Meet The Young Singaporean Author Malcom Seah Writing Beyond Genre
Overseas book deals, international awards, even film rights – if these are the markers of success in the literary world, then the local writing scene has hit a new peak, led by a younger generation of authors penning their own diverse takes on the Singapore story. Pandemic‑revived bibliophile Cherry Tan gets some of the most exciting new names on the scene to share a peek into their inner lives and thoughts about this new chapter in SingLit.
Once upon a time, Singapore literature – or SingLit, as it’s affectionately known – tended to conjure up certain imagery: think intergenerational tensions in the heartlands, or thinly veiled critiques of the nation state. It would be wrong to call such themes tired, but even the most loyal #supportlocal bookworms can start to crave something different – stories that stretch beyond the usual canon, tapping into a broader emotional and imaginative spectrum.
Enter an emerging generation of writers serving up exactly that: Jemimah Wei, Myle Yan Tay, Wen‑yi Lee and Malcom Seah. Each with their own distinctive style, they’re all on the young side – a Gen Z or 1990s‑born millennial – and have published their debut novels in the last two years, offering fresh, genre‑bending narratives that reflect the evolving face of local literature.
From speculative horror to sapphic myth, sisterly drama to gritty urban thrillers, these authors are shaking off the expectations of what a Singapore story should be with what they’re putting out. Or, to put it differently, their works don’t just reflect Singapore; they reimagine it. Whether they’re queering dystopias, interrogating the education system or rewriting myth through brown masculinity, this crop of authors is less concerned about offering neat representations of who we are, and more interested in subversion, and remixing and pushing the boundaries of language and place with their words.
“I do think that among younger writers today, there’s a noticeable shift towards examining the consequences of Singapore’s rapid development and the trade‑offs that have come with becoming the country we are now,” says Lee, who’s behind the fantasy young adult novel The Dark We Know. “I sometimes joke that older generations of writers all had a ‘Merlion piece’, which says a lot about how closely national identity has been tied to symbolism and mythology. These days though, it feels like everyone has a land reclamation piece, which speaks to the material cost of progress and environmental upheaval.”
It’s no surprise that this evolution has coincided with a new golden age in local literature, with more Singapore authors – many of the younger generation – scoring overseas book deals and international awards. Culturally, we’ve become bigger, more sophisticated bookworms too – clock the wave of literary events, or cafes that host regular readings and book clubs, for example. The launch of Bookshop.sg – the online platform retailing works carried by the eight independent local bookshops behind it – two months ago is also an undisputed triumph.
As a long‑term bibliophile turned pandemic‑era Bookstagrammer, I can’t help but feel that SingLit is having its long overdue moment. And much lies on our new‑gen authors to keep this torch burning. As Ng Kah Gay, publisher at the independent book publisher Ethos Books, puts it: “It is important for each generation to inscribe their voices into our cultural records. We often receive submissions from Gen Zers and young writers, but I believe we’re only seeing a small tip of their creative iceberg, as they now have a multitude of avenues to express their imagination.”
Ahead, Wei, Seah, Lee and Tay share their own stories as emerging Singapore authors and how we can write a new chapter as a literary hub.
At 24, this economics undergraduate is one of the youngest voices in the Singapore literary scene. His debut novel Swimming Lessons – released earlier this year – is a meditative, non‑linear exploration of grief, identity and the quiet things often left unsaid in Asian families. Set in a cosmopolitan but uncanny version of Singapore, the story follows three characters navigating loss in distinct ways: Michelle, who’s mourning her comatose sister; a young constable investigating strange happenings beneath the city’s surface; and a military captain tasked with making sense of the supernatural. And while Seah insists that he isn’t, as he puts it, “embedded in the fabric” of Gen Z, he believes his generation is uniquely positioned to examine the complexities of Singaporean identity with fresh eyes.
With a semester in Copenhagen ahead and an upcoming author tour in India, Seah is already working on his next novel: a reimagining of Chinese mythology set in modern‑day Singapore. He’s keeping the details private for now, but hints that it will “far supersede” his debut work. We’re intrigued.
24-year-old Malcom Seah who debuted his first novel just this year and is already preparing for his second one.
HOW DID THE IDEA FOR SWIMMING LESSONS FIRST COME TO YOU AND WHAT MADE YOU DECIDE TO PURSUE IT AS A FULL NOVEL?
“My journey as a writer began with me being a ferocious reader. I tried my hand at replicating genres and techniques from my favourite authors, penning unfinished manuscripts that I thought might rival (Russian writer Leo) Tolstoy’s bibliography. Eventually, I wanted something to truly call my own and that sparked the creation of Swimming Lessons. I always knew that the climax of the story would revolve around Meredith’s accident (she’s a key character who suffers a subarachnoid brain haemorrhage). I was about three chapters in when my mother suffered a grade five subarachnoid brain haemorrhage. I spent the next few months by her bedside. If you had classified me as part of the emergency ward’s furniture, no attending nurse would have corrected you. It felt as if I had written the accident into existence. It was truly a morbid, twisted coincidence and I lived it long before I wrote it. (His mum has since recovered.) I never curated the prose of Swimming Lessons with the sole intention of getting published. It was simply a conduit for me to channel my grief, but I suppose life had other plans.”
