Re-Writing Myths in Singapore Literature and Culture
One of Three Winners of the 2022 Singapore Unbound Awards for the Best Undergraduate Critical Essays on Singapore and Other Literatures
Re-Writing Myths in Singapore Literature and Culture
By Quek Yee Kiat
Abstract––Singapore is a mythic nation, with a diversity of myths both literal and ideological, reinforcing within the consciousness of its people an official Singaporean identity that aligns with the national myth of The Singapore Story. These myths, as well as those from beyond the country, have been rewritten by writers in Singapore who contemporize the myths within the context of the nation, proposing alternative narratives in attempts to reconstruct national identities through literary discourse. This paper is a cohesive study of selected rewritings of myths in Singapore and their re-significations, encompassing two interconnecting themes––“Fearless Females” and “Queering Hybrids”––in which writers each postulate their re-envisioning of a national identity, by reclaiming feminine symbols, and reimagining hybrid creatures. These reassertions of identities may originate from different perspectives but rather than refute one another, they converge in this combined reading to represent the possibility and reality of fluid, pluralistic identities, and imaginations, within and of the nation that is Singapore.
INTRODUCTION
The word myth stems from the Greek mythos, meaning story or word, as in a narrative (Leeming), but it cannot be reduced to simplistic tale-telling. Just as a particular “myth consists of all its variations taken together” (Baldick), varying notions of myth from across different disciplines need to be complemented with others for us to derive a more comprehensive understanding of myth itself. Myths were prevalent in ancient Greece not merely for the sake of telling stories but also to propagate the meanings they were believed to contain, enabling both mythmakers and receptors to shape the Greek cosmos (Tyrrell). The literary concept of myth expands on this notion, whereby the narrative being told is generally “a false or unreliable story or belief” which “contain[s] deeper truths and express[es] collective attitudes to fundamental matters,” providing a form of “cosmic understanding” (Baldick).
Within the field of critical theories, Carl Jung had proposed using myths as a signification of the preconscious psyche of psychotic patients (Baldick). This was counter-argued by Claude Lévi-Strauss in “The Structural Study of Myth.” Herein he asserted that meaning “cannot reside in the isolated elements which enter into the composition of a myth, but only in the way those elements are combined” (431). Finally, in Mythologies, Roland Barthes posited that “myth is a type of speech defined by its intention much more than by its literal sense,” it is “a mode of signification, a form” (122, 107). The essential function of myth is that “it transforms history into nature” (128). Despite certain points of contention among these thinkers, it can be agreed upon that both content and form are of similar importance in mythmaking: content––the spoken, written, or performed word itself, regardless of subject matter; form––the structural workings and interactions of the contents with said society at large. It is the significance of myth and the ideologies behind it which seek to naturalize what is historical, shaping one’s understanding of their lived reality.
Contrary to popular belief, Singapore is not devoid of cultural myth in the literal sense, especially since selected narratives, such as regional genealogies, local folklore, and even recently made myths, remain and resonate within the contemporary Singaporean consciousness. It is no wonder then, that the editors of Living with Myths in Singapore should make such a bold claim: “Singapore is a mythic nation” (Loh 1). It should be noted that the statement was made in reference to the ideological notion of myth, in which the ideological workings of the nation-state “[combine] fact and claim to make a strong case for the country’s future orientation” (1). Singapore’s national narrative, otherwise known as The Singapore Story, is such that it “possesses the mythic quality of being able to explain Singaporeans’ history and identity” (3), and serves as the authoritative national myth that resides deep within the recesses of the Singaporean consciousness.
Be it in response to the rich repository of cultural myths or the sole national myth, literary writers and cultural producers in Singapore have taken to rewriting myths from within and without Singapore, repurposing them to provide refreshing insight into traditional ideas and conventional ways of thinking, reclaiming discursive authority. This paper will investigate such rewriting of myths by writers in Singapore across two broad categories: “Fearless Females” and “Queering Hybrids.” This paper seeks to address what myths, in both senses of stories and ideologies are being rewritten by writers in Singapore, why writers engage in retelling these myths, and how these renderings seek to inform and reshape Singapore’s sociocultural identity.
