Under my bed, I keep a box.
Inside the box are hidden things.
Bits of memories.
Perforated pages from a yearbook.
Newspaper headlines I could not look away from. The death of a small child. A teenager commits suicide. A hit-and-run of a man, puking into a gutter.
A tear-stained Chinese exam.
A well-worn rope, stolen from my brother’s army equipment. When I can’t sleep, when the void of my future fills my head, I close my eyes and tie, untie, re-tie its curve into a noose until I fall asleep. Its strands are fraying.
A poor sketch of an ear, missing a chunk.
An army-issued knife, also swiped from Logan, who had to pay twenty dollars for a new one when he couldn’t find it during an inspection.
A notebook of scribblings, urges etched into pages, a catalogue of impulses, actions that spin in my head, unless I put them down onto paper.
Underneath all of that, beneath the other parts of me I keep hidden in this box, wrapped in newspaper, sits my most precious possession. When the rope cannot send me to sleep, I take it out and hold it. I run my fingers along its curved dome, like I am pressing my fingers against the flat of my teeth. I rub it like a lamp. And then I fall asleep.
In the morning, I tuck it back into my box.
Then the box goes back under my bed.
I slide it under, deep, pushing first with my arm, then my leg.
Only I can ever know about my box.
My box of shame.
catskull
Ram has been ignored and dismissed his entire life. His parents patronise him, his older brother belittles him, his class pretends he doesn’t exist, and he is certain he will fail his impending A-Levels. The only good part of his life is Kass, a fellow outsider he has known since childhood. But when the bruises on Kass from her abusive father get worse and worse, Ram decides to don a mask and frighten him into changing his ways. After his scare tactic goes fatally wrong, the mask he wore calls out to him again to clean the city's filth. Neo-noir thriller meets coming-of-age mystery, catskull explores the violence inherent in an unforgiving city and what it does to the people who inhabit it. It complicates questions of what is right, what is lawful, and who pays the price in the quest for justice.
Excerpt
Ethos Books, 2023
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Myle Yan Tay
Myle Yan Tay is a writer of prose, plays, reviews, and comic books. His shorter works have appeared in The Hong Kong Review, The Bangalore Review, The Straits Times, and the Chicago Reader. His debut novel, catskull, was published by Ethos Books, and his debut play, Brown Boys Don't Tell Jokes, was staged by Checkpoint Theatre, where he is an Associate Artist.
Short Notes with Myle Yan Tay
What does "Mata Hati | 心眼 | Eye of the Heart | மனக்கண் வழியே" mean to you in writing?
I think of writing as an act of investigation. It's about probing deep into our hearts, our community's, and our country's. An unflinching, honest investigation, that's what Mata Hati means to me.
What does your writing process look like? Do you type or write? Are there multiple drafts, long pauses, or sudden bursts of activity?
My process varies from project to project. "catskull" was written almost obsessively, late into the night. Now, I'm more measured, with a consistent and replicable daily practice consisting of hand-writing, transcription, and editing.
What does your working space look like?
I love writing at libraries. For that reason, my working space is almost always bare because it's what I can lug with me to a desk at a library without being obnoxious.
Make an elevator pitch for your shortlisted work in 30 words or less
"catskull" is a hyperlocal, Singaporean vigilante story. It's an investigation of justice, violence, and punishment, that stays grounded in a Singapore we're not accustomed to seeing in this way.
Could you share a pivotal moment as you were writing this work?
"catskull" was first written in 7-8 parts, as a Circuit Breaker creative exercise. After finishing Part 4, I realized I had I had no idea what was going to happen next. That was electrifying. The only way to know was to keep writing.
If you could give one advice to yourself when you were writing this book, what would it be?
It's okay if the book is reflective of who you are now, and not who you always be. That's the nature of artmaking; we change after the art is done.
