Sofia and the Utopia Machine

by Judith Huang

Sofia stayed silent for a while, then produced the glass prism that Julian had given her as a token the first time they had met online.

  “Here, take this. It’s the one you gave me when we first met. Maybe it’ll remind you of me.”

  Julian took the sparkling object and held it up to the light for a few moments.

  “Thanks,” he said, and pocketed it.

  “Milton will take you to the well, where you can exit this world,” said Sofia. The tiger appeared by her side at her mention of him.

  “Goodbye,” said Julian, hugging Sofia one last time, and Sofia watched as the boy, sitting astride the tiger, disappeared into the distance. Her heart felt heavy, but she knew it was the right thing, somehow.

  Chapter 37: The Fragrance Returns

  It was only a simple flower but its perfume was the sweetest of them all. Far away where the mountains met the sea, a well in the ground stood in a garden, and by that well grew a new flower, one that no one had ever seen before.

  Its petals were white as newly-fallen snow, with almost imperceptible green veins running through them, and it had a deep-purple centre so it looked like a miniature trumpet. Its leaves were bright green and toothed, and it crawled upon a vine, and as a bud it hung on to its vine closely, raising its head to the sun as its day to flower came nearer and nearer.

  How the plant came to be was uncertain—perhaps a seed had landed there carried by a bird or four-legged animal. Or perhaps the wind had simply swept it along to this place, where the sunshine and the soil could feed it. Some say that a star had been lit on the same night that the seed fell to the ground, and that that star and that seed had destinies that intertwined and locked them in an eternal embrace.

  The owners of that well had a daughter, and she was the one who first came upon the flower the morning that it finally unfurled its petals. As she came out to fetch the water from the well, she saw its fresh white face and blooming purple centre, and brought her face to its face.

  Although the girl was young, she knew that the scent that she smelled was a new smell, for she had been trained in the art of the Fragrancers, being descended from a long line of those who kept the faith in the Fragrance, and recognised that what she smelled was no common thing.

  It so delighted her that she opened her mouth and burst into song, startling the songbirds in the garden, which joined in the chorus.

  Oh blessed am I, to smell the scent of this little one

  And how it will overturn all things, now it has come to pass!

  No more shall we wait for her blessed return, for here

  Is the daughter of the Fragrance of old, come at last!

  And all the Fragrancers of that world came to their door to breathe in the new scent that bloomed from the flower, and the wisest and most ancient of them pronounced it the scent, long forgotten, of Sky.

  *

  The fisherman stirred in his sleep. He opened his mouth and felt a bubble escape from his lips. He had murmured it in his sleep.

  In the bubble was a word, the word that had been inscribed on the ring the white man had given him, and it was a word for everything—all things, all times, all places were contained in that word.

  The word drifted up through the waves, a tiny spaceship launching from the seafloor.

  Slowly, the bubble floated, meandering this way and that, sparkling with an inner light. And then it bumped against something and split softly into two. It drifted, floated, sifting the marbled light.

  Each one is a world—a pristine, glassy world, separate and whole in itself, a world filled with beautiful lands of surpassing loveliness, and in each one glinted a city of eternal summer—branching and splitting, branching and splitting, tiny fires crackling between bonds as the shivers ran through them.

  In each of them, a fisherman slept.

  The dream had healed him—the dream had woken him again. When he opened his eyes, they were awash with tears.

  Acknowledgements

  From:Judith Huang

  Subject:I would like to thank

  My parents, for supporting me through the ups and downs of the creation of this novel, and for their unconditional love. These haven’t been easy years for me, and you know this better than anyone. But you loved me through it and enabled me to do the work I needed to.

  To Yi Yi, who looked after me and recognised my ambition to be a 文人 in Singapore, and for a lifetime of love.

  Zhang Xuwen, my first reader and best friend, for believing in this book. Everybody needs a friend who will tell them the truth, straight up, even at the risk of hurting or offending them. You are my best friend for that reason, because I can always count on you to tell me the truth when I need to hear it. If this book is my baby, you’re the midwife. You helped me through the self-doubt and the untangling of plot holes, and cheered me on and supported me every time I flagged. You even organised that research trip to Pulau Ubin and helped me through the difficult process of “debugging” even the day before the deadline. I will never forget when you stood with me in Kinokuniya and said that one day my book would be among those there. Thank you for teaching me to use my envy of published authors to realise that this is what I truly want for myself. Thank you for believing in me. We made it!