FEARLESS FEMALES
The retold myths of females, from a diverse range of locations and sources, such as Southeast Asian folklore and the Bible, will be examined in this section. These myths speak to “men’s fear of women’s destructive potential” by coding monstrous, mythological creatures as women (Felton 105). These monstrous female narratives have raised several critical issues that endanger the locale of the female in Singapore.
The notions that “a woman [should be] passive and subject to control by the men in her family” are anchored in Greek myths, which sought to establish “a patriarchal order” (Lefkowitz 207, 211). These notions are not only exclusive to Greek myths but are also prevalent in other cultural traditions around the world. In the selected myths that follow, females are often expected to perform predefined social gender roles in their respective traditions. They are stereotyped either as mythological monsters, or are relegated to minor positions, which entrenches the stigmatization and victimization of females through the male gaze perpetuated by myths. These cultural myths are especially potent since they are still rather widely believed by the respective ethnic and religious communities in Singapore, propagating outdated typecasts of the Singaporean female.
In the recent decade, literary revisions of myths concerning women have been penned by emerging female writers in Singapore. Even when they are not specifically involved in the rewriting of myths, their works tend to center female voices in the traditionally male-dominated literary scene. Selected poems from Marylyn Tan’s GAZE BACK and Mok Zining’s The Orchid Folios revisit myths that subjugate the female and seek to reposition them in their explorations of what it means to be Singaporean female.
In GAZE, Tan does not just deny the male gaze, but also draws upon the idea of “the Greek myth of the Gorgon whose gaze turn[ed] men to stone” (Ho). Henceforth, she makes women, people of colour, trans people, and queer people the subjects of her narratives through a reconstructed female gaze, as proposed in Joey Soloway’s keynote address “The Female Gaze” (Soloway). Some of Tan’s poems flesh out “reimaginings of the feminine ideal” through the retellings of myths steeped in the occult, which act as “a threat to established orders, to institutions of power” (Tan 84). In “Nasi Kang Kang”, which literally means to straddle over rice, Tan writes about such a Southeast Asian supernatural myth where it is believed that “a woman who feeds her husband or / boy friend with nasi kang kang / can have absolute control over him” (11). Her poem works like a detailed recipe book, meticulously detailing the steps in preparing nasi kang kang, peppering these with specific feminine expectations associated with nasi, such as the housewife’s “philips rice cooker”, the career woman’s “rice bowl”, and the physically desired lady’s “organically-sourced vegan / & gluten-free” meal (12, 15, 16). However, Tan’s piece does not fill the originally occult-rich myth with contemporary role-playing specifics simply to subjugate the male by reversing gender dynamics. Her persona is “self-possessed” in both senses of being possessed by the myth and being confident in her own being (17). Hence the exhortation “eat your own nasi kang kang / fall madly under your own spell” (16), in which her sexual agency is no longer controlling and in control of the desires of men. Rather, she performs “a natural extension of the self-mastery that comes with knowledge of the self” that is independent of the male (82). In “Blades Named Delilah”, Tan conducts a similar revision of the myth of Delilah and combines it with other instances of occult mythologies including the “lang suir” (“a flying demon”; Skeat 326) and voodoo effigies. The book of Judges relates how Samson, a hero of Herculean strength, had his long hair, the source of his strength, cut off by Delilah (Delahunty and Dignen). Tan’s poem revolves around the motif of hair in these myths, contending with the belief that the modern woman is expected to have “body in her hair but no / hair on her body” (19), the first body referring to structure and volume. Tan’s Delilah continues from the myth as she “maintains samson’s undercut” (19), divesting Samson of hair, a signification of the removal of patriarchal power. Hair, whether cut from Samson or grown on female bodies, are sources from which strength can be harvested. Hair can be used “to stuff into the back / of [the lang suir’s] neck” (20), as well as “to make three excellent / voodoo effigies” (21), empowering females through the mastery of black magic. It ends with a powerful declaration, “these hairs I’m keeping, / I made them myself // with food that I paid for” (23), in which Tan’s Delilah asserts her power and authority upon the hairs she embodies. Through her new conjuring of occult myths and practices indigenous to Southeast Asia, Tan wields “the feminine grotesque as power”, harnessing deviant narratives to empower her “female, Singaporean, fatigued audience”, and revolutionize the cis male ideologies dominant in Singapore (81, 84).
