Trouble's Brewing in Bangkok

By Beth Green

I read for the pleasure of slipping into another place. Of being able to, unseen, explore worlds and venues I wouldn’t dare peek into in real life. I read because I like to step into a character’s skin and experience the world through their senses, filtered through their personal histories. 

And that’s why I have enjoyed reading John Burdett’s Sonchai Jitpleecheep series. Set in Bangkok, Thailand, the books follow Buddhist police detective Sonchai as he struggles to balance the damage the job does to his soul with the good he’s doing the world. Sonchai is half-Thai, half-American, and he both bridges the two cultures and is marginalized by both. He is shunned, or sometimes raised up, by Thais who think he’s a foreigner, yet feels uncomfortable embracing Western culture wholly.

Sonchai is a devout Buddhist—although his lifestyle is certainly non-devout—and the references to religion and Sonchai’s constant upkeep of his soul set him apart from other mystery narrators I’ve read. Mysticism also lends him a hand in his police investigations, tinging the otherwise noir thrillers with a touch of magical realism.

At odds with, yet somehow complimentary to the grisly cases Sonchai covers—snuff films, disembowelings, trafficking of all kinds—the dreamy first-person narration in the books is smooth and unrushed. The books are told in the present tense, which to be honest jarred me for the first few pages. This unusual style, however, emphasizes Sonchai’s attempts to catch the moments of his life even as he seems to look back on it from a distant future standpoint.

Sonchai’s mother is a former prostitute who still has business with “the Game,” as Sonchai refers the sex industry. Because of his mixed parentage and flawless English, Sonchai is often asked to take on difficult cases (usually dealing with dead foreigners), and his investigations bring him into contact with people all over the spectrum of Bangkok—from canal taxi drivers to Japanese mobsters, from drug smugglers to Russian hookers and from FBI agents to Tibetan holy men.

I lived in Thailand for five months and have visited Bangkok several times. I have myself wandered down the red light district streets, giggling at (and yes, a little scared of) the absurdity of the flesh trade there. Burdett’s books take the reader into a fascinating, and sordid, world where the farm girls turning tricks have purer hearts than the policemen who don’t always manage to protect them from harm. Sonchai, a character raised in brothels, is both a jaded cop and a perpetual innocent. He is both a hero and a coward.

The series currently has five books. The newest novel, Vulture Peak, is still on my to-read list; I’m waiting to finish some of the other books I have going so that I can fully immerse myself in Sonchai’s world. The previous four books were quick reads that I wished I’d savored properly, and I hope to do that for this one.

The Sonchai books start with mesmerizing Bangkok 8. This thriller introduces quirky Sonchai on one of the worst days of his life. His best friend, with whom he seems to have a link through past lives (this is the Buddhism theology and shades of magical realism coming in), is killed by snakes, and Sonchai struggles to deal with both the loss of Pichai and his increasingly demanding job.  

 

In the following Bangkok Tattoo, the reader follows Sonchai even deeper into personal territory—his mother’s business and his family history. A prostitute working for his mother may have murdered an American CIA agent. Complicating this, Sonchai thinks he’s in love with the suspect. 

 

Bangkok Haunts may be my favorite of the four books I’ve read so far. In this one, Sonchai is an expectant father trying to find the maker of a horrific snuff film. He now has a transgender assistant, Lek, adding to the eccentric, memorable cast of characters.

In The Godfather of Kathmandu, the slightly comic figure of Colonel Vikorn, Sonchai’s boss, decides he wants to be a Mafia don and sends Sonchai off to Nepal to help Vikorn smuggle heroin—not the usual practice of either a devout Buddhist or an idealistic cop. In Nepal, Sonchai meets Tibetan refugees who blow his mind.

The next book, Vulture Peak (did I mention I’m looking forward to it?) deals with human organ trafficking and infidelity.

The author, John Burdett, is originally from England. He lived in Hong Kong for several years, became interested in Thailand, and now, according to his website, divides his time between Bangkok and France.

Burdett’s books turn sultry Bangkok—best remembered by many tourists for its shining golden temples, dirt-cheap shopping and slightly Disney-fied red light district—into a labyrinth of intrigue. When I settle down with a book to follow Sonchai through his moral and work-related adventures, I know the city—in fact, the whole country of Thailand—will open up for me in a way it never did when I was actually there.

When the Storyteller Becomes the Story

Alli is off this week, so we are rerunning one of her posts from October about award winning authors.

