Three Durians

Read Eileen Chong's introduction to Three Durians.

ISBN: 9781764449120

To some, the smell of durian is a rich, creamy custard; to others, it’s the pestilential pong of weeks-old mango, fermented in a gym sock. Due to their divisive odour, durians are banned from public transit across Singapore. They are also the city-state’s unofficial national fruit.

A durian can be a durian, or a flex, or a grenade. It can be a metaphor for poetry – from spoken word poetics, loose, colourful, and pungent, to printed verse, severe and geological as the fossil record: poems whose perfect words and line breaks crack me into sudden laughter, devastated by the poet’s craft.

How many durians does it take to stick a punchline? Fewer than it takes to offend a fellow traveller; certainly fewer than it takes to form a book.

I wanted to name this book There’s No Such Thing as a Singapore Noodle, but it was too much of a mouthful. I thought to name it King of Fruits, but the title was usurped.

One durian is an acquired taste. Two, a decadence. Three durians are exorbitant – a hazard to the knees and shins.

These durians are for you to split, de-thorn, and savour – and to smuggle onto trains and buses at your own risk.

Please, handle with care.

–Troy Wong