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paul_cornelius's review
4.0
I sometimes wonder if I am the only farang in Bangkok who did not come here to spend my time in bars, wandering down the red light district, and involving myself with shady dealings. Instead, I live a sedate life on the western edge of Bangkok, reading several hours per day, sitting on my verandah, writing articles for scholarly journals, and maybe watching a movie in the late afternoon or early evening. And unbelievably for some, I did come here for the temples, spending a year working with the Ministry of Fine Arts documenting the restoration of a Mon temple in Pathum Thani.
As a result, this world Christopher Moore describes is utterly alien to me. I don't recognize its characters or its situations. And I've lived in Bangkok for thirteen years. My most exciting act for some weeks is to make the 4km walk to Foodland on Putthamonthon Sai 4. So the last thing I am interested in is barfly philosophy. And barfly philosophy is what the first half of Moore's novel consists of. I almost put it away. But my "completionist" personality wouldn't let me. On I went. And I'm glad I did. For Killing Smile redeems itself in the second half. No, not with the overwrought philosophizing dialog, which extends itself from the first half. But with the portraiture of men cut off and cast adrift whose only point of connection is the impoverished and desperate prostitutes streaming into Bangkok in order to hope for something better for themselves.
No. what Moore does really, really well is capture the essence of being an expatriate. An expatriate that is not some corporate nomad or foreigner on assignment in Thailand. This is expatriation as it was known for most of the 20th century, before smartphones, before instantaneous connection with "home," when being an expatriate meant being separated from the old and familiar world of family, places, sports, and food. That he does this in 1991, when Smile was published, means he caught the phenomenon of expatriation before it essentially made itself impossible. Right before the 21st century was to make "digital-nomad" a byword for an invasive species--young, wealthy Americans and Europeans stopping down in Southeast Asian countries and never connecting with them. Just spending time in overpriced bungalows, beach resorts, and wine bars, pushing up the cost of living for the locals. Instead of cutting themselves off from the old country, they cut themselves out of Thailand, Bali, Vietnam, wherever. I can't imagine Moore's Tuttle, Snow, Crosby, and Old Bill being more different than today's bunch.
By book's end, Smile rings true. It is a good idea to keep your head low, avoid mixing in the affairs of the wealthy and the powerful, don't make Asians lose face, and never mind when the fruit and vegetable truck comes through your village at 7 am with its loudspeaker going full blast. The only thing Moore forgot? Maybe the village dogs barking and howling at the slightest provocation for hours on end. Don't worry. After four or five years you get used to it and never hear them. Thailand's like that in a lot of ways. Don't let things bother you. Or you'll be sorry. Moore makes about as strong an argument for that as possible. Westerners need to adjust their attitudes, learn to live in what is another civilization. You're here. Adapt. You might be better for it in the long run.
As a result, this world Christopher Moore describes is utterly alien to me. I don't recognize its characters or its situations. And I've lived in Bangkok for thirteen years. My most exciting act for some weeks is to make the 4km walk to Foodland on Putthamonthon Sai 4. So the last thing I am interested in is barfly philosophy. And barfly philosophy is what the first half of Moore's novel consists of. I almost put it away. But my "completionist" personality wouldn't let me. On I went. And I'm glad I did. For Killing Smile redeems itself in the second half. No, not with the overwrought philosophizing dialog, which extends itself from the first half. But with the portraiture of men cut off and cast adrift whose only point of connection is the impoverished and desperate prostitutes streaming into Bangkok in order to hope for something better for themselves.
No. what Moore does really, really well is capture the essence of being an expatriate. An expatriate that is not some corporate nomad or foreigner on assignment in Thailand. This is expatriation as it was known for most of the 20th century, before smartphones, before instantaneous connection with "home," when being an expatriate meant being separated from the old and familiar world of family, places, sports, and food. That he does this in 1991, when Smile was published, means he caught the phenomenon of expatriation before it essentially made itself impossible. Right before the 21st century was to make "digital-nomad" a byword for an invasive species--young, wealthy Americans and Europeans stopping down in Southeast Asian countries and never connecting with them. Just spending time in overpriced bungalows, beach resorts, and wine bars, pushing up the cost of living for the locals. Instead of cutting themselves off from the old country, they cut themselves out of Thailand, Bali, Vietnam, wherever. I can't imagine Moore's Tuttle, Snow, Crosby, and Old Bill being more different than today's bunch.
By book's end, Smile rings true. It is a good idea to keep your head low, avoid mixing in the affairs of the wealthy and the powerful, don't make Asians lose face, and never mind when the fruit and vegetable truck comes through your village at 7 am with its loudspeaker going full blast. The only thing Moore forgot? Maybe the village dogs barking and howling at the slightest provocation for hours on end. Don't worry. After four or five years you get used to it and never hear them. Thailand's like that in a lot of ways. Don't let things bother you. Or you'll be sorry. Moore makes about as strong an argument for that as possible. Westerners need to adjust their attitudes, learn to live in what is another civilization. You're here. Adapt. You might be better for it in the long run.
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