s Award, her collection The Bigness of the World (2009) has been hailed by critics as a remarkable debut.

“Short stories are the way that young writers build up their résumé,” Ostlund says in an email interview. “But it isn’t always the case that someone who writes a short story can also write a novel. Some people are fundamentally novelists and others are short story writers.”

Even so, on the point of short fiction as a literary commodity, most people tend to step back. While it’s true there are more literary outlets today than at any other time in history – taking into account the small presses and electronic-based journals around the world – there have also been a lot of financial cutbacks and loss of readership over the last few years.

Will short stories ever be able to outshine the bulky magnum opuses penned by genre authors such as J.K. Rowling and Stephanie Meyer?

“I’m not sure I see the short story as an especially commercial genre,” says Perrotta. “Yes, a few story collections do well in the marketplace, but most reach a relatively small audience, though there have been some high-profile exceptions.”

Among the special few is Jhumpa Lahiri, whose first collection, Interpreter of Maladies (1999), won the Pulitzer Prize and gave her an early taste of international fame. It was a groundbreaking volume, matched by her debut novel, The Namesake (2003), and second collection, An Unaccustomed Earth (2008).

An Indian-American writer, Lahiri’s popularity marked an interesting juncture in the development of American short stories. Following her success, and perhaps unintentionally so, other writers of foreign backgrounds began to emerge and mold their careers in the United States, where the literary market is highly selective and, at times, impossible to penetrate. Notable foreign writers on this list, whose American identity is bound by geographic upbringing and education rather than heritage, include Nam Le (Vietnam-Australia), Uwem Akpan (Nigeria), Alexandar Hemon (Bosnia) and Yiyun Li (China).

There were, of course, others before them: Russia’s Vladimir Nabokov, for one, whose controversial Lolita became the talk of the world back when it was first published in the 1950s, and whose short stories appeared in distinguished journals such as The Atlantic.

The Atlantic, a monthly journal of literary and political commentary founded in 1857, is one of the first outlets many American short story writers turn to for publication and also to establish their reputation as masters of the form. Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Mark Twain and Louisa May Alcott, among others, launched their careers through the magazine. And for the next 148 years, it continued to publish monthly fiction.

Nevertheless, in 2005 the magazine changed gears. Fiction is no longer a part of its monthly editorial, though in its place is an annual collection of at least 10 short stories.

“Our Fiction Issue is designed to function a bit like an anthology,” says Sage Stossel, an editor at The Atlantic. “With short stories, poetry and articles about writers and writing all gathered together in one place.”

In December last year, The Atlantic began offering two short stories a month published exclusively through Amazon’s Kindle, priced at US$3.99 each – the first of its kind. If anything, it’s probably a sign that short stories are enjoying the kind of popularity to which they were previously unaccustomed.

“The Atlantic has historically served as an important outlet for short fiction,” says Stossel. “And it remains committed to publishing short fiction.”

In Southeast Asia, publishers are only just beginning to warm up to short fiction. Kuala Lumpur-based Silverfish Books, for instance, commits itself to publishing short story volumes by Malaysian authors. And Singapore’s QLRS (Quarterly Literary Review Singapore) has, for the past decade, regularly posted up short stories, criticism, essays and poetry by local authors.

Shih-Li Kow is a Chinese Malaysian whose debut short story collection, Ripples and Other Stories (2008), was shortlisted for the International Frank O’Connor Prize.

Expounding on the notion that most readers are now responding better to short stories, Kow says the key rests with the publishers and not (strictly) with the readers.

“I believe publishers are the ones who open up to different types of short fiction,” she says. “There can only be a potential readership if something is published.”

Asked about what drew her to the short story as a medium, Kow says, “It wasn’t so much that I chose the medium. I felt I didn’t have a choice but to write short stories.”

A similar sentiment is shared by Ostlund, who teaches creative writing at the Art Institute of California in San Francisco. Though currently at work on her first novel, Ostlund admits her heart belongs to the short story.

“I think there are a lot of readers out there who … don’t always run toward the novel,” she says. “And I’m gratified by the number of really good short story collections that I’ve been coming across lately, hoping for more to come.”

