Thailand News - Outlook - Wednesday December 12, 2007
Respected editor and champion of Thai literature Suchart Sawadsri returns with the third incarnation of 'Cho Karaked'
The editor returns His gentle voice and unassuming manner make you believe you have all the time in the world to while away. The term ''literary giant'', applied to Suchart Sawadsri, seems somehow out of place. A respected figure on the literary scene in a country with a lacklustre reading culture, Suchart began his career as an editor at a time when ''the book was the editor, and the editor was the book''. Today, when publishing culture far outshines the craft of the wordsmith, it is perhaps more apt to describe Suchart, despite his mellow manner, as a ''literary fighter''. In his 40-year career, Suchart has seen two magazines under his editorship close due to financial difficulties. The second death, of his brainchild, Thailand's first short story magazine Cho Karaked, two years after the 1997 economic crisis, left the silver-bearded editor dejected enough to lay down his pen and reach for his paintbrush, but not until writing a self-deprecating and truly concerned editor's note that questioned the power of literature.
Over the past nine years, Suchart has accumulated tens of thousands of paintings. Stacks of unframed pictures occupy the majority of the floor space in a room on the second storey of Suchart's home, waiting to be exhibited. The dramatically smaller number of pictures that have been displayed in galleries stand framed against the walls. More recently, Suchart has been toying with a digital camera, and has created a series of 15 experimental films. ''To me, painting and making films don't feel different to making books. It's because growing up with books, reading about the lives of artists and seeing paintings in books inspired me to step into another art world,'' Suchart said.
For a while, it looked as though the literary scene had lost an editor to the realm of the visual arts.
It wasn't until Suthipong Thamawuit and Wiang-Wachira Buason of production company and publishing house TV Burabha, whose stories had graced the pages of Cho Karaked, urged Suchart to bring back the magazine, that Suchart, together with these two men, began rebuilding his collapsed dream.
Sutthipong and Wiang-Wachira agreed to provide the funding and oversee the managerial and printing chores, while Suchart would be the temporary ''nanny'', editing the magazine for at least a year before handing it over to a new editor.
It took almost three years of prodding before Suchart agreed to bring back Cho Karaked.
''That's typical of him. He didn't doubt our intentions, he just wanted to be really certain. As we all know, the literary scene is quite dismal and we just want it to have some real atmosphere. No one commands as much respect as Phi Suchart. As an editor, he's considered number one,'' said Wiang-Wachira.
''Karaked'' is the Thai name for the variegated pandanus, a flower that can be found locally, as well as in the famous poem Lilit Phra Lo. According to Suchart, the word also evokes a rebellious spirit, as depicted in an old tune with a character named Karaked. The song was later used by a college band to protest the US presence in Thailand during the Vietnam War.
Cho Karaked (literally, a bouquet of variegated pandanus) grew out of the literary magazine Lok Nangseu (Book World), which Suchart edited for the six years that it was published. The editor noticed the large number of short stories the publication received, most of which were rejected, since the magazine only published one short story per issue. He compiled a short story issue of Lok Nangseu, which eventually became Cho Karaked in 1980. The second comeback of Cho Karaked also saw the return of its sister magazine in the same package.
In his editor's note in the first issue of the third incarnation of Cho Karaked, Suchart quotes Greek poet and novelist Nikos Kazantzakis: ''I hope for nothing. I fear for nothing. I'm free.'' As a seasoned editor who no longer feels the need to prove anything, deep down Suchart still wondered whether or not he had any ''friends'' left. And when word got out that Cho Karaked was accepting submissions again, Suchart found he not only got some of his old ''friends'' back, but he gained several new ones as well.
The response to the return of the Thai-language magazine left Suchart with 273 stories to sift through for the 42nd issue of the quarterly publication, which was published in October. The news must have excited writers, both established and aspiring, so much that Suchart had to enforce the rule of ''one writer, one story'', and only one short story, at that. Being 62 and with deteriorating eyesight, editing is no longer what it once was.
''Editing is another kind of art. It's like practicing dharma in that you're working toward some kind of attainment. Some people say that I must be so happy painting. Well, I don't know. When I edit, you can't really call it happiness. It's not suffering either. I do it whole-heartedly. I don't mind labouring over the stories with my weakening eyesight. I want to complete the task successfully _ whether it's putting a book together, or a painting, or anything. Work is dharma in this way. It becomes a pleasure when you finally accomplish something.''
Buried in books The story of Suchart's life is one of literary rags-to-riches. His father was a doctor for the poor. His mother didn't learn to write her own name until later in life. As a child, the only books that could be found in his home at Thung Sikan in Don Muang district were his father's medical textbooks and air force magazines.
''I didn't come home in the evening to read poetry to my grandparents, or anything like that,'' he said.
Suchart's first books were the Thai comics sold at stalls on his way to school, clipped together in rows like ''those carts selling dried flattened squid''. At first, the money that went into feeding his literary appetite came from his mother's betel box. When caught and spanked for stealing, Suchart sold iced syrup and iced coffee at the railway station to pay for his books. Suchart credits a bus driver by the name of Saman for opening the world of reading to him.
''He read actual books. When he came home, he would have these books he brought back from the city. They were books aimed at the lower market. At around five in the evening, I would look for him from my house. When he arrived, my friend and I would run over to him. He sold his books to us at a discount. They were novels written by '10 satang writers'. These writers captured my imagination. They started my habit of reading.''
As a young man, Suchart never thought he would finish high school, let alone go to university. ''I was never the one with big dreams,'' he said. However, Suchart finished junior high school early and was too young to enrol in police academy or apply for a job. He heeded his older brother's advice and applied to attend Thammasat University.
Life at that institution opened up a new literary world for Suchart. Apart from mingling with young people who would later become leading writers and intellectuals, the young man also discovered writers whose work ''didn't reach people outside the city'', or fell into the hands of someone like Saman: Writers such as the then-banned author and political exile Sriburapha (the nom de plume of Kularb Saipradit).
Another turning point in Suchart's life came when he was asked to edit the now defunct magazine Sangkomsart Paritat (Social Sciences Review), at a time when the people's movement was gaining momentum under the oppressive regime of Field Marshal Thanom Kitikajorn. Under Suchart's leadership, the magazine became known as a space where the ideas of academics and the new generation of thinkers, of conservatism and socialism could coexist.
Suchart went on to edit and write for four more literary magazines after being asked to resign from Sangkomsart Paritat on October 6, 1976.
New 'friends' and the
next chapter Following a nine-year hiatus, Suchart revealed he was afraid of receiving stories scattered with cyber spellings. To his surprise, none of the stories he received came with the alien language.
''I'm starting to doubt the veracity of the accusation that the new generation doesn't know how to write Thai properly _ they simply have their own way of expressing themselves. If they had more space to write, if there were more magazines like this, more support and encouragement, they might be able to create contemporary work that has better potential of development,'' he said.
Suchart observes that the majority of submissions came from the new blood, making Cho Karaked a platform for budding writers. Suchart dismissed claims that he's made writers out of people. As an editor, Suchart joked, he's merely a small doorway.
''I usually give new writers a chance if their ideas are sharp and rich, and if they've pushed the envelope,'' he said. ''When you deal with contemporary art, you have to give artists the licence to take things a step further. Contemporary work is like a rough sketch. It has not perfected itself, so if you try to control it, or force it into one direction, that's the end of it.''
Although the number of submissions for the 42nd issue of Cho Karaked is five times the number he received nine years ago, Suchart remains sceptical about the strength of the local literary scene and the reading culture of Thailand. According to him, the average circulation of literary magazines today has not changed from the time Sriburapha published his seminal newspaper Suphabbhurut (Gentlemen), nearly 80 years ago.
Whether the hardy Cho Karaked will blossom or whither in its third incarnation, only time will tell. For his part, and for the time being, Suchart will be busy pruning the creative vines sent his way.
Bangkok Post
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