Set in contemporary Toronto and Singapore, Pulse is the story of Natalie, a native Singaporean transplanted to Toronto’s Chinatown. When she hears the devastating news that Selim, the son of her old best friend (and former lover), has died in mysterious circumstances, she decides to return to Singapore to uncover the truth. Bound up in Selim’s story is the relationship between Natalie and her father, a domineering man whose treatment of his daughter may be the key to understanding Selim’s death.
On Lydia Kwa's website, she explains the symbolism of the title and Chinese character 脈:
Pronounced mai in Mandarin, this is the character for 'pulse'. In traditional Chinese medicine, each organ has its own pulse. Reading the pulse is not a simple thing; a textbook was written in 280 CE called Mai Jing (or Pulse Classic), to guide TCM doctors and acupuncturists in how to read the various pulses. In my novel Pulse, the protagonist Natalie describes the way pulse reading occurs, with the second, third and fourth fingers placed on the patient's wrist. Three kinds of pulse are read at each wrist, with three various pressures to be applied at each location. The points on each hand represent different organ systems. In addition, the different pressures allow the doctor to detect changes in the pulse condition. It's a very sophisticated system of diagnosis!
In the novel, the word 'pulse' is also used to symbolize the vitality that exists in individuals and in nature. What about a reading of humankind? How do we take the pulse of the planet and examine the afflictions that plague our world? All of which lead to the challenges of following up on the right diagnosis with the skills to heal those afflictions on a personal and collective level.
Thank goodness I ferreted this out as it was driving me slightly bonkers seeing the Chinese character beside each chapter number and not knowing what it meant. I've previously only read Lydia Kwa's novels based in the Tang Dynasty Oracle Bone and The Walking Boy, both of which I would recommend for those who like Asian historical fantasy. As I said in my review , I think that Lydia Kwa is an underrated writer. Pulse differs from the other two books in that it has a more contemporary setting, toggling between 1970s and 2007, Singapore and Toronto, Canada.
Trigger warning: Parental abuse (physical and sexual), suicide, race riots.
In addition to being a writer, Lydia Kwa is also a published poet and practising psychologist. Both of these, I believe, gets imbued into her writing although the latter while adding great insight also contributes to a feeling of clinical detachment at times. Another hallmark of her writing is the meticulous research she puts in and Pulse is no different. From the Japanese bondage practice of Kinbaku to acupuncture and Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) to little known Singapore history factoids to Taoist divination methods, it is the rare book that both educates and packs an emotional punch. For me, there's also a personal connection in that I've lived in both the settings featured - Toronto and Singapore - in my formative years.
Although Pulse was first published in 2010 (and republished in 2014 by Ethos Books), the issues facing LGTB people today are just as pertinent, making this a timely read for Pride Month. The damage and trauma inflicted by unaccepting unsupportive parents and an intolerant society is just too much. To continually have to be watchful, wary, to repress one's true self - Pulse charts the price of that in two families. It is impossible to stay cool while reading about what Natalie Chia and Selim Khoo had to go through. I would advise gently that those who have experienced homophobia, prosecution and abuse to take care of themselves and decide if they are in a suitable emotional headspace before reading. By evoking Godzilla and reminding us in the original Japanese make that it was human-caused radiation that birthed the monster, the author is also urging readers to question whether all this intolerance and prejudice masks and gives rise to more monstrosities
Pulse also delves into the sensitive topics of interracial marriages and race relations in Singapore, particularly those of Baba and Nonya heritage and also Malay and Chinese, Islam vs Christianity. The spectre of the 1964 race riots is always overhanging, hence the Singapore National Pledge "One united people, regardless of race, language or religion." Selim, an old soul in a young body, a history buff, has the best lines:
Nothing in life is a coincidence. Whatever we've inherited. From family or strangers. Whether we believe in Allah or the Christian God, whatever. Order and chaos, good and evil. Friend, enemy. Bloody dichotomies. We're all connected, unable to escape the impact we have on one another.
We're constantly hungering for transcendence.
Contaminated love-unlike the unconditional kind-comes with hooks, or maybe claws.
Thought it was a far more compelling read than Kwa's pioneering This Place Called Absence!
Surprised that this novel is getting such lukewarm reviews on goodreads. It's a stunning work and especially important given the lack of representations of same-sex Asian American women. On that mark alone, it's groundbreaking; the sophisticated characterizations are of course the icing on the fictional cake.
As it self-identifies, Pulse is not a whodunnit, but a whydunnit. A young man kills himself, and his mother's ex-lover, a woman who migrated with her own parents to Toronto, Canada, may be the only one to understand why he does so. Natalie, an acupuncturist, shares with the dead Saleem an interest in kinbaku, the erotic art of Japanese rope bondage. She is only willing to do the tying, whereas Saleem relishes the pain-pleasure of being tied. Both long, however, to transcend their bodies, the sites of their trauma, while knowing that the body is the only means to such transcendence.
The body is also the limit of our knowledge of one another. We have to interpret, after all, one another by means of visual and verbal cues. Chris Lee, a Canadian critic quoted on the back cover, puts it well: "Pulse relentless explores the limits of knowability--cultural boundaries of knowledge, the seemingly impassable divide between one person and another, and the temporal gaps that render memory unstable yet ever-present." Pulse is searching and courageous in this exploration, and so the ending comes somewhat as a letdown, when Saleem's lover shows Natalie a letter from the dead man to her explaining everything. Saleem had read between the lines of Natalie's own story of trauma to deduce their similar history. She, and the reader, had the truth handed to her on the plate.
first and foremost the descriptive writing allowed me to visualise and be fully immersed in the story. there was a homely and nostalgic feeling when certain places of singapore was mentioned even though i may not be part of that era or it does not exist anymore
it felt like i was floating between reality and imagination as part of the characters subconscious mind as they navigate their personal journey with relationships, sexuality, dark trauma, cultural beliefs and their deepest secrets
forgiveness does not always have to be verbally stated for closure, sometimes all it takes is accepting the changes