A Disappearance in Laos

The Juree books,set in Thailand,are more recent publications. There have been just two so far,compared to the publication of the ninth Siri novel this January. And The Woman Who Wouldn’t Die,like the previous eight,is less a political tract than a reminder of the qualitatively transforming power of wit in refusing to succumb to illusions while bearing the brunt of history. It is a reminder that to truly understand the follies of such brutal regimes as the Lao people endured,you must learn how to laugh at them.

And really,it is a reminder,if one were needed,that the most lovable characters of fiction are ones whose vanities and frailties we know as well as their strengths and resilience. Take Siri Paiboun and Madame Daeng. Siri,when we meet him now,is just weeks into retirement from the post of Laos’s “national and only coroner”. It is a job that had placed him strategically to solve many a mystery,aided,it must be added,by his ability to consult spirits. Daeng,owner of Vientiane’s best noodle shop,is married to Siri,and her laconic comments are a perfect foil to his high self-regard.

For instance: “I’m a psychic,” he brags,trying to nail her down to admitting to an old affair. “No you’re not,” she retorts,“you are just a suitcase,carrying all those spirits around”.

Later,and more seriously perhaps,a drink of Thai brandy down,she asks him about his sightings,a little unnerved at the idea. “It’s not that scary,Daeng,” he reassures her. “Most of them are just lying around waiting. You know how you try to make a booking through Aeroflot and they ask you to come back to the office again and again to see how your application has progressed? Well,it’s like that. Most of them seem resigned to the fact that they’re on their way to the next incarnation,or the promised land or hell,whichever travel agent they’ve booked with.”

It’s a little like what their country has become,one in which he joined the struggle for independence from the French and now is condemned to wondering how it all went so wrong,one where she still struggles to come to terms with the personal cost its colonial past has exacted.

It is now a land where even human camaraderie is sought to be inhibited as “any meeting of a non-familial group consisting of more than five members was obliged to be accompanied by a certificate of assembly which could be obtained after a long wait at the department of Meetings and Appointments”. Though it does not stop Siri and pals from turning a blind eye to minor infringements,for: “In a country without a constitution or a body of laws,the term ‘illegal’ was debatable anyway.” What matters is the end one’s inventiveness is put to.

In The Woman Who Wouldn’t Die,Siri is enlisted in an effort to solve the mystery of the disappearance some years ago of agriculture minister,General Popkorn’s brother,even as Daeng wrestles with suppressed memories.

Crime fiction is a comprehensive introduction to different societies,and Cotterill’s series are prominent on that bookshelf. It is not that he makes us laugh while working with the heartbreaking essentials of human drama. He fosters affection for and understanding of the Lao beyond the histories of Cold War geopolitics and the familiar touristy visions of southeast Asian hospitality. That is some achievement.