I have come across this book written by Tan Kok Seng, titled 'Son of Singapore' (1972). I know of the author, but I haven't given his works a read or much thought. When it popped up again on my NLB feed, I gave it a shot.
This book was co-written along with Austin Coates, who is the translator of this book. He was the Tan Kok Seng's long-time employer, and eminent mentor who helped the then-young man translate his stories and observations into English. It's a true collaboration in which the author's voice shines through brightly.
Austin Coastes (1922-1997) was a British civil servant and a writer. He's a prolific writer with notable works about Hong Kong and Macao. He has a delightful memoir in 'Myself A Mandarin' (1968). The author detailed his experiences on a work trip to London in the 70s (cue HIPPIES and FLOWER POWER), then later on a work sojourn as a driver in Hong Kong to Austin Coates. The two remained in contact till Austin Coates's death at 75 years old in Portugal in 1997.
Now, 'Son of Singapore' is about a Teochew farm boy living in Singapore. It is Tan Kok Seng himself. Written in first person narrative, it details his coming of age in a clashing changing world of the Japanese Occupation, post-war British rule and Malaya, and finally independence in 1965. I was like, luckily he didn't die from the Occupation, as many did.
You can't call the narrator a 'bumbling fool'. He isn't. He simply is born with a set of circumstances that don't put him in a good standing to make his way in the world. With only a Primary 6 education that he couldn't fully grasp and only Teochew as his main language, it was a tough time earning any decent money. He couldn't even speak Malay, what more English. He could only work as a coolie, and he had mean employers. Life only perked up when he gained a driving licence and somehow got acquainted with three Europeans, and one of them hired him as a driver, and didn't fire him for all the supposed mistakes.
The Malay shook his head. He hadn't seen us come in. I asked him, "What all man do here?"
"But," I protested, "why the other driver say a meeting? He say 'minum'."
"'Minum' and 'meeting' are not the same," he answered, "'Minum' means 'drinking."
Then I realised it must be true. They were just drinking. The Vietnam War was evidently no worse than usual.
The author is now 86 years old. Two of his recent interviews are here, and here. In an interview with Dan Koh (DK) at Epigram, the author explained the language used in this book. This also included comments by the now 92-year-old Edwin Thumboo, acclaimed Singapore poet and academic.
DK: What was the translation process like? Were there special efforts made to maintain the Mandarin and/or Teochew flavour of the original writing?
- Edwin Thumboo: "Tan Kok Seng's English is self taught. Its chief virtue is that it conveys the roots of his feelings. In his trilogy the English has been tidied up but still reflects the flavour of his personality. The point I want to make is that we occasionally detect behind his English the strong presence of his vernacular, Teochew, and it is this that contributes distinctively to his style, for instance."
- "That little boys have ears but no mouth is a literal translation from the Teochew. What Kok Seng has done - and this he does fairly consistently - is domesticate the Teochew adage in English, confident that the literal carries its own force, allowing the reader to work out its implications rapidly."
TKS: Translation starting is Austin had a big piano, so on top of the piano, we stand facing each other, he said: “You read, I will write.” So I read from my Chinese script, and he will (write by hand). Afterwards, he’d let me know all the words that he substitutes. If sometimes the word is too deep or too difficult, I said: “Can we change?” So, we agreed to change the word. It was quite a unique sort-of together.
I really enjoyed the language in this book. It was very relatable, down-to-earth, super local with all its vernacular phrasing and references, but yet grammatically correct. The author detailed a life that I do not know. It's a life I don't fully understand, and honestly, I don't care to live it. All I know is, I do not care for war again in my lifetime. Singapore is still fragile and in a delicate geopolitical position to afford one.
The book ended with readers knowing that while the narrator could drive, he didn't seem quite up for the job, and even over-slept in the morning on a drive in Kuala Lumpur and had to be woken up by the boss. Luckily for him, his boss didn't even mention anything. We don't know know if he has any sense of directions. He said his boss gave him the directions and he never knows if he could find a certain building again. LOL
Here begins narrator/author Tan Kok Seng's new career — from farmer to coolie to chauffeur to a diplomat. The ending of the book wasn't quite abrupt, but it left audiences hanging. Like what next now?
There is a sequel! Of course I borrowed the sequel. Also translated and worked on as a collaboration with Austin Coates, the sequel is titled 'Man of Malaysia' (1974).
'Man of Malaysia' (1974)
The story's opening sentences literally continued from where 'Son of Singapore' (1972) left off. This sequel detailed the 'exciting' and 'glamorous' part of his life as a driver to his boss, a diplomat in Malaya, the intervening years when he didn't have a steady job and then Hong Kong and London again.
After driving his boss around Kuala Lumpur and Penang, his boss was recalled back to London. The narrator ended up not having a job. After mooching for years as an odd-job laborer and coolie again, he decided that this could not go on. Along with his wife and two children, he gave up his life in Penang, and finally moved back to Singapore, bought a flat, and started a business selling eggs. He worked hard. To his surprise, the business flourished.
Life was easier with steady income from the egg wholesaler operation; his parents farm couldn't keep up with the demand. He bought a car to do more deliveries too, and even managed to bring his grouchy traditional father to visit Malaysia.
The narrator, though, is seemingly untouched through it all, retaining his roots and identity, while not being one to conform to the traditionalistic expectations of his parents. It is his story after all, but I thought he should have given more credit to his wife Heung who dutifully raised their children with nary a complaint, allowing him much freedom to work, try, succeed and fail. I suppose that relationships in the past were a more stoic, quiet thing rather than what we know now of equal partnerships.
His observations and musings of 1972 are fairly hilarious to someone like me reading it in 2025. I'm not sure any author could be this politically incorrect yet non-racist in their writing now.
There I sat in the garden, and ordered a pot of tea, as if I were a European.
......................
I must not blame heaven for my own past two years facing hard times. Nor must I blame those who had treated me badly. Nor, too, must I blame myself for not being able to get on with them. The past two years must be effaced.
I must return to my own place—Singapore—to be face to face with truth.
We cannot be other than who we are.
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