Quite a lot of archaeological water, to say nothing of history writing, has flowed under the bridge since Early Southeast Asia’s first edition in 2014.
Pakistan’s history since independence is… complicated. Partition wrecked the economy, leaving all the economic infrastructure in India. Democracy was weak, as the military launched multiple coups to overthrow the civilian government. The country was split into an unsustainable two halves—with one declaring independence as Bangladesh by the 70s.
Though Kavery Nambisan‘s new family saga Rising Sons skips across towns and cities before ending in the palatial bungalows of Central Delhi, its roots lie in a mostly dry village west of Mysore, where “mud is life.” This is the home of the Ai, the natives of the land before Hindus— bringing with them caste and idol worship—settled in the land.
In Praise of Floods is the final book by James C Scott, a renowned anthropologist and political scientist, published posthumously after he died in 2024. Much of Scott’s earlier work has focused on agrarian politics and acts of political resistance, this is a rather different book, focusing instead on the life history of a river, the Ayeyarwady (Irrawaddy).
Set in an unmarked pawnshop tucked behind a ramen restaurant, Filipino author Samantha Sotto Yambao’s Water Moon revolves around clients who pawn their choices—sometimes ones they don’t even remember making. What is life, after all, if not a series of choices? The very act of pawning a choice leaves a void; choices—it turns out—are fragments of the clients’ souls, used to fuel the lives of those on the other side of the pawnshop.
At first glance, the premise of Junko Takase’s Akutagawa-Prize-winning novel May You Have Delicious Meals seems like the set-up for a romantic comedy. Nitani, Ashikawa, and Oshio work together in the sales division of a company. Nitani normally dates timid, feminine women like Ashikawa. Nitani and Ashikawa start a relationship. Sometimes Nitani spends his evenings at his apartment with Ashikawa, where she makes him nutritious, homemade meals. He spends other evenings at dive bars with his more brusque and professionally competent female colleague, Oshio.
Miyoung has left her home in Japanese-occupied Korea to join her older sister in Kyoto to study. As what would be World War 2 begins to loom, and anti-Korean sentiment rises, Miyoung is caught between the need to pass as Japanese and a romance with an activist.
Four years ago, on 1 February 2021, the Burmese military overthrew the fledgling democratic government in the Southeast Asian country of Burma, officially known as Myanmar. That sparked a civil war that continues today–with neither the military junta nor the various rebel groups coming closer to victory.
The City and Its Uncertain Walls is Haruki Murakami’s fifteenth novel since his first, Hear the Wind Sing, published in 1979. His most recent is unmistakeably his, unmistakeably an addition to his body of work and his own special brand of magic realism as practiced by the South American writers Jorges Luis Borges, Julio Cortazar, and Gabriel García Márquez, as well as Japan’s Kobo Abe and Yoko Ogawa, and writers like Mo Yan, Salman Rushie, and Toni Morrison. Murakami’s approach is metafictional magic realism to the extent to which he explicitly questions the nature of realism and truth throughout the novel. Murakami’s readers will not be surprised.
One of the publisher’s most recent of its national anthologies, The Penguin Book of Korean Short Stories provides portrayals of the country in the years 1905 to 1945, when the nation was under imperial Japanese rule, as well as glimpses of life in the Republic of Korea (ROK, aka South Korea), which came into existence in 1948 in the zone of US military occupation one month before the establishment in September that year of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (DPRK, aka North Korea) in the Soviet zone.
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