Heartland by Daren Shiau

This book is so Singaporean that I feel that I could have written it myself. Of course that is an obnoxious statement to make since I am only an arm chair critic with no books to her name, but the sentiment is true: it feels like I could have written it, because everything in the book is so run-of-the-mill Singaporean.

I could have talked about the atrocity of maids sitting at dinner tables minding the kids while the parents eat. Or about the class gap, the language gap, the NS experience (okay, maybe not that). Every opinion is so ordinary.

Perhaps if I had read it in a nostalgic mood while living overseas I would have lapped up the Singaporean references greedily. The bus tickets folded into the metal bar of the seat in front; the midnight charge of taxis, etc. But since I was in a mood for something that transported me from my present life — something that gave me a new perspective of life — I was disappointed with this novel. Besides, what kind of an ending was that?

Although I don't usually buy my books, I don't regret paying good money for Heartland at all. Literature holds the culture and history of a nation, and it is important to cherish these things.

I think as for now, our films may be better than our books though. I thought the film Singapore Dreaming kicked ass.