As we celebrate SG60, it’s impossible not to feel a surge of pride in our homegrown stories—and Meihan Boey’s The Mystical Mister Kay is a triumphant example of how SingLit can reclaim and redefine our place in Nusantara. This final installment of the Miss Cassidy trilogy, published by Epigram Books, doesn’t just wrap up a series; it cements Boey’s place as a master of blending folklore, fantasy, and science fiction to challenge colonial narratives. But here’s where it gets controversial: can a story truly decolonize when it’s still written within the framework of Western literary traditions? Boey’s work dares to ask this question, weaving together drawing-room comedy, post-colonial fiction, Greek and Roman myths, and Nusantara lore into a mash-up that feels both revolutionary and deeply familiar.
Trilogies often stumble—starting strong, only to lose steam by the final act. Yet The Mystical Mister Kay defies this trope, building to a conclusion that’s as complex as it is satisfying. Boey’s characters, drawn from Southeast Asian folklore, are no longer dismissed as mere superstitions but are instead celebrated as pillars of a rich cultural heritage. As someone raised on European tales and taught to revere Western storytelling as the pinnacle of literature, I found Boey’s work refreshing. It’s a bold reminder that our own narratives are just as powerful, if not more so.
But what I love most about Miss Cassidy’s world is its unapologetic embrace of Singapore’s multiculturalism. In a country often labeled a ‘melting pot,’ it’s easy to grow numb to the phrase. Yet Boey’s multiracial cast interacts with such ease—code-switching, caring for one another, and embodying a sense of unity that feels quintessentially Singaporean. Is this the Singapore we aspire to? Or is it already here, waiting to be fully recognized?
Shifting gears, my next top read of the year is Natsuo Kirino’s Swallows, a psychological thriller that dives into the ethical quagmire of surrogacy. Kirino, a 74-year-old Japanese novelist, has long explored the struggles of women in a patriarchal society, and Swallows is no exception. Centered on a couple’s journey to have a child through surrogacy, the novel dissects the moral, social, and emotional implications of this choice. Kirino’s meticulous character studies force readers to confront uncomfortable questions: Who owns the right to parenthood? And at what cost?
Rounding out my top reads is Lev Grossman’s Bright Sword, a 674-page reimagining of the Arthurian legend that’s as ambitious as it is divisive. King Arthur’s tale is the epitome of colonial lore, but Grossman’s retelling flips the script. Set in a crumbling Camelot, the story introduces a trans man, a Muslim warrior, and a feminist witch—characters that could easily feel like tokenism. Yet Grossman gives them depth, using their stories to explore timeless themes of leadership, duty, and loyalty. But here’s the question: does reimagining colonial narratives truly challenge them, or does it simply repackage them for a modern audience?
These three books—The Mystical Mister Kay, Swallows, and Bright Sword—aren’t just great reads; they’re conversations waiting to happen. What do you think? Does Boey’s work truly decolonize SingLit? Does Kirino’s exploration of surrogacy go far enough? And is Grossman’s Bright Sword a bold reimagining or a missed opportunity? Let’s discuss in the comments—I’m eager to hear your thoughts!
