Joseph Conrad, Somerset Maugham, Henri Fauconnier – these are the classics whose lyricism gave shape to the early western vision of Malaysia. Then there are more contemporary authots like Anthony Burgess, Paul Theroux and Redmond O’Hanlon who both got early inspiration from this tropical land, source of the word amok, of jungle spirits and ghosts, where dark passions simmer beneath a surface calm.

Romantic dreams of a sultry Malay archipelago were soon shattered by harsh realities and the oppressiveness of living in the jungle. That brought existential doubts heightened by living in isolated outposts, steamy love affairs with beautiful Malay women (all the writers were male of course) and stuffy colonial clubs to drown their sorrows. These are the recurring themes of pre-Independence western fiction set in Malaysia.

There are endless references to the amok habit, a specifically Malay type of fit which sends a normal peaceful character into a homicidal rage, swinging his kris indiscriminately. This made a big diversion from the early 20th century monotony of pattering monsoon rains, endless rubber plantations and humid jungle. Adroitly inverting the amok concept, the Austrian writer, Stefan Zweig (in Amok, 1922) transferred the delirium to a European doctor who was reduced to a “veritable slug… forgotten and unknown like a mussel in the ocean.” The French writer, Fauconnier, came up with a more classic version in Malaisie (1930), in which a hypersensitive houseboy sets off on a trip of revenge. Finally it is the ambiguous Malay spirit that triumphs.

If they didn’t run amok themselves, Europeans drank. Somerset Maugham’s ‘Before the Party’ describes an English colonial wife stabbing her husband to death – call it amour fou or amok. Otherwise they smoked opium or sought consolation with Malay mistresses. But woe betide the man who abandons his Malay woman, described by Maugham in The Casuarina Tree (1926), where a departing planter dies of spirit-induced spasms.

One of Paul Theroux’s earlier books was written while he was teaching in Malaysia and he set The Consul’s File (1977) in Ayer Hitam. The set of short stories revolving around an American consul plunge from expatriate banter, characters and politics to a dark Malay underworld of inexplicable phenomena: medecine-men, demons and ghosts. It’s a Theroux eye-opener, written with clarity and freshness before his later cynicism set in.

Theroux’s great predecessor in Malaysia was Anthony Burgess, who taught English in Kuala Kangsa and Kota Bharu immediately before Independence. Although his tone veers between the typically ascerbic and hilarious wit, he too can’t resist the world of demonic spells in his trilogy, The Long Day Wanes (1956-9). The semi autobiographical hero, Crabbe, dies mysteriously – was it a spell or suicide?

No one travels in South East Asia without reading at least one Conrad book. He is the master of the evocative genre and all western literary routes across the region lead to him, the forerunner of them all. This Polish seaman and occasional gunrunner wrote in sublime, perfectly crafted English. He kicked off with Almayer’s Folly (1895), followed by An Outcast of the Islands (1896), then his chef d’oeuvre set in the Congo, Heart of Darkness (1899) before penning his great work on Malaysia, Lord Jim (1900). This compellingly written book brings characters of European traders, adventurers and local Bugis chiefs to life, set against a background of moody island and coastal settings.

Conrad’s inspiration for Lord Jim was the story of Rajah James Brooke – the legendary ‘white rajah’ of Sarawak (Borneo), whose extraordinary story was related by his daughter-in-law, Margaret Brooke, in My Life in Sarawak (1913). Less amok, more colonial, this English woman arrived there in 1870 as the wife of Charles Brooke, the second rajah of a country of endless primary rainforest, longhouses and Dayaks. Far from being a colonial snob, she comes through as an open-minded woman with a great egalitarian sense. Her account is enthralling for anyone passing through today’s modern Kuching where the old palace, the Astana, is now completely dwarfed by shining highrises.

Truly and naturally amok in personality, the contemporary writer, Redmond O’Hanlon, wrote Into the Heart of Borneo (1984) with fantastic humour and erudition. His long river journey with the poet James Fenton brings endless odd encounters with man and beast as well as great perception and knowledge of what was then a still unspoilt paradise. This is the book to read as you chug up the Rajang River counting the hardwoods and orang-utans that still remain. Not many.