The scene opens at a movie-theatre in Mexico City, 1976. The place is a hot-bed of anticipation with people waiting for the premier release of a movie about the plane crash survivors in the Andes who turned to cannibalism.

A handsome man with expressive eyebrows rushes up the aisle. The intensity in his eyes catches peoples’ attention and their gaze follows his heavy footsteps. Another man, this one with a smile as wide as the Amazon River, turns to greet his friend with a warm embrace but ends up with a fist in the eye. The crowd gasps. Women scream. Men yell. Blood oozes from the man’s eye, across his cheek and onto the carpet.

If I didn’t know better, this could be a cliffhanger ending for a South American telenovela (soap opera). But it isn’t. It’s a slightly fictionalized version of events that unfolded between two of South America’s literary heavy-weights – Gabriel García Márquez and Mario Vargas Llosa.

The encounter between these former best friends has been playing on my mind a lot lately, probably due to Mario Vargas Llosa winning this year’s Nobel Prize for literature. It’s hard to imagine the winner of such a distinguished award duking it out in public with a colleague and (former) best friend. Admittedly, the Llosa/Márquez altercation happened over thirty years ago but we’re still talking about it. It proves that everyone, including acclaimed writers, have their own stories to tell.

So what is Mario Vargas Llosa’s story? Born in Arequipa, Peru, in 1936, Mario was an only child. His parents separated, and Mario was sent to a military academy in Lima which became the inspiration for The Time of the Hero (La Ciudad y Los Perros). The book criticized the Peruvian military and as a result, they burned thousands of copies. This launched Vargas Llosa as an influential public figure and offered him a chance to use his writing as a way of changing the way people think. He even ran for the Peruvian presidency (and lost) in 1990.

I first encountered the works of Vargas Llosa after reading García Márquez’s Love in the Time of Cholera. Don’t worry, the irony isn’t lost on me. Even though these men haven’t spoken to each other for more than three decades, they are linked together whether they like it or not. Both have won Nobel Prizes for literature, Vargas Llosa wrote a doctoral thesis in 1971 about García Márquez, and they both lead the fore of influential and classical South American literature (especially in terms of magical realism). And neither will blab about what really happened that night in Mexico City.

Over the years, Vargas Llosa has criticized García Márquez for his friendship with Fidel Castro. Some say the fallout leading up to the most famous punch in Latin America was over politics. Others say it was over a woman – Vargas Llosa’s wife to be exact. Rumor has it García Márquez took it upon himself to console Vargas Llosa’s wife after he told her about an extramarital affair Mario had. Vargas Llosa has been quoted as saying the historians will be the ones to find out the truth.

In 2007 Vargas Llosa provided the forward for García Márquez’s 40^th anniversary edition of A Hundred Years of Solitude. Writing a forward for the man he doesn't talk to is a mystery in itself. And when the 2010 Nobel announcement was made, Garcia Márquez tweeted (yes, even the world’s best authors tweet), “Cuentas igaules” (“Now we’re even”). It looks like there’s an almighty “to be continued” slapped on this episode of the Márquez/Llosa telenovela.

Which writers do you admire and how closely do their life stories mirror their fiction?

When The Storyteller Becomes The Story

The scene opens at a movie-theatre in Mexico City, 1976. The place is a hot-bed of anticipation with people waiting for the premier release of a movie about the plane crash survivors in the Andes who turned to cannibalism.

A handsome man with expressive eyebrows rushes up the aisle. The intensity in his eyes catches peoples’ attention and their gaze follows his heavy footsteps. Another man, this one with a smile as wide as the Amazon River, turns to greet his friend with a warm embrace but ends up with a fist in the eye. The crowd gasps. Women scream. Men yell. Blood oozes from the man’s eye, across his cheek and onto the carpet.

If I didn’t know better, this could be a cliffhanger ending for a South American telenovela (soap opera). But it isn’t. It’s a slightly fictionalized version of events that unfolded between two of South America’s literary heavy-weights – Gabriel García Márquez and Mario Vargas Llosa.

The encounter between these former best friends has been playing on my mind a lot lately, probably due to Mario Vargas Llosa winning this year’s Nobel Prize for literature. It’s hard to imagine the winner of such a distinguished award duking it out in public with a colleague and (former) best friend. Admittedly, the Llosa/Márquez altercation happened over thirty years ago but we’re still talking about it. It proves that everyone, including acclaimed writers, have their own stories to tell.

