The Night Tiger

“If my mother owned a big shophouse like this, she wouldn’t have had to remarry […] I imagined the two of us growing potted orchids in the courtyard, making nian gao, the sweet sticky new year’s rice cake together as we’d done before. We would have been just fine by ourselves.”

In this quote, Ji Lin imagines that her mother’s life could have been peaceful if the material and social conditions of patriarchy weren’t so inescapable. In this society, unmarried women cannot own property, and Ji Lin’s mother had to make a practical choice to marry Ji Lin’s stepfather. The cost is that they must endure Ji Lin’s stepfather’s callousness and physical abuse.

“But I didn’t see any point to dressing up to please my stepfather, who only wanted us to look good to complement himself. We were a chocolate-box family, I thought. Brightly wrapped on the outside and oozing sticky darkness within.”

In this passage, Ji Lin articulates the theme that things are not always as they seem. On the surface, her family has everything that society says they should. However, Ji Lin knows that her stepfather’s penchant for cruelty makes her family life dark and unhappy. 

“The European werewolf […] turns his skin inside out and becomes a beast. He then leaves the village and goes into the forest to kill. […] [H]ere, the weretiger is not a man but a beast who, when he chooses, puts on a human skin and comes from the jungle into the village to prey on humans. It’s almost exactly the reverse situation, and in some ways more disturbing. There’s a rumor that when we colonials came to this part of the world, the natives considered us beast-men as well […].” 

This passage comes from one of William’s letters to the deceased Iris. His articulation that the local myths about weretigers are a perfect inversion of European werewolf lore demonstrates a clash of cultures. Throughout the narrative, we see the psychological and social complexities that European colonization of Malaya creates. As William’s observation demonstrates that Europeans are philosophically opposed to the locals in many ways. 

“I could see a tiny light, a gleam that sparked. Then it winked out and I was falling, drawn into a tunnel. Images flickered. Railway tracks submerged under water. A ticket to nowhere. Fish swimming in a mirror. Somewhere, a midnight shape stirred, shadow rising from the depths of a river. The air thickened, a clot in my lungs. I gasped. Toppled forward.”

In this passage, Ji Lin is looking into Shin’s eyes and sees a gleam. Many members of the core group of five experience this phenomenon while looking at other members of the group. After Ji Lin sees this gleam, images from her recurring dreams about the railroad station also flash before her eyes. The gleam therefore represents the hidden wisdom and knowledge that is not readily apparent in daily reality.

“All parts of the body should rest together, [Ah Long] muttered. None of this scattering here and there. That only led to trouble, like the hungry ghosts whose remains were dispersed among strangers. Bones should be claimed by some filial son, not left in that dreadful room at the hospital filled with body parts in jars, all collected by Dr. Merton.” 

This passage highlights Ah Long’s character. He is a gruff, wizened elderly man who is aware of his powerless social position, but simultaneously exerts a quiet authority. He is very intelligent and understands more than what most people give him credit for. Throughout the narrative, he insinuates that he knows about William’s unsavory character and actions, and he is also highly aware of Chinese spiritual traditions and practices, which he uses to condemn Westerners for what he perceives as wrongness or barbarism. Ah Long carries out a subtle decolonial struggle.

“My grandmother told me about a tiger village, near Gunung Ledang in Malacca. The posts of the houses are made of jelatang, the stinging tree nettle, the walls of men’s skin, the rafters of bones, and the roofs are thatched with human hair. That’s where the weretigers live, the harimau jadian who change their shapes. Some people say that they’re beasts possessed by the souls of dead people.” 

Under the backdrop of the hospital, which is run according to Western standards of medicine, Harun and Ren converse about an ancient, Indigenous mythology. This contrast highlights both the conflict and the richness of the psychological environment of 1930s Malaya.  

“For deep in the darkest, most cowardly recess of my heart, I was afraid that one day I’d turn around to discover that Shin, in some monstrous, nightmarish twist, had transformed into his father.” 

Ji Lin’s thoughts here articulate the complexity of her relationship with her stepbrother and highlights the role of secrets in her life; she does not yet know that Shin made a deal with his father to keep Ji Lin safe. The passage also demonstrates the everyday fear that women who live under the conditions of patriarchy must grapple with.

“What was it, this nothingness on the bottom of the river? Uneasy, I paddled away from it. The shadow was still there, half a body’s length behind, as though the bottom of the river had fallen away or been eaten by darkness. And it was moving. The faster I swam, the faster it closed on me. […] Ahead on the riverbank, a figure burst into view. It was the little boy from the train station.” 

In this quote, Ji Lin is in the dream/afterlife train station, which she always accesses through the nearby river. Ji Lin senses a dark entity within the water. The sinister description exemplifies Choo’s treatment of the supernatural throughout the narrative. Choo describes supernatural entities with a great deal of evocative, sensory detail, but stops short of ever fully articulating the rules that govern the afterlife realm. 

