The Singapore Writers Festival 2025 presents more than 200 programmes, connecting the global literary community from various disciplines and life experiences
It was just silence and stillness all around. The absence of any sound near the historic Walden Pond in Concord, Massachusetts, presented a contemplative atmosphere for American essayist, poet and philosopher Henry David Thoreau to pick up a pen and fill his notebooks with endless words about the power of solitude. Some of his famous works birthed from this secluded space include Walden; or, Life in the Woods (1854), in which he detailed the importance of isolation for his artistic development.
Although scholars have argued that he was not completely alienated from society — the cabin he built was walking distance from his family home — the fact remains that Thoreau felt most inspired and productive when he was by himself.
While the lack of noise helps minimise external distractions, allowing writers to fully immerse themselves in their literary journey, many agree that creatives cannot thrive without a community. Being surrounded by like-minded individuals provides them with a medium for networking, exchanging ideas and tackling critical dialogue on pressing issues.
This is the reason the Singapore Writers Festival (SWF) is recognised as one of Asia’s premier literary events since its founding in 1986. Spotlighting talents and works from around the world, SWF is an established platform that brings together writers, academics and bibliophiles in a diverse range of activities, including panel discussions, workshops, lectures and performances.
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Setting the standard
Organised by Arts House Group and commissioned by the National Arts Council, the 28th edition of SWF was held from Nov 7 to 16, boasting more than 200 programmes with over 300 presenters across genres, languages and formats.
“Many international and regional writers are drawn to SWF because of its growing reputation as a prominent multilingual literary arts festival in Southeast Asia, as well as Singapore’s role as a hub for cultural exchange,” says festival director Yong Shu Hoong.
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Following the intense discourse on the rapid growth of AI in recent years, the event was aptly themed “Shape of Things to Come”, prompting critical conversations on the subject.
“We approach this year’s instalment with a spirit of adventure and discovery — how we can reevaluate the past, recalibrate what we can do in the present and reimagine what our future may bring,” says Yong.
Although it attracts a global audience, its primary mission is to uplift Singaporean writers. “We are also proud to spotlight emerging voices, young writers, debut authors and creators who are shaping the nation’s literary landscape. In many ways, they embody the festival theme more than anyone else, representing the next generation of talents to come,” Yong says.
He recalls participating in an open mic at one of the earlier biannual incarnations of SWF in the 1990s. “I have a vague recollection of reading poetry in public for the first time at an Olio Dome restaurant in the Picturehouse, both of which are no longer there.
“I hope SWF will continue to make literature engaging and accessible to all, young and old, even emerging or established, by showing how it can connect with various disciplines and life experiences.”
In his opening statement, Acting Minister for Culture, Community and Youth David Neo highlighted the role of literature, which allows us to continuously learn about one another. Its intersection with diverse fields, such as culinary art and architecture, reinforces its significance in human civilisation. “It is a reflection that even as the written word evolves, its power endures.”
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As multiculturalism is a key defining feature of Singapore, fostering greater understanding between communities is a critical part of building the people’s shared identity, he added. “I would like to commend SWF for its dedication to facilitating cross-cultural exchanges between our four official languages. SWF is introducing simultaneous interpretation of Chinese, Malay and Tamil programmes into English, which will open the door for more audiences to discover and appreciate the richness of each community’s literary traditions.”
Of heritage and culture
What does it mean to write about Singapore outside the dominant English language? What stories become possible in the mother tongue and what do we lose when we privilege one language over another?
Authors Isa Kamari, Chitra Ramesh and Hai Fan share insights on how they navigate a literary landscape shaped by both a strong colonial legacy and multilingual realities in “Between Tongues: Post-Colonial Multilingualism”, moderated by Fairoz Ahmad. Armed with works published in Malay, Tamil and Chinese respectively, they remind us that multilingualism is not just about speaking more than one language. It is also thinking, feeling and imagining in different ways.
In his introduction, Isa, a prominent figure in Singapore’s Malay literary scene and a Cultural Medallion recipient (2007), states: “Authors do not write in a vacuum. Their work is often in response to political, social, educational, psychological and even religious matters.”
His discussion focuses on the direct and indirect impact of the English language on the Malay community as a minority, especially after the country’s separation from Malaysia in 1965. “At the time English was introduced as the medium of instruction and education, the Malay people were also struggling to respond and adapt to a new urban environment. This significant change in lifestyle and traditional linguistics left a psychological impact on them.”
Echoing the sentiment, award-winning author Chitra underlines the power of words. “In this post-colonial city, every sentence has more than a meaning. The British brought in English not just as a tool of governance but as a passport to opportunity. At other times, to reclassify, standardise or even sideline. For writers in Singapore, this is more a burden than a gift. Every choice of word is also a choice of allegiance, resistance and reclamation.”
