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We, The Survivors
A murderer’s confession – devastating, unblinking, poignant, unforgettable – which reveals a story of class, education and the inescapable workings of destiny.
Ah Hock is an ordinary, uneducated man born in a Malaysian fishing village and now trying to make his way in a country that promises riches and security to everyone, but delivers them only to a chosen few. With Asian society changing around him, like many he remains trapped in a world of poorly paid jobs that just about allow him to keep his head above water but ultimately lead him to murder a migrant worker from Bangladesh.
In the tradition of Camus and Houellebecq, Ah Hock’s vivid and compelling description of the years building up to this appalling act of violence – told over several days to a local journalist whose life has taken a different course – is a portrait of an outsider like no other, an anti-nostalgic view of human life and the ravages of hope. It is the work of a writer at the peak of his powers.
Ah Hock is an ordinary, uneducated man born in a Malaysian fishing village and now trying to make his way in a country that promises riches and security to everyone, but delivers them only to a chosen few. With Asian society changing around him, like many he remains trapped in a world of poorly paid jobs that just about allow him to keep his head above water but ultimately lead him to murder a migrant worker from Bangladesh.
In the tradition of Camus and Houellebecq, Ah Hock’s vivid and compelling description of the years building up to this appalling act of violence – told over several days to a local journalist whose life has taken a different course – is a portrait of an outsider like no other, an anti-nostalgic view of human life and the ravages of hope. It is the work of a writer at the peak of his powers.
336 pages, Hardcover
First published April 4, 2019
About the author
Tash Aw
25 books560 followersBorn in Taiwan to Malaysian parents, Tash Aw grew up in Kuala Lumpur before moving to England in his teens. He studied law at the University of Cambridge and University of Warwick, then moved to London to write. After graduating he worked at a number of jobs, including as a lawyer for four years whilst writing his debut novel, which he completed during the creative writing course at the University of East Anglia. Based on royalties as well as prizes, Aw is the most successful Malaysian writer of recent years. Following the announcement of the Booker longlist, the Whitbread Award and his Commonwealth Writers' Prize, he became a celebrity in Malaysia and Singapore, and is now one of the most respected literary figures in Southeast Asia.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 356 reviews
September 24, 2019
We, the Survivors tells the story of Ah Hock, a Malaysian man recently released from prison where he served time for murdering a Bangladeshi migrant worker. This poignant, quietly moving story is not a mystery or thriller: the identity of the victim and the circumstances of the crime are established early on. Instead, Tash Aw uses this novel to create a bleak and textured portrait of working-class Malaysia.
You can read the rest of my review HERE on BookBrowse, and you can read a piece I wrote about Bangladeshi migrant workers in Malaysia HERE.
You can read the rest of my review HERE on BookBrowse, and you can read a piece I wrote about Bangladeshi migrant workers in Malaysia HERE.
July 18, 2019
If you read FIVE STAR BILLIONAIRE—as I have, and loved it, as I did, the first thing you’ll notice in this new novel by Tash Aw is that these two books are quite different in scope and depth. FSB was what I would call literary mainstream. But WE, THE SURVIVORS is more intimate, literary, and not so mainstream. It’s for readers who can submerge into an enclosed, at times crushing portrait of a Malaysian man’s life, ruled by poverty as a child, who tried to rise above and maintain a decent level of equitable improvement. Ah Hock wanted a middle-class life and ended up in prison for killing a man. And this is his story to an educated, worldly reporter after his stint in prison, the story of his life.
This isn’t a mystery or thriller; the story of homicide is less poignant than the story of Ah Hock’s survival, ambition, and his struggling rise from poverty in a village 50 miles from Kuala Lumpur. He grew up in the 1980s, in a village that was isolated before industrialization led to bridges, roads, and passages closer to the city.
Ah Hock’s obscure beginnings relied on fishing and later the fish factories. His father left for Singapore when he was young and never returned, leaving his mother to fend for them. Her own evolution was rough, but she did teach Ah Hock the will to survive above all. After he met a friend of sorts, Keong, a much older boy that was a hustler and wannabe gangster, Ah Hock began to develop his own kind of values and attitude related to the word at large. His ambition in youth was to be a tycoon, but as he matured, he longed to work in a comfortable job with a nice salary, and find a good wife. Although he tried to shake off his association with Keong, the hustler would reappear in his life, a magnet for trouble. Keong still wanted his big dreams of becoming a tycoon.
This is not a fast paced or action-packed book. It is a measured, unhurried, and nonlinear portrayal of a young man’s life, and the choices he made. The author explores themes of heritage, hope, and fate, as well as attitudes toward immigrants and the implications of the class system. But it never patronizes or preaches. Tash Aw is a keen writer who gives a finely wrought depiction of one man’s life of hope and dreams. “The more we longed for something, the more impossible it became. You only dream about things you can never obtain.”
There are also subtle things about the rhythms of village life, the effects of modernization on outlook, and the desire for obscurity by Ah Hock’s ancestors who lived through war and preferred invisibility to transparency, and how fate shapes our character. Besides Ah Hock, we are intimately drawn in to the lives of the people he’d known—family, friends, wife, workers, acquaintances. Many of the passages were penetrating, painful, flanged with regret—but often with the bittersweet tides of hope.
“What she’d hated back then, she now loved: the sense of continuity, of surrendering…the pulling in of her horizons, the comfort to be found in the death of ambition.”
Thank you to the publishers of Farrar, Straus and Giroux for sending me a copy.
This isn’t a mystery or thriller; the story of homicide is less poignant than the story of Ah Hock’s survival, ambition, and his struggling rise from poverty in a village 50 miles from Kuala Lumpur. He grew up in the 1980s, in a village that was isolated before industrialization led to bridges, roads, and passages closer to the city.
Ah Hock’s obscure beginnings relied on fishing and later the fish factories. His father left for Singapore when he was young and never returned, leaving his mother to fend for them. Her own evolution was rough, but she did teach Ah Hock the will to survive above all. After he met a friend of sorts, Keong, a much older boy that was a hustler and wannabe gangster, Ah Hock began to develop his own kind of values and attitude related to the word at large. His ambition in youth was to be a tycoon, but as he matured, he longed to work in a comfortable job with a nice salary, and find a good wife. Although he tried to shake off his association with Keong, the hustler would reappear in his life, a magnet for trouble. Keong still wanted his big dreams of becoming a tycoon.
This is not a fast paced or action-packed book. It is a measured, unhurried, and nonlinear portrayal of a young man’s life, and the choices he made. The author explores themes of heritage, hope, and fate, as well as attitudes toward immigrants and the implications of the class system. But it never patronizes or preaches. Tash Aw is a keen writer who gives a finely wrought depiction of one man’s life of hope and dreams. “The more we longed for something, the more impossible it became. You only dream about things you can never obtain.”
There are also subtle things about the rhythms of village life, the effects of modernization on outlook, and the desire for obscurity by Ah Hock’s ancestors who lived through war and preferred invisibility to transparency, and how fate shapes our character. Besides Ah Hock, we are intimately drawn in to the lives of the people he’d known—family, friends, wife, workers, acquaintances. Many of the passages were penetrating, painful, flanged with regret—but often with the bittersweet tides of hope.
“What she’d hated back then, she now loved: the sense of continuity, of surrendering…the pulling in of her horizons, the comfort to be found in the death of ambition.”
Thank you to the publishers of Farrar, Straus and Giroux for sending me a copy.
April 23, 2021
This was a really beautiful narrative. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it surpassed all of my expectations completely. It was delicately written, and I think the style in which it was told complimented the mystery element to it perfectly. The characters were by no means perfect – and at some points, not even likeable – but that made them all the more real. It dealt with many heavy topics like poverty, exploitation and racism in ways I haven’t really seen discussed before and it did it really well.
I don’t know why I find it easier sometimes to write about books I hated than books I loved. I just feel like with books as brilliant as this, anything I’ll say will just never do it justice and I can never actually find the right words to praise it enough. With some better pacing (at points it was very slow) and a more solid ending this could’ve definitely been a five-star read for me, but it was a beautiful read nonetheless.
I don’t know why I find it easier sometimes to write about books I hated than books I loved. I just feel like with books as brilliant as this, anything I’ll say will just never do it justice and I can never actually find the right words to praise it enough. With some better pacing (at points it was very slow) and a more solid ending this could’ve definitely been a five-star read for me, but it was a beautiful read nonetheless.
July 12, 2026
‘—whistling—the chorus to an old Anita Mui number that was so off-key I couldn’t recognise it at first—We were frightened not by the death, or the savagery of the killing—we grew up by the sea, don’t forget, we’d seen worse—but by how easily a life could be scrubbed out without trace.’
rtc later
‘I brought her tea and eggs—she liked them boiled for two minutes and broken into a shallow saucer, the way you get in old Hainanese kopitiam. ‘Mr—will kill you before he lets you take ten days off to look at cherry blossom!’ she joked. She mimicked his voice: ‘You turned into a woman, meh? Take holiday go see flower?’’
‘What makes me sad is that she wasn’t always like that. I remember the first time I saw her. She was sitting alone reading a trashy novel—New York. We were both studying there—and I thought, Now that is someone I could live with my whole life. She was fun, she loved to laugh. It wasn’t that long ago. Now we sit on the sofa and discuss mortgage rates all evening.’
‘I just can’t stand her principles. Her politics. She’s—so fucking conservative. Such a reactionary. Thinks everything is fine, and that the only thing wrong is that poor people don’t work hard enough. You know what she said the other day? Our friend Shafik got mugged. Some guy on a scooter went by and grabbed his phone. My partner said, It’s all these migrant workers we let in. They’re the ones who commit all the crimes. Obviously I went ballistic. I told her that statistically, foreign workers commit only 10 per cent of all crimes in the country. You know what she said? Huh, why don’t you tell that to the old woman who’s just been beaten and robbed—We should just deport them—The facts speak for themselves.’
‘All it takes is for one or two people on board to die and it changes the way you feel on the boat, changes the way you feel about the days, months and years ahead of you. Even if your body holds up, your spirit wishes you were dead. Drifting on the sea, you feel you’ve died too. The friends you lose take something away from you as their bodies are thrown overboard, and that something—what is it? No one knows—that something never comes back. Once they’d reached land, they were held in jungle camps in southern Thailand, recovering enough strength for the journey across the border.’