So what is Mario Vargas Llosa’s story? Born in Arequipa, Peru, in 1936, Mario was an only child. His parents separated, and Mario was sent to a military academy in Lima which became the inspiration for The Time of the Hero (La Ciudad y Los Perros). The book criticized the Peruvian military and as a result, they burned thousands of copies. This launched Vargas Llosa as an influential public figure and offered him a chance to use his writing as a way of changing the way people think. He even ran for the Peruvian presidency (and lost) in 1990.

I first encountered the works of Vargas Llosa after reading García Márquez’s Love in the Time of Cholera. Don’t worry, the irony isn’t lost on me. Even though these men haven’t spoken to each other for more than three decades, they are linked together whether they like it or not. Both have won Nobel Prizes for literature, Vargas Llosa wrote a doctoral thesis in 1971 about García Márquez, and they both lead the fore of influential and classical South American literature (especially in terms of magical realism). And neither will blab about what really happened that night in Mexico City.

Over the years, Vargas Llosa has criticized García Márquez for his friendship with Fidel Castro. Some say the fallout leading up to the most famous punch in Latin America was over politics. Others say it was over a woman – Vargas Llosa’s wife to be exact. Rumor has it García Márquez took it upon himself to console Vargas Llosa’s wife after he told her about an extramarital affair Mario had. Vargas Llosa has been quoted as saying the historians will be the ones to find out the truth.

In 2007 Vargas Llosa provided the forward for García Márquez’s 40^th anniversary edition of A Hundred Years of Solitude. Writing a forward for the man he doesn't talk to is a mystery in itself. And when the 2010 Nobel announcement was made, Garcia Márquez tweeted (yes, even the world’s best authors tweet), “Cuentas igaules” (“Now we’re even”). It looks like there’s an almighty “to be continued” slapped on this episode of the Márquez/Llosa telenovela.

Which writers do you admire and how closely do their life stories mirror their fiction?

Keeping It Real

Writers are often asked how a story is born. Did they have a dream? Did the clouds part and angels sing? Did Antonio Banderas knock on the door and deliver a parcel of ideas (oh, how I wish he would)? Ultimately, most writers would say it’s the miniscule details woven into a tale that gives it authenticity – those fine points breathe life into a story and transport readers into another realm.

I have two worlds – one is real-life and the other is in my head. How much time is spent in either depends on where I’m at with my novel and my real-world demands. But when I do write, it’s to create my own reality. I’m not saying the gun-wielding bad guy in my books is me (I’m more like Calamity Jane than Dirty Harry), but it’s the teensy details that make up the big picture. And every now and again I need to come back from the land of my novel to draw upon facts to help make the story more genuine.

Research plays a big part in building the worlds of my stories. Luckily my brain has managed to retain useful information, such as how the Incas used to fasten sashes on their robes with ornamental pins that doubled as a knife. Knowing this might not get me a job as a CEO, but it certainly helps when writing the historical elements of my books. At times I do need to consult a professional (thankfully I have an expert on all-things-Inca at hand) because without my resources I would never have known that the Incas didn’t write or use wheels. These things may not seem important, but if I get them right, the stories are more authentic.

A great example of writers making the fantastical appear real is the genre of magical realism. Two authors I admire greatly are Isabel Allende and Laura Esquivel. Their characters accept miraculous happenings as part of everyday life. Readers are taken on a journey and are convinced these adventures could really happen. And this is all done by adding in minutiae to create a world that appears genuine.

My passion for writing stories set in South America is fueled by my own experiences. When traveling I record details, take photos, and madly scribble in travel diaries. I just never know when this material could be used as fodder for my books. I can pull out a photo, read a diary entry and transport myself back in time to a place I want to write about. Images are conjured up, be it Machu Picchu with roaming llamas or the markets in Cuzco, bubbling with colorful locals haggling over fresh produce. It’s easy to lose myself in the moment and feel, touch and smell the surroundings. And this is something I go to great lengths to replicate for my readers.

Chances are Antonio won’t be on my doorstep with a package of ideas anytime soon, so I’ll need to draw on my own travels, resources, and imagination. The bonus is I get to weave in obscure facts and experiences to create a story that feels authentic. Besides, not much writing would get done with Antonio standing at my front door – he’s a tad distracting.

Which books have felt you were the main character? What was it that convinced you?