Happy Stories, Mostly (Cerita-cerita Bahagia, Hampir Seluruhnya) by Norman Erikson Pasaribu

Published by Tilted Axis Press (English), Gramedia Pustaka Utama (Bahasa Indonesia)

Indonesian Literature, Short Stories, Anthology

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Release Date : December 2021 (Tilted Axis Edition) / October 2020 (Bahasa Indonesia Edition)

BLURB

Playful, shape-shifting and emotionally charged, Happy Stories, Mostly is a collection of twelve stories that queer the norm. Inspired by Simone Weil’s concept of ‘decreation’, and often drawing on Batak and Christian cultural elements, these tales put queer characters in situations and plots conventionally filled by hetero characters.

The stories talk to each other, echo phrases and themes, and even shards of stories within other stories, passing between airports, stacks of men’s lifestyle magazines and memories of Toy Story 3, such that each one almost feels like a puzzle piece of a larger whole, but with crucial facts – the saddest ones, the happiest ones – omitted, forgotten, unbearable.

A blend of science fiction, absurdism and alternative-historical realism, Happy Stories, Mostly is a powerful puff of fresh air, aimed at destabilising the heteronormative world and exposing its underlying absences.

So, in a world where we celebrate disneyfied heterosexualities, for queer folks, what is happiness?

Happy Stories, Mostly is a collection of melancholic and bittersweet stories that are proudly Batak and unapologetically queer. An enticing fresh piece of fiction that weaves discussions of the Christian faith and heteronormativity of Indonesian society with a blend of sci-fi, absurdism, and alternate-history realism.

Since I started reading books back in 2020 I have not picked up a single book written by an Indonesian author. I am happy that Happy Stories, Mostly is my first dip into Indonesian literature. Plenty of my Indonesian mutuals have read this book and raved about it so when I saw there is a translated version of it, I thought why not give it a try.

In this collection of twelve short stories, Norman Erikson Pasaribu captures snippets from a variety of individuals in various stages of their lives and sometimes breathing life to inanimate objects as well. Each short story centres around different characters but they all have a common theme-they all lack a happy ending, but some of them end on the cusp of something close to a happy ending. Fair warning to readers that have set expectations for a feel-good story, this is not the book for you.

A theme shared between all the short stories is the Batak (an ethnic group that is predominantly located in North Sumatra, Indonesia). These stories also have queer characters and discussions on Christian faith. This is what sold me on reading the book-I am a born-and-raised Catholic that is also queer albeit closeted. Pasaribu’s prose is uniquely absurd in a good way. Pasaribu is not shy in changing the trajectory of the narrative, he instead writes to the natural rhythm and beat of the story.

Enkidu Comes Knocking on New Year’s Eve. This first short story is a good introduction for readers to discover what’s in store throughout the book. It is a story that encapsulates Pasaribu absurdity in his writing style and his fresh take in writing about the queer narrative. In this review I want to do a deep dive into the stories that have the strongest impression on me.

Ise goarmu?—What’s your name?
Sandra, Inanguda. Tongtong Sandra goarku.—Sandra has always been my name.

So, What’s your name Sandra? In this third short story, Pasaribu introduces us to a grieving mother. The mother’s life has revolved around her son but with her son’s sudden death she loses a piece of her own identity (non-spoiler). The death of her son has stunned her to her core, so much so that she is now numbed by grief. All her life she had given everything to her son. Distraught by tragedy, she takes it upon herself to travel to Vietnam to find answers relating to her son’s death.

The main themes of this short story are identity, regret, and grief. Pasaribu puts a great emphasises on names (as you can see in the title of the story), for example the nickname the mother is given after giving birth to her son, Mama Bison; the son’s name, Bison; and the place in Vietnam she wants to go to, Mỹ Sơn. A name is the core of one’s identity, the mother in this case has lost her identity because to so many she is only known as the mother of Bison. But now her son is gone (bye son). Pasaribu masterfully weaves this identity crisis into the mother’s process in overcoming her grief to find closure with a question in Batak language “Ise goarmu?” (“What’s your name?”)-a question that the mother asks herself throughout the story. It is brilliant.