‘If I die, someone else will be digging my grave, and I’ll be buried here, in the soil of a country I don’t know, before I even have a chance of getting to know it. My body will nourish the earth of this new land, I will give myself to it after all, just not in the way I expected. (The Chinese have a saying, I wanted to tell him right at that moment, but I didn’t. Falling leaves return to nourish the tree’s roots. Do you know it? All things go back to their source. Wander far and wide, but you’ll always return home. That is the natural way of things, that is how we expect life to turn out, and maybe it does for some. But not for most.)’
‘Sometimes work at the port slowed down and you’d see migrants drifting into town looking for a few days’ casual work here and there, from whoever would employ them. During these periods the town appeared to function normally, which is to say that a visitor like you wouldn’t notice anything unusual. You’d see the buses and the markets, shopkeepers sweeping the pavements outside their doors, people sitting down at roadside food stalls—anxiety, the knowledge that the entire town depended on trade from faraway places, goods being bought and sold by people we would never know. Some politician—decides that they can’t buy—rubber gloves; suddenly ten factories in the area have to shut down.’
‘The Europeans want to save the fucking planet so they ban the use of palm oil in food; within a month the entire port is on its knees. Life continues, but you feel it slipping quietly away, and you worry that it’ll never return. And because of that fear, you feel caught in a suspended state. On the outside, life seems normal, but inside it’s drawn to a standstill. That night, driving into town, I felt the same—as if events were being controlled by things and people I didn’t know, far away from me. We drew into a parking spot—There wasn’t enough light in the night sky to see clearly—I had to hold up my phone and point its faint glow towards the ground—I got the impression he’d been there before, walking this exact route. ‘Turn off your phone,’ he said.’
‘She laughs. The same laugh I’ve heard all evening, drifting across the farm, mingling with the sound of the water. I could marry you if you want. A militant queer girl and a depressed felon—a perfect match. That’s not even funny, I say, but I’m laughing. We both are. The moment lasts just a few seconds, but seems to stretch into the night—We stand facing each other. It’s almost completely dark now. I think that maybe I should extend my hand, but that feels wrong, and she doesn’t move either. Goodbye, I say. The walk down the hill takes nearly an hour, and by the time I get to the village all the shops are closed. I sit on the concrete steps of a coffee shop, listening to the noise of the traffic from the highway nearby. The rush of the cars and lorries sounds fuzzy and soothing, like the sea on a windy day.’
‘My grandparents were all originally from Fujian province. According to my calculations, the ones who came from Sumatra—ten years max before they had to move again. Imagine that—you come all the way from Fujian—in and out of small boats drifting on the ocean for months, eventually land in some tiny town—find some way of earning a living, working the land or the sea. You think you own that tiny bit of scrubby jungle or marsh or wherever it is you’ve landed, you think you can start a family, start a new life. Then, just when your days and weeks start to feel normal, when your notion of time begins to stretch out into a year, two years, a future—the place you’re in and it no longer feels as if every tree, every blade of grass is out to hurt you, you have to move again.’
‘People started visiting the Monkey God temple to make offerings and prayers. We burnt paper-money—we thought it was our fault, that we hadn’t done enough to appease the heavens. Everyone said, If we were richer, we could make more donations to the temple, we’d have better catches. They didn’t realise that there was nothing they could do about all the pollution flushing down the river that went right through the cities and emptied into the sea in front of our houses. Or from the offshore prawn farms that had started further up the coast where the water was deeper—you could smell the chemicals sometimes, late in the afternoon when the wind was blowing in the right direction. A sour stink, like old catpiss.’
‘—I understood that all those big industries further inland which were making cars and air-conditioners and washing machines—sneakers—they lay close to the same river that washed over our cockle beds—they would just carry on emptying their waste into the river, more and more as the years went by. I didn’t even feel sad, or angry—why get mad over something you can’t change? That was just the way things were. The only thing that infuriated me was that no one wanted to listen to me when I told them what I thought was happening. Pollution? My grandmother repeated the word as if it was some bizarre other-worldly phenomenon, like an interplanetary collision in another solar system. She turned her back on me and went to the temple—Whenever anyone came back from the temple, they’d talk about destiny. To live like this is our destiny. I never thought about the meaning of fate and chance until—.’
‘What would have happened if my grandparents had landed further up the coast, or drifted south? If the winds or tides had been stronger or weaker and had carried them to Perak or Johor, or to Port Klang itself? Would I have—become you? I’m just kidding. Of course I couldn’t have become you. I know it’s not that simple. And I don’t mean that I want to become you, or someone like you. It’s just that sometimes I can’t help thinking about whether I was really destined to be me.’
‘The dispute was about money, as it always is—It wasn’t because of a woman, as some of the papers suggested. People like us don’t fight over love, we fight over houses, land, sometimes cars, mostly money—things that make a difference to the way we live.’
‘A Korean drama was playing on the TV. I’d forgotten to turn it off when she arrived, and the actors’ voices filled the room. Oppa, myo haeyo. On the table across the room, a pile of newspapers. Nanyang Siang Pau and Sin Chew Jit Poh. A bible. A small cookie tin that I use to put my Magnum 4D and Big Sweep tickets in. I couldn’t figure out what she was looking at. I offered her a drink—Yeo’s chrysanthemum tea. Good for hot weather, I said. Very high sugar content, she said.’
‘She spoke Mandarin in a way that made it obvious that it was a second language to her—sometimes clear as a textbook, other times halting, mixed in with a bunch of English words. Everything about her seemed alien to me that first time, even though she came from only thirty miles away. Her foreignness made it easier for me to speak as freely as I did. I could tell her anything I wanted—even though I tried to be formal in the way I spoke, I felt myself lapsing into dialects, my country Hokkien surging out of me from time to time, or else the odd Cantonese swear word popping up before I even realised I’d said it.’
‘Suddenly I would be aware of my speech, the difference between the crudeness of my voice and the polish of hers, always under control, never too loud or too soft. Sometimes I would say something inappropriate and I’d think, Now she is going to realise she has made a huge mistake. Now she will start making excuses to leave. But her expression never changed—balanced between interest and amusement. She stayed for four hours.’
‘But as I’m talking, something comes to mind—remember the look on her face after I told her about the cat – her lips pulled into a smile, but her eyes narrowed, accusing me of something. But what? I don’t know what to call the look on her face—And I can’t stop the thought from forming in my head: she cares more about the cat than she does about me.’
‘One night, over noodles and beer at a dai cau place in Puchong, Keong told me he’d pack it all in one day, take off to Guangzhou—Doing what? I asked, but he just shrugged—sitting on the low concrete wall—he said, ‘If the world was taken over by aliens, what would be your final meal?’ ‘Fuck you. Chaohai.’’
‘I looked at her. Didn’t do anything else, just looked at her—and that was enough to get her worked up, because she thought I was being insolent. Challenging her for a better reason, or financial compensation, or something else she couldn’t provide. She started talking—shouting, really. About things that weren’t important to me, explaining about her balance sheet and her daughter on the other side of the world, who still needed money, about the pressures of the job, of being a mother. About how I was so ignorant I didn’t know how the world worked. Didn’t I know about this thing called the Asian Financial Crisis? Why didn’t I read the papers a bit more, and take an interest in the world? That was the kind of thing she was shouting at me. Every country in Asia had been suffering, and there I was behaving like a spoiled child.’
‘All the bribes she had to pay, protection money, price hikes—did I even know about all that? I had no idea how tough running a business in this shithole country could be, she said; I had no idea what it was like to be a woman her age— trying to run a stupid restaurant. ‘When you get to my age you’ll know what it feels like.’ Then she cursed, just one rude word, not a big deal, but coming from a nice lady like her it sounded so funny that I started to laugh, and then I couldn’t stop—Indian guys delivering gas canisters, the booming metallic sound they made as they lowered them to the concrete floor in the kitchen, the Tamil song they were singing, Nila, nila odivaa—I started laughing. [Pause.] I covered my face with my hands. The prosecutor had been speaking in long elegant sentences that rumbled gently like distant thunder—I know this sounds like one of the stories you’re interested in, about a boy from the village who comes to the big capital city and gets crushed by how brutal it is, but that’s not exactly right. I wasn’t defeated by KL, I got bored of it.’
‘—DVDs from some counterfeit place—we couldn’t understand any of the Korean words. It didn’t matter—we’d seen the entire series years before—had found those tragic love stories romantic. I guess that’s why she had bought the DVDs, to remember how it was to be moved by the beauty of love affairs that don’t work out. By the failure of love. I wasn’t keen—The idea of someone not remembering his past, becoming someone entirely new because he no longer had his memory.’
‘I pretend that I’m not watching her. That I’m not interested in what she’s writing. But most of the time, when her head is inclined and she’s concentrating on reading or writing, I’m trying to read what is on the papers. I can never make anything out clearly. She’s just a bit too far away from me. Whenever we pause for one of us to go to the bathroom or the kitchen, she closes her notebooks—I wondered how I would appear in her project, whether I would be a nicer version of myself. Or a worse one.’
‘You know the type of place I mean—you drive past them in two seconds and you don’t even notice them. Funny how people use that word—kampung—when what they mean isn’t a village in the countryside, surrounded by trees and flowers, but a semi-slum, a shanty without amenities except for one or two cheap generators that everyone chips in to feed with diesel now and then—invisible slums in town, on stretches of the riverbank, or out in the countryside, in the middle of the forest.’
‘He knew all the different routes—by sea—by land, across the border—He was familiar with all the techniques—from hiding human cargo in containers to plain old bribery—big lorry loaded with sacks of rice or cages of live chickens, of course they know what’s underneath all that—but pay them enough and they won’t bother. Maybe they don’t want to find the real stash; maybe they’re afraid of discovering—bodies, children suffocated in that tiny hollowed-out space under a mound of squawking chickens. Just because you work at a job like that, it doesn’t mean you don’t have feelings. But a tiny bit of cash makes it easy to turn your head and look the other way—someone actually pays you not to see dirty, upsetting shit. Anyone would do the same.’
‘That’s what’s wrong—everyone’s just looking out for themselves, looking to make a quick buck at someone else’s expense. Those idiots, they can just go fuck themselves.’
‘How much did you pay? Oh God—You’re just perpetuating the system—From the time I give her the keys until we find the car and get into it, she doesn’t stop lecturing me. It’s because of people like you that they dare to ask for bribes. Corruption is a two-way thing. The victim doesn’t even know they’re a victim.’
