Kanha Watanaphat (1911-?) was a daughter of good family who went bad. Instead of marrying well and staying at home to oversee the servants, she married a journalist and wrote some 40 novels and 100 short stories under the pseudonym K. Surangkhanang. Now regarded as one of the most important authors in Thailand's relatively short tradition of novelistic fiction, it appears that only one of her novels has been translated into English, and, of course, the novel chosen as the sole representative of her work in my mother tongue is called Ying khon chua (The Prostitute, 1937).
Thank goodness, even if there is a lamentable correlation in the subject matter of the text with the stunningly little tiny bit of hearsay most Westerners know about Thailand, Ying khon chua is a serious book which, while brushing up against melodrama at times, provides farang(*) with an interesting glimpse of Thai society - from the aristocrats on down - and the Thai with an uncomfortably pointed critique of their own society. Of course, circumstances have changed a bit since every publisher in the nation turned down her manuscript (she had already written two successful novels) and she had to publish it herself (with some commercial success). In 1986 the Thai government named her a "National Artist in Literary Arts" and many of her books were subsequently republished, including this one. But there hasn't been any real change in the Thai view of "working girls," which drips with a noxious hypocrisy that is worse now than it was in 1937 because now prostitution is illegal and one of the supporting pillars of the Thai economy. Simultaneously. That requires some very fancy footwork.
But let's leave that aside and get to the book.
Set up as a frame story, two upper class Thai meet in a train at the Hua Hin station and start to gossip. Soon the conversation comes around to Wit, the aristocratic youngster, and Reun, the prostitute he fell in love with, and the scandal they were causing in the upper registers of Bangkok society. In just a few pages the author displays their class' attitudes: shock at the refusal of Wit to marry the "good girl" his family selected for him and at his desire that his family accept Reun; incomprehension that he didn't do what everyone else did - marry the good girl and keep Reun on the side; scoffing at the attempts of the family to keep Wit under close watch (Can you keep a man penned in the same way as a girl?); discomfort with stating the truth openly when it conflicts with societal illusions (let's be generous - let's call them ideals). Very well done and very telling.
Transitioning directly to Wit and then to Reun, the latter's lonely(**) struggles with pimps and madams, rent collectors and money lenders, among many others, become the focus of the story. It is not a happy story and is made even more wrenching by the author's choice of means to get the innocent country girl into the Bangkok brothel; not the usual, where families would sell a daughter into prostitution in order to feed the other children, or to pay off Daddy's whiskey and gambling debts; or by the less usual means of a grown woman choosing to prostitute herself to support someone she loved (in this book the husband of one of the characters is thrown into prison, their families turn their backs on them, and she must work in a brothel in order to support her son and husband);(***) but by even crueler means (less expensive for the brothel keeper): a smooth young man without any scruples would be hired to go up-country to scout, woo and sweep a beautiful country girl off her feet, bring her back to the big city under the pretenses of an imminent marriage, and then Whamo! The completely convincing details are explained in this text.
In fact, most of the book is quite convincing. Apparently, Khun Kanha was so committed to telling the story truthfully that she, accompanied by her journalist husband, went to brothels to observe and interview. Related in a straightforward third person omniscient manner, the text brings to mind 19th century naturalism in its vivid, sometimes sordid detail and pointed societal critique. And like the best of 19th century naturalism, one acquires very sober insight into the way the society functions by reading this book.
Now, how about a translation of one of the other 39 novels by Khun Kanha, something which doesn't pander to the current Western stereotype of the country?!?
(*) The Thai word for Caucasian foreigners.
(**) Except for the baby Wit left in her womb before his family sent him overseas to get him out of trouble.
(***) Until relatively recently, if a family didn't feed a relative in Thai prison, the prisoner would soon die of starvation. You may be interested to learn that there is a law in the Florida State statutes that enables the state to charge any inmate $50 per day for room and board! If a prisoner sues the state for any reason, that law is employed. And Florida is not the only such state in the US of A. First world, indeed.
In 1937, an upper class and well-educated woman quits her teaching job in order to write at the age of 26 a book about a sex worker. There may be an English work that is this one's equivalent in subject matter, author demographic, and chronology of composition, but considering the radio silence regarding it, the author most certainly did not become later on a household name à la K. Surangkhanang. Foreign, then. The qualities required to make a popular work and much praised writer in the country known as Thailand. Wollstonecraft's Maria comes to mind, especially with regards to the three-woman nuclear family, and we all know how that ended for both writing and written.
It's highly unfortunate that the Oxford in Asia project that fostered this edition thought a few works like this and a bunch of shoddy white gaze titles was sufficient for literary coverage of the Surangkhanang's country. Not to mention the even worse states of Borneo, Cambodia, Indonesia, Malaysia, the Philippines, Singapore, and Vietnam, if the catalogue at the back is to be trusted. K. Surangkhanang wrote over forty novels and more than one-hundred short stories, and until cash frippery academics get their heads out of their collective asses, I have to make do with a first work written in her mid twenties. Polemical, sentimental, excision of broad swathes of repetition and possible replacement with more varied narrative fiber would work wonders on the text, but the awareness of setting the scene is there. The sense of character and ear for dialogue is there. Granted, we're talking translation here, so my show-not-tell spiel is likely more MFA brainwashing than anything else. The changes I'm talking would sell the text better to the Euro/Neo-Euro gaze, but most probably at the cost of faring less brilliantly on the author's home front. After all, Surangkhanang set out to help the sex workers of Thailand, not the United States. Have you ever heard of an agreement over film-rights that wasn't resolved until a half-share of the profits was set to be donated to sex work welfare this side of the Pacific? It doesn't mean anything to those who expect writing to not only sit still for amputation but also thank them afterward, but it means a hell of a lot to me.
I had to Wiki Thailand midway through this, as the rare status of a country never being colonized by European powers makes for a null and void and Thai iced tea in place of the usual Orientalizing background. Reading that as well as this has made me very keen on exploring more, much as The Sing-Song Girls of Shanghai cracked open my egg in an unexpectedly exciting fashion. It means I'm going to be even more frustrated with the obscene hierarchy of an already limited amount of translations made available on the English market, but hey. I've got at least forty books to look forward to, and that's solely from the bibliography of a single writer.
I am not too much of a novel person but I absolutely loved this book. It was a super easy and flowing read. It definitely raised a lot of questions and addressed a lot of issues regarding gender and sex work that are still applicable today, despite this book being published in 1937. I had to read it for a class and was fortunate enough to find a hard copy (its out of print) in a little bookshop in Chiang Mai, Thailand. It’s very engaging and sympathetic and generally straightforward, with a story that felt complete yet left me wanting a bit. Good book, definitely going on my shelves.
A very powerful and very sad tale of a young Thai woman duped into prostitution. Hard to believe that it was written over 80 years ago. It starts slowly but ends with a real kick. Try and read it in Thai, if you can, as this English translation comes across as fairly pedestrian and bland. I am sure the original Thai is far more vibrant and arresting.