Meanwhile, in Orchid, Mok’s titular subject takes on a different form, as compared to the human-spirit myths tackled by Tan. Her collection reimagines the orchid’s “personal, colonial, linguistic, and biotechnological” histories and remodels its significance for Singapore (Ethos). A set of poems, each titled “noun x” (x denoting a number), is written about the etymology of the orchid, in particular Vanda Miss Joaquim, and details the metamorphosis of its significance over various temporal and spatial contexts. Vanda Miss Joaquim was selected as Singapore’s National Flower “for its vibrant colours, hardiness and resilience––qualities that reflect the Singapore spirit” (NParks), in which case depicts how horticulture, typically associated with feminine qualities, is incorporated into hegemonic national narratives. In “noun 1”, Mok describes the Greek orchis literally (testicles) and mythically (hybrid Greek figure who had raped a priestess and whose body turned into an orchid after) which is “flowering, still” (21). By beginning with the orchid’s Greek, masculine, origins, Mok unravels the hidden narratives of the orchid that are deeply rooted in patriarchal terms. With “noun 2a” and “noun 2b”, Mok moves on to Singapore’s colonial history and institution, beginning the narrative of Vanda Miss Joaquim from Henry Ridley’s “discovery” of it in Singapore (24). The flower eventually earns a certificate for “a Sir Trevor Lawrence” instead of his “gardener W. H. White” (28). By mentioning only white men, Mok unearths the colonial structures of “nature’s government,” specifically the class hierarchy among Ridley, Lawrence, and White. Following that, in “noun 3a”, “noun 3b”, and “noun 4”, Ms. Agnes Joaquim is acknowledged as the flower’s creator, but not without denouncements by British colonial authorities and reappropriation by Singapore’s modern-day government. Mok writes, “[b]y then, we had accepted that the hybrid was a natural” (43), when Agnes’ orchid was in fact a (wo)man-made creation. Mok reveals how the narratives of the respective governments had downplayed Agnes’ historical agency and expertise in creating hybrids by suggesting that she merely ‘discovered’ the hybrid that they claimed was naturally occurring. These narratives reinforce and essentialize the diminished role and contributions of females in nation building, alongside the forcibly synonymous national qualities attached to the orchid. Finally, a different “noun 1” text appears near the end of the book, which “Begin[s] again”, but this time “Agnes was finally recognised as the creator of Vanda Miss Joaquim” and finally appears in official historical records (110). The last stanza emphasizes “she” multiple times (111), evidencing Mok’s historical agency in bringing the female to the foreground in her rewriting of this male-dominated national myth. Throughout the rewritten poems and verses on Vanda Miss Joaquim, Mok embarks on “a kind of reparative narrative justice” (Chan), mobilizing notions of the nurture and growth of the orchid as a possible, alternative source of destigmatization and empowerment for Singaporean females, to “challeng[e] the narratives that are the roots of our national consciousness” (Ethos).
In these revisions of myths that concern the female, the writers live up to Hélène Cixous’ notion of écriture féminine that “[w]oman must put herself into the text––as into the world and into history––by her own movement” and that “[a] feminine text cannot fail to be more than subversive” (875, 888). These feminist voices have emerged to destigmatize and to empower neglected female figures, as well as to challenge male-dominated narratives from a feminist perspective, seeking alternative ways in nurturing and re-establishing a Singaporean feminine consciousness at the centre of the nation.
