Pramoedya Ananta Toer

Pramoedya Ananta Toer

It’s not often that a great writer’s life is more inter­est­ing in some ways than his books. But that’s the case with Pramoedya Ananta Toer. Born on the island of Java in 1925, Toer lived through sev­eral rev­o­lu­tions and national rebel­lions, par­tic­i­pated in a few him­self, and was impris­oned both by the Dutch colo­nial gov­ern­ment and then later by the Suharto régime.

While in jail dur­ing his first impris­on­ment in 1947 – 49, he wrote his first novel, The Fugitive. During his sec­ond impris­on­ment, this time by the Suharto régime in 1965, he accom­plished some­thing even more amaz­ing. Denied pen and paper, he man­aged to con­struct a tetral­ogy, recite it to his fel­low pris­on­ers, and even­tu­ally get it down on paper and pub­lished after his release in 1979.

Toer said in an interview:

Before I got per­mis­sion, I had to do it behind their backs. For a long time, I was not per­mit­ted to write, so I had to do it orally. From 1971 until mid-​​1973, we were not allowed to social­ize with the oth­ers. During mass exe­cu­tions of polit­i­cal pris­on­ers, in the iso­la­tion cell I told the sto­ries to my friends. During offi­cial cer­e­monies, my fel­low iso­lated friends told the sto­ries to other friends who were not being iso­lated, and that’s how they were spread.”

 

The result was The Buru Quartet, named after the island that housed his prison.

Later trans­lated by Max Lane, the English titles are This Earth of Mankind, Child of All Nations, Footsteps, and House of Glass. The first is my favorite of the quar­tet. It’s the story of young Minke, the nar­ra­tor of the first three nov­els, who awak­ens slowly to the real­ity of the oppres­sion of colo­nial rule and the ways of the rich and pow­er­ful. The nov­els are semi-​​autobiographical, mov­ing, and rev­e­la­tory. But there are dif­fer­ences between Minke and Toer.

Toer said in the same interview:

I don’t write to give joy to read­ers but to give them a conscience.”

 

Reading great lit­er­a­ture from around the world, read­ing the sto­ries of the oppressed, the for­saken, the ignored, accu­mu­lates in the mind, helps form soft, lumi­nous lay­ers for the soul. Reading gets us closer to the crux of the mat­ter, to the heart of the human. Reading the best that’s been said, regard­less of cul­ture, geog­ra­phy, or time, lifts the con­science, expands it, accel­er­ates it.

Literature has many uses, pur­poses, roles. The writer of lit­er­a­ture can hope for few greater results than adding soul lay­ers around the globe.

 

 

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