Overall, short fiction – individually and as a collection – does have its own irresistible appeal that puts readers and writers alike into a state of trance. The small moments of revelation contained within, the illuminating truth spoken by voices so familiar they sound like our own, as we mull over the quick yet subtle narrative, piercing dialogue, and often unpredictable ending. These are the winning points of the short story, which render the form arguably the most difficult to master, and the reason it continues to evolve.

Europe, a continent best known for its novels, poetry, plays and essays, whose literary market for many centuries has been divided by language, culture and history, has now entered the fray by publishing, for the first time, an anthology of 35 short stories by authors hailing from Albania to Wales.

The stories, selected by Hemon, a recipient of a MacArthur Foundation grant, are collected in a volume aptly titled Best European Fiction 2010. Released in January, the collection is expected to serve as the new benchmark for short stories.

Indonesia, by comparison, isn’t lagging far behind. Besides the weekly short stories in newspapers, some of which go on to be anthologized by the end of the year, there are also the prestigious Pena Kencana Award and Khatulistiwa Award, both of which recognize the contributions made by short stories to the Indonesian literary scene.

But is it enough to boost a writer’s ambition?

“Generally, [short story] writers aren’t well appreciated in Indonesia,” says Ratih. “And it’s understandable for our readers to choose novels over short story collections, because why go to the trouble of reading something that forces you to think hard rather than simply entertains?”

Surely, though, that isn’t what short fiction is all about.

“I think short stories have the sort of power that can seduce a reader,” says Van Booy. “The way you fall in love first and get to know the person later. A good story to me is something I can’t forget.”

Perrotta, whose short story “The Smile on Happy Chang’s Face” opened the anthology of Best American Short Stories 2005, credits fellow writers for preserving the form

“The short story continues to prosper because talented young writers haven’t abandoned it,” he says.

*source: http://www.thejakartapost.com/news/2010/03/31/keeping-it-short.html

Oleh Muhammad Amin

Sampai saat tanah moyangku
tersentuh sebuah rencana dari serakahnya kota
terlihat murung wajah pribumi
terdengar langkah hewan bernyanyi

Itulah sebait syair dari lagu “Ujung Aspal Pondok Gede” yang dilantunkan penyanyi kawakan Iwan Fals. Nyanyian itu merupakan satu dari suara kegetiran orang-orang Betawi, penduduk asli Jakarta yang perlahan mulai terpinggirkan oleh modernisasi. Kawasan Pondok Gede sendiri kini sudah menjadi kawasan yang ditumbuhi gedung-gedung, tidak lagi kawasan asli Betawi di zamannya yang nyaman dan asri.

Kisah dalam novel ini bermula dari banjir Jakarta yang entah mengapa menjadi jadwal musiman. Haji Jaelani adalah salah satu warga Betawi yang harus menerima akibat dari perkembangan Jakarta, dan juga menerima konsekuensinya. Salah satunya adalah banjir akibat hilangnya banyak sekali resapan air yang dulu tersedia.

Hampir semua orang betawi memiliki empang. Selain berfungsi untuk memelihara ikan, empang juga sangat penting fungsinya untuk mengantisipasi banjir. Kini, empang-empang itu sudah berganti dengan gedung pencakar langit dan menghilangkan fungsi antisipasi banjirnya.

Haji Jaelani pun harus membuka harinya dengan melawan air. Sofa basah, teve radio dan alat elektronik yang harus diungsikan merupakan langganan pekerjaan ketika banjir mulai melanda. Pengusaha sapi perah ini juga harus pandai-pandai memindahkan sapi-sapinya ke tempat yang aman.

Usai bersih-bersih, rumah Haji Jaelani justru benar-benar ‘’dibersihkan’’. Dengan alasan perkembangan kota, Haji Jaelani mau tak mau harus tergusur dari kampung halamannya sendiri. Tak ada yang dapat diperbuat. Ia hanya pasrah. Sampai ia pun berujar: ‘’Coba dulu babeh gue ngajarin mantra Jiung yang dipake buat nyelametin orang-orang waktu tentara Jepang ngejarah, pasti tanah gue sekarang masih utuh…bisa selamet dari orang-orang yang pada ngegusur!’’