‘Aiya, enough already. I’m sorry, OK?’ We drove out of the parking lot and into the traffic. Neither of us says anything—But after a while she says, ‘That’s a lot of money. I’m sorry’. We drive on in silence, and it isn’t until we’re almost back at my house that she speaks again. Thank you, she says. I appreciate it. I’m sorry I yelled.’
‘It was nearly the end of the movie’s run, and the cinema was half-empty. We sat near the front because we wanted the screen to feel as huge and all-engulfing as possible; the sound drummed in our ribcages and we felt its vibrations even after we’d left and were having mee pok and barbecued wings at a late-night hawker centre in Balestier.’
‘Jacky Cheung on my phone—back then we only had those small Sony Ericssons that made every song sound crackly, as if you were listening to it on the radio in a faraway country. Maybe you’re too young to remember those phones. I was on the other side of the road, outside the 7-Eleven, eating a Ramly burger—There was a light breeze that night, I remember—Better not translate that—As I looked at them, I got the feeling that they were floating through the city, unattached to anything around them. Their music was the only thing that seemed real—a link to their home—thousands of miles away, and something in the way they talked to each other, shouting over the music and laughing in the half-dark street, made me realise that they would probably never return to where they came from. And suddenly I thought, I am just like them, I am floating through life.’
‘‘Your language. You’re sounding like me.’’
April 11, 2023
3.5 stars
I was all set to state in my review that this was my first Tash Aw book. However, Goodreads reminded me that I had read the Malaysian author's Tiger
. We, the Survivors is his fourth novel and was published in 2019.
A Chinese Malaysian man recounts the story of his life and his crime to a curious journalist.
Even though it took most of the book to truly comprehend the criminal act that Aw's protagonist, Ah Hock had committed, I felt curious enough to keep turning those pages. It didn't feel like a very long read and yet my boyfriend tells me I didn't move a muscle for almost 2 hours. 🤣 It's strange because I did feel impacted by this tale and yet I am very short on the description in this review. So I may or may not be quite convincing in encouraging any future readers to pick up this book. So, I will just say it was a good one.
I was all set to state in my review that this was my first Tash Aw book. However, Goodreads reminded me that I had read the Malaysian author's Tiger
. We, the Survivors is his fourth novel and was published in 2019. A Chinese Malaysian man recounts the story of his life and his crime to a curious journalist.
Even though it took most of the book to truly comprehend the criminal act that Aw's protagonist, Ah Hock had committed, I felt curious enough to keep turning those pages. It didn't feel like a very long read and yet my boyfriend tells me I didn't move a muscle for almost 2 hours. 🤣 It's strange because I did feel impacted by this tale and yet I am very short on the description in this review. So I may or may not be quite convincing in encouraging any future readers to pick up this book. So, I will just say it was a good one.
November 18, 2019
Ah Hock is een arme man, geboren in een klein vissersdorpje in Maleisië. Zonder opleiding ziet hij zich gedwongen om allerlei slechtbetaalde baantjes aan te pakken om het hoofd boven water te kunnen houden, en dat terwijl de wereld om hem heen veranderd. Op een dag wordt dit gevoel van uitzichtloosheid hem te veel en vermoord hij, schijnbaar uit het niets, een immigrant uit Bangladesh. Hoe is hij tot deze daad gekomen?
Met 'Wij, de overlevenden' geeft Tash Aw een stem aan de groep mensen die vaak ongewild in de armste en onderste laag van de bevolking terecht komen en maakt hij inzichtelijk voor welke enorme uitdagingen ze gesteld worden. Wat is ervoor nodig om onder deze omstandigheden te kunnen overleven? Want overleven is dan vaak het enige wat je kunt doen, waarmee de schrijnende situatie in stand gehouden wordt. Het vraagt in deze ook een bepaalde vorm van acceptatie, en deze berusting lees je terug in het verhaal zoals Ah Hock dit aan jou als lezer vertelt. Toch had ik soms ook wat moeite met de schrijfstijl, pareltjes van zinnen en prachtige passages werden afgewisseld met stukken die voor mij soms wat te passief en slepend lazen. Deels kwam dit voor mij door een wisseling in het vertelperspectief, maar tegelijkertijd vermoed ik dat een deel ook opzet is geweest waarmee Tash Aw de lezer deelgenoot maakt van juist ook deze kant van het leven van Ah Hock.
'Wij, de overlevenden' is een ontroerend verhaal over vriendschap, afkomst en klasse en zet je als lezer aan het denken over sociale ongelijkheid, het lot en de 'maakbaarheid' van het leven.
Met 'Wij, de overlevenden' geeft Tash Aw een stem aan de groep mensen die vaak ongewild in de armste en onderste laag van de bevolking terecht komen en maakt hij inzichtelijk voor welke enorme uitdagingen ze gesteld worden. Wat is ervoor nodig om onder deze omstandigheden te kunnen overleven? Want overleven is dan vaak het enige wat je kunt doen, waarmee de schrijnende situatie in stand gehouden wordt. Het vraagt in deze ook een bepaalde vorm van acceptatie, en deze berusting lees je terug in het verhaal zoals Ah Hock dit aan jou als lezer vertelt. Toch had ik soms ook wat moeite met de schrijfstijl, pareltjes van zinnen en prachtige passages werden afgewisseld met stukken die voor mij soms wat te passief en slepend lazen. Deels kwam dit voor mij door een wisseling in het vertelperspectief, maar tegelijkertijd vermoed ik dat een deel ook opzet is geweest waarmee Tash Aw de lezer deelgenoot maakt van juist ook deze kant van het leven van Ah Hock.
'Wij, de overlevenden' is een ontroerend verhaal over vriendschap, afkomst en klasse en zet je als lezer aan het denken over sociale ongelijkheid, het lot en de 'maakbaarheid' van het leven.
May 26, 2019
3.5 rounded up
We, the Suvivors tells the story of Ah Hock, an uneducated man from a Malaysian fishing village. We know right off the bat that Ah Hock has murdered a man, what we don't know is why. Tash Aw tells the story of an ordinary working class man from rural Malaysia right through from childhood to adulthood in a way which is original, empathic and humanising, though never trite.
This was an interesting take on the motivations and frustrations of an ordinary man living in a rapidly changing society. The Malaysia Ah Hock inhabits is not the one we know from the media - apart from a fleeting period living in KL his life is centred around small towns and the countryside where he grew up and eventually ends up managing a fish farm.
The narrative is structured through a series of flashbacks beginning in Ah Hock's childhood as well as a present day thread where Su-Min, a sociology postgrad who has just returned from studying in the US, interviews Ah Hock about his life and the build-up to the murder.
While Ah Hock's life itself isn't jam-packed full of dramatic twists and turns it still makes for a compelling read - a key part of this is what we learn about how his on/off friendship with Keong (a guy who is something of a small time criminal - think drug dealing and recruiting refugees for labour) impacts upon his life. I found the section focusing on his relationship with his wife less convincing, however the insertion of refugees into the narrative was done well.
Thank you Netgalley and Farrar, Straus and Giroux for the advance copy, which was provided in exchange for an honest review.
We, the Suvivors tells the story of Ah Hock, an uneducated man from a Malaysian fishing village. We know right off the bat that Ah Hock has murdered a man, what we don't know is why. Tash Aw tells the story of an ordinary working class man from rural Malaysia right through from childhood to adulthood in a way which is original, empathic and humanising, though never trite.
This was an interesting take on the motivations and frustrations of an ordinary man living in a rapidly changing society. The Malaysia Ah Hock inhabits is not the one we know from the media - apart from a fleeting period living in KL his life is centred around small towns and the countryside where he grew up and eventually ends up managing a fish farm.
The narrative is structured through a series of flashbacks beginning in Ah Hock's childhood as well as a present day thread where Su-Min, a sociology postgrad who has just returned from studying in the US, interviews Ah Hock about his life and the build-up to the murder.
While Ah Hock's life itself isn't jam-packed full of dramatic twists and turns it still makes for a compelling read - a key part of this is what we learn about how his on/off friendship with Keong (a guy who is something of a small time criminal - think drug dealing and recruiting refugees for labour) impacts upon his life. I found the section focusing on his relationship with his wife less convincing, however the insertion of refugees into the narrative was done well.
Thank you Netgalley and Farrar, Straus and Giroux for the advance copy, which was provided in exchange for an honest review.
July 1, 2021
Attraverso gli occhi di un uomo non più giovanissimo vediamo passare gli ultimi anni della Malesia, il suo scalpitante sviluppo economico, i villaggi rurali trasformati dall'allevamento di pesci, l'urbanizzazione selvaggia, la foresta abbattuta per fare spazio alle coltivazioni di palma da zucchero, lo sfruttamento dell'immigrazione clandestina.
Il protagonista è un uomo qualunque che ad un certo punto della vita commette un delitto e si trova a raccontare la sua vita a una studentessa ormai trasferita negli Stati Uniti, una ragazza che crede in valori solidi e non accetta i meccanismi della società malese (la corruzione, il malcostume, il razzismo...).
Due generazioni a confronto, un buon romanzo, un bel punto di vista umano e sociale. Meriterebbe più visibilità, in luogo di tanti testi meno validi promossi a spron battuto dalle case editrici.
Il protagonista è un uomo qualunque che ad un certo punto della vita commette un delitto e si trova a raccontare la sua vita a una studentessa ormai trasferita negli Stati Uniti, una ragazza che crede in valori solidi e non accetta i meccanismi della società malese (la corruzione, il malcostume, il razzismo...).
Due generazioni a confronto, un buon romanzo, un bel punto di vista umano e sociale. Meriterebbe più visibilità, in luogo di tanti testi meno validi promossi a spron battuto dalle case editrici.
September 16, 2019
3.5 stars, rounded down. Brutal and heartbreaking confession of Ah Hock, a paroled murderer in contemporary Malaysia trying to rebuild his life after a senseless crime. Slowly opens up into the entire life story of a working-class Chinese man from a rural fishing village working hard to make it out of poverty into the middle class, while invisible masses of migrant laborers from Bangladesh and Indonesia (and Rohingya refugees) are working themselves to death in palm-oil plantations for a pittance. Aw's prose is stripped-down but evocative, channeling the voice of a man whose life is built on compromises and a clear-eyed acceptance of the structural violence of a market-driven society where human life is cheap and disposable.