“When the mood struck, he’d say, ‘I’m going for a walk,’ and enter the jungle, burning incense and blowing it through his fist until his skin changed and his fur and tail appeared. Then he’d hunt for days until he’d eaten his fill. When he was done, he’d squat down and say, ‘I’m going home,’ and turn back into a man. In his man-shape, he’d vomit up the undigested bones, feathers, and hair of everything he had eaten.”

In this passage, Dr. MacFarlane recites the weretiger myth to Ren. After Dr. MacFarlane details the way that weretigers vomit after their kills, Ren remembers the way that Dr. MacFarlane vomited behind a closed door. The passage functions as a primer about the mythology at the center of the narrative. 

“There’s an expression on his face he hasn’t seen before; a sly flicker, or is it a shadow that passes, like an eel, behind his eyes?” 

In this passage, Ren sees something behind Dr. MacFarlane’s eyes that is very similar to what Ji Lin glimpsed within Shin’s eyes. Choo is depicting the fragile, yet undeniable spiritual truth that binds Ji Lin to Ren. The flicker behind both Shin’s and Dr. MacFarlane’s eyes represent the tip of the iceberg of the supernatural forces which tie these characters together.

“Ren watches from the open door as Dr. MacFarlane lifts his head, slavering, his eyes like a wild animal. Thrusting his left hand into his mouth, the one with the missing finger, he pulls out a long, coiling black strand of woman’s hair.” 

This quote describes Ren’s dream. At this point in the narrative, Ren is not sure that he believes in the weretiger mythology. It is significant that Ren’s dream yields the proof that Dr. MacFarlane is, truly a weretiger. The passage asserts that dreams allow people to access spiritual truths.

“Then he sees [Yi], scrambling and waving wildly on the opposite bank. He jigs from one foot to the other in a familiar manner. How could Ren have forgotten that jig?” 

In this passage, Ren wakes up in the dream world and sees Yi on the shore, dancing the same jig that he danced in life. Except that Yi has been dead for three years. This passage poignantly highlights the sense of loss and grief that Ren has suffered since his twin died. Choo asserts the pain of the death of a loved one—and the fact that certain details about that person will inevitably be lost. 

“Panicking now, arms and legs flailing. The current drags at him. His head goes under again and he sees more shapes. A Chinese man drifts by, neck hanging at an awkward angle as though it’s been broken. A young Tamil woman, mouth open but eyes mercifully closed. No body, only her serene, decapitated head. Ren is crying, struggling. Bursting with terror, water searing his lungs.” 

In this passage, Ren is in the dream/afterlife realm and has jumped into the river to get to Yi. The same dark entity that Ji Lin has sensed within these waters appears to Ren. Through this repetition, Choo affirms that the dream/afterlife realm is a real one, and not a figment of either Ren’s nor Ji Lin’s imagination. Also, Ren sees the bodies of Chan Yew Cheung and Ambika—people Ji Lin would have recognized, but he doesn’t. To reach their spiritual destinies, Ji Lin and Ren must combine their efforts and knowledge. 

“I checked my sleeping mother. Brushing the hair gently from her thin face, I was thankful she was all right, though a treacherous part of me thought that if she died, there’d be nothing holding me hostage to this house.” 

In this passage, Ji Lin articulates some of the grief that is attendant to her coming-of-age. Although she loves her mother deeply, her momentary fantasy about her mother’s death reveals a resentment. Ji Lin is unfairly saddled with limitations, and she longs for freedom and autonomy. 

“‘Why does it matter whether I’m married or not? The job’s the same.’ ‘You’ll be your husband’s responsibility then.’” 

In this passage, Ji Lin is discussing her future with her stepfather. His position is that nursing is not a suitable occupation because she would do intimate things, such as bathing the patients, but his response shows that he really takes offense to the social disgrace that she might bring to him by being an unmarried daughter who sees to the intimate needs of others. To Ji Lin’s stepfather, Ji Lin’s personal agency as a person is a non-factor because she is a woman. 

“I didn’t mean to. At least in the beginning…I love Ren. He’s everything to me […] We’d never been apart before. And I knew he was miserable without me. How was he going to manage alone? So when the train crossed the river, I got out. This is the very first stop on this side. I’m sure there are better places further in, but I didn’t want to go without Ren.” 

In this passage, Ji Lin has realized that Yi, in a way, is hoping for Ren’s death. She has challenged Yi about this, and this quote shows Yi’s response. With great poignancy, Choo demonstrates Yi’s tenderness, his youth, and his humanity. The reader can’t help but see that Yi’s desire to be with his brother is a natural and relatable one, especially when viewed within the context of the injustice and prematurity of Yi’s death. Choo is therefore examining a highly universal literary theme: The mystery and pain of death, which will inevitably touch all of us. 