Haji Jaelani tak sendiri. Kronik penderitaan orang-orang Betawi terjadi nyaris di semua lini. Haji Jarkasi, seorang seniman juga mengalami hal yang sama. Kehidupan murid Haji Bokir ini tidak pernah beranjak lebih baik karena seniman Betawi nyaris tak pernah dihargai.

Novel Kronik Betawi ini memang menceritakan latar belakang Betawi dan orang-orangnya yang bersahaja, polos dan apa adanya. Ada harapan, penderitaan, juga kisah cinta yang didedahkan. Dalam Kronik Betawi ini, pengarangnya mencoba seluas mungkin mengeksplorasi budaya Betawi yang perlahan sudah tergerus zaman. Kendati terbilang sangat muda, Ratih Kumala mencoba memaparkan sejarah Betawi dengan upaya maksimal dan detil dengan gaya orang-orang jadul (jaman dulu) yang khas. Di antara yang sering terlupakan, misalnya bahwa Menteng itu merupakan nama buah, Bintaro itu nama pohon dan Kebon Jeruk memang merupakan kawasan perkebunan jeruk.

Orang Jakarta sekarang hanya tahu bahwa kawasan-kawasan itu adalah kawasan gedongan dan elit. Dalam novel ini, Ratih Kumala bercerita tentang perjalanan Betawi dan anak daerahnya menghadapi modernisasi ibu kota. Novel ini memang Betawi asli, dengan bahasa dan sudut pandang penceritaan yang sangat alami dan khas Betawi.***

Sumber: Xpresi Riau Pos.
Buat yang tertarik memesan novel ini, sila klik halaman ini.

Photo by Dalih Sembiring

Ratih Kumala is a Jakartan, first by birth and then by marriage. Born in the city 28 years ago, the writer-cum-editor moved to Palembang, South Sumatra Province, when she was in the fifth grade. She lived there for three years before her family took her to Solo, Central Java Province, where she eventually married writer Eka Kurniawan in 2006. Just one week after the wedding, Ratih followed her husband to the Big Durian.

What was it like to return to your birthplace?

I was shocked to see how much Jakarta had changed, especially the traffic. Let’s just say I’m glad my job doesn’t start at 9 a.m.

What do you do?

Right now I’m a script editor for Bioskop Indonesia, an Indonesian-films-made-for-TV program on Trans TV. I used to be a freelance scriptwriter for Jalan Sesama, the Indonesian adaptation of Sesame Street, and then someone told me that Trans TV was looking for a full-time script editor. I’ve been doing it for three months now.

Has Jakarta changed your personality?

Not that I know of, but when I meet my friends in Solo [Central Java], they say that since I’ve lived in Jakarta, I always seem to be in a rush, that I have become impatient. There, life goes by the saying: Alon-alon waton kelakon [slowly but surely]. Here, my life revolves around deadlines.

How does Jakarta affect your writing?

I think reading materials are the things that affect the way authors write. Wherever you live, your writing style will evolve over time because of what you read. However, Jakarta favors writers that are market-oriented. There is a bigger chance here than anywhere else in the country that you will be influenced to think about what readers want and what the publishing industry is looking for — what really sells.

Jakarta forces you to be realistic. That’s also what I feel as a script editor. My team and I have to weigh up the viewers’ expectations, the producers’ money and the quality of the film altogether.

Were you thinking about the market when you wrote your last novel?

No. “Kronik Betawi” [Batavia Chronicles, published in Republika newspaper as a series] was inspired by my father’s side of the family, which is Betawi [native of Jakarta]. Moving to other regions sort of deprived me of my Betawi roots, but I feel like a Betawi whenever I gather with them here. I put parts of my childhood, my admiration for Benyamin Sueb [a late Betawi artist] and bits and pieces of Betawi culture into the novel. “Kronik” shows how the Betawi people like to get married several times, how they feel strongly about their culture and Islam and how they gradually became marginalized.

What is your Betawi family like?

Just like any other family, except louder! Betawi families also are religious. I was raised in a devout Muslim family. My grandfather was a mosque preacher, and my family used to run a Koran reading group in the village.

What is the greatest thing about Jakarta for you as a writer?

