sri lankan books

Chilli Chicks and Heart Attacks by Sanjaya Senanayake

2011-09-20T03:59:00.000-07:00

Its Book Fair time again and off I went trotting to the BMICH the first day. Man, was it crowded? More people there for the scene than the books me thinks, but no matter I knew what I was there for. I headed to my favourite once a Book Fair year stop - the PH book stall and picked up my loot. So know that the next few reviews are going to be my haul.

This book is fairly new - last year I believe and to be honest, the cover caught my eye (Yes, yes, I am shallow and judge all books by their covers). I was a bit thrown at the beginning and didn't know who the author was until I started reading the book. But my aunt (yes we have an incestuous reading relationship) who I gave the book to, bless her soul, was confused and kept thinking that Sanjaya Senanayake was the grandson of Dr Manjula Mendis and that the story was all true. She is still reading the book and I have to assure her from time to time the story is all lies :)

Well this book is a riot and a hoot. I haven't read much humourous stuff written by Sri Lankans and while I loved Colpetty People which was hilarious then Ashok Ferrey degenerated into mocking rather than funny. I think with the war and all, we were wallowing in depth and conflict and sorrow and all that downer stuff. So perhaps its just good timing that this book which is totally irreverent, funny, sexy, (well there is a lot of sex) and plain ol fun reading came out when it did. This book will not win any prizes, it is just too flippant and unserious for that, but is definitely worth a read.

So now let me stop waffling and get on with the book. Dr Manjula Mendis has just graduated as a doctor and begins his internship at the prestigious St Ivanhoe Hospital in Australia? Not sure about the country but it is Oz or the US. Anyway, his very traditional and Sri Lankan parents want him to settle down and find a good Sri Lankan girl and so after boasting about their son, they spend the rest of their time looking for the perfect match. Dr Mendis has a foul mouthed sister who makes appearences throughout the book to either complicate his life or to inject some xxx rated words into the text. She is funny but perhaps the most unreal character for me. His colleagues are all wierd in some way or the other with even wierder names (that too was not a favourite for me). Then you have the film star Salma Cruz(Hayek and Penelope combo?) who lives in his imagination spicing up his sex life and his dreams.

The book is full of interesting medical titbits that always border on the insanely wierd, there is adventure, spice, mystery, competition, and at last happiness. It is after I finished the book that some of the names began to make sense to me! Perhaps you will get it faster. I'll let you read it and find out what I mean. Anyway, it's nice to see Sri Lankan writers getting into humour, a much needed category and it is a fabulous holiday read.

Metta by Sunethra Rajakarunanayake

2011-09-08T03:20:00.000-07:00

If all of you thought I had upped and gone, 'tis not so! I took a long break from reading books by Sri Lankan authors, so thank you for all the messages and inquires, and yep, I am still here.

A few days ago, my trusty aunt thrust this book into my hands and as I am always curious about what's happening in the Sinhala literature scene, grabbed it and read it.

What a book! I had not heard of Sunethra Rajakarunanayake (quite a mouthful, that last name) but when I googled her she seems to have published many books and won quite a few awards. The story is set in modern times - unlike English writing by Sri Lankans, the vernacular novels have moved far from the waluwa, oppressed labourers and exploitative landlords. A young woman Varnasi, an enigmatic man called Sasha, a mother and grandmother are the main characters. Sasha who once courted the mother is now with the daughter. Hmmm quite a love triangle there isnt it? I cant think of a single Sri Lankan novel in English that dares to deal with this kind of scenario. The daughter Varnasi, ignorant of her mother and Sasha's relationship refuses to listen to her mother's advice to stay away from Sasha. Sunethra R does not shy away from controversial and contemporary issues. Illicit pregnancy, female headed households, working mothers, and a country in conflict are themes that run through the novel.

