Tiang wields a deft and subtle rendering

It Never Rains on National Day

By Jeremy Tiang

Epigram Books, 185 pages,

S$18.90 at major bookstores

WITH a title like It Never Rains on National Day, you'd expect Jeremy Tiang's debut collection of short stories to be part of the SG50 craze. After all, we've already had film anthology 7 Letters and poetry collection A Luxury We Cannot Afford (a sequel is on its way), just to name a few jubilee-themed productions.

Tiang raises plenty of questions about nationhood and belonging (or not). But the book is really about literal and metaphorical walls which surround us - those that keep us in Singapore or out, cultural divides, language barriers, the walls between couples and even the Berlin wall.

The stories were first published elsewhere in online journals and print anthologies. In fact, the second piece Trondheim clinched the top prize for English short stories in the NAC Golden Point Award 2009.

Still, this compilation adds plenty of value: the stories gradually reveal that they are loosely connected by a core group of characters. There's the Eurasian Sophia who's married to an English banker, a disillusioned MOE-bonded teacher, more government scholars, and a domestic helper plays a small recurring role.

It's a clever choice: readers can savour the stories individually, or connect the dots as if it is an episodic novel. Best taken as a whole, the collection is more than just the sum of its parts.

Given the characters, Tiang appears to be primarily addressing the local literati - arts graduates, teachers (because "they make all the English grads become teachers"), hipsters, and cosmopolitan types.

These are people who debate the pros and cons of education systems both East and West, who don't "tour" but "travel" ("I like to get to know a city really well. To experience living there"), and throw dinner parties during the National Day Parade.

But really, the inner hopes, conflicts, and despair of his characters extend well beyond the insular community of arts patrons.

In Sophia's Aunt for instance, Tiang steps into the shoes of a couple who are dealing with the husband's heart transplant, complicated by a relationship which has since lost its spark.

What's more, he's going under the knife in Beijing during the 2008 melamine milk powder scandal. China may seem an unlikely destination for health tourism, but we are reminded that organs there are supplied by a steady stream of deathrow convicts, some of whom are interrogated on sensational talkshow programmes - adding yet another layer to the story.

Then, there's Tick (original to this collection), the mandatory piece about the hardships of artistic creation which pops up at some point in every writer's career.

A wannabe writer grapples with mid-life crisis; he leaves his job and drags his wife and dog into a cabin in the woods for a writerly retreat. His psyche and their already strained marriage starts falling apart, infested by a million little dissatisfactions - much like the ticks that won't leave their ageing shih tzu alone.

Tiang moves across social issues, artistic concerns, and domestic problems with a deft and subtle hand throughout. But it's the final three stories which pack a real punch, because that's when the worlds between the characters collide.

Foreign workers and talents are foisted upon locals during the National Day celebrations, and tensions rise with alternately poignant and heartwarming resolutions.

To be sure, these themes have been done before, but Tiang adds heart, currency, and a dash of cool to ongoing debates, which remain timely in an age of accelerating international trade and travel.

thtan@sph.com.sg