The cafes! Many cafes here offer great atmosphere for writing. There didn’t used to be any cafes in Solo, but during my last visit I saw several.

Where is the best cafe to write in Jakarta?

Bakoel Coffee in Cikini. It’s quiet, especially on the second floor. It has wireless Internet connection and it’s close to the [arts and literary] scene of Taman Ismail Marzuki, which is basically my territory.

Will you stay here for good?

Someday, when my husband and I feel that we can no longer progress, that we have grown too comfortable with life in this city, we will move somewhere else.

Ratih Kumala was talking
to Dalih Sembiring
Source: Jakarta Globe, 11 January 2009.

DYAN NURANINDYA: (JP/R. Berto Wedhatama)

A man who works in marketing and rarely reads fiction said that whenever he heard the word “writer”, the first thing that crossed his mind was eccentricity.

His definition of “eccentricity” is introverted and quiet on one hand; extroverted and rebellious on the other. In short, he thinks writers are a strange breed. Where did he get this idea? “The Hours and Finding Forrester,” he answered.

Three young writers sat in the waiting room of Gramedia Pustaka Utama (GPU) publishing company one afternoon – two girls and a guy. The girls, Ratih Kumala and Dyan Nuranindya, were wearing T-shirts, and the guy, Fadil Timorindo, wore a washed-out jacket and skinny jeans. There was nothing eccentric about their appearance.

“Maybe age has something to do with it. Younger writers like me or Ucu Agustin tend to be more relaxed, even though we write serious stuff,” Ratih Kumala, 27, said. “I grew up in Solo, and older writers there believe in finding inspiration from within, but I prefer to hang out with all sorts of people,” she added. Ratih’s novel, Tabula Rasa (Grasindo, 2004), won third place in Dewan Kesenian Jakarta’s Novel Competition 2003.

But the-man-who-works-in-marketing-and-rarely-reads-fiction is not alone. Fadil Timorindo, whose hairdo resurrects Hilman Hariwijaya’s famous fiction character Lupus, sees literary fiction writers as a group of brainy yet mysterious people.

RATIH KUMALA: (JP/R. Berto Wedhatama)

“High literature works are beautiful, so I guess the writers need to dig deep into themselves to find ways to express that beauty.”

Fadil, 18, the author of the recently published teenlit Let’s Party (GPU), is one of the few males who write in this genre.

Let’s depart Jakarta for a moment and go to Surabaya to meet another young writer. Stefani Hid, 22, has three published novels under her belt. Dealing with heavy subjects like existentialism, depression, obsession with death, and absurdity, Stefani is a pretty laid back person in real life. “I write to get my problems out of my head. I mold anything that is clamoring inside it into sentences. It’s a good form of therapy,” she said.

Subjects like existentialism and depression sound cool, indeed, but our young writers, especially those of pop novel fame, are aware that young readers are especially fond of love stories. Stephanie Zen, 20, another Surabaya-based writer, has written four novels that deal with this theme. “Believe it or not, three of my novels tell love stories in a musical setting: band groups. The other one is about a girl who falls in love with a badminton player.”

Dyan Nuranindya’s best-selling novel Dealova (GPU, 2004) is also about love between young people.

The teenlit section of Gramedia bookstore contains novels by young emerging writers. (JP/R. Berto Wedhatama)

“Tabula Rasa in many places deals with romance in general: relationships between males and females, between a young person and an older person, and between lesbians,” Ratih, who has been married to prolific writer Eka Kurniawan for two years, said.

Do these young writers dare to go further and speak of the unspeakable theme in their works, considering how some, if not most, Indonesians react to the word “sex”?

“Yeah, my novels have some sexual content. In a talk show in Depok, one man who claimed to be a teacher said my works were a threat to the morality of the nation’s youth. So I told him that was not the message,” Stefani, who started writing at the age of 16, said. “Besides, people should no longer turn away from this kind of topic, especially not young people.”

FADIL TIMORINDO: (JP/R. Berto Wedhatama)

All of these authors either have their latest drafts ready for publication or ideas waiting to be developed into writing. For now, they are content to walk into a store and see their books displayed on its shelves, although they do have bigger goals.

Dyan, who has seen her work turned into a movie, dreams of having her own production house or recording company.