“The five of us should have made a kind of harmony. After all, weren’t the Confucian Values supposed to describe the perfect man? A man who abandoned virtue lost his humanity and became no better than a beast. Dazed, I wondered whether that was happening to all of us.” 

In this quote, Ji Lin articulates one of the spiritual rules that governs her relationship with the other four members of the group of five characters whose names correspond to the five Confucian virtues. This rule asserts that, as long as the five toil in ignorance to their relation to each other, they remain in danger of the ignoble influences of animals, which takes them further away from their own humanity. This rule therefore articulates a binarism between animals and humans, which posits humans as the superior entities. For each of the five characters to access the truth of their lives and to embrace a humanity, they must identify and understand the other members of their set. 

“If he closes his eyes, he can still see her, running out of the darkness into the pool of light spilled by Ah Long’s lantern. Pale blue dress, face tight with terror. And even then, the dark part of himself that he’s always tried to suppress found her panic alluring, with those slender legs and long-lashed eyes—like a frightened doe.” 

In this quote, the narrator gives us insight into William’s interiority. He is a sexual predator, who delights in the fear and helplessness of his victims. Notably, the way that William compares Ji Lin to a doe also correlates his own desires to a savage, animal predation. This passage also depicts William’s inner struggle. Although that he knows that his predatory, violent attitude towards women is wrong, he is not of a high enough moral character to control or stop his basest desires. 

“No need to blame yourself. Time of death was early Sunday morning, so who knows what happened […] It was likely a vegetable toxin, though we may not be able to test for it. I’ll ask the lab in Ipoh. Budget won’t run to sending this all the way to KL if it’s just a local girl committing suicide or taking some fool remedy.” 

In this passage, Dr. Rawlings speaks with William about Nandani’s death. Through his wording, we can see that Dr. Rawlings does not regard Nandani nor her life with any respect. He only cares about the trouble it causes him to bureaucratically deal with her body. In a twist of irony, he also condescends to the local population, asserting that they kill themselves out of ignorance. What he doesn’t know is that the conniving Lydia, his own European kin, is the one responsible for Nandani’s death. This quote therefore crystallizes the violence of colonial logics, which seek to project barbarism and a lack of intelligence upon the colonized native, while it is actually European barbarism that is killing the colonized native. 

“But she also knew Iris. That’s worse. Ambika and Nandani are just two local girls he’s been involved with, but the talk around Iris is something that’s hounded him out of England already.” 

This passage shows the racial, colonial character of William’s propensity for misogynistic violence. His characterization of Ambika and Nandani as “just two local girls” emphasizes the depth of his objectification of these two women. Ambika and Nandani have died after becoming romantically or sexually involved with him, and he plainly does not care. He sees them as racial others whose lives count even less than the white women whom he also regards with cold objectification. He only cares about satisfying his own desires, and then covering up the evidence to save his own skin.

“A trick of the shadows makes it look as though [Lydia] has long dark hair. Ren stops, surprised. The open doorway, the woman standing in it. For a fearful instant, he’s reminded of the pontianak, that vengeful female spirit that comes calling at the doors and windows.” 

Throughout the narrative, it is heavily implied that Lydia is a Pontianak. She is a vengeful woman and a serial killer. Here, Yi’s fleeting flash of insight about Lydia’s true character as a “trick of the shadows” exemplifies the narrative’s assertion that spiritual knowledge is esoteric and obscured in the modern world.

“Ren understands about guilt and bewilderment. Yi hasn’t come to his dreams anymore, not since the last time by the river. In fact, he can find no trace of his twin at all. That faint radio signal has ceased transmitting, or is it tuned to another station now, one that he can’t hear? Whatever it is, he thinks of Yi with love and sadness. One day, they will be together again.”

This passage represents the closure and denouement of Yi’s story. The “cat sense” which binds Ren to his brother, and which remains active because of Yi’s choice to not fully cross to the other side, keeps Ren in a kind of limbo. For much of the narrative, Ren is chasing his brother. In so doing, he is not seeing to his own personal progress on the earth. Eventually, Yi makes the decision to cross fully over into the realm of the dead, which helps Ren reach a point of peace and acceptance about his beloved brother’s death. 

“And at that moment I was glad, so glad that [my stepfather] was hard and unyielding, only valuing the opinions of men. My mother’s protests were overruled; after all, she dared give no reason other than Singapore was too far away.” 

In this quote, Ji Lin’s mother has discovered that Shin and Ji Lin are in love. Ji Lin and Shin have spontaneously fabricated a story about a job awaiting Ji Lin in Singapore, which her presumed betrothed approves of. Ji Lin is cunningly and intelligently using the logics of patriarchy to her own benefit. Through this depiction, Choo asserts that women can and do use their ingenuity and their understanding of the mechanics of patriarchy to carve out their own agency. Ji Lin’s mother’s acquiescence to the lie shows her solidarity with her daughter.