Seorang teman, Avie Azis, menuliskan kegelisahan dia tentang masa depan dunia sastra Indonesia sepeninggalan Pramoedya Ananta Toer, dan apakah sastrawan terkemuka Indonesia di masa depan akan datang dari kalangan penulis perempuan atau tidak. Untuk lebih lengkapnya, silahkan di baca di bagian bawah.
Namun, aku suka sekali pernyataan dia yang ini: "The great Indonesian writer must never fall to the trivial battle of the sexes. The woman is not a mere complementary, but she is also not a haughty substitute." Aku pikir, memang ada kecenderungan para penulis perempuan untuk menonjolkan feminitas mereka dalam tulisan-tulisannya. Tentu saja ini tidak salah sama sekali. Permasalahannya adalah, apakah ini tidak menjebak mereka dalam 'the battle of the sexes'? Padahal seorang penulis seharusnya memiliki tugas yang demikian (lagi-lagi mengutip tulisan di bawah): "The last and most arduous task is narrating the others in your individuality. From their state of exclusion, the very best writers master the intricate art of inclusion." Seorang penulis perempuan yang terus menerus menulis tentang kefeminiman perempuan, pada dasarnya telah menghalangi dirinya sendiri untuk berkembang dan menuliskan tentang hal lain yang ada di luar dirinya sendiri. Anda boleh setuju atau tidak dengan pernyataan demikian. Tapi paling tidak, tulisan seperti ini mengajak kita untuk berpikir ulang tentang dunia sastra Indonesia dan para pelaku yang terlibat di dalamnya. Mohon maaf kalau saya mengganggu. salam Dipo Siahaan diambil dari: http://roliflex.multiply.com/journal/item/100 ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ In Search of the Indonesian Writer Posted by Tenyom on Feb 18, '07 2:58 AM for everyone 'Writing, at its best, is a lonely life. Organizations for writers palliate the writer's loneliness, but I doubt if they improve his writing. He grows in public stature as he sheds his loneliness and often his work deteriorates. For he does his work alone and if he is a good enough writer he must face eternity, or the lack of it, each day.' ---Ernest Hemingway A few while back, Iin and I got into discussing the prospects of Indonesia's literary future now that Pram is gone. She reads more than me; she follows what's being written nowadays faithfully and diligently. I have many excuses for not reading so extensively; my assignments are usually convenient culprits, but really, deep down, my reluctance of reading the contemporary is due to my indifference to the currently exaggerated generation of Indonesian female writers. You know who they are. By writing this I am aware that I run the risk of being stamped with the label of anti-feminist (so be it), but I don't see how these women could possibly fill the void that Pram left. I see them as repeating the Magda T. generation. Of course, this is not something bad (I don't believe in authority and judgment regarding tastes and preferences). I just think that these celebrated ladies won't stand the test of time and I rather suspect that the one to take Pram's place will be another man. Why? Firstly, these female writers write in the spotlight. Oh no, this won't do. I take what Hemingway said by heart. Who I'm looking for is the writer/intellectual, not the writer/celebrity. The danger of living a tabloid life is the danger of conformity. It doesn't allow originality. Pushing Hemingway's notion of the lonely writer further, to my mind, the best writers are the exiles (Pram wrote his best in Buru; the recently departed Sobron never came home). Do not think of what I mean by outside as only in physical terms. Remember SHG who lived in alienation all his life? The outside is an uncomfortable territory; which although unpleasant, allows the author two advantages: a room of her own and the force of envy. Recognition is not supposed to be given away easily, it must be fought for. There's nothing to be narrated out of lavishness. The second issue at hand is the delicate problem of equality/difference. I once asked a journalist what his opinion was on these emerging female writers. He gloomily remarked in one sentence that I shall never forget: 'Ah, the problem with them is that they so eagerly covet being seen as greater than men.' Male-chauvinism? Perhaps. But I like to think that he does have a fine point. Speaking of writers, my eternal favourite is Virginia Woolf, and of all, I think she probably perfectly embodies (yes, the finest demonstration) that women are no less than men. On occasions, Woolf unabashedly did ask herself questions whether or not she was a snob; however, what I like most about her is that, in her celebration of being an individual and a woman, she never thought of a woman as a higher being. When proving that the men who claimed that 'women can't paint, can't write' were wrong, Woolf did not say that 'women paint and write better.' Eloquently, with the graceful gestures of the feminine, she states, 'women paint and write differently,' stressing that, 'this is the world according to me.' I believe Woolf lived by that belief. Despite the dispute about the role her husband played in her life, one cannot possibly dismiss how indisposable he was to her. In her suicide note, she wrote that if anyone could have saved her, it would have been her L (that's how she called Leonard in her diaries). If a woman, thus, is to be Pram's successor, she must seek to sidestep the petty temptation of wanting to be more. You could never--you should never. It is enough to be different. The world doesn't need more men. The world doesn't need another man. The great Indonesian writer must never fall to the trivial battle of the sexes. The woman is not a mere complementary, but she is also not a haughty substitute. The last and most arduous task is narrating the others in your individuality. From their state of exclusion, the very best writers master the intricate art of inclusion. Whitman sang songs of himself and he was America. Woolf found England again after Victoria. Mahfouz was Egypt although he revealed its most intense and shameful wounds. The main problem with Indonesia today is that it is at loss and bereft of an identity (despite his cruelty, one must acknowledge that Soeharto in the New Order was an extraordinary playwright). While the rest of the nation is disoriented, the great Indonesian writer must push further against the dark. Like Pram who knew exactly what his Indonesia was (whether real or imaginary), she has to re-invent Indonesia in herself. What is Indonesia, after all, if not fiction? All these are great challenges. I never say otherwise because to write is to play god; why else the first commandment was to read (iqra)?