Everyone was convinced the child was fated to be forever alone. But he had one friend, who was very skinny and very small.

The True Story of the Story of the Giant. This is the longest story in the book and is the most compelling of the bunch. The story is told from the perspective of Henri who stumbles upon a short story that has followed him throughout his teens into his early twenties. At first Henri thought it was the most ridiculous short story he has ever read. With the passing of time Henri forgets about this story. Graduating high school and then goes to university in Jakarta. The story then reappears when Henri overhears an annoying classmate mentioning it to a group of other students who later becomes his rival.

Henri is morally grey and plays the part of an unreliable narrator. The main themes in this piece are friendship, grief, and imposter syndrome. Henri’s shaky morality and internal struggle to achieve academic success results in him making poor decisions that lead to tragedy. This story serves as a commentary to Indonesian youth that are pushed to become overachievers by any means necessary. Growing up in an Indonesian household, I grew up with a set of expectations to achieve certain goals in academia. I see myself reflected through Henri as he starts a one-sided rivalry because of his insecurity in his abilities as a student. Pasaribu ties the narrative and the themes of the story beautifully with the short story Henri rediscovers.

Pasaribu’s incredible ability in storytelling and unique style of writing is strongly evident in this story. The main character is an anti-hero that redeems himself a little too late by the end and tragically fails. The unravelling of the character’s development is done wonderfully even though it may not end as expected. It is bittersweet and beautifully tragic-it is hands down my favourite piece in the collection.

“He’s the Lord,” says Tula, “And he doesn’t care about me anymore.

Ad maiorem de gloriam. This story focuses on faith and the humanity. This piece hits close to home because I went to Catholic school for 12 years and I was baptized when I was a baby in a church. I grew up surrounded by nuns and priests all my life and spent my early mornings or evenings every Sunday at church with my family. Faith is engrained in my DNA basically. It’s intriguing to see that Pasaribu writes this story from a perspective of a retired nun—Sister Tula—that yearns to feel alive with purpose after being admitted into a convent filled with fellow retirees.

In this piece Pasaribu discusses faith and questions it through Sister Tula. Reading through the book there is always a room that the characters in the stories feels confined to. For me Pasaribu manifested the complexities associated with being a queer person of faith in Ad maiorem de gloriam.

There is another piece titled “Three Love You, Four Despise You” that also touches on the theme of confinement, but for now I will focus on this one because the strongest impressions of it is contained in Ad maiorem de gloriam. Pasaribu intricately conveys the internal struggle of wanting to abandon everything and live the best life but always ending up stuck in a loop that restricts movement and decision making.

This struggle is a prominent thing dealt by not only Indonesian queers but any queer person in countries that has traditional views and sees queerness as an abnormality or absolute crime. The discussions aren’t at all preachy, on the contrary it takes on a vulnerable approach that is accessible and can resonate with so many people that have shared the same experience.

He asked me to return everything in the rainy season
He asked me to return everything to the rainy season

To the rainy season I returned everything he'd ever asked
To the rainy season on the rainy season I asked for a rainy season

This whole time he's given me a rainy season hue
This whole time he's painted me a rainy season hue

Now he asks me to return the Rainy Season to him

And I return it in full

And I return in full

Final thoughts, Happy Stories, Mostly is an interconnected web of beautiful stories with lyrical prose that strikes it’s own beat in narrative and sings it’s own tune of queer resilience. My first and certainly will not be the last work by Norma Erikson Pasaribu I will read.

I applause Tiffany Tsao for translating such brilliant work to make Indo lit more accessible to western audiences. I understand that this short review wont cover every story in the collection but I will vouch from the moon and back that Norman Erikson Pasaribu is a talented writer that masterfully woven an amazing and elaborate collection of stories that deserves the highest of praise. I highly recommend friends to pick this fine piece of Indonesian literature or if you’re looking for translated work that you can consume and savor slowly in your tight schedule. What a great book to end my 2021!