Tash Aw should have trusted his own ability to build this first-person narrative without a clumsy framing narrative: Su-Min, a postdoc in anthropology who has returned to Malaysia from New York to interview Ah Hock for an oral history project that mutates into the "nonfiction novel" that we realize we are reading. I suppose that she meant to be a stand-in for the first-world readers of the novel who have the luxury of distance and comfort from the savage inequalities in Southeast Asia. Perhaps Aw is satirizing her sanctimonious elitism, and her exploitation of Ah Hock's life story for her own personal gains, in the service of an alienation effect, but I found it obvious and distracting.
Tash Aw should have trusted his own ability to build this first-person narrative without a clumsy framing narrative: Su-Min, a postdoc in anthropology who has returned to Malaysia from New York to interview Ah Hock for an oral history project that mutates into the "nonfiction novel" that we realize we are reading. I suppose that she meant to be a stand-in for the first-world readers of the novel who have the luxury of distance and comfort from the savage inequalities in Southeast Asia. Perhaps Aw is satirizing her sanctimonious elitism, and her exploitation of Ah Hock's life story for her own personal gains, in the service of an alienation effect, but I found it obvious and distracting.
May 1, 2019
There is nothing really compelling to propel the story. At its core, there’s a killing by the narrator that has become the focal point but often this incident is referred to in an insubstantial way and when we finally learn the full details in the final chapter it has all the weight and power of a transparent plot device.
The narrator has all the sophistication of Tash Aw. I think the author often extends himself into a commentary about class that often for the reader becomes an eye-rolling experience of being condescended to.
Having read of a few of his books, I think every subsequent read has been more delightful. I enjoy his prose. I think this book is really anchored to a simple story, which is often undercut by the author’s need to make it a very important comment on bigger things (that title alone is one hell of a declaration).
The narrator has all the sophistication of Tash Aw. I think the author often extends himself into a commentary about class that often for the reader becomes an eye-rolling experience of being condescended to.
Having read of a few of his books, I think every subsequent read has been more delightful. I enjoy his prose. I think this book is really anchored to a simple story, which is often undercut by the author’s need to make it a very important comment on bigger things (that title alone is one hell of a declaration).
January 18, 2020
Fascinating content and strong characterization are the main advantages of this book, but it doesn’t rise to the challenges of the form the author has chosen (novel) and goes plateau every now and then. It could have been brilliant as a series of connected short stories. Same content, different rhythm, more opportunities to shift focus, and highlight issues without losing tempo or credibility. Another problem was that Ah Hock talked like a university-educated man. In fact he used a more stylistic type of English than the interviewing lady who is a PhD student, and yet Tash Aw demonstrates that he is quite capable of correctly recording and echoing people’s speech in the dialogues we hear from and among other characters. I wish he had allowed Ah Hock to talk like a real person of his background.
August 24, 2019
"It's just that sometimes I can't help thinking about whether I was really destined to be me".
April 7, 2019
I am SO EXCITED that this has finally launched. I had a chance to read the manuscript last December and just re-read the novel in the week leading up to the release, and it truly stands up to multiple readings. What is WE, THE SURVIVORS? It’s hard to define. On surface level it is the confession of a murderer from a fishing village in Malaysia, a whydunnit murder mystery. But it is also a moving portrait of inequality in Southeast Asia, a question of predestination, of why people are the way they are/ make the choices they do. It is a novel that spans class and generation, but that writes about Southeast Asia with love. It pays homage to Southeast Asia with intricate attention to detail and language, without shying away from the more difficult topics nor feeling the need to capitulate to creating a ‘clean’ or ‘people-pleasing’ representation in an anxious age of representation. It is brutal and eloquent and very, very beautiful, with murder at its heart. One of my favourite books of 2018, and well into 2019 I still find this so profoundly moving. 5/5
December 31, 2020
http://thrillernord.it/noi-i-sopravvi...
“Noi, i sopravvissuti”, di Tash Aw è un romanzo duro, ma necessario che racconta la parabola esistenziale di un operaio malese portato dalle circostanze a commettere un omicidio.
Questo assassinio casuale, come ne “Lo straniero” di Albert Camus, squarcia un velo sulla condizione umana e sulla situazione critica del mondo contemporaneo.
Strutturato come un’intervista che Ah Hoch, l’omicida concede ad una giornalista, il romanzo si può leggere anche come l’autobiografia di una nazione, la Malesia afflitta da grandi problemi come l’inquinamento ambientale, il cambiamento climatico, lo sfruttamento intensivo della natura, lo sfruttamento intensivo anche degli immigrati e la crescita economica sempre in bilico tra recessione e nuovi successi.
In filigrana si legge anche il destino di tutti noi in quanto la Malesia, che gli italiani conoscono principalmente per il ciclo di Sandokan e dei pirati malesi, è una delle cosiddette “piccole tigri asiatiche”, nazioni che hanno beneficiato del boom economico giapponese che a cascata si è propagato negli Stati vicini, alla ricerca di manodopera a basso o bassissimo costo.
La Malesia per esempio fornisce i due terzi della produzione mondiale dei guanti in gomma e questo è diventato di pubblico dominio durante la pandemia quando è stato difficile trovarli per l’enorme richiesta e l’incapacità delle fabbriche malesi di tenere il ritmo degli ordini.
“Qualche politico in America decide che non possono più comprare guanti di gomma malaysiani e di colpo dieci fabbriche della zona sono costrette a chiudere. Gli europei vogliono salvare il fottuto pianeta e mettono al bando l’olio di palma negli alimenti, così nel giro di mese l’intero porto è in ginocchio.”
“Noi, i sopravvissuti” mostra cosa c’è dietro questo finto benessere che alla fine riguarda soltanto la classe sociale superiore lasciando ai lavoratori solo le briciole e gli scarti della società dei consumi.
Per spiegare il motivo del suo gesto alla giornalista che lo intervista Ah Hoch le racconta la sua vita, costituita da piccole e grandi sconfitte, sempre ai margini del successo ma sempre respinto dalle onde del destino, come quando, dopo aver accarezzato il sogno di diventare un agricoltore vede le sue speranze vanificate da una disastrosa marea primaverile.
Anche quando riesce a trovare un lavoro soddisfacente Ah Hoch si trova a dover fare i conti con forze molto più grandi e travolgenti come la globalizzazione, il razzismo e la corruzione.
“Pur essendo molto giovane, sapevo, come tutti, che non c’era speranza. Eravamo la razza sbagliata, chi ci avrebbe dato una mano? Di sicuro non il governo. Sapevamo che per cinesi spiantati come noi, non valeva neanche tentare.”
“Sono cresciuto condividendo con la gente del villaggio una sensazione di paura degli indiani delle piantagioni, paura che ci contagiassero con la loro povertà, e nelle nostre vite ce n’era già più che abbastanza.”
Per trovare dei sostituti ai lavoratori immigrati, debilitati dagli sforzi e dalle malattie, della peschiera dove lavora come responsabile Ah Hock si rivolge a Keong, un mediatore di scarsa affidabilità che gli presenta un mondo clandestino che non conosceva o faceva finta di non conoscere, quello dei “carichi” come gli chiama il sensale, gruppi di immigrati bangladesi, birmani, indiani e indonesiani disposti a tutto pur di trovare un lavoro.
“I carichi”. Usò come quel termine allo stesso modo del signor Lai quando parlava dei carichi di pesce congelato diretti in città, o della soia e del grano macinati che usavamo per l’alimentazione.
Ma quando lanciai un’occhiata a Keong vidi che non si era accorto di quanto suonava strana quella parola. Non ci vedeva niente di insolito: per lui era un carico. Era lavoro, nient’altro.”
L’omicidio segna il punto d’incontro delle traiettorie di due vite tanto diverse e che non hanno niente a che fare ma che il destino, oppure un sistema economico votato solo al profitto mettono a contatto nel momento peggiore.
Ah Hoch e la giornalista che lo intervista rappresentano due punti di vista della società malese molto diversi; il primo nostalgico e in definitiva pronto ad accettare la situazione politica e sociale mentre la seconda, più moderna e attiva, cerca di ribellarsi e seguendo i suoi intimi convincimenti, rinuncia all’amore di una ragazza borghese e reazionaria.
“Noi, i sopravvissuti” è una lucida denuncia dei mali della società malese che Tash Aw inquadra in una cornice narrativa molto efficace ponendo molti interrogativi impegnativi, ed è uno dei migliori libri letti quest’anno.
“Noi, i sopravvissuti”, di Tash Aw è un romanzo duro, ma necessario che racconta la parabola esistenziale di un operaio malese portato dalle circostanze a commettere un omicidio.
Questo assassinio casuale, come ne “Lo straniero” di Albert Camus, squarcia un velo sulla condizione umana e sulla situazione critica del mondo contemporaneo.
Strutturato come un’intervista che Ah Hoch, l’omicida concede ad una giornalista, il romanzo si può leggere anche come l’autobiografia di una nazione, la Malesia afflitta da grandi problemi come l’inquinamento ambientale, il cambiamento climatico, lo sfruttamento intensivo della natura, lo sfruttamento intensivo anche degli immigrati e la crescita economica sempre in bilico tra recessione e nuovi successi.
In filigrana si legge anche il destino di tutti noi in quanto la Malesia, che gli italiani conoscono principalmente per il ciclo di Sandokan e dei pirati malesi, è una delle cosiddette “piccole tigri asiatiche”, nazioni che hanno beneficiato del boom economico giapponese che a cascata si è propagato negli Stati vicini, alla ricerca di manodopera a basso o bassissimo costo.
La Malesia per esempio fornisce i due terzi della produzione mondiale dei guanti in gomma e questo è diventato di pubblico dominio durante la pandemia quando è stato difficile trovarli per l’enorme richiesta e l’incapacità delle fabbriche malesi di tenere il ritmo degli ordini.
“Qualche politico in America decide che non possono più comprare guanti di gomma malaysiani e di colpo dieci fabbriche della zona sono costrette a chiudere. Gli europei vogliono salvare il fottuto pianeta e mettono al bando l’olio di palma negli alimenti, così nel giro di mese l’intero porto è in ginocchio.”
“Noi, i sopravvissuti” mostra cosa c’è dietro questo finto benessere che alla fine riguarda soltanto la classe sociale superiore lasciando ai lavoratori solo le briciole e gli scarti della società dei consumi.
Per spiegare il motivo del suo gesto alla giornalista che lo intervista Ah Hoch le racconta la sua vita, costituita da piccole e grandi sconfitte, sempre ai margini del successo ma sempre respinto dalle onde del destino, come quando, dopo aver accarezzato il sogno di diventare un agricoltore vede le sue speranze vanificate da una disastrosa marea primaverile.
