Hanna Alkaf Weaves Tales of Identity and Heritage in Her Captivating Works

PHOTO: Hanna Alkaf, an award-winning author, captivating audiences with her powerful exploration of identity, culture, and the magic of storytelling. Photo by Azalia Suhaimi

Exploring Culture, Mental Health, and the Power of Storytelling

Hanna Alkaf discusses her Malaysian heritage, the themes in her books, and the importance of authentic representation in children’s literature.

Hanna Alkaf stands as a luminous beacon in the literary world, a force whose words resonate with authenticity and nuance. Revered for her ability to weave rich narratives that capture the complexities of identity, mental health, and cultural heritage, her works have transformed the landscape of literature for young readers. Titles such as The Weight of Our Sky, The Girl and the Ghost, Queen of the Tiles, and the forthcoming The Hysterical Girls of St. Bernadette’s reflect Hanna’s commitment to bringing Malaysian culture to the forefront, offering stories that invite readers into a vibrant tapestry of experiences often overlooked in mainstream narratives.

A proud ambassador of her Malaysian roots, Hanna’s storytelling is deeply informed by her own formative experiences as a child eager to see reflections of herself in the books she read. Her dedication to crafting characters and settings that mirror the realities of Malaysian life ensures that future generations will not have to search in vain for their own stories within the pages of literature. With a journalism degree from Northwestern University, Hanna melds thorough research with heartfelt storytelling, addressing complex themes with grace and sensitivity.

Through her engaging prose, she engages her audience with topics that many may shy away from, all while ensuring that her narratives remain compelling and accessible. It is this unique blend of authenticity and artistry that has garnered her accolades and a devoted readership. As we delve into this exclusive interview with Hanna Alkaf, we celebrate not only her literary achievements but also her profound impact on young readers around the globe, inspiring them to embrace their own stories and cultures.

Hanna Alkaf’s storytelling brilliance brings vital narratives to life, inspiring young readers to embrace their identities and cultures with pride.

How does your Malaysian heritage and culture influence your storytelling, and why do you feel it’s important to share these narratives on a global stage? 

When I was a little girl, I was a voracious reader, and I read both in Malay – my mother tongue – and in English. But growing up in Malaysia, books written for kids in English meant books that came from other countries, and so I consumed a steady diet of childhood favourites like Enid Blyton and Roald Dahl. I travelled through Narnia and battled Orcs on Middle Earth and had a wonderful time. But in all these worlds I journeyed in and out of, I never saw people who looked like me, or had names that sounded like mine. At a certain point, I accepted that people like me, who come from where I come from, don’t get to tell the stories. It took me a long, long time to understand that this wasn’t true. And so when I began to tell stories of my own, I told myself that I would always write Malaysians and Malaysia into the narrative, so that my own children will never have to grow up searching for themselves within the pages of a book.

Each of your books deals with deeply rooted themes, like mental health, racism, and identity. How do you balance creating engaging fiction while addressing these challenging topics authentically? 

A lot of care and research goes into any topic that I decide to tackle, particularly when it deals with delicate, complex themes of identity and belonging. That means everything from interviewing subjects to reading widely to watching documentaries to taking research trips… Writing for young people is a huge privilege, but it is also a huge responsibility, in that your words can help shape who your readers become. I don’t take that responsibility lightly; I owe it to them to deliver characters and stories that feel real and true, in all the messiness that entails.

I told myself that I would always write Malaysians and Malaysia into the narrative.” – Hanna Alkaf

With “The Weight of Our Sky” being set against the backdrop of the 1969 Kuala Lumpur race riots, what inspired you to approach such a tumultuous period through the lens of a teenager with OCD? 

The 1969 riots have always been held up as a sort of bogeyman for us, rarely explained or talked about openly but held over our heads by those in power as a sort of threat to make sure we all play nicely together. But as the voices of those who lived through the events begin to die out, I was worried that younger generations would never know the darkness of that time, and the shadow it casts even now. It felt important that a story about 1969 existed for young people.