“I have many dreams, but I would like to help people with idealism but are afraid that they cannot sell. I have a musician friend who used to convey political messages in his lyrics, until one day he decided to give up and started writing mellow songs. It’s sad, really,” said Dyan, who would also like to write fairy tales.

Fadil, who studies advertising, thinks that he cannot make a living out of writing alone. “So, I’m hoping to work in an advertising agency one day.”

“Seeing your books brought to life on the big screen does sound exciting, but what would really be an achievement is to have them translated and distributed overseas,” Ratih, who has also been developing scripts for Jalan Sesama, the Indonesian version of Sesame Street, said. “But, actually, I just want to write, and write and write.”

Foto-foto:
1. DYAN NURANINDYA: (JP/R. Berto Wedhatama)
2. RATIH KUMALA: (JP/R. Berto Wedhatama)
3. The teenlit section of Gramedia bookstore contains novels by young emerging writers. (JP/R. Berto Wedhatama)
4. FADIL TIMORINDO: (JP/R. Berto Wedhatama)

Related News:

When pop culture meets literary fiction

Daniel Rose,  Contributor,  The Jakarta Post  |  Sun, 05/11/2008

Meet Dyan Nuranindya, the 22-year-old writer who started Dealova fever when she wrote about a beautiful young girl who likes to play basketball and has to choose between loves.

Sounds like typical teen-themed writing, you might say, but Dyan’s first published work turned out to be a tremendous success.

“The first draft was written when I was in junior high, but none of my friends wanted to read it. I finally found someone who said she would take a look, but days later I found the draft lying on a cafeteria table, smeared with ketchup and soup,” Dyan said with a big laugh.

Teenlit books are reflections of the worlds of young people today. (JP/J. Adiguna)

After rewriting the draft and sending it off to a publisher,Dealova landed on bookstore shelves in 2004. The book was adapted into a motion picture in 2005 and has been reprinted 14 times, setting a new trend in Indonesia’s publishing industry: teenlit.

“Teen literature is very easy to sell,” Hetih, an editor at Gramedia Pustaka Utama, said. “We print 7,000 copies per title, distribute them, and 3,000 copies ought to sell in a few months.

A teenlit work may have a very simple storyline, but if teenagers like it, they won’t stop talking about it. When the demand continues to rise, the book can be reprinted any number of times.”

The profit element has undoubtedly attracted more and more writers into the pop publishing business — teenlit, chicklit, metropop etc.

So what is it like for young adults who channel their idealism and energy into writing literary fiction?

“On one hand, it saddens me that these commercial novels get a larger appreciation than works of literature do,” Ratih Kumala, 27, the author of two novels and one short story anthology, said.

“On the other hand, I am also happy that so many young writers today are not afraid to express their ideas.”

Ratih, who describes herself as a full-time writer, does not deny the possibility of writing a commercial work one day.

“It is more about proving that I can write in that genre. But if that book is going to get me a lot of money anyway, I’d have to say, ‘Hey, why not!’”

Like Ratih, Calvin Michel Sidjaja, 22, also thinks there’s nothing wrong with writing pop fiction. “If I were to write popular fiction, however, I would make sure it wasn’t full of clich*s. Some Indonesian pop novels are blander than others,” he said via online chat. Calvin’s novel, Juktaposisi, won third place in the Jakarta Arts Council’s Novel Competition 2006, and was published last year.

Ratih, Calvin, and other young literary fiction writers agree that it takes special skills to write a good pop novel. Dina Oktaviani, a 22-year-old poet-slash-writer, said that any story had the potential to be an inspirational piece of work, even a pop story, but not all writers had the ability to explore that potential.

“Literary writers think that writing pop fiction means selling out, because many pop novelists here do just that, producing trashy books,” she added.

One young writer is not reluctant, however, to incorporate pop references into her serious novel.

“My book is about teen life, I’m a teenager, and most of the people who read my book are teenagers, so what I wrote must be a teenlit,” Farida Susanty, 17, said.

“But unlike most teenlit works, I chose to reveal the dark side of teenage life. I want people to understand that teenagers have that side too, and to be able to care rather than blaming them for everything they do wrong.” For her unusual depiction of teenage life in Dan Hujan Pun Berhenti (And the Rain Too Stops), Farida was awarded the 2007 Khatulistiwa Literary Award for the Talented Young Writer category.