Anche quando riesce a trovare un lavoro soddisfacente Ah Hoch si trova a dover fare i conti con forze molto più grandi e travolgenti come la globalizzazione, il razzismo e la corruzione.
“Pur essendo molto giovane, sapevo, come tutti, che non c’era speranza. Eravamo la razza sbagliata, chi ci avrebbe dato una mano? Di sicuro non il governo. Sapevamo che per cinesi spiantati come noi, non valeva neanche tentare.”
“Sono cresciuto condividendo con la gente del villaggio una sensazione di paura degli indiani delle piantagioni, paura che ci contagiassero con la loro povertà, e nelle nostre vite ce n’era già più che abbastanza.”
Per trovare dei sostituti ai lavoratori immigrati, debilitati dagli sforzi e dalle malattie, della peschiera dove lavora come responsabile Ah Hock si rivolge a Keong, un mediatore di scarsa affidabilità che gli presenta un mondo clandestino che non conosceva o faceva finta di non conoscere, quello dei “carichi” come gli chiama il sensale, gruppi di immigrati bangladesi, birmani, indiani e indonesiani disposti a tutto pur di trovare un lavoro.
“I carichi”. Usò come quel termine allo stesso modo del signor Lai quando parlava dei carichi di pesce congelato diretti in città, o della soia e del grano macinati che usavamo per l’alimentazione.
Ma quando lanciai un’occhiata a Keong vidi che non si era accorto di quanto suonava strana quella parola. Non ci vedeva niente di insolito: per lui era un carico. Era lavoro, nient’altro.”
L’omicidio segna il punto d’incontro delle traiettorie di due vite tanto diverse e che non hanno niente a che fare ma che il destino, oppure un sistema economico votato solo al profitto mettono a contatto nel momento peggiore.
Ah Hoch e la giornalista che lo intervista rappresentano due punti di vista della società malese molto diversi; il primo nostalgico e in definitiva pronto ad accettare la situazione politica e sociale mentre la seconda, più moderna e attiva, cerca di ribellarsi e seguendo i suoi intimi convincimenti, rinuncia all’amore di una ragazza borghese e reazionaria.
“Noi, i sopravvissuti” è una lucida denuncia dei mali della società malese che Tash Aw inquadra in una cornice narrativa molto efficace ponendo molti interrogativi impegnativi, ed è uno dei migliori libri letti quest’anno.
June 18, 2022
Ah Hock steht vor Gericht, weil er einen Mann erschlagen hat. Als sein Kindheitsfreund Koeng als Leumundszeuge vernommen wird, fragt man sich als Leser, was der andere Mann mit dem Verbrechen zu tun hat und ob er Ah Hock mit seiner Aussage nicht erst recht ins Unglück stürzt. In der Gegenwart hat der Verurteilte seine Strafe verbüßt und lebt in bescheidenem Wohlstand. Seine Treffen mit einer chinesisch-amerikanischen Journalistin über mehrere Monate hinweg blättern in Rückblicken die Kindheit der jungen Männer auf und welche Ereignisse zu dem Mord geführt haben.
Als Keong mit seiner Mutter in Ah Hocks Dorf im südwestlichen Malaysia zieht, treffen Stadt und Land aufeinander. Der ältere Keong hat die Schule geschmissen und ist in Kuala Lumpur gescheitert. Als letzte Rettung vor einer Karriere als Kleinkrimineller deportiert seine Mutter ihn quasi aufs Land. Ah Hock stammt von Fukkien-Dialekt sprechenden chinesischen Einwanderern ab, die aus der Provinz Fujien zuerst nach Sumatra und weiter nach Kuala Lumpur auswanderten. Die Lage ihres Dorfes an der Flussmündung zwingt sie zum Fischen und zur Fischverarbeitung. Man ahnt, dass sie eine weitere Wende in ihrem Leben nicht mehr ertragen werden, obwohl die Verschmutzung von Flüssen und dem Meer ihnen bereits die Lebensgrundlage entzieht.
Keong war schon als Kind leicht zu beleidigen und schlug dann gnadenlos zu. Die Beziehung zwischen den Jugendlichen war nie einfach; denn Keong war „wie ein Stein im Schuh“.
Die Werte, nach denen Ah Hocks Familie lebt, zwingen ihn den „Freund“ zu decken. Als Keong sich nach langer Abwesenheit wieder bei Ah Hock meldet, hat der vergeblich versucht, mit ehrlicher Arbeit zu überleben. Der Jüngere setzte stets auf Fleiß und Zuverlässigkeit und verließ sich darauf, dass seine Chefs das schon bemerken und ihm Zulagen zahlen werden. Durch steigende Zahlen von illegalen Einwanderern und Flüchtlingen aus Myanmar ist ehrliche Arbeit jedoch nichts mehr wert. Zwei Illegale arbeiten billiger als Ah Hock.
Wie die Fischerfamilien in seinem Dorf sieht Ah Hock sich Ereignissen hilflos ausgeliefert, die er nicht beeinflussen kann. Mit großer Verantwortung und zu geringem Lohn arbeitet er inzwischen in einem Fischzucht-Betrieb, als er dringend Keongs Hilfe braucht. In der Szene der Schleuser und Vermittler illegaler Arbeitskräfte kommt es schließlich zum Mord, für den Ah Hock büßen wird. Der Icherzähler zeichnet das Bild eines Vielvölkerstaates, in dem es stets eine Gruppe gegeben hat, der man sich überlegen fühlen konnte – aufgrund von Nationalität oder Hautfarbe. Je dunkler die Hautfarbe, desto tiefer die Stufe, die einem zugestanden wird. Zuwanderung hat den vorhandenen Konflikt eskalieren lassen; denn sie machte Menschen und Fluchtwege zur Ware.
Ah Hocks Gespräche mit der Journalisten zeigen, dass der Jüngere nach den Regeln seines Fischerdorfs spielt, die zwangsläufig mit Eskapaden des älteren Keongs kollidieren müssen. Auch die Interviewerin spielt nach eigenen Regeln, die einem Jungen vom Dorf fremd sein werden. Ah Hock hat mich damit beeindruckt, wie er über Ereignisse spricht, die er als Jugendlicher noch nicht wahrnehmen konnte, obwohl sie offensichtlich waren. Ah Hocks Schicksal und sein gradliniges Erzählen tragen zu gleichen Teilen zu dem hochaktuellen, berührenden Roman bei.
Als Keong mit seiner Mutter in Ah Hocks Dorf im südwestlichen Malaysia zieht, treffen Stadt und Land aufeinander. Der ältere Keong hat die Schule geschmissen und ist in Kuala Lumpur gescheitert. Als letzte Rettung vor einer Karriere als Kleinkrimineller deportiert seine Mutter ihn quasi aufs Land. Ah Hock stammt von Fukkien-Dialekt sprechenden chinesischen Einwanderern ab, die aus der Provinz Fujien zuerst nach Sumatra und weiter nach Kuala Lumpur auswanderten. Die Lage ihres Dorfes an der Flussmündung zwingt sie zum Fischen und zur Fischverarbeitung. Man ahnt, dass sie eine weitere Wende in ihrem Leben nicht mehr ertragen werden, obwohl die Verschmutzung von Flüssen und dem Meer ihnen bereits die Lebensgrundlage entzieht.
Keong war schon als Kind leicht zu beleidigen und schlug dann gnadenlos zu. Die Beziehung zwischen den Jugendlichen war nie einfach; denn Keong war „wie ein Stein im Schuh“.
Die Werte, nach denen Ah Hocks Familie lebt, zwingen ihn den „Freund“ zu decken. Als Keong sich nach langer Abwesenheit wieder bei Ah Hock meldet, hat der vergeblich versucht, mit ehrlicher Arbeit zu überleben. Der Jüngere setzte stets auf Fleiß und Zuverlässigkeit und verließ sich darauf, dass seine Chefs das schon bemerken und ihm Zulagen zahlen werden. Durch steigende Zahlen von illegalen Einwanderern und Flüchtlingen aus Myanmar ist ehrliche Arbeit jedoch nichts mehr wert. Zwei Illegale arbeiten billiger als Ah Hock.
Wie die Fischerfamilien in seinem Dorf sieht Ah Hock sich Ereignissen hilflos ausgeliefert, die er nicht beeinflussen kann. Mit großer Verantwortung und zu geringem Lohn arbeitet er inzwischen in einem Fischzucht-Betrieb, als er dringend Keongs Hilfe braucht. In der Szene der Schleuser und Vermittler illegaler Arbeitskräfte kommt es schließlich zum Mord, für den Ah Hock büßen wird. Der Icherzähler zeichnet das Bild eines Vielvölkerstaates, in dem es stets eine Gruppe gegeben hat, der man sich überlegen fühlen konnte – aufgrund von Nationalität oder Hautfarbe. Je dunkler die Hautfarbe, desto tiefer die Stufe, die einem zugestanden wird. Zuwanderung hat den vorhandenen Konflikt eskalieren lassen; denn sie machte Menschen und Fluchtwege zur Ware.
Ah Hocks Gespräche mit der Journalisten zeigen, dass der Jüngere nach den Regeln seines Fischerdorfs spielt, die zwangsläufig mit Eskapaden des älteren Keongs kollidieren müssen. Auch die Interviewerin spielt nach eigenen Regeln, die einem Jungen vom Dorf fremd sein werden. Ah Hock hat mich damit beeindruckt, wie er über Ereignisse spricht, die er als Jugendlicher noch nicht wahrnehmen konnte, obwohl sie offensichtlich waren. Ah Hocks Schicksal und sein gradliniges Erzählen tragen zu gleichen Teilen zu dem hochaktuellen, berührenden Roman bei.
April 27, 2025
Review for second read
We, the Survivors immediately draws the reader in with a homicidal plot, yet Aw deliberately unfolds the circumstances. He takes his time in revealing Ah Hock's story. Reflecting on this, I contemplate the narrative's importance in these stories, particularly through its necropolitical storytelling. Naturally, discrepancies will exist between how others recount our experiences and how we ourselves narrate them, even when each account is truthful. Some may fail to grasp the adversities faced by blue-collar individuals from their perspective, while others will only articulate their own limited viewpoint.
