“Rumah Kaca” by Pramoedya Ananta Toer
5 pages into the story, this 4th and last book of the Buru Quartet already provides some unexpected realisation: the narrator is now different! And it’s really intriguing knowing who this person was in book 3, and how it ended between this person and Minke. It truly gives that ending another angle, now with the background story from the opposite vantage point before that crucial ending.
The book then elaborates on life in the Dutch East Indies, from the ruler’s point of view. It covers the governor general, the many roles of the officers, the inner conflicts between humanity and enforcing injustice colonial law, the intermittent vacuum of power during when Netherlands was involved in World War 1, and of course – continuing the narrative from book 3 – the many different organisations that spring up among the locals.
Indeed, here at book 4 everything that were building up in book 3 are already in full force. The figurative fire is spreading nationwide and cross-countries, and it looks so damn terrifying from the vantage point of the colonial ruler. It also has a brilliant element of doubts instilled in the narrative, and conflicting dilemmas in between nostalgics from the past books. And just as book 1-3, the story is so hard to predict and full with surprises.
Oh there are so many things from this book that I wanted to share more but afraid to spoil anything. But let’s just say, the ending of the book makes me understand why in real life Pramoedya Ananta Toer was jailed by the Dutch, jailed by Soekarno, and was sent to exile in Buru Island by Soeharto. And it’s astonishing how it was just like the actual story of Tirto Adhi Soerjo, the real-life inspiration for the character Minke.
All in all, there are 535 pages for Bumi Manusia, 536 pages for Anak Semua Bangsa, 721 pages for Jejak Langkah, and 646 pages for this one Rumah Kaca. This work has won 11 awards, with Pramoedya himself was awarded with 7 more honours.
Now I’ve read Hemingway, I’ve read Shakespeare. I love Coelho and was pleasantly surprised by Voltaire. Huxley and Orwell gave me the creeps, with the former in a good way and the latter in a bad way. I’ve read Twain’s classics, two in a row, Thoreau’s overrated musings about isolation, got lost in Tolstoy’s big-ass book, and got carried away by a little known Southern classic by Walker Percy.
But nothing, I mean NOTHING, compares with the Buru Quartet. It easily becomes my absolute favourite literature, and most possibly my favourite book ever out of 558 that I’ve read so far.
More on Buru Quartet: Book 1| Book 2 | Book 3 | The making of Buru Quartet
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