Q&A: Ed Talks to Ed about His 2nd Novel “Goliath”

Q: It’s a sign of double madness when you’re interviewing yourself about a book nobody’s going to read. You do know that, right?

A. You may have a point there, but we talk to ourselves all the time, and madness is the flipside of clarity. It’s true I have no intention of getting the book published, but as written texts go, the moment they come into existence they will be read. It’s just not the way you think they’ll be read. I’m planning to pull a Kafka. I’ve chosen my Max Brod.

Q: So you’ve finally wrapped up your second novel called Goliath. Care to tell us what it’s about?

A: That title… it does sound a tad fake, doesn’t it? I tried out several different ones but came back to it eventually. I see it as a sign. But who would want to read a book with such a self-important title? The author clearly has a Nabokov complex. I’ll leave that up to you Jungians and Freudians out there. The book, broadly speaking, is about seven young university students living in the 1960s at the height of the Vietnam War. The students share stories about their childhoods and their fathers. Their stories are told in retrospect by the main narrator, who’s now a middle-aged loser with no friends. (I happen to know one very well. Guess who?) He’s approached one day by a young couple who are studying biogenetics at his old university. The girl in question has got into trouble and thinks that our narrator’s memories of the 60s may hold the key to it.

Q: The Vietnam War. Your first novel is also about that. Why does it fascinate you so?

A: All wars fascinate me, but this one is one of those when-East-meets-West debacles that’s so painfully ironic it managed to make politicians look like charlatans. Oh wait, that shouldn’t be too difficult, should it? Vietnam… I’ve been to HCMC and viewed its history upfront. It’s something that’s stayed with me. Whenever I recall it, I think of our innate penchant for domination and destruction. The Vietnamese government to this day is still blaming the Americans for the carnage and vice versa, but everyone’s kind of missing the point. The point isn’t who screwed with whom. We’d screw anyone over at any given time and we never hesitate to – that’s the modus operandi. It wasn’t a unique war. It’s in fact the war of everyman.

Q: The war of everyman?

A: Every man is capable of instigating such a war, given the right political and social circumstances. There’s a Napoleon or Emperor Hirohito in every one of us. Some may find it a scary thought, but I find comfort in its predictability.

Q: You mentioned “fathers.” Why only fathers?

A: Because Freud and I sat down in his Viennese office one time and he said to me: “Ed mein Junge, vat happened between you und your vater?” And I told him to stick that Cuban back into his mouth and keep puffing while I spent some time masticating it. Five Cubans later I realised it wasn’t my father but all fathers. How can I put this vaguely? Everything we are and aren’t comes from our fathers. This can range from the way we think and behave to our genetic make-up. For instance, why are certain people burdened with “faulty” genes? Is it what Darwin and Spencer meant by “survival of the fittest”? Our ties with our fathers can never be severed. The idea of being “predestined” by one’s genes – genetic determinism – is something I wanted to delve into in this novel. It’s a tough process. First of all, a lot of research had to be done about the contemporary views on biogenetics. I’m only mildly scientifically minded, so it took me donkey’s years to find my way. Second, I had to rework the lab facts into something – for lack of a better word – aesthetic. It’s a self-imposed challenge. Inevitably, it also got me thinking about my own lineage. What makes me my father’s son? What have I inherited from him biologically which may also go on to determine my psychological make-up? And most importantly, do I want to pass on my genes to the next generation, knowing what they are?

Q: And do you?

A: That’s between me and my genes. (Wink)

Q: It took you three years to complete the novel. Why so long?

A: Because I’m a lazy ass who likes to watch the world go by. Apart from that, I’m also a bit of a harsh critic when it comes to my own stuff. I’d begun the novel in late 2010, when I was extremely ill. I finished the first draft in about five months, writing feverishly throughout the winter months. When I was done with it, I immediately started a new work. About fifty pages into it, I abandoned the project and returned to the draft. I re-read it and found it utterly unreadable. It’s overwrought and far too self-conscious. I threw out more than 80% of it and started almost from scratch. It’s painful but they say pain can sometimes be eye-opening… The thing about unpublished, inexperienced writers is that they’re prone to verbosity. They overwrite. That’s my pitfall. I’ve changed significantly as a writer since. Whereas before I was always over-concerned with style, I’m now a more character-driven writer. The people I write about have to become real for me first. They have to be people I wouldn’t mind sharing a cup of Java with.

Q: Like your first novel, this one doesn’t really deal with specific geographical locations (except for the historical parts) or even specific nations. It’s impossible to tell, for instance, if your characters are Asians or Caucasians. Why the vagueness?

A: Because I suffer from cultural schizophrenia and don’t identify with a particular people or culture. In fact I’ve always been averse to this thing called “culture.” Most of my favourite literary works aren’t defined by one particular notion of culture. Culture is exhausting and limiting, and I generally don’t take to writers who only write from a cultural perspective. We’re humans before we’re cultural slaves, therefore what we write must be universal.

Q: An obvious question: which writers inspire you to write?

A: In a way, you’re asking me to choose a favourite lover out of a hundred of them, which I obviously can’t do. Everyone I’ve been intimate with – to continue with the lover analogy – has meant something to me. I’m not only inspired by writers. Artistically accomplished filmmakers have the same effect on me (I’d like to believe my writings are quite cinematic in nature), and so do friends. There’re certain personalities that I’m drawn to, and it’s to these that I keep returning. When they talk to me, I’m inspired all over again – and then I get the irrepressible urge to fictionalise them.

Q: Am I one of them?

A: Am I drawn to myself? Sure. We all love ourselves a little too much.

Q: Why do you write if you have no intention of publishing what you’ve put down on paper?

A: There’re many reasons for it. I chiefly write out of boredom. To ward off boredom, I write in order to see the sun. I also write a lot when I’m on holiday in tropical countries. For me, writing in a foreign country is like going around with a camcorder or making sketches of the scenery. I’m not necessarily writing about the country, but what I’ve written will inevitably have an exotic touch. When I re-read it, it’ll remind me of the good times. Lastly, I write because I have all these thoughts and ideas that I have to express and systematise. I almost never express these views on social media. That’s the last place for rational discourse.

Q: Are you writing something new now?

A: Yes… but right now I’m finding it very difficult to dive into a new work – not because of lack of ideas, but because of my inability to “turn off” the previous novel and generate a new style or voice. This will pass. I’ve experienced this blockage before. While I was editing Goliath, I struck upon some ideas that had been shadowing me for a number of years. Lately I’ve also developed an interest in self-exile. It seems to me a beautiful idea – to start a new life where no-one knows you. You’re free to re-invent your identity and your perception of the world. I’m sure of one thing: my protagonist will be living in a tropical country where winter chill is but a distant memory.

Q: Will I be in it?

A: This obsession with yourself is a true gift, isn’t it?