If there is a criticism against the novel is that the portrayal of men is totally inadequate. Sasha seems to be the only man portrayed wholly and yet his portrayal is of a completely flawed man. The novel starts off well with Sasha's point of view but then he is reduced to a caricature only to be revealed to us through Varnasi and her mother. We never hear Sasha's point of view again and that is a pity. Also it could have done with a whole load of editing. The novel was unnecessarily too long and dragged on, weighting it down. The mother and daugter had similar voices and you could almost think it was the Author's views that were coming through both. While they were interesting and compelling characters it might have been nice to have diverse views especially when it came to expounding Buddhist philosophy. The book felt slightly preachy on a Buddhistic note. I had to do a double take when Varnasi talks about loving Sasha like a child instead of a lover and thought it was a bit sick! But then again maybe that is the ultimate love. And perhaps the author was juxtaposing carnal love with selfless love. All in all the book was a good read and I liked it.

But ... If I have a reservation at all about this book it is for the translation.

Many of the books that I read are translations and I never for a moment think that I am reading a translation. Isabel Allende, Umberto Eco, Marquez, Parmuk, Peter Hoeg and the list goes on and on. In those books the story flows, the English is natural and there is no theses at the beginning and end of the book. Sadly, Metta struggles only because of the translation, it is a testament to Sunethra R's story that you plow through the book regardless of the clumsy and heavy translation. It might be worthwhile for future translators to study how other authors like those mentioned above, all the Russian authors, even Coelho are translated without the reader being aware even once it was written in a language other than English.

It is my personal opinion that we have a long way to go in good translation but don't let it deter you from reading this book.

Froteztology by Marlon Ariyasinghe

2011-03-04T00:30:00.000-08:00

Here is someone who thinks he is the 'bad boy' of poetry. From the title, from the third page onwards where Marlon says:

Write you bastards

Write till your ink runs dry

Write till 'they' lock you up

Write till your fingers are severed

When your ink runs dry,

Write with blood

you know you are going to be reading some powerful stuff. Or rather you hope that you would be. But then you turn the page and find the introduction written by Vihanga (whose books I have reviewed previously) who is all praise for Marlon, then goes on to describe his poetry as those with 'appreciable venom' and of course I am suspicious. What am I going to find beyond - poems with a huge chip on their shoulder or a true poetical commentary on the times of our day.

What you get is a mix. Some excellent poems like: I is wanting to Frotezt and I'm a Racist among others and some not so good poems like: Colombota kiri apita thaamath kekiri, where he just takes my poet goddess Vivimarie down. Surely you didnt think you could say things against Vivimarie and hope you get away with it in this blog!

But seriously, Marlon has oodles of talent but you will only find it after he has chipped away at the big block on his shoulder. Now this is what I can summarise from the poems, not having seeing the dude, or know anything else about him - Here is a guy who is angry with the world. He is angry that others can speak English better than he can, that they are more in the limelight than he is, that they are more successful than he is, that he epitomises village which is good and his enemy is the city, that he can't pronounce f and others can, that kekiri is just not as good as kiri, that if you are not in his circle of friends you are no good. That he thinks the universities (which one though - Colombo or Peradeniya, I suspect Pera coz of the Vihanga association) are the pits (Deconstructing post-structuralist farts/In our very own faculty of arts). And finally to top the whole thing, he came from Australia! Refer back cover. No shit! I is conpused! So is he the real thing or aint he?

