Tracing the In-Between: A Conversation with Dias Novita Wuri
Words and Interview by Kerol Izwan.
That Friday, as late afternoon settled over Kuala Lumpur and early morning dawned in Rotterdam, a conversation unfolded that felt less like an interview and more like a quiet reconnection between two people from the same corner of the world. We found ourselves in that strange, shared space of the "overseas Javanese." I told her that even as a Malaysian, I understand Javanese perfectly, though speaking it feels weird.
"For us, Javanese is dying because everybody speaks Indonesian," she said, "and then at some point, Indonesian is dying because everybody speaks English."
Born in Jakarta in 1989, Dias Novita Wuri has spent years refining a voice that refuses to stay in one place. From her debut Makrame to the global release of Birth Canal (Jalan Lahir), she has become a writer who tracks the "in-between." Based near Rotterdam, married to a Dutch man and raising a seven-year-old son, she spoke candidly about the complex transition from her native language and the heavy, personal roots of her next project.
Portrait of Dias Novita Wuri. Photo by Albert Stevanus
1. When you sit down to write, where does it usually begin for you? With a feeling, a memory, a fragment of history, or sometimes something much smaller, like an image that won’t leave you alone?
Dias: It is almost always something small, and usually quite stubborn. I will see an image and it just sticks. I remember sitting by the canals in Amsterdam once, watching the way the light hit the water. I could not stop thinking about migration and what we leave behind. It wasn't a "grand idea" at first; it was just a feeling of absence. Eventually, that one afternoon by the water wove itself into Jalan Lahir. Writing, for me, is really just chasing those tiny obsessions until they turn into a map.
2. Both Makrame and Jalan Lahir move through multiple lives and timelines rather than following one central character. Did that structure come naturally to you, or did it emerge as you realized this was the only way these stories could be told?
Dias: The structure emerged almost organically. With Makrame, I was in college, just experimenting with voices and fragments of life. But with Jalan Lahir, the movement across countries and generations became necessary. I was exploring Indonesia’s history with Japan and gendered violence, and those themes could not be contained in one life. I was dating a Japanese man at the time, and that gave me an epiphany for the book. I talked about our mutual history and how it affects women in particular. I realized that linear storytelling would have flattened the complexity. It would have felt flat.
A literary evolution: The published works of Dias Novita Wuri, spanning from her debut Makramé to the global release of Birth Canal (Jalan Lahir).
3. Your writing often deals with love, loss, and trauma, but never in a loud or sensational way. How do you know when to hold back on the page, and when to let the emotional weight fully surface?
Dias: I think it comes from living through these emotions myself and observing them quietly. I have learned that the most intimate experiences—the ones that really leave scars—do not need to be dramatized to be felt. I’ve seen it here in the Netherlands; Indonesia is culturally and historically so close, yet there is so much left unsaid. Sometimes honesty is quiet. But when a story demands it—when the emotion is too sharp to stay contained—I allow myself to let it spill, unapologetically.
4. In Jalan Lahir, you write across different countries, generations, and historical wounds, especially around war and gendered violence. Were there moments during the writing process that felt particularly difficult, or moments that changed you as a person, not just as a writer?
Dias: Absolutely. Writing about those silences—especially around women’s experiences in war—was heartbreaking. It made me confront my own displacement. Here I am, living far from Indonesia, married to a Dutch man, raising a child in a multicultural middle ground. I also noticed that Indonesians here in the Netherlands are culturally different from me; I do not feel a sense of belonging even among them. Writing those stories made me more aware of the fragility of human connections when they are moved across borders. It changed how I perceive myself.
5. There is a quiet surreal quality in your work, with ghosts, obsessions, and enchanted objects that feel very intimate rather than fantastical. What draws you to these elements, and how do they help you talk about things that might otherwise be unsayable?
Dias: I think these elements reflect the way memory works. In my stories, ghosts and enchanted objects allow me to explore the intangible traces people leave behind. It creates a shortcut to intimacy with the reader—they can feel the depth of what is being communicated without it being spelled out in literal terms. It is the same feeling as seeing the Indisch generation here in Holland—a culture that is dying out, where people are constantly rebranding themselves and questioning, "Who am I? Who is my kid?”