WHAT INSPIRED THE TITLE AND WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO YOU?
“I’ll give you two answers – a professional one and an honest one. Professionally, ‘Swimming Lessons’ effortlessly embodies how identity, grief and memory amalgamate like water: fluid, mercurial and sometimes destructive. I loved the idea of how liquid water can be – think tsunamis, shallow waves and rain. It was the ideal metaphor. Honestly though? I had finished drafting the first chapter and hated the ‘xxx’ placeholder I had. The last few words that I penned were about a botched swimming lesson, and I thought ‘Swimming Lessons’ sounded apt. I didn’t see the need to amend it later. TLDR: I just thought it sounded cool.”
Seah released his debut novel Swimming Lessons – a supernatural‑tinged coming‑of‑age story – in April this year and is already working on his next one: a reimagining of Chinese mythology also set on local shores.
HOW HAS YOUR SENSE OF IDENTITY EVOLVED SINCE WRITING SWIMMING LESSONS AND HOW HAS THAT INFLUENCED HOW YOU WRITE NOW?
“After my mother’s accident, I gave life another chance. I backpacked solo through Europe for 40 days with no itinerary, spent a month living in Saigon and did a six‑month internship with (multi‑platform media company) Vice Asia. I kept boarding planes alone and going to restaurants saying ‘table for one’, city after different city. Knowingly or not, I wanted to put myself in as much uncertainty as I could. It became a life goal of mine to bulldoze my limits before my 25th birthday arrives next year. Along the way, I let these formative experiences bleed into my manuscripts. I’ve tried my hand at writing seriously again, finding my voice in a Scandinavian‑style crime novel, among other projects. I can’t exactly tell you what’s different about my prose. I suspect it might just be me who’s different. The writing has shifted because the writer has changed. The voice I’ve settled on isn’t more bombastic, sharper or more eloquent – it’s just clearer. I’m not who I was. And maybe that’s the entire point.”
DO YOU FEEL THAT THERE’S A GROWING READERSHIP FOR STORIES BY YOUNGER, LOCAL AUTHORS?
“Perhaps! As with every few generations, I reckon we’re at the precipice of a major reshuffling, where younger authors are set to replace the ageing ones as the primary voices of the generation. I think many younger readers are starting to identify with their ethnic lineage and traditions more than ever before, and that perhaps explains the boom in demand for local or regional literature. I’ll be the first person to tell you that it’s mainly because, historically, Southeast Asia has never been known for its bustling literary scene despite its cultural vibrancy. Now, readers are starting to appreciate the wonderful flowers blooming in their own backyards and realising that they don’t necessarily have to import good literature from abroad.”
Still an undergraduate, the 24‑year‑old Malcom Seah is currently trying to balance school alongside dog dad duties and the trappings of being an author.
SINGAPORE LITERATURE HAS OFTEN WRESTLED WITH QUESTIONS OF NATIONAL IDENTITY, MULTICULTURALISM AND BELONGING. DO YOU THINK THAT’S STILL CENTRAL TO YOUNGER WRITERS?
“You’d probably agree that Singapore is a beautifully crafted mosaic of differing ethnolinguistic, cultural and physiological strands. ‘Singaporean’ isn’t a clearly defined label – it’s a dynamic observation. That has always been what we are: a definition‑avoiding rojak. If you try to forcibly conjure up a single definition of what it means to be Singaporean, you’ll eventually fall flat on your face. That’s why SingLit has been grappling with it for so long instead of embracing it. It’s not meant to be a struggle. What’s different about this generation is that we tend to be more inquisitive about all things cultural, about belonging, about tradition. I like that. Perhaps then, this generation is best equipped to explore what it might truly mean to be Singaporean – because we understand that identity is fluid, not fixed.”
As he suggests, perhaps “this generation is best equipped to explore what it might truly mean to be Singaporean – because we understand that identity is fluid, not fixed”.
HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT THE ROLE OF SOCIAL MEDIA IN TODAY’S LITERARY LANDSCAPE?
“Surprise, surprise, but I’m not on TikTok. I never fully realised how influential social media is until my publicity campaign went live. Now that I’m more educated on it, I think the online book community is extraordinary. They’re the most selfless, passionate and cheerful bunch I’ve met. I do hope BookTok and other online platforms continue to grow because readers empowering other readers is one of the most heart‑warming sights you’ll ever see. There’s real magic in authenticity, and BookTok and Bookstagram are all the richer for it.”
ALL INTERVIEWS HAVE BEEN EDITED FOR CLARITY AND BREVITY.