For Farida, the most important thing is whether readers feel close to a work, “to delve into it, know what it is trying to say and absorb it. You may read some high literature and have no idea what it says — it’s pointless. You can also come across novels that are so commercial it serves no purpose but to be just that”.

Let us recap. Demand is the first thing that underlines the differences between pop and literary works of fiction.

As Indonesian readers favor pop lit, some publishers seize the opportunity, taking on more pop writers.

The second factor is talent. Our young literary fiction writers seem confident that they are able to write pop novels, while most of the young pop novelists put emphasis on the word “high” in high literature, saying it would take them a long time to get up there.

Well, if they can turn The Taming of the Shrew into Ten Things I Hate About You, or Emma into Clueless, maybe one day Dyan can rewrite Dealova, making it into a work of literary fiction, and setting yet another new trend.

Foto: Teenlit books are reflections of the worlds of young people today. (JP/J. Adiguna)

 
Related News:

Moment in sun for young writers

Emmy Fitri & Daniel Rose,  The Jakarta Post | Sun, 05/11/2008

TEEN SPIRIT: Teenagers browse at Gramedia bookstore in South Jakarta on Saturday.

A band of young authors, with brave new ideas and works, are leading the country’s literary scene out of a period of stagnation.

An entire genre is dedicated to them: teen-lit or teen literature, the sister genre of chick-lit, in which the story is told Sophie Kinsela-style.

But there is no sense questioning the merit of the work of these young writers and entering a state of being stalemated.

As author Martin Aleida puts it: “Literary taste is very subjective and attempts to rate popular fiction tend to create endless discussion.”

Martin is of the belief that teenage writers have taken the right path to express themselves: through their work.

“Some consider that these works by teenagers are responsible for the bastardization of the Indonesian language, with which I have to agree. But I am also convinced that it’s part of the growing-up process for young writers.

“Only time will tell. As they grow older, their command of the language will mature.”

Martin said that in a country in which reading was not a popular pastime, the efforts of young writers were deserving of appreciation.

Whether they write literary or popular fiction, young writers have seized the opportunity to meet the market demand from young adults and teenagers.

“Young readers definitely prefer to read the work of people of a similar age,” said Martin whose short story anthology ^YLeontin Dewangga^Y won a literary award in 2004.

“It’s good that young people have begun writing as a means of expression, because one of the weaknesses of our culture is that people tend not to be able to articulate their opinions. Writing is a great way of exercising (that ability),” he said.

Young writers have been important throughout the course of the country’s literary history, like Chairil Anwar, which today is a household name.

Starting out his career as a poet and fiction writer at the age of 19, Chairil, along with Asrul Sani and Rivai Apin, was one of the pioneers of the 1945 literary movement that resulted in the birth of modern Indonesian poetry. Perhaps, history repeats itself.

But Martin, who also began sending his prose to literary magazines in his youth, disagrees. “Young writers today don’t have vision (like Chairil did). They do not think politically and socially for a greater cause. They only write about their teenage world.”

However, not all young writers can be so easily categorized.

Surabaya-based Stefani Hid, 22, has three novels in print. Though seemingly carefree, she is not afraid to deal with heavy issues like depression and death.

“I write to get my problems out of my head. I mold anything that is clamoring inside it into sentences. It’s a good form of therapy,” she said.

Ratih Kumala, 27, also said she wrote about serious issues.

“I grew up in Solo, and older writers there believe in finding inspiration from within, but I prefer to go out, hang out with all sorts of people,” said Ratih whose novel ^YTabula Rasa^Y won third place in the Dewan Kesenian Jakarta’s Novel Competition 2003.

Perhaps, the time has come for the older generation to share the spotlight on the literary stage. Younger writers have an avalanche of ideas to offer, and could do with the support of more experienced writers.

“Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy some teen-lit novels too. I believe it’s their time,” Martin said.

