In a world bursting with stories, nothing sparks my passion more than discovering books that boldly challenge our perceptions of culture, identity, and society—books that make you question everything you thought you knew about where we come from and who we are.
As we mark SG60, it's only fitting that my standout read of the year is a locally crafted piece of Singaporean literature that shines a light on our island's vibrant role within the Nusantara region. This story artfully dismantles colonial viewpoints by weaving in tales of eerie spirits, unexplained psychic events, and chilling regional myths, transforming our "little red dot" into a tapestry of decolonized wonder.
I've eagerly tracked Meihan Boey's Miss Cassidy series, brought to life by Epigram Books. The trilogy has earned two prizes from the publisher and made it to a shortlist for another, proving its impact. Trilogies can be a gamble—often kicking off with explosive energy, then dragging in the middle, and fading out weakly. But I'm thrilled to say that Boey's concluding volume, The Mystical Mister Kay, delivers a profoundly layered and rewarding ending that leaves you pondering long after the last page.
But here's where it gets controversial... I've long held that folklore, fantasy, and sci-fi genres pack some of the sharpest social commentaries out there. Just think of Aesop's timeless fables or the Grimm brothers' fairy tales—they've captivated and unsettled readers for centuries, even before being committed to paper. Boey's work dives deep into the treasure trove of Southeast Asian myths, spotlighting figures once scoffed at as mere "superstitious" relics of indigenous beliefs. Growing up in a postcolonial environment, where I was fed a steady diet of European tales and taught that Western storytelling reigned supreme, I found pure joy in Boey's playful blend of classic drawing-room humor with postcolonial themes, merging ancient Greek and Roman legends with Nusantara wisdom.
Yet, the true magic of the Miss Cassidy universe lies in its heartfelt embrace of Singapore's rich multicultural fabric. It's all too easy to grow cynical amid the endless chatter about our "melting pot" society, but Boey's diverse ensemble—effortlessly navigating code-switching, mutual support, and genuine connections—paints a picture of interactions that feel authentically Singaporean, inspiring us to aspire to such harmony in our own lives.
And this is the part most people miss... Moving on to my second favorite from the year: Natsuo Kirino's expertly crafted Swallows, a novel that masterfully explores the intricate web of ethics surrounding surrogacy. At 74, this Japanese author has long delved into the dynamics of women in Japan's male-dominated, hierarchical world. Swallows follows a couple's journey to parenthood via surrogacy, offering Kirino's signature deep psychological insights that unpack the myriad moral, ethical, and societal ripples this process creates. It's a thought-provoking read that doesn't shy away from the complexities, making you reflect on how modern science intersects with human relationships.
To round out my top three, we shift to another realm of imaginative escape: Lev Grossman's Bright Sword, a hefty 674-page homage to the iconic Arthurian legends that might just leave your wrists aching from holding it up. There's nothing more emblematic of colonial history than the tale of King Arthur, a cornerstone of British heritage that has shaped identities for generations. Grossman infuses his version with a modern lens and a book lover's delight in layering nods to countless literary works. Set against a decaying Camelot without its monarch, Bright Sword reimagines characters in fresh, contemporary forms—like a transgender knight, a Muslim warrior, and a progressive witch.
But here's where it gets controversial... What some might dismiss as trendy "woke" gestures, Grossman elevates with profound depth, tackling the same timeless questions from the original romances: What defines true leadership? And what personal costs do we incur for the sake of duty, honor, and loyalty? It's a bold remix that could polarize readers—do we celebrate these updates as necessary evolutions, or are they risks to the purity of ancient myths?
What do you think? Does reimagining folklore and legends with contemporary twists strengthen their relevance, or does it dilute their essence? Have you encountered books that challenge colonial narratives, and how did they change your perspective? Share your thoughts in the comments—I'm eager to hear agreements, disagreements, and perhaps even your own top reads that sparked debate!