  Okechukwu Iweala, who appreciated what I was trying to do with all the weird mythological stuff, and for encouraging me to pursue my artist’s way and remaining true to my vision. Thank you for countless conversations about life, the universe and everything, for helping me through the psychological rollercoaster of creation, recuperation and publication. Thank you for your friendship, I couldn’t have done it without you.

  Anne Boemler, who spurred me on to write a novel in the first place, without whom this book would never have gotten off the ground. And thanks for your amazing plot hole-busting prowess as a beta reader as well.

  Ashley Falls, for cheering me on and taking me out for Jenga and cubed toast when I made a milestone on this manuscript, and for being the best adult playdate I’ve ever had to explore Perth with.

  Nathan Clarke, for coffees over which we discussed our novels, and for keeping the faith and hashing out plot holes, both real and imaginary.

  Liana Christensen and Karen McCrea, for the many conversations about writing, the respective states of our novels, creativity and just generally being a delightful coven to bump into at New Norcia.

  Huang Zhipeng, for your input at the earliest stages of this book, for the brilliant suggestion of Julian’s Chinese name and the name of the Mari Kita, and also for years of friendship.

  Ng Yi-Sheng, for generously offering to beta-read and for his suggestions.

  Nico Kirk-Giannini, for allowing a small part of his self to be immortalised.

  To all my friends and family—too many to mention—who cheered me in the sometimes isolating and doubt-filled life of a writer. To the folks at Spittoon in Beijing, who helped me find my feet again as a writer, for the late-night writing sessions and intellectual conversations that fuelled my imagination and my recovery as an artist, not least Anna Sowley, Max Berwald, Matthew Byrne, (Angelbunnies forever!) Kiki Zhao, Joan Xu, Ying Shi, Anci Feng, Cristal C, Christina Jenq, Dan Meija, Dan Redford, Kate Wang, Hu Zhe, Ke Yao, Rita, Marcelo, Olga and the Scifi reading group that meets at the Bookworm and many others, thank you.

  To my dear cousins Xiao Xiao Da Jie (Pauline Loh) and Li De Gorgor, for being my family in Beijing and for their belief in me.

  The monks and staff of New Norcia Benedictine Community, for being gracious hosts, maintaining a wonderful place where writerly folk can retreat and write (as I did, twice, in the making of this book). You were instrumental in helping this book come to fruition.

  Yeng Pway Ngon, Goh Beng Choo and Alvin Pang, for their kind permission to use Mr Yeng’s poem in translation as the epigraph, and also for all the inspiration and encouragement and their example lighting the way of being Singaporean artists.

  My agent Travis Pennington, who believed in this work and graciously helped i
t to see the light of day, and for everyone at The Knight Agency for their expertise, patience and guidance.

  The good folks of Epigram Books, including Edmund Wee, Jason Erik Lundberg and Sheri Goh, who helped get this novel into fighting form, Qin Yi for the beautiful cover, and everyone else on the team who makes it possible to publish beautiful, covetable local books. Thanks to Epigram too for creating and sustaining the Epigram Books Fiction Prize, which spurred me to complete my draft, which may have otherwise remained in the drawer indefinitely. It was an honour to be a finalist.

  Finally, to you, dear reader, for picking up this book. A writer is nothing without readers, and I hope to hear from you about what you’ve made of it. Thank you for picking this up, reading this far and being a part of Sofia’s world.

  About the Author

  Judith Huang is a three-time winner of the UK Poetry Society’s Foyle Young Poet of the Year award, and her writing has been published in journals including Prairie Schooner, Asia Literary Review, QLRS, Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, Loreli, Ceriph, LONTAR: The Journal of Southeast Asian Speculative Fiction, Spittoon, Stylus, Clockwise Cat, Asymptote and the Harvard Advocate, as well as in anthologies such as In Transit, Journeys, Singpowrimo 2014 and Body Boundaries. She holds an AB from Harvard University, where she belongs to the Signet Society of Arts and Letters. Sofia and the Utopia Machine is her first novel, and you can find her online at judithhuang.com.

  The annual Epigram Books Fiction Prize promotes contemporary creative writing and rewards excellence in Singaporean literature. The richest literary prize in Singapore is awarded to the Singaporean, permanent resident or Singapore-born author for the best manuscript of a full-length, original and unpublished novel written in the English language.

  For more information, please visit ebfp.epigrambooks.sg