While language is used as an instrument of control, it can also be an agent of liberation, she says. “When we give space to multiple languages, we also make space for multiple ways of being Singaporean. When we highlight the dominance of a single tongue, we channel the idea that there is only one correct way to speak, think and create.”
Born in Neyveli, India, Chitra migrated to the Red Dot in 1994 and currently works as a Tamil teacher. Personally, she finds that writing in her mother tongue gives her a sense of fulfilment and satisfaction. “As an author, I’m not trying to save the language for future generations of Tamil-speaking people or that I have a hidden agenda. It just comes naturally to me. I think in my language and it flows through my thoughts.
“Every language has its own nuances and dialects which cannot be written in English. It preserves our stories, idioms and expressions unique to our culture. It captures life more authentically. While English unites us, our mother tongue celebrates our diversity.”
With the help of a translator, Mandarin-speaking Hai Fan talks about literary translation, citing South Korea’s soft power in drawing the global audience and the role of a government in boosting cultural development. According to him, Nobel Prize winner Han Kang powerfully demonstrates that the foundation of cultural appreciation lies within the language of one’s own people.
He recognises English as a practical tool in administration as it can promote equal and smooth communication among the different groups of people. “It facilitates the absorption and exchange of information on politics, economics as well as science and technology. However, for the construction of a national spiritual civilisation, the mother tongue is irreplaceable.
“Translation is a transmission of understanding. Our multilingual environment cannot continue to exist in isolation. Our literary circle has a lot to improve. For countries with less commonly spoken languages or small ones like ours, we have to advertise our literature so they can be seen by the world.”
Looking to the future
Conversations swerve from the impact of colonialism to experimental poetry and the influence of AI in the 21st century. In his latest book, All that We See or Seem, science fiction heavyweight Ken Liu explores a world where AI is deeply integrated into our daily life, navigating the perils of social media and the transformative technology.
Although he acknowledges the dangers brought about by these systems, he maintains that AI is not an enemy and that man and machine can coexist.
“Many of us do not go into a novel with the expectation of reading something exactly the way we want it to be. We wish to be surprised, at least I do. When you pick up something like Katabasis by R F Kuang, it has a blurb that tells you what you think the story is about. And then you read it and you realise, Rebecca is too smart to give you what you actually want. That is the point. Authors worth reading do not give you what you want.”
Broaching the subject of copying, he says scripts produced by machines are not meant to replace the work done by humans. Rather, they offer a way of discovering hidden possibilities. “There are times when you want to read something that is catered just for you and not be surprised by an egotistical author. What’s wrong with that? I don’t see the two as conflicting. They can coexist.
AI is a desire fulfilment machine. That is ultimately what it is and why it is so compelling to people.
“Ideally in the future, if I have it my way, we will be living in a world in which humans will produce human art and continue to delight each other with all the things we’ve always done. And AI will come in and displace us from some of these functions to reveal new genres of art that have not been possible so far.”
In her keynote address, the star of the festival Kuang debunks the myths about elite universities, as well as challenges the narratives surrounding the impact of the internet on students and young people, which she says are “overwhelmingly negative”.
The notion that universities are meritocratic institutions, sites of political resistance and pathways to upward mobility is false, the acclaimed author of the phenomenal Katabasis, Yellowface and The Poppy War proclaims. “They don’t describe any university that exists or used to exist. We are defending a nostalgic vision of which it never was,” she says.
“American universities have never stood against the federal government. Now, the students are indeed agents of revolution. They’re naïve and idealistic, and they can dream up a world that adults around them are too stubborn or jaded to imagine.”
She quotes computer scientist Michael D Smith, who argues that higher education currently operates on a scarcity model. “Scarcities of access, instruction and credentials seem inevitable. But the technology we have now could help this in abundance. So much knowledge is at our fingertips for free, and if disinformation can go viral, so too can videos about interpreting Jane Austen or animal parthenogenesis or extra dimensions beyond space and time.
“We’re fairly confident that social media is addictive and cognitively debilitating and devastating for our perceptions of ourselves, and that using tools like ChatGPT diminishes our confidence, reading comprehension and critical thinking skills. But we might also remember the democratising features of the internet that made it so exciting back in the day.”
Although she herself limits her time on social media, Kuang commends the reading cultures developed by communities of readers and book lovers on BookTok and Bookstagram. “Before Katabasis was released, I became aware of the trend where readers were sharing preparatory reading lists that included texts like Iliad and The Epic of Gilgamesh. And anything that gets people reading The Epic of Gilgamesh in 2025 is amazing!” she enthuses.
“As our administration continues to ban books and suppress inconvenient histories, I think there’s enormous potential for these online communities to become insurgent spaces where young readers share the books their politicians don’t want them to read. Universities might not be agents of political resistance, but students are, and the internet has given us more tools than ever to mobilise, connect and share information. We should use it.”