In the story, the author subtly weaves in signs of extractive development's impact on local communities. Through potent details, Aw portrays the insidious ways in which this development reshapes the environment, economies, and social dynamics of these communities, often leading to marginalization, exploitation, and profound loss. The narrative hints at a relentless drive for "progress" and modernization, frequently at the expense of both the environment and marginalized populations. This ideology, fueled by extractive capitalism, can obscure the negative consequences experienced by locals.
The perceptions among different communities in We, the Survivors are complex and often fraught with tension, shaped by socio-economic disparities, cultural differences, and the very processes of development and migration the novel explores. Essentially, the novel highlights how modernization, globalization, and economic inequality create and perpetuate divisions and misunderstandings between various communities within Malaysia. These perceptions are dynamic, constantly being shaped and reshaped by ongoing social and economic transformations.
From a literary standpoint, Su Min serves as a crucial narrative device, enabling the author to explore Ah Hock's inner world and frame his story for the reader. Her presence may offer Ah Hock a sense of being heard. The act of telling his story to her could be cathartic, even a form of seeking understanding. However, it could also be argued that she is exploiting his situation, extracting his story for her own purposes, even if those purposes ultimately aim to illuminate social injustices. Her presence also introduces perspective and interpretation, reminding us that "truth" is often filtered through individual viewpoints.
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Review for the first read
"But the truth is that there is no because. And because there is no because, there is also no why. He did what he did. Sometimes things happen that way. Or maybe the because was buried so far in his past that it’s impossible to figure out what it is, so it ceases to be real."
We, the Survivors by Tash Aw is a poignant story of a middle-class Malaysian man named Ah Hock released from prison recently after serving the time for murdering a Bangladeshi migrant worker. Su-Min who had been doing research for her studies in America returned to Malaysia and interviewed Ah Hock about his life which later turned into book.
Ah Hock was from a Malaysian fishing village living with his mother. His father eft for Singapore when he was young and never returned. The struggling life of Ah Hock and his mother was rough. He happened to befriend with Keong, a thuggish boy from his village a few years older than him. Just like other youths, they wanted to leave the village and dreamt to become tycoons in a city. They went to Kuala Lumpur and worked random jobs. Ah Hock had his own set of moral value. He worked in restaurants whereas Keong worked as a drug smuggler. Soon, he managed to separate Keong from his life.
Years later, Ah Hock was working as a fore man in a plantation. Though uneducated, he was a diligent and hard working person. He got married and though he had not become a tycoon, he was somewhat enjoying his life. One day, he received a call from Keong and reconnected with him. Regarding a serious situation at work, Ah Hock reluctantly asked help from Keong which led to turn Ah Hock's life upside down.
From the beginning, Tash Aw let the readers know that Ah Hock murdered a man but we don't know why he did it or how it occurred. It is not a mystery or thriller kind of novel that unravels the homicide case. I get to know Ah Hock's life from the beginning of his childhood including the misfortune family affairs, the struggles with poverty and rise from it as well as his working life and married life as an adult.
Through the interviews, his life is unfold. Although it is told in Ah Hock's narration, I believe it is not to diminish the crime he committed but to showcase the dull yet strenuous life of working-class people in Malaysia. At the same time, distressing lives and obscurity of migrant workers from Bangladesh, Burma, Indonesia, and Nepal as well as Rohingya refugees were attentively portrayed.
Many times in the story, I see Ah Hock's shoulda, coulda, woulda moments. Regrets for doing this or not doing that and most of them are related to his association with Keong. His conversations with Su-Min are interlaced between his recount on his life. In a glimpse, the reader gets to see insights of an intellectual like Su-Min. Though it may not portray the entire upper class or the intellectuals, it is an interesting read. Aw's storytelling is crafty and evocative. Sometimes brisk as the necessity of plot but most of the time steady and compassionate.
The story brought the reader's attention with a homicidal plot at the beginning but Aw doesn't rush in telling how it occurred. He takes time in telling Ah Hock's story. After reading it, I contemplate on the importance of the narrative in the stories. Of course there will be differences between how others tell our stories and how we tell our own even each of us tell the truth. Some won't see the adversity faced by the blue-collar people from their perspective. Some will only tell what they see from their point of view.
We, the Survivors immediately draws the reader in with a homicidal plot, yet Aw deliberately unfolds the circumstances. He takes his time in revealing Ah Hock's story. Reflecting on this, I contemplate the narrative's importance in these stories, particularly through its necropolitical storytelling. Naturally, discrepancies will exist between how others recount our experiences and how we ourselves narrate them, even when each account is truthful. Some may fail to grasp the adversities faced by blue-collar individuals from their perspective, while others will only articulate their own limited viewpoint.
In the story, the author subtly weaves in signs of extractive development's impact on local communities. Through potent details, Aw portrays the insidious ways in which this development reshapes the environment, economies, and social dynamics of these communities, often leading to marginalization, exploitation, and profound loss. The narrative hints at a relentless drive for "progress" and modernization, frequently at the expense of both the environment and marginalized populations. This ideology, fueled by extractive capitalism, can obscure the negative consequences experienced by locals.
The perceptions among different communities in We, the Survivors are complex and often fraught with tension, shaped by socio-economic disparities, cultural differences, and the very processes of development and migration the novel explores. Essentially, the novel highlights how modernization, globalization, and economic inequality create and perpetuate divisions and misunderstandings between various communities within Malaysia. These perceptions are dynamic, constantly being shaped and reshaped by ongoing social and economic transformations.
From a literary standpoint, Su Min serves as a crucial narrative device, enabling the author to explore Ah Hock's inner world and frame his story for the reader. Her presence may offer Ah Hock a sense of being heard. The act of telling his story to her could be cathartic, even a form of seeking understanding. However, it could also be argued that she is exploiting his situation, extracting his story for her own purposes, even if those purposes ultimately aim to illuminate social injustices. Her presence also introduces perspective and interpretation, reminding us that "truth" is often filtered through individual viewpoints.
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Review for the first read
"But the truth is that there is no because. And because there is no because, there is also no why. He did what he did. Sometimes things happen that way. Or maybe the because was buried so far in his past that it’s impossible to figure out what it is, so it ceases to be real."
We, the Survivors by Tash Aw is a poignant story of a middle-class Malaysian man named Ah Hock released from prison recently after serving the time for murdering a Bangladeshi migrant worker. Su-Min who had been doing research for her studies in America returned to Malaysia and interviewed Ah Hock about his life which later turned into book.
Ah Hock was from a Malaysian fishing village living with his mother. His father eft for Singapore when he was young and never returned. The struggling life of Ah Hock and his mother was rough. He happened to befriend with Keong, a thuggish boy from his village a few years older than him. Just like other youths, they wanted to leave the village and dreamt to become tycoons in a city. They went to Kuala Lumpur and worked random jobs. Ah Hock had his own set of moral value. He worked in restaurants whereas Keong worked as a drug smuggler. Soon, he managed to separate Keong from his life.
Years later, Ah Hock was working as a fore man in a plantation. Though uneducated, he was a diligent and hard working person. He got married and though he had not become a tycoon, he was somewhat enjoying his life. One day, he received a call from Keong and reconnected with him. Regarding a serious situation at work, Ah Hock reluctantly asked help from Keong which led to turn Ah Hock's life upside down.
From the beginning, Tash Aw let the readers know that Ah Hock murdered a man but we don't know why he did it or how it occurred. It is not a mystery or thriller kind of novel that unravels the homicide case. I get to know Ah Hock's life from the beginning of his childhood including the misfortune family affairs, the struggles with poverty and rise from it as well as his working life and married life as an adult.
Through the interviews, his life is unfold. Although it is told in Ah Hock's narration, I believe it is not to diminish the crime he committed but to showcase the dull yet strenuous life of working-class people in Malaysia. At the same time, distressing lives and obscurity of migrant workers from Bangladesh, Burma, Indonesia, and Nepal as well as Rohingya refugees were attentively portrayed.
Many times in the story, I see Ah Hock's shoulda, coulda, woulda moments. Regrets for doing this or not doing that and most of them are related to his association with Keong. His conversations with Su-Min are interlaced between his recount on his life. In a glimpse, the reader gets to see insights of an intellectual like Su-Min. Though it may not portray the entire upper class or the intellectuals, it is an interesting read. Aw's storytelling is crafty and evocative. Sometimes brisk as the necessity of plot but most of the time steady and compassionate.
The story brought the reader's attention with a homicidal plot at the beginning but Aw doesn't rush in telling how it occurred. He takes time in telling Ah Hock's story. After reading it, I contemplate on the importance of the narrative in the stories. Of course there will be differences between how others tell our stories and how we tell our own even each of us tell the truth. Some won't see the adversity faced by the blue-collar people from their perspective. Some will only tell what they see from their point of view.
April 18, 2025
while i would prefer the writing to be more descriptive and complex, i have to give this a 4 stars, for disclosing the realities of migrant workers, corruption in msia, of race and class, and the system that pushes people to the edge. we've come a long way, but it made me realise how privileged i am to be living comfortably since i was born (specifically in KL where people from other states DREAM to be), oblivious to what people are going through in rural areas :( overall loved it and CANT WAIT TO READ THE SOUTH AHHHHH
PS: the structure of this book kind of reminded of me Adolescence + If We Were Villains
PSPS: such a gorgeous cover. one of my favs!!!
PS: the structure of this book kind of reminded of me Adolescence + If We Were Villains
PSPS: such a gorgeous cover. one of my favs!!!
June 2, 2025
beautifully written book. recommend
May 10, 2024
This is a wonderful novel about the effect of capitalism in Malaysia. It is not a happy one, but gives a glimpse into lives where hope doesn’t seem to be an option.
It’s about a man who commits a crime, and the reasons behind this crime, the context surrounding it, the man’s life. It’s also a novel on the struggle to come up on top between different classes and ethnicities within Malay society.
I recommend it
It’s about a man who commits a crime, and the reasons behind this crime, the context surrounding it, the man’s life. It’s also a novel on the struggle to come up on top between different classes and ethnicities within Malay society.
I recommend it
October 23, 2019
“Some politician in America decides that they can’t buy Malaysian rubber gloves; suddenly 10 factories in the area have to shut down. The Europeans want to save the fucking world so they ban the use of palm oil in food; within a month, the entire port is on its knees.”