Foto: TEEN SPIRIT: Teenagers browse at Gramedia bookstore in South Jakarta on Saturday. (JP/R. Berto Wedhatama)

Jakarta, Kompas – Karya-karya novel para pengarang muda sekarang cenderung menyajikan loncatan-loncatan ruang dan waktu yang liar. Novel Tabula Rasa karya pengarang muda Ratih Kumala misalnya, tak segan-segan menyuguhkan perasaan asing kepada pembaca dalam kerangka kosmolitisme, seperti yang lumrah ditemukan dalam novel Ayu Utami dan Dewi Lestari.

“Semua itu menciptakan gambar dunia yang tak nyata, bergerak cepat dalam berbagai ruang dan waktu. Itu diperkuat oleh tema-tema yang akrab dengan dunia generasi muda, yakni televisi. Tak heran, jika estetika terabaikan, seperti halnya tayangan-tayangan televisi yang tidak membangun keutuhan estetika,” kata Prof Apsanti Djokosujatno, guru besar Fakultas Ilmu Budaya Universitas Indonesia, dalam Diskusi dan Peluncuran Novel Tabula Rasa di Galeri Cipta III Taman Ismail Marzuki, Jakarta, Sabtu (19/6).

Novel yang didiskusikan tersebut merupakan pemenang ketiga Sayembara Menulis Novel Dewan Kesenian Jakarta.

Sebelumnya, telah didiskusikan novel juara pertama berjudul Dadaisme karya Dewi Sartika dan novel juara kedua berjudul Geni Jora karya Abidah El Khaileqi.

Kritikus Sastra Maman S Mahayana yang memandu acara mengakui munculnya tiga pengarang perempuan sebagai pemenang I-III sempat mengundang kontraversi, namun hal itu di luar rekayasa panitia dan juri.

Dalam hal loncatan waktu dan peristiwa misalnya, Tabula Rasa sudah sarat ketidakruntutan dari halaman-halaman pertama. Kisah dimulai dengan cerita di Yogyakarta Agustus 2001. Pada halaman berikutnya, cerita meloncat mundur ke tahun 1990 di Moskwa. Halaman 23 kembali pada 2001 di Yogyakarta, dan halaman 30 mundur lagi ke 1991 di Moskwa.

“Kesan yang muncul adalah loncatan-loncatan tak terkendali dalam semua unsur novel. Tokoh-tokoh muncul secara tiba-tiba, berbagai peristiwa muncul nyaris brutal meski terbungkus dalam penggunaan metafor yang puitis,” kata Apsanti seraya menambahkan bahwa dalam tataran narasi pun, loncatan-loncatan itu juga tampak berupa penggunaan vokalisasi/sudut pandang yang berubah-ubah.

Lebih lanjut tentang kosmolitisme, Apsanti menilai setting novel Tabula Rasa berpindah-pindah dari satu negara ke negara lain, seperti pemandangan musim dingin, musim gugur, perbedaan antara dunia tropis dan subtropis, dan lain-lain. Tokoh-tokoh yang ditampilkan pun berasal dari berbagai negara (Indonesia, Rusia, dan Kanada).

“Setting ruang diiringi waktu yang meloncat-loncat dari tahun yang berjarak relatif renggang bisa jadi karena merujuk pada periode-periode politik sosial berbeda,” paparnya.

Ia menilai, kosmologi yang disajikan dalam Tabula Rasa adalah kosmologi maya yang campur aduk. Itu semua mewakili cara pandang dunia sang pengarang, selaku generasi yang yang lahir dan dibesarkan di depan televisi serta tumbuh dalam bimbingan dan pendidikan televisi pula.

“Ini bukan hanya soal kegagalan sekolah-sekolah kita dalam membentuk kepribadian anak-anak kita, tetapi seluruh sistem yang tidak dikendalikan dengan disiplin dan membumi. Mereka hidup dalam perubahan–perubahan setiap detik, tetapi perubahan itu maya, tak dialami sendiri,” urainya.

Terlepas dari segala kelemahannya, Apsanti tetap menilai Tabula Rasa sebagai karya novel yang kreatif dalam menggambarkan manusia pada zamannya. Bahwa terjadi kesalahan dalam penerjemahan kalimat-kalimat asing, lagi-lagi Apsanti melihatnya sebagai cermin ketidaktelitian generasi muda saat ini. (NAR)