The Singapore Grip
by prudence on 22-Jul-2012
Since living briefly in Singapore, I've been very fascinated by its experience in WW2.
J.G. Farrell's "The Singapore Grip" (first published 1973) is an interesting fictional account, taking in, first, the frivolous, complacent, carnivalesque atmosphere of the pre-war years, and then, the increasing chaos as the Japanese army sweeps inexorably down the peninsula and invades Fortress Singapore.
The "grip" of the title has many connotations, apparently. Economic, nostalgic, medical, sexual -- take your pick.
Many of the characters are caricatures (the unspeakable Joan or the besotted Ehrendorf or the empty-headed Monty). But others are drawn more multi-dimensionally (the archetypal colonial capitalist Walter, capable of seeing no further than his own nose, or the idealistic Matthew, born into opulence, but questioning all its bases, and finding his greatest satisfaction in life so far in his role as fireman during the bombing raids that regularly set Singapore alight...). Much of the first part of the book is an elaborate farce, as these figures wreak havoc all around them, and the sensationalism never quite disappears, although it is much toned down in the second half of the book, once hostilities are under way.
But Farrell succeeds in sneaking a lot of politics into the enjoyable narrative. His critique of colonialism is very sharp. Even Walter comes to realize that "the disadvantage of labour unrest was bonded indissolubly to the advantage of cheap labour". And the scene in the Chinese "dying-house", where emaciated men on the point of expiration rise up to report their experiences of colonial injustice to the horrified Matthew, is macabre but very telling. (I can't help feeling this would make a good movie...)
But the sticking-points of International Relations are all there, too. Dupigny is the arch-realist: "For Dupigny a nation resembled a very primitive human being: this human being consisted of, simply, an appetite and some sort of mechanism for satisfying the appetite" (pp. 319-30). Matthew, still holding faith with the defunct and discredited League of Nations, retains an archetypally idealist belief that human beings will, sooner or later, believe and realize their inherent brother- and sisterhood.
The book also portrays very powerfully a sense of impending and not quite understood doom. Partly this is driven by parochialism: in WW1, muses Percival, "if you were not on the Western front you were nowhere... The same went for this war, too... You only had to look at the obsolete equipment and untrained men" (p. 449).
But there is more to it than that. There is a systemic, deterministic something that fouls everything up. For Percival, this turns into a persecution complex -- he suspects a deliberate attempt by persons or forces unknown to saw away the rungs of the ladder beneath his feet. To Ehrendorf, it is the "second law": "In human affairs things tend inevitably to go wrong. Things are slightly worse at any given moment than at any preceding moment". Sooner or later, "eating away steadily like worm in the rafters", this black energy will bring the roof crashing down (pp. 295, 301).
This sense of things irrevocably turning bad -- try as you might to stop them, try as you might to gain a new foothold, and fight back -- makes the book a sobering and haunting read.
J.G. Farrell's "The Singapore Grip" (first published 1973) is an interesting fictional account, taking in, first, the frivolous, complacent, carnivalesque atmosphere of the pre-war years, and then, the increasing chaos as the Japanese army sweeps inexorably down the peninsula and invades Fortress Singapore.
The "grip" of the title has many connotations, apparently. Economic, nostalgic, medical, sexual -- take your pick.
Many of the characters are caricatures (the unspeakable Joan or the besotted Ehrendorf or the empty-headed Monty). But others are drawn more multi-dimensionally (the archetypal colonial capitalist Walter, capable of seeing no further than his own nose, or the idealistic Matthew, born into opulence, but questioning all its bases, and finding his greatest satisfaction in life so far in his role as fireman during the bombing raids that regularly set Singapore alight...). Much of the first part of the book is an elaborate farce, as these figures wreak havoc all around them, and the sensationalism never quite disappears, although it is much toned down in the second half of the book, once hostilities are under way.
But Farrell succeeds in sneaking a lot of politics into the enjoyable narrative. His critique of colonialism is very sharp. Even Walter comes to realize that "the disadvantage of labour unrest was bonded indissolubly to the advantage of cheap labour". And the scene in the Chinese "dying-house", where emaciated men on the point of expiration rise up to report their experiences of colonial injustice to the horrified Matthew, is macabre but very telling. (I can't help feeling this would make a good movie...)
But the sticking-points of International Relations are all there, too. Dupigny is the arch-realist: "For Dupigny a nation resembled a very primitive human being: this human being consisted of, simply, an appetite and some sort of mechanism for satisfying the appetite" (pp. 319-30). Matthew, still holding faith with the defunct and discredited League of Nations, retains an archetypally idealist belief that human beings will, sooner or later, believe and realize their inherent brother- and sisterhood.
The book also portrays very powerfully a sense of impending and not quite understood doom. Partly this is driven by parochialism: in WW1, muses Percival, "if you were not on the Western front you were nowhere... The same went for this war, too... You only had to look at the obsolete equipment and untrained men" (p. 449).
But there is more to it than that. There is a systemic, deterministic something that fouls everything up. For Percival, this turns into a persecution complex -- he suspects a deliberate attempt by persons or forces unknown to saw away the rungs of the ladder beneath his feet. To Ehrendorf, it is the "second law": "In human affairs things tend inevitably to go wrong. Things are slightly worse at any given moment than at any preceding moment". Sooner or later, "eating away steadily like worm in the rafters", this black energy will bring the roof crashing down (pp. 295, 301).
This sense of things irrevocably turning bad -- try as you might to stop them, try as you might to gain a new foothold, and fight back -- makes the book a sobering and haunting read.