Tash Aw’s most recent novel, “We, the Survivors” is a bleak story about the complexity of the Malaysian society told through the personal account of one protagonist, Ah Hock, a relatively poor Chinese Malaysian. From the beginning the reader knows that Ah Hock spent three years in prison for murder. He describes his life to a postgraduate student who decided to write a book about him. In this story, as in life, everyone is a victim. A victim to modern slavery due to their background and nationality, like hundreds of unnamed and undocumented Bangladeshi, Burmese or Nepalese migrant workers and Rohingya refugees working in Malaysia, from whose labour Ah Hock and his childhood friend Keong benefit. A victim to childhood alliances and obligations. A victim to unscrupulous and unsympathetic bosses. A victim to your beliefs, convictions and values. A victim, finally, to foreign, stronger powers, who exploit Asian emerging economies and determine the fate of dozens of millions of people.
Aw slowly but steadily creates an atmosphere of oppression, to which we fall prey. The novel made me think about the extent of our freedom and control - how much do we really control our lives? It isn’t about spiritual or divine control though, but more about us being just links in a gigantic chain. There is so little true independence and free will and yet we live off the illusion of freedom.
“We, the Survivors” can be seen by ignorant Westerners as the behind-the-curtains of Western cushy existence, with infinite choices and small or not-so-small luxuries. For hundreds of millions of people though what Aw shows is the raw reality of their lives. Ordinary, boring, unspectacular, balancing between poverty and making ends meet but never anything more than that. I was moved much more than I had expected and got a really good lesson in empathy from Tash Aw.
Tash Aw’s most recent novel, “We, the Survivors” is a bleak story about the complexity of the Malaysian society told through the personal account of one protagonist, Ah Hock, a relatively poor Chinese Malaysian. From the beginning the reader knows that Ah Hock spent three years in prison for murder. He describes his life to a postgraduate student who decided to write a book about him. In this story, as in life, everyone is a victim. A victim to modern slavery due to their background and nationality, like hundreds of unnamed and undocumented Bangladeshi, Burmese or Nepalese migrant workers and Rohingya refugees working in Malaysia, from whose labour Ah Hock and his childhood friend Keong benefit. A victim to childhood alliances and obligations. A victim to unscrupulous and unsympathetic bosses. A victim to your beliefs, convictions and values. A victim, finally, to foreign, stronger powers, who exploit Asian emerging economies and determine the fate of dozens of millions of people.
Aw slowly but steadily creates an atmosphere of oppression, to which we fall prey. The novel made me think about the extent of our freedom and control - how much do we really control our lives? It isn’t about spiritual or divine control though, but more about us being just links in a gigantic chain. There is so little true independence and free will and yet we live off the illusion of freedom.
“We, the Survivors” can be seen by ignorant Westerners as the behind-the-curtains of Western cushy existence, with infinite choices and small or not-so-small luxuries. For hundreds of millions of people though what Aw shows is the raw reality of their lives. Ordinary, boring, unspectacular, balancing between poverty and making ends meet but never anything more than that. I was moved much more than I had expected and got a really good lesson in empathy from Tash Aw.
February 5, 2021
A strong 3.5 stars. This book took me quite a while to read and digest. It’s a harrowing, fairly depressing narrative yet full of important topics that are often overlooked and not explored as they make us uncomfortable.
Ah Hock has murdered a man and spent time working through a prison sentence. Now released a PhD student contacts him, wanting to research what led him to the murder over the course of his life. We, the reader, are very much the researcher reviewing the information given, taking it in, assessing, learning...
This is a book about migrant workers, about desperation, about deep ingrained inequality and prejudice. It’s a book about poverty, about ideas of cause and effect, it’s about people’s who have no opportunities and whose hope is destroyed time and time again. It’s about power, relationships and structures of hierarchy and how they are maintained.
It’s quite a moving book and you finish the last page to reflect at how deeply unjust and divided our world is.
It’s a heavy read and far from uplifting but extremely important. It will be staying with me for quite some time.
Ah Hock has murdered a man and spent time working through a prison sentence. Now released a PhD student contacts him, wanting to research what led him to the murder over the course of his life. We, the reader, are very much the researcher reviewing the information given, taking it in, assessing, learning...
This is a book about migrant workers, about desperation, about deep ingrained inequality and prejudice. It’s a book about poverty, about ideas of cause and effect, it’s about people’s who have no opportunities and whose hope is destroyed time and time again. It’s about power, relationships and structures of hierarchy and how they are maintained.
It’s quite a moving book and you finish the last page to reflect at how deeply unjust and divided our world is.
It’s a heavy read and far from uplifting but extremely important. It will be staying with me for quite some time.
March 16, 2021
3.5
This was very very slow to get into but I'm glad to have persisted. The narrative really grew and revealed itself in a clever way. It was respective of meeting someone and unconsciously/consciously boxing them as xyz, whatever, then being continuously surprised as more is revealed. A fine reminder to be patient and kind. It's been one of many intakes for me recently that teaches the classic to not judge a book by its cover (the cover for this book is excellent ps).
Or even the difficulty of seeing a person, and being one, beyond a situation that they've been engulfed by. Character is talking about prison, future, present time and there's no connection but then the beautiful telling of his mother and how he got to that place, opens the space so much. Ah, there's the heart. It's always there somewhere.
Corrupt governments can entirely collapse, all day, every day
This was very very slow to get into but I'm glad to have persisted. The narrative really grew and revealed itself in a clever way. It was respective of meeting someone and unconsciously/consciously boxing them as xyz, whatever, then being continuously surprised as more is revealed. A fine reminder to be patient and kind. It's been one of many intakes for me recently that teaches the classic to not judge a book by its cover (the cover for this book is excellent ps).
Or even the difficulty of seeing a person, and being one, beyond a situation that they've been engulfed by. Character is talking about prison, future, present time and there's no connection but then the beautiful telling of his mother and how he got to that place, opens the space so much. Ah, there's the heart. It's always there somewhere.
Corrupt governments can entirely collapse, all day, every day
January 20, 2021
We, The Survivors surrounds Ah Hock, a Malaysian-Chinese man from a coastal village that accidentally murdered a Bangladeshi.
Don't be fool by the summary as it isn't about the murder, but the struggles of a B-40 (the 40% bottom income community) that barely make the cut for survival.
It depicts the differential treatment towards the rural community, exploitation of foreign workers and the apathetic of upper class towards others.
The book is filled with Malaysian-ness. The local slang ('meh', 'lah' etc.) and Cantonese are infused in the conversation. The act of bribing the authorities and our 'in-born' instinct to blame the foreigners for crimes. Also, a multi-level marketing company from America (*cough*) that Ah Hock's wife falls into.
I couldn't say I'm a fan of Tash Aw's writing. The sentences are crammed with words and descriptions. As it's a 'slice-of-life' story, there isn't a plot to proprel through, which made it a tough read.
However, I do think this book did a great job of depicting the lives of low economic classes in Malaysia and the struggles in surviving this bleak nation. Even though the story is set in the 1980s, it remains timely and relevant.
Rating : 3.5 stars
Don't be fool by the summary as it isn't about the murder, but the struggles of a B-40 (the 40% bottom income community) that barely make the cut for survival.
It depicts the differential treatment towards the rural community, exploitation of foreign workers and the apathetic of upper class towards others.
The book is filled with Malaysian-ness. The local slang ('meh', 'lah' etc.) and Cantonese are infused in the conversation. The act of bribing the authorities and our 'in-born' instinct to blame the foreigners for crimes. Also, a multi-level marketing company from America (*cough*) that Ah Hock's wife falls into.
I couldn't say I'm a fan of Tash Aw's writing. The sentences are crammed with words and descriptions. As it's a 'slice-of-life' story, there isn't a plot to proprel through, which made it a tough read.
However, I do think this book did a great job of depicting the lives of low economic classes in Malaysia and the struggles in surviving this bleak nation. Even though the story is set in the 1980s, it remains timely and relevant.
Rating : 3.5 stars
August 11, 2019
This is a good read...an interesting story. It is a grim and depressing story. And as I read it, I reflected on his other books. He maintains a consistent theme in all of them. It's about capitalism and how labor fairs under that model. Basically, there are those in power and those who are used by those in power. And they are all positioned on a rather oppressive ladder, while they struggle to survive. The prospects are bleak and fatalistic.
In this book, Ah Hock and all the characters (e.g., his mother, his friend, his uncle, etc.) are all depicted, in great part, given their jobs and their experiences working. Later, we see how cheaper labor from India, Indonesia, Myanmar, and Bangladesh is brought to Malaysia. We see how the Rohingya of Myanmar are also used and abused as cheap labor.
In this book, Ah Hock and all the characters (e.g., his mother, his friend, his uncle, etc.) are all depicted, in great part, given their jobs and their experiences working. Later, we see how cheaper labor from India, Indonesia, Myanmar, and Bangladesh is brought to Malaysia. We see how the Rohingya of Myanmar are also used and abused as cheap labor.
May 14, 2023
*Changing this book to 5 stars after finishing 5 star billionaire*
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“It didn't take us long to drive back into town. At that time the traffic is always light, but that night it seemed quieter than usual. Who knows - maybe the port business was slow, and fewer container ships were docking, so all the lorries ferrying goods up to KL had called it quits. Sometimes work at the port slowed down and you'd see migrants drifting into town looking for a few days' casual work here and there, from whoever would employ them. During these periods the town appeared to function normally, which is to say that a visitor like you wouldn't notice anything unusual. You'd see the buses and the markets, shopkeepers sweeping the pavements outside their doors, people sitting down at roadside food stalls - but you'd miss the feeling of anxiety, the knowledge that the entire town depended on trade from faraway places, goods being bought and sold by people we would never know. Some politician in America decides that they can't buy Malaysian rubber gloves; suddenly ten factories in the area have to shut down. The Europeans want to save the fucking planet so they ban the use of palm oil in food; within a month the entire port is on its knees. Life continues, but you feel it slipping quietly away, and you worry that it'll never return. And because of that fear, you feel caught in a suspended state. On the outside, life seems normal, but inside it's drawn to a standstill”.
- We the survivors by Tash Aw
.
.
- [ ] The synopsis that publisher put on the cover : Its about murder
- [ ] The true synopsis after i have finished this book : If you are marginalised and disadvantaged, the world is going to fuck you up and you have to do whatever you can to survive.