Ok Marlon has all these grouses but what dude is he doing about it hiding it in a book? I think Marlon's poetry is most effective performed rather than read, perhaps that right dose of venom doesn't quite come out through the pages unless it is spouted at these literary gatherings. And to make it worse the bad boy merely comes out as complaining. But the overall verdict is here is a poet to watch, buy the book, as usual Sri Serendipity does nice graphics. No candy floss here, instead it is hard candy, but candy all the same, I say. Make your own mind up and as usual, since this is a buddy of Vihanga, I bet I will get slammed for this review. Bring it on boys :)

Learning to Fly by Shehani Gomes

2010-10-29T23:30:00.000-07:00

Some people think I am wierd, for example I will never not buy a book because someone else didn't like it. I have to read it for myself. My friend told me that her mother had bought this book and not liked it but that she had. Previously a reader had left a comment that they loathed this author. So when I saw this on sale at the book fair, I had to buy it, I wanted to see what the fuss was all about. (I told you I bought a lot of loot at the book fair). The cover is just gorgeous and straightaway I knew that it was a sad story. You can kinda tell with the lonely table, the rainy day, the grey sea. And yes I was right, it is a sad story but told in such a way that it doesnt force itself down your throat in a sad way, but just says it the way it is.

Shehani Gomes writes for young people. And actually if I think about it, there are hardly any books that cater to the late teens early twenties crowd. The warped love story actually reminded me of a stupid obsession I had when I was fifteen with a guy who didn't even know I existed. Sigh! But luckily I came to my senses and realised that he wasn't worth it. Anyway back to Learning to Fly. The story can get kind of complicated. You have Kala, she has a best friend Sumi who dies in a car accident. Kala never really gets over Sumi's death and throughout the book you have her remembering incidents of both of them together. Kala has a blind sister and two working parents. The blind sister falls in love with the flute teacher who while he does have feelings for her marries another girl chosen for him by his parents. After all who wants a blind girl for a daughter in law, however pretty she may be? Then you have Dylan. Oh my lord! Dylan is a complicated bag of goods. He lost his father when he was young, his mother married again and there are traces of the wicked step father routine here. Dylan fantasises about building a tree house with his real dad. Dylan and Kala love each other but pretend that they are friends. Kala finishes school, grows up, gets a job, has an affair with her boss, is sacked, attempts suicide, mother dies, she recovers, meets someone else, marries him and has a baby. Dylan while interested in Kala, has an affair with Nadia who is another bag of complications (alcoholic, rich, indifferent parents, commits suicide). If I put you off the book with all that , I am sorry, because it is really a fabulous book. Shehani Gomes writes about serious things in a very unserious way that totally would appeal to the younger generation. I mean isn't this what we have all gone through - sometimes thinking life isnt worth living, doing anything to get your parents attention, having money (Ok not all of us have it but still) and your life still feeling empty. But I can also totally understand older people just not getting it. This book is too wierd for them, give them a soppy village love story any day and that they will lap up, but a book with real stories and real situations - Nah! that is just too real for them I suppose. Anyway, I loved the book, its definitely a keeper not to be given away to anyone. I will admit sometimes it a bit confusing and you go - what the heck just happened there - but give it a chance, and let me know if you liked it as much as I did. Judging from previous comments and reactions I have had with others, I am expecting the comments to just fly in.

