This terrific study of the trishaw industry in post-Second World War Singapore illustrates important aspects of postcolonial Singapore historiography. On one level, it tells the story of a section of Singapore society which epitomises the Republic's own historical trajectory. On a deeper level, it illustrates the challenges of researching Singapore history, and demonstrates both how the skill of the historian can overcome the limitations which exist in the field, as well as where the limitations simply make it impossible for the historian to proceed due to a paucity of sources and information.

Jason Lim has been superb at marshalling a wide variety of resources to tell the story of a very much neglected section of the economic, social, and labour history of Singapore. The book details the story of trishaw drivers, who provided cheap and accessible transportation to Singapore's residents and must be credited with their role in the economic success of Singapore. In a tropical urban city–state, it was a difficult and backbreaking job, carried out under the hot sun and at constant risk from the ever-increasing cars and trucks that filled Singapore's roads. Trishaw driving was seen to be a low and demeaning occupation, dominated by the Henghua and Hockchia dialect groups who were unable to enter into other trades already claimed by other dialect groups, including, as Lim notes, the collection of faeces, which was already a Teochew-dominated industry (p. 40).

The first four chapters of the book provide an excellent overview, bringing together a wide variety of published and unpublished sources to situate trishaw drivers and owners in the broader context of Singapore and Southeast Asia. The reader gains a good sense of the vast amount of discrimination and desperation faced by the trishaw drivers. They were harassed by the authorities; looked down upon by the elite; seen as objects of curiosity, pity, or disgust; and intimidated and treated with contempt. Their very occupation, as beasts of burden, left one in no doubt the relationship between driver and passenger. Lim does justice to the plight of these men (Lim never notes the existence of any female drivers). In particular, the economic and social structure of the industry and its position with relation to the Singapore economy is well detailed. The third and fourth chapters, detailing the industry's position within the Chinese community's hierarchy, and the role of the industry in the lives of Singapore's peoples, are the highlight of the book.

The fifth chapter is where Lim runs up against the historiographical limits of independent Singapore. The moment he crosses into postcolonial Singapore, unpublished sources dry up and frameworks vanish. As a result, the fifth chapter covers approximately the same amount of time as the first four chapters, but in just a fifth of the space. Lim valiantly tries to make up for these shortcomings with official publications and newspaper reports. But where in colonial Singapore he was an intimate of the drivers, perched on their shoulders, in independent Singapore he is very much an outsider looking in. These shortcomings are inevitable in a field as underdeveloped as post-independence Singapore history. To be fair, Lim is aware of this and states in his conclusion that he ‘deliberately avoided discussion of Singapore's turbulent post-war political history’ (p. 123). But this is in conflict with his demonstration of how integral the trishaw industry was to Singapore's history (political or otherwise) before 1963. The trishaw industry was intimately bound up with issues of social justice, political rights of the working class and of the Chinese-speaking, and labour rights. It is impossible to tell their story without delving into their participation into Singapore's political history. Indeed, in colonial Singapore, Lim easily cites and discusses official discussions of trishaw policy (pp. 102–4). But his attempts to do the same for independent Singapore is limited to a single offhand remark in a cabinet meeting reported secondhand (p. 104).

As a former trishaw driver (albeit for a very brief period of time), this reviewer knows just how exhausting and dangerous driving a trishaw is. The law, the elements, and the traffic all are against you. But Singapore's success is built on the willingness of Singaporeans to work hard, do jobs no one else will do, and to organise themselves to defy an uncaring government. The trishaw drivers of Singapore are in many ways the quintessential Singaporeans. They arrived in Singapore, penniless or in debt to the agents who had enabled their transport. Through nothing more than the strength of their bodies, they worked by providing an essential service, filling an economic niche that others were reluctant to fill. Many failed; but some succeeded, enabling them to buy more vehicles, diversify, and become owners. They organised themselves socially and economically, forming business associations and trade unions to fight against discrimination and injustice. As with the rest of Singapore's working class, their lot improved as Singapore became more democratic from the mid-1950s. Trade union membership expanded and they won a measure of rights and justice. In particular, the trishaw drivers were lauded by all quarters for raising a massive and inspirational amount of money for Nanyang University, which was Malaya's first truly popular campaign and wildly succeeded in the teeth of official colonial objection. In independent Singapore, they slowly ran up against a state intent on the mechanisation, consolidation, and control of industry. They were thus slowly squeezed out of existence. Even though motorised trishaws continue to exist elsewhere in Southeast Asia, and bicycle trishaws have made a comeback in Western cities eager for more environmentally friendly and flexible modes of transport, the trishaw is limited to being an object of tourist novelty in Singapore. Jason Lim has done these men justice and set the stage for further works about important but neglected aspects of Singapore.