The Book of Jakarta – Edited by Maesy Ang & Teddy W. Kusuma
Jakarta, the city I used to call home for over a decade, is now out of reach for me. I have struggled with homesickness ever since I – voluntarily – relocated to Berlin in March 2018, but this feeling was amplified over the last year: since the pandemic took hold of our lives, getting on an airplane and traveling to the other side of the world is simply not in the cards. The cold and grey winter in Berlin doesn’t exactly help either.
I have taken comfort in the fact that I can still connect with my family and friends via WhatsApp, Zoom, Skype or one of the many other online options (or even by sending letters and postcards via snail mail), and I am grateful for that.
But having my cousin point his phone camera towards the street in front of his house in Central Jakarta doesn’t really transport the atmosphere in the city at dusk, when the tropical heat slowly recedes and makes way for a cooler night; it doesn’t capture the distinctive smell that wafts through the air when the sate ayam vendor pushes his cart along the road, hoping to sell a portion of chicken skewers to one of the people in the neighbourhood; nor does it convey the deep frustration of being stuck in traffic yet again after a heavy rainfall, with the driver either shrugging in a “well, what can you do”-manner or angrily cussing at everyone and nobody at the same time.
It’s not more than a peek at the city I miss dearly, without being able to set foot in it. But with the inability to physically be there, I thankfully accept these fleeting moments of happiness and simply dream about the day when I arrive at Soekarno Hatta airport and breathe in Indonesian air.
Another way of escapism during this time for me is reading. In my mind, I can still go anywhere on a whim, and reading books set in distant countries, strange cities and wondrous neighbourhoods have helped me to muscle through. “The Book of Jakarta” has done just that: it let me escape, and even though it didn’t take me to unknown places, it achieved something far more challenging. It took me home.
I was weirdly comforted by the fact that I didn’t have to turn the page to the end of a story to read the explanation of the Indonesian words that were used, like warung, angkot or dangdut; I felt ridiculously proud that I instantly knew what the title of the first story by Ratri Ninditya, “B217AN”, refers to; and I revelled in the fact that I could instantly picture many of the places mentioned, from Balai Kartini and Dufan to Taman Ismail Marzuki and Kalibata.
Published by Comma Press in 2020, “The Book of Jakarta” is part of the “Reading the City” series, which celebrates translated short stories from around the world, offering a unique perspective on the city in focus.
“Since 2006, Comma have sourced a selection of ten authors from specific cities to collate ten short stories that depict the social, historical or political essence of their contemporary city,” Comma describes the series on its website. “Each story is translated (for the first time) into English and published, so that each anthology is a ‘city in short fiction’.”
I came across this series by chance and was immediately intrigued by this unique approach. Only after ordering “The Book of Tokyo” (which made me homesick as well, but that’s another story), I found out about “The Book of Jakarta,” and I simply HAD to have it. As soon as I held it in my hands and started reading, I was transported back to Indonesia’s capital, on a journey that took me to past, present and future.
It was particularly gratifying to read stories by Indonesian writers I didn’t know before, and I applaud Comma Press for making their voices heard. However, it’s not only the writers and the publisher that command praise, but also the translators, many of whom are Indonesian as well.
And even though the writers who contributed stories to this wonderful collection each have their own writing style and have their own unique approach (from satirical to melancholy, from dystopian to tragic), they have one thing in common: a fascination, perhaps even a love-hate relationship with the city of Jakarta.
As is always the case with a collection of short stories, there are some that stand out (according to the taste, preferences or state of mind of the reader). Personally, I’d pick “Grown-Up Kids” by Ziggy Zezsyazeoviennazabrizkie, translated by Annie Tucker, and “The Sun Sets in the North” by Cyntha Hariadi, translated by Eliza Vitri Handayani, as my favourites.
“Grown-Up Kids” gave me a couple of “what the hell just happened”-moments: the characters, the storyline, the twist. It was a story I did not expect, a story that I didn’t see coming, a story that had me on the edge of my seat – and stayed with me long after I had finished reading the book. (No spoilers here, you have to read this one yourself.)
“The Sun Sets in the North” is a wistful portrayal of a friendship between two girls in high school against the backdrop of the May 1998 riots in Jakarta. This story really tugged at my heartstrings – it beautifully portrays the naiveté of the young and that tragic moment when it is lost; and the painful realisation that this, too, is simply a part of life. Not more, not less.
AT A GLANCE
Title: The Book of Jakarta
Editors: Maesy Ang & Teddy W. Kusuma
Published by: Comma Press (2021)
Pages: 192
Language: English