Mythil's Secret by Prashani Rambukwella

2010-10-29T22:21:00.000-07:00

When I was young I read the usual things starting with Enid Blyton, then Harry Potter, Lemony Snicket etc etc. Basically I didnt read any Sri Lankan authors as a child. Heck! I didn't even read Indian authors. So when I picked up Mythil's Secret at the book fair for my neice, I intended to do a quick read and then give it to her, and guess what? I am getting another one for her, this one is mine. OK, so I loved the book and yes its a children's book but it is intelligent, it respects the child and therefore it is a cute read for adults as well. Mythil's Secret is about yakas and a little boy who realises he has the gift of seeing them. Prashani Rambukwella didn't write a sweet idyllic all is well with the world story for children, what she did was to create a world that balances real life (fighting parents and worries about money) with the fantasy world of the yakas. OK, so there are good yakas and bad yakas, there are strong yakas and weak yakas, there is a bahirawaya who is cool to die! There are yakas who impersonate humans and then there is Mythil. The unlikely hero, who is an only child who worries obsessively about his parents fighting and is aware of their money problems. Such a welcome relief from the spoilt brats you generally see around (take a look at my neice's classmates!) One holiday when Mythil is dumped at his Aachie's who lives in a village near a little forest, he realises that he can see into another world. Thus begins the adventure. Soon Mythil is seeing everyone as a yaka. The beauty of this story, though perhaps its only adults who may realise it, is that it could be that Mythil because of his family problems is retreating into a fantasy world. Even his parents think so and thus enters a child psychologist to counsel Mythil. But Mythil is suspicious of her, she could be a yaka, her friends could be yakas, who can he trust. The nice thing about this book is that it is a book that any child can relate to. Ok, so I am not the horrible aunt you think I am, I did give my neice her book and asked her what she thought. Her verbal skills are not that advanced as her aunt's obviously because she said it was "Cool!" For me 'cool' is good. It means that she didnt wrinkle her nose and go: "What a lame book, how goday." Then she tells me that some of her other friends from other schools (not her posh school mind you) are doing Mythil's secret as a school text. Hurrah! If only we had such interesting school texts I might have paid attention. Right now, I cannot remember a single school text that I did. Just goes to show. Anyway, Mythil's Secret in my books is a winner - and of course how could I forget, it did win the Gratiaen early this year. So even other people thought so.

Arathi by Nihal de Silva

2010-09-22T03:08:00.000-07:00

Nihal de Silva writes his best book and then dies before finishing it. Readers will know that I am not a Nihal de Silva fan. I couldn't understand for the life of me why people were raving about The Road from Elephant Pass ( for me it was a romantic drivel that was too politically correct, completely unrealistic, badly written and an excuse for a little ornithological walk in the park). Ginirella while having a good premise was so badly written that I couldn't finish it. And then comes Arathi. What a book! The narrative shifts between the reality of a young hip advertising executive who purchases a used computer and discovers secret files within files. He manages to crack the code and read the content of the files. The book is presented with alternating chapters of the present and the past (which reveal the diary of a man involved in the gun running trade). They come to a head when the LTTE and crooked officers in the armed forces are both on the hunt for the computer, some stolen money stashed away, a young girl (Arathi) who may hold the key, and the young executive who finds himself in a situation way over his head. All the ingredients for a stunning thriller.

The prose is brutal - terse, tense, holding back no punches, Nihal has successfully infiltrated the mind of a young man who enters an unfamiliar world. Reading it in one go, from start to finish over a weekend the futileness of his death is rammed home continuously. You cannot escape it. Having appeared to have done his homework Nihal recreates a very realistic scenario set during the CFA. With not one reference to wild life he takes us on a fast paced urban journey of the hunter and the hunted. If there were any slip-ups it was that he used the outdated name for Dharmapala Mawatha (I had to ask someone where this Turret Road was?) which was the only indication to me (if I was not aware of his background) that he was someone of an older generation. His hero also used the term 'darling' a bit too liberally with almost everyone. Glossing over the actual part where hero and heroine fall in love (it seems to happen almost instantaneously and without choice) he does a fairly realistic portrayal of a young man in love. The darn book finishes at a crucial point. Vijitha Yapa has issued a challenge for someone to finish the story but to my mind I just cannot think of how it could possibly end. Possibly the only person who could do it would be David Blacker (author of A Cause Untrue). I do hope he takes up the challenge. As you know I am a sucker for covers and this one just does not do the book justice. It is washed out and boring. The way the book is designed is also confusing as there are hardly any breaks to indicate time jumps and situation changes. But those lapses are forgiven because the story line is so good. It was tiresome to give bad book reviews one after the other, so I am so glad that this Book fair purchase was utterly and totally worth it!

Unplugged Quarter by Vihanga Perera

2010-09-18T03:03:00.001-07:00

Oh it is the beginning of the Book Fair and I have already got away with stacks and stacks of books. I will certainly go back again middle of the week to stock up even more. This year it was kind of messy with stalls not in their usual places and me getting annoