Sopranzetti, Claudio; Sara Fabbri and Chiara Natalucci. The King of Bangkok. Toronto: Toronto University Press, 2021, 233 pages

The King of Bangkok, by Claudio Sopranzetti, Sara Fabbri, and Chiara Natalucci, is a graphic ethnography. That is, an ethnography that harnesses the comic squares and speech bubbles of graphic novels to visually communicate anthropological data in story form. Much like the famous graphic novel Maus, which recounts the horrors of the Holocaust, this book too is about political violence. Specifically, it is about the violence endured by a marginalized group within Thailand much beleaguered and abused by elite political forces—in all their varied forms. The people of Isaan—the impoverished, northeastern periphery of Thailand that borders Laos and Cambodia—have historically been neglected by the centre: Bangkok. Whether for a few months or a few years (or sometimes even permanently), many who live in Isaan seasonally migrate to the capital. There they work menial jobs—taxi drivers, janitors, construction workers—and send their hard-earned money home to support families. All the while they suffer countless indignities from Bangkokers who unfairly deride them as “backwards villagers,” unknowing of city life and worldly affairs. To tell the story of this group, the authors relied upon years of ethnographic research conducted by Sopranzetti. They used this data to create a small cast of composite characters representative of this group’s thoughts, views, and life choices, spanning Thailand’s economic boom in the 1980s all the way up to the Red Shirt demonstrations of 2010 and beyond. In doing so, the story centres upon the life of Nok, an elderly blind man who sells lottery tickets in Bangkok. Consequently, the story has two intersecting timelines: the fictional (but ethnographically informed) timeline of Nok’s life and the historical timeline of Thai political events, including but not limited to the political turmoil of 1992, the 1997 financial crisis, the rise of the billionaire Thaksin Shinawatra as prime minister, the military coup waged against him, and the demonstrations carried out in his defence by those called the Red Shirts—mostly comprised of those from Isaan. To tell Nok’s story (and how he eventually became blind) the book uses flashbacks to recount his life from early adulthood onwards. The flashbacks start with how he first moved to Bangkok in the early 1980s, young, naïve, and hopeful of a prosperous and glimmering future. All good stories, however, are about change, a realization of some sort within the main character towards the end. The Thai title of this book better grasps this essence and that of Nok’s story. In Thai, the book is called Taa Sawang, literally meaning “bright eyes.” Figuratively, the phrase refers to an awakening: the realization of a crucial aspect of reality. In Thai culture, it is generally a Buddhist aspect/realization that one awakens to. However, more recently, the phrase now also implies an awakening to a (negative) political reality indicative of Thailand’s longstanding state of affairs. In this regard, the phrase shares parallels with Black Lives Matter’s usage of being “woke.” But what is it that Nok awakens to? I do not wish to tell, for two reasons. Firstly, as this is a story, to speak of Nok’s realization would spoil it. There is a special place in Hell reserved for those who ruin stories. Secondly, to speak of this realization directly—especially in print—is dangerous. In Thailand, there are human-made hells for those caught speaking about it: jails. One of the great powers of this book is its unflinching gaze at this one social reality, which most scholarship on Thai culture skirts. Though scholars of Thai culture are keenly aware of it, they know there are some lines that cannot be crossed without stately repercussions. For readers new to …