QUEERING HYBRIDS
The reimagined myths of hybrid figures, from the contemporary merlion to the ancient God, will be discussed in this section. Myths are often constructed and told from a patriarchal perspective in which more than human figures, termed alternatively as queers (strange, odd) or hybrids (of mixed characters), are mainly depicted either as being deviant or other, having destructive potential, or godlike power, significations through which certain social norms are reinforced. These cis-directed narratives enforce an authoritative worldview, which greatly restricts the imaginaries of a nation and its people.
Hybrids occupy paradoxical ideological positions in myths. Their imaginative portrayals offer potential for alternate, more than human possibilities, yet their authoritative significations are often limited to fixed, preconceived notions of the human world. Recognized as a nation-made mythical creature, the merlion represents a similarly conflicted existence in the context of Singapore. It is a hybrid of “the body of a fish and the head of a lion,” symbolizing “Singapore’s origins as a fishing village” and its “original name of Singapura” (STB). Despite the queer, fantastical potential of the merlion from which a Singaporean identity can be developed, it remains more of a tourist-facing emblem for Singapore, realized as an embodiment of The Singapore Story (Yong). More importantly, the merlion myth recalls the colonial, and postcolonial, myth of Singapore’s transformation from an “obscure fishing village to a great seaport and modern metropolis” (W.Y. Lee 2), hence predominantly serving as a symbol of economic success for today's government.
Since the invention of the merlion, almost every writer in Singapore has taken it to task, among which more than a handful post-Thumboo [1], contemporary nation-building writers have penned notable subversions of it, problematizing the dominant historical and economic narrative of Singapore as embodied by the merlion. Besides the merlion, writers in Singapore have also sought to reclaim myths by queering them in a way to challenge the dominance of the earlier narrative. Specifically, two short stories, namely Amanda Lee Koe’s “Siren” and nor’s “Beginning,” engage in queering myths as subversive acts of discourse production, in attempts to unsettle cis hetero societal norms, and to reappropriate queer theory, which recognizes “sexuality as a discursive social construction, fluid, plural, and continually negotiated rather than a natural, fixed, core identity” (Chandler and Munday) in their contemplations of a plural nationality.
Lee Koe’s “Siren” is unlike any other reflection on the merlion as she tackles its queer, hybridised form straight up. The title directly references the siren of classical mythology––“bird-wom[a]n whose beautiful singing lured sailors to their doom on submerged rocks”––a personification for what is “both alluring and potentially harmful or dangerous” (Cresswell). Lee Koe first establishes the connection between the siren and the merlion through their physical mermaid or fish-like forms, before injecting the white-washed merlion with the metaphorical––alluring, dangerous, exotic––traits of the siren. She reimagines the merlion as a transgendered being, Marl, born to a lion-like “hirsute sailor” and a fish-like “ashen siren” (175), alluding to Singapore’s “colonial past and Malayan roots” (L.L. Lee ). Being half-human and half-siren, Marl possesses an identity unlike anyone else, and is hence treated as an exotic outcast in the eyes of society. One may be tempted to read this as yet another simple national allegory, but one other character, the narrator, is of similar importance as Marl. “Siren” consists of dual narratives, with the story alternating between the narration of Marl’s unnamed male classmate and a myth-like backstory covering Marl’s origins. The former details the classmate’s pubescent “curiosity of what was in between [Marl’s] legs” (and its prelude in which Marl was verbally and physically bullied by him and other classmates for being “alien-esque”) (175), the unexpected rearousal of his sexual curiosity, the revelation of Marl’s tail–cleft genitalia and their consensual intercourse, and finally the willing consumption of a raw oyster that “tastes just like [Marl]” (187). This story arc parallels that of a sexual awakening, in which the narrator’s orientation with respect to Marl changes from shame, regarding Marl and his own desire, to consummation. Meanwhile, the latter, in three parts, hypothesizes the romantic copulation between a hirsute sailor and an ashen siren, which results in the birth of a child who was abandoned by the siren, but who was eventually adopted by the sailor to lead a simple life together. This myth-like narrative expounds on Marl’s identity crisis and the factors leading to it, drawing allusions to Singapore’s identity formation process. The dual narratives of sexual awakening and identity crisis can and should be read in combination––the narrator’s initial rejection and misunderstanding of Marl’s “embrace” to his eventual acceptance of Marl’s “oyster” (174, 187); Marl’s “terror” as a schoolboy to his “confidence” as a sarong party boy (174, 180)––as the reconciliation with and empowerment of one’s identity, not just a sexual but also a national one. In “The New Sexuality,” Lee Koe mentioned that “Siren” can be read as “the psyche of the repulsion and eroticism . . . in encounters with the ‘Other’ in society” ("Sexuality"). I wish to further propose that this other might not necessarily be solely restricted in reference to “people outside gender binaries” (Lee Koe, "Sexuality"). It might also include people with varying extents of identification, or disidentification, with the nation, who may not align with the notion of the singular, hegemonic national identity. In her queering of the merlion, Lee Koe uses “sexuality . . . only [as] a thematic tool” to open up “possibilities of discursive conversations” ("Sexuality"), as she envisages the current and future complexities of the forging of a national identity beyond an official one, which must be at the least plural and embracing of overlapping multitudes and differences.
In a completely different realm, “Beginning” by nor is “a re-telling of the Islamic myth of Creation” (Bahrawi 179). Walter William Skeat’s Malay Magic details a specific account of the theory of the Creation, wherein it is believed that God “the Creator of the entire Universe [was] pre-existed by Himself” and He told Gabriel to kill a serpent Sakatimuna, who undergoes an anatomical transformation into various components of the natural world (1-5). This is just one of many versions of the Creation myth believed by local Malay Muslims. Nonetheless, this version exemplifies how mythic symbols can be harnessed by religions to make sense of the workings of the world, and at the same time reinforce certain identity-related and hierarchical norms, which have an impact on the ideologies of their believers. In nor’s rendition, God is queered––He becomes They (20). Here, Sakatimuna is still a cosmic snake but now said to be “the heart of the world” formed “[f]rom God’s mucus”, while “the angel Gabriel came into existence” to be God’s right-hand man (19). Religious fundamentalists might view the queering of God to be sacrilegious, but “Beginning” invokes certain Islamic concepts in fact: “tawhid (oneness and unity of God) and huzn (an inherent sorrow that human beings might feel as creations separated from the oneness of God)” (Jamaludin). In the sense of tawhid, separated from their essences and Sakatimuna the heart, “God was no longer They but He” (20). Following that, God also “create[d] both He and She” (22). As a more than human figure, God is often believed to be fundamentally one and whole, but nor questions why God is envisioned as a He, and the implications such gendering of God brings about. nor suggests that when He the God, as assumed by religious authorities, is rid of She the heart in interpretations and readings of religious texts, a community’s notion and identification of God could be misdirected. As for huzn, Sakatimuna best exhibits such an anguish from being separated from God. Being a hybrid creature, that of a cosmic snake, her organs formed “[e]very vision of creation [she] had during her long slumber” (22), essentially creating the world. It is exactly in such a seemingly frightful creature that her heart beats humanely, which is mixed with soil to create humans. In this, nor suggests that human emotions of sadness and desire arise from Sakatimuna the heart. Humans need to combine the heart with their belief of God, not simply forgoing one for the other, to form their whole identities. “Beginning” ends with the notion of “home” as fluid, where it is “the movement of human beings”, as well as “a perfect circle of rainbow light” (23), asserting that just like home, the nation and its identity is queer and fluid. By rewriting the Islamic myth of Creation, nor comments on the blind veneration of symbols, which occurs not only in Islam, but also in other Abrahamic traditions (like Christianity, which share similar symbols) and non-Abrahamic ones, whether in Singapore or abroad. More importantly, in their queering of God and expansion of Sakatimuna’s tale, nor provides us a queer understanding of the divine, and asserts that one’s identity, be it religious or national, can only be whole when it engages the heart, and this wholehearted identity is one that is in constant motion and transformation.
In their retellings of myths involving hybrid and more than human figures, writers in Singapore engage in the kind of cultural hybridity as proposed by Homi Bhabha in his interview with Jonathan Rutherford, “The Third Space”. These writers’ counternarratives are the third space which gives rise to “a new area of negotiation of meaning and representation” of a multitude of Singaporean socio-cultural identities (Rutherford). These works of queer hybrids seek not only to critique authoritarianism but more importantly, they signify a continuous process of hybridity that renegotiates the way in which multiple Singaporean identities can be forged, not fixed in their terms, but rather encompassing plural perspectives, and opening alternate imaginings of what an inclusive Singapore is and can be.
CONCLUSION
In this paper, I have discussed the rewritings of myths in Singapore literature, of Singapore culture, through analyzing a considerable repertoire of written texts that engage in the creative and critical revision of myths across two thematic arcs. Myths, in both senses of stories and ideologies, are authoritative narratives that perpetuate traditional conventions and fixed notions of identity, especially among those who subscribe to them. The rewritings of various myths by literary writers in Singapore tie in closely with the national-ideological myth––The Singapore Story––as they work to deconstruct the authoritative national narrative and introduce a multitude of visions and imaginations of the nation through their textual reconstructions.
In “Fearless Females,” I look to feminist texts which not just challenge the traditional nation by destigmatizing and empowering females once oppressed and forgotten, but more importantly depict how emergent female voices nurture the cultural and political agency of females in the envisioning of the nation. With “Queering Hybrids,” I focus on queer texts, which disrupt cis heteronormative conventions and provide the reimagining of a nation without binaries, where people of any intersectionality can be meaningfully included in the nation-constructing process.
Each of the rewritten myths can be a standalone and read as one of many discursive propositions for a unique Singaporean identity. But the combined comparative study of these revisions of myths by writers in Singapore allows us to draw a complex and interconnected web of Singaporean sociocultural identities, rewiring quintessential notions of what it means to be Singaporean. The texts converge in this combined reading to represent the possibility and reality of fluid, pluralistic identities, and imaginations, both within and of the nation that is Singapore.
It should be noted that the selection of works discussed in this paper is highly selective and is in no way representative of the diverse Singapore literary publishing scene. Further research could encompass other texts including non-English literatures and cultures in relation to myths. This is of significance as we continue to reshape our Singaporean sociocultural identities, envisioned through an ever-expanding continuum of myth rewritings in Singapore.
ENDNOTES
[1] Edwin Thumboo is widely regarded in Singapore to be one of the pioneers of local English Literature.
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Quek Yee Kiat is currently pursuing a Bachelor of Arts (Hons) in Chinese at Nanyang Technological University, with an interest in Chinese Literature & Culture. He also works as a freelance writer and translator with Lianhe Zaobao and Toy Factory Productions Ltd., among others. He is interested in studying Sinophone popular culture in the future.
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Rina Banerjee is a prodigious mid-career artist based in New York City. Originally from Kolkata, she creates multi-faceted sculptures, paintings and drawings, fusing boundaries between East and West. Banerjee’s choice of material and subject matter question the experiences of femininity, climate change, migration, commerce, and identity in a globalized world. Her sculptures place in conversation cultural objects, textiles, domestic items, mythologies, as well as the material residue of colonialism.
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