I finally picked up Tash Aw’s we the survivors this year. It was long overdue as my best friend love his writing hence i am expected to read at least one of his books. As Ah Hock narrated his story in 2 different settings, one in an interview with Su-Min and another when he recalled back his childhood, teenage-hood, and adulthood memories. One can simply deduce from those stories that he was born in poor and broken family, his parents officially divorced once his mother received the letter from Singapore, his mother had a constant presence in his life until she died. Keong is another character that crucial in his life especially in portraying how contrast he is with Ah Hock. I have to be honest, while it may work in alternating the pages between the conversation that Sumin had with Ah Hock and Ah Hock’s flashback, I wish Tash Aw did not put this dual narration. Undoubtedly, Tash Aw is a brilliant writer and i am looking forward to read Five star billionaire and his other works. The book did well in exposing the subtle racism of south asian (they were referred as ‘black devils’ and southeast asian foreign workers from Malaysian Lens (The locals vs the outsiders). The struggle of foreign workers and Immigrants in Malaysia and how majority of them were being exploited by the capitalists also were shown as both Keong and Ah Hock work in the industry that employed them. Ultimately, the story maybe bleak for some but it is an important one to tell. It was supposed to make us uncomfortable especially if we are already living in bubble and failed to understand the impacts of inequality and prejudice. Its a slow read for me but the ending is where the masterstroke happened. As Su-Min enjoyed her achievement on Ah-Hock’s story, they parted ways without acknowledging that huge class differences, status and privileges existed between them. Overall, a highly recommended book!
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“It didn't take us long to drive back into town. At that time the traffic is always light, but that night it seemed quieter than usual. Who knows - maybe the port business was slow, and fewer container ships were docking, so all the lorries ferrying goods up to KL had called it quits. Sometimes work at the port slowed down and you'd see migrants drifting into town looking for a few days' casual work here and there, from whoever would employ them. During these periods the town appeared to function normally, which is to say that a visitor like you wouldn't notice anything unusual. You'd see the buses and the markets, shopkeepers sweeping the pavements outside their doors, people sitting down at roadside food stalls - but you'd miss the feeling of anxiety, the knowledge that the entire town depended on trade from faraway places, goods being bought and sold by people we would never know. Some politician in America decides that they can't buy Malaysian rubber gloves; suddenly ten factories in the area have to shut down. The Europeans want to save the fucking planet so they ban the use of palm oil in food; within a month the entire port is on its knees. Life continues, but you feel it slipping quietly away, and you worry that it'll never return. And because of that fear, you feel caught in a suspended state. On the outside, life seems normal, but inside it's drawn to a standstill”.
- We the survivors by Tash Aw
.
.
- [ ] The synopsis that publisher put on the cover : Its about murder
- [ ] The true synopsis after i have finished this book : If you are marginalised and disadvantaged, the world is going to fuck you up and you have to do whatever you can to survive.
I finally picked up Tash Aw’s we the survivors this year. It was long overdue as my best friend love his writing hence i am expected to read at least one of his books. As Ah Hock narrated his story in 2 different settings, one in an interview with Su-Min and another when he recalled back his childhood, teenage-hood, and adulthood memories. One can simply deduce from those stories that he was born in poor and broken family, his parents officially divorced once his mother received the letter from Singapore, his mother had a constant presence in his life until she died. Keong is another character that crucial in his life especially in portraying how contrast he is with Ah Hock. I have to be honest, while it may work in alternating the pages between the conversation that Sumin had with Ah Hock and Ah Hock’s flashback, I wish Tash Aw did not put this dual narration. Undoubtedly, Tash Aw is a brilliant writer and i am looking forward to read Five star billionaire and his other works. The book did well in exposing the subtle racism of south asian (they were referred as ‘black devils’ and southeast asian foreign workers from Malaysian Lens (The locals vs the outsiders). The struggle of foreign workers and Immigrants in Malaysia and how majority of them were being exploited by the capitalists also were shown as both Keong and Ah Hock work in the industry that employed them. Ultimately, the story maybe bleak for some but it is an important one to tell. It was supposed to make us uncomfortable especially if we are already living in bubble and failed to understand the impacts of inequality and prejudice. Its a slow read for me but the ending is where the masterstroke happened. As Su-Min enjoyed her achievement on Ah-Hock’s story, they parted ways without acknowledging that huge class differences, status and privileges existed between them. Overall, a highly recommended book!
March 11, 2021
The book is based on the brutal social inequality in present-day Malaysia told from the viewpoint of Ah Hock, a Malaysian of Chinese ethnicity who has just spent three years in jail for killing a Bangladeshi migrant worker.
What I liked about this book was that it never sugarcoated what reality is for migrant workers in Malaysia. Some migrants are local Malaysians, others are recent immigrants from more destitute places like Bangladesh and Myanmar. A grim picture emerges from this novel of the Asian continent’s poor and less-poor.
The laborers who built modern Malaysia seem to be destined for obscurity, each layer of cement and heavy load they carry crushing who they really are. They have migrated in the hopes of 'making it in life', but unfortunately it is all perceived as self-delusion, and climbing the rungs of society is almost impossible.
The book has really taken aim at the rampant dislocations that class exploitation has wrought on Malaysian society. In this respect, I think the book is important for bringing awareness to this topic. However, the story for me wasn't very engaging and felt some parts weren't required in quite so much detail. (I skim read the second half of the book in 45 minutes...)
What I liked about this book was that it never sugarcoated what reality is for migrant workers in Malaysia. Some migrants are local Malaysians, others are recent immigrants from more destitute places like Bangladesh and Myanmar. A grim picture emerges from this novel of the Asian continent’s poor and less-poor.
The laborers who built modern Malaysia seem to be destined for obscurity, each layer of cement and heavy load they carry crushing who they really are. They have migrated in the hopes of 'making it in life', but unfortunately it is all perceived as self-delusion, and climbing the rungs of society is almost impossible.
The book has really taken aim at the rampant dislocations that class exploitation has wrought on Malaysian society. In this respect, I think the book is important for bringing awareness to this topic. However, the story for me wasn't very engaging and felt some parts weren't required in quite so much detail. (I skim read the second half of the book in 45 minutes...)
April 14, 2019
We, the Survivors is a masterful and utterly gripping portrait of a man simply trying to survive and live the best life he can. It is also an insightful look at Malaysian society; its apparent corruption, institutional racism, and its reliance on underpaid and undervalued foreign workers.
Over the course of its absorbing 300-something pages we listen as Ah Hock tells his story to a visiting student/journalist. Right from the beginning we know that Ah Hock has killed someone, and recently been released from jail. We then learn, gradually, what led him to this horrible act as he recounts the important events of his life. He speaks of a childhood growing up with his mother in a fishing village where the days were long and full of backbreaking work; of how he met his friend Keong and together they yearned for a better life in the city; of how this new life inevitably faltered and offered a path into darkness; of how Ah Hock eventually found a settled job and a wife - a (mostly) happy life; and of how it all fell apart.
Ah Hock's story is told with real feeling and detail - imbued with his hopes, dreams, pain and regret - and he often jumps forward and backward through time. This could have made the book disjointed but instead it helps to create an endearing, almost cozy, atmosphere as the tale unfolds. Ah Hock tells us his story as if we were old friends.
Ah Hock is a simple, hard working man who only wants the best life possible for himself. He never sets out to harm anyone, does his best to stay out of trouble, and tries to avoid being involved in the almost casual racism that pervades his world. And yet, a series of unfortunate events lead him to murder.
By the time the conclusion drew near I felt a strong sense of sympathy for him. The day after finishing the book, I found I missed him.
We, the Survivors is moving, poignant, very well written and increasingly immersive. 4 stars, and highly recommended!
Over the course of its absorbing 300-something pages we listen as Ah Hock tells his story to a visiting student/journalist. Right from the beginning we know that Ah Hock has killed someone, and recently been released from jail. We then learn, gradually, what led him to this horrible act as he recounts the important events of his life. He speaks of a childhood growing up with his mother in a fishing village where the days were long and full of backbreaking work; of how he met his friend Keong and together they yearned for a better life in the city; of how this new life inevitably faltered and offered a path into darkness; of how Ah Hock eventually found a settled job and a wife - a (mostly) happy life; and of how it all fell apart.
Ah Hock's story is told with real feeling and detail - imbued with his hopes, dreams, pain and regret - and he often jumps forward and backward through time. This could have made the book disjointed but instead it helps to create an endearing, almost cozy, atmosphere as the tale unfolds. Ah Hock tells us his story as if we were old friends.
Ah Hock is a simple, hard working man who only wants the best life possible for himself. He never sets out to harm anyone, does his best to stay out of trouble, and tries to avoid being involved in the almost casual racism that pervades his world. And yet, a series of unfortunate events lead him to murder.
By the time the conclusion drew near I felt a strong sense of sympathy for him. The day after finishing the book, I found I missed him.
We, the Survivors is moving, poignant, very well written and increasingly immersive. 4 stars, and highly recommended!
September 27, 2019
I was not a fan of the only other book I've read by Tash Aw (Five Star Billionaire). It wasn't bad, but it felt very familiar and hence a bit generic to me (yes, I know - you disagree. Everyone loved it...) This is markedly different with exquisite writing on race, class, immigration, privilege, power, desperation, and how a lifetime can create a person who -- when backed into a corner -- might not fare quite as well as those with so much at their fingertips...
It's well worth a read, and I liked the framing device of the privileged young writer speaking to the ex-con. More when/if I get a chance.
It's well worth a read, and I liked the framing device of the privileged young writer speaking to the ex-con. More when/if I get a chance.
Evolution is a funny thing. For the longest time, you believe in the power of change – in your ability to mould your life through even the smallest acts. Even buying a four-digit lottery ticket feels loaded with optimism, as if those five bucks might turn into a twenty-thousand bonanza and transform your life. Then one day it disappears, that blind devotion to hope, and you know that even if you pray all day, nothing will happen to you.There's an interesting interview w/ the author (in two parts, this is a link to the second,) at Electric Lit: https://electricliterature.com/why-ar...
June 19, 2019
This book reminded me of Camu's "L'etranger" - Ah Hock, a Malaysian villager of Chinese descent who is telling the story, commits a random act of violence and we slowly find out why. It's a disconcerting story of social inequality set in Malaysia and how people cope with hardship and poverty in Asia - it's a very compelling tale but emotionally challenging.
August 18, 2019
A minor testimonial, sorely lacking in tension and far off the mark from its bombastic title. After excursions to Indonesia and China, it's nice to see Tash Aw return to home turf. But his protagnoist Ah Hock is simply too passive to warrant much interest, and the non-linear, fragmented narrative feels like it's covering up for the lack of a compelling core.
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