Taking time off from non-profit work to write a murder mystery set in Laos
Just finished a book called The Coroner's Lunch by Colin Cotterill. It's a rather regular mystery novel, but a very rare book to read. First, it takes place in Communist Laos, in 1976. This is just a year after the success of a revolution which, according to the main character, Dr. Siri Paiboun, aimed to end the terrible corruption of the French and American years. Orchestrated by young idealists in the jungle, it has brought to the top some characters who spout things such as "Revolutionary consciousness is maintained beneath the brilliance of the beam from the socialist lighthouse. But people have a right to see the lighthouse keeper's clean underwear drying on the rocks." Yet the reader learns that there are good individuals in all walks of life, as a humorous and unlikely alliance of a coroner, a policeman, a politburo member, Hmong shaman and Vietnamese doctor uncover the dirty dealings of the head of a nascent secret police/death squad sort of operation.
The Coroner's Lunch does a pretty good job of staying on the political fence as far as people are concerned. It is a little bit cheery, its characters reminiscent of the socialist realist children's literature I read from the Library of Adventures when I was little. Yet it's also fair, laughing at ideologized idiots, corrupt generals, and an education system that has monks-turned-teachers read printouts of Department of Education propaganda in lecture. Siri is a pretty complex character, irreverent and independent, yet a believer in progress for the new regime.
At the end, Siri gets the file the unlucky security organ has kept on him over the years, and finds his wife's suicide note - which he's never seen. A passionate revolutionary who left French university for the jungle, she killed herself out of depression for the failure of her struggle a few years before its consummation. Yet she writes that more than that, she killed herself because this political disappointment deprived her of the ability to appreciate and love her husband. As a way of getting at the dangers of singlemindedness, I like this scheme a lot.
So overall, I liked this book a lot. It also gave me some insight, albeit from a foreigner’s perspective, to a country I don't know much about. It’s pretty fun to hear Siri wonder why all Vietnamese are named Tran, and have a character commit suicide after listening to Thai radio, which attempts to propagandize the Lao back into the capitalist fold, explain the genetic reasons for the ugliness of Lao communists.
It’s amazing, too, that this was written by an Englishman. Here's a description I found of the author: "Colin Cotterill has spent twelve years in the Southeast Asian region, He has taught and trained teachers in Laos, Thailand and along the Burmese border. He is a writer and cartoonist for various publications and has produced and directed a forty program TV series for Thai national television. But his new life, and his most valuable contribution to the region, is his work in child protection. This work he now does full time." Can this be me, someday?
The one strange thing in reading the book was the absence of fear. Cotterill repeatedly makes the point that being forced to voluntarily dig a ditch on a Saturday is the most dangerous externality of the Lao communist regime. People get jailed for listening to Thai broadcasts, and there are “chicken counter” spies all over the place, yet characters can be somewhat honest about their political opinions. Conversations like the following just seem odd:
“I hope you aren’t insulting the judiciary. I could report you for that.”
“I’ve got nothing against the judiciary.”
“Good.”
“Just the arse that’s representing it.”
Is this possible? How do even quasi-communist regimes institutionalize themselves without extensive repression?
This is what the author says in an interview - "I've spent a lot of time sitting around with people who lived through that period," he said, "both people who were in the jungles and in the caves with the communists; and people who were in Vientiane, fearing the communists. All sitting around together, talking about things like this. We spent many long nights, telling stories. When you get a communist and a noncommunist sitting down together discussing those days, it's very amicable; there doesn't seem to be any aggression. These are two people who were forced to be enemies, I suppose, by foreign aggression. The Laos are very much victims of history.”
Makes me want to learn more. (Incidentally, I am discovering that much of what I learned in college about institutions, and state development, is evaporating from my head. Pretty frightening.)
The Coroner's Lunch does a pretty good job of staying on the political fence as far as people are concerned. It is a little bit cheery, its characters reminiscent of the socialist realist children's literature I read from the Library of Adventures when I was little. Yet it's also fair, laughing at ideologized idiots, corrupt generals, and an education system that has monks-turned-teachers read printouts of Department of Education propaganda in lecture. Siri is a pretty complex character, irreverent and independent, yet a believer in progress for the new regime.
At the end, Siri gets the file the unlucky security organ has kept on him over the years, and finds his wife's suicide note - which he's never seen. A passionate revolutionary who left French university for the jungle, she killed herself out of depression for the failure of her struggle a few years before its consummation. Yet she writes that more than that, she killed herself because this political disappointment deprived her of the ability to appreciate and love her husband. As a way of getting at the dangers of singlemindedness, I like this scheme a lot.
So overall, I liked this book a lot. It also gave me some insight, albeit from a foreigner’s perspective, to a country I don't know much about. It’s pretty fun to hear Siri wonder why all Vietnamese are named Tran, and have a character commit suicide after listening to Thai radio, which attempts to propagandize the Lao back into the capitalist fold, explain the genetic reasons for the ugliness of Lao communists.
It’s amazing, too, that this was written by an Englishman. Here's a description I found of the author: "Colin Cotterill has spent twelve years in the Southeast Asian region, He has taught and trained teachers in Laos, Thailand and along the Burmese border. He is a writer and cartoonist for various publications and has produced and directed a forty program TV series for Thai national television. But his new life, and his most valuable contribution to the region, is his work in child protection. This work he now does full time." Can this be me, someday?
The one strange thing in reading the book was the absence of fear. Cotterill repeatedly makes the point that being forced to voluntarily dig a ditch on a Saturday is the most dangerous externality of the Lao communist regime. People get jailed for listening to Thai broadcasts, and there are “chicken counter” spies all over the place, yet characters can be somewhat honest about their political opinions. Conversations like the following just seem odd:
“I hope you aren’t insulting the judiciary. I could report you for that.”
“I’ve got nothing against the judiciary.”
“Good.”
“Just the arse that’s representing it.”
Is this possible? How do even quasi-communist regimes institutionalize themselves without extensive repression?
This is what the author says in an interview - "I've spent a lot of time sitting around with people who lived through that period," he said, "both people who were in the jungles and in the caves with the communists; and people who were in Vientiane, fearing the communists. All sitting around together, talking about things like this. We spent many long nights, telling stories. When you get a communist and a noncommunist sitting down together discussing those days, it's very amicable; there doesn't seem to be any aggression. These are two people who were forced to be enemies, I suppose, by foreign aggression. The Laos are very much victims of history.”
Makes me want to learn more. (Incidentally, I am discovering that much of what I learned in college about institutions, and state development, is evaporating from my head. Pretty frightening.)
posted by Katherine at 5:33 PM
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