Mental illness exists within such a specific intersection of faith and culture here, in a way that portrayals based in Western narratives don’t really reflect. Melati having OCD but understanding it as a djinn in her head tormenting her constantly was a way of providing a mirror to those who need it. It’s been one of the most rewarding experiences of my career thus far to speak to readers who feel seen because of her.

“The Girl & The Ghost” beautifully weaves Malaysian folklore into a middle-grade narrative. What was the process like modernizing these traditional elements for young readers? 

Truly, it wasn’t as difficult as you might think! Modern as we are, Malaysians by and large have always lived in a world where the boundary between the natural and supernatural, the known and unknown, the seen and unseen, is very thin. Our ghosts and ghost stories are part of the fabric of who we are, and even those who profess not to believe will find themselves asking for permission before entering a wooded area, or walking a little faster when they smell a hint of jasmine in the night air – because you may not believe in ghosts, but who’s to say they don’t believe in you? So it’s not really about modernising — they’ve just always been around, you know?

“Ask yourself who you are writing for… find your purpose. Hold on to it.” – Hanna Alkaf

Scrabble plays a central role in “Queen of the Tiles.” What drew you to use such an unconventional backdrop, and how did you craft the tension and mystery in a competitive setting? 

I was a kid who grew up obsessed with words — what they meant, the feel of them in my mouth — and I actually played competitive Scrabble for a while as a teen. And before that, I watched my brother play competitive Scrabble. I went along as my parents shuttled him to tournaments every weekend; I watched him carry around sheets of two-, three- and four-letter words bound together with duct tape and so often flipped through that it was tattered at the edges; I watched the collective glee when he shared with his teammates how he’d managed to bingo on QUETZAL (a type of bird), a particularly high-scoring feat of genius he wasn’t sure he could ever replicate. When I started writing books, I started thinking about how rich that kind of environment was for a young adult novel, and for a murder mystery in particular. All the right ingredients are there: highly intelligent, highly competitive teens thrown together in close proximity in a high pressure situation, with a love of the game binding them all together. 

As an editor for anthologies like “The Grimoire of Grave Fates” and “The Beasts Beneath the Winds,” how do you approach collaborating with other writers to create cohesive and compelling collections? 

The Grimoire of Grave Fates was the first anthology I ever created and edited, along with my friend (and brilliant author in her own right) Margaret Owen, and how we approached that is pretty much how I continue to approach any collaborative collection now: Assemble a list of amazing, wildly talented contributors, lay ground rules as needed to lend cohesion to the anthology — theme, number of words, what have you — and then get out of their way. As with so many things in life,I find the less I try to micromanage every little detail, the more room there is for people to let their magic bloom. And my job as the editor is just to facilitate that, nourish it, prune and trim as needed, and step in if anyone needs anything.

Your books have received both critical and reader acclaim. Do you find it difficult to manage the expectations that come with consistently creating award-winning work? 

The trick, I’ve found, is not to let myself think of it as “award-winning work.” The work is the storytelling, and the readers that storytelling is intended for. Awards and nominations and accolades are always nice, yes, and frankly very validating as an author. But if I let myself think too much about those things, if I start thinking in terms of “I want to win some awards,” I find myself straying into the territory of “how can I make sure this book wins some awards?” Which does nothing in service of the story. It just makes me anxious and tentative, and things become stilted and inauthentic. I have to shut out the noise and focus on the work; if it happens to earn acclaim, then I am thankful. But that’s not the point. It can’t be.

What advice would you give to aspiring writers, especially those from underrepresented communities, who hope to tell stories that reflect their unique cultures and perspectives?

There’s all the conventional things, and they’re conventional because they’re all good, solid bits of advice: Read widely, write often, learn to accept constructive feedback and edit accordingly. But for marginalised or underrepresented authors in particular, my advice is always the same: Ask yourself who you are writing for. Who are you doing this for? Because there are times, when the work feels thankless and exhausting and you no longer remember why the writing brings you joy (usually around the 30,000-word mark of a novel for me, the point I lovingly call The Abyss), this is the one thing that will keep you going. Dig deep. Find your purpose. Hold on to it. Write through The Abyss. Tell the world the story only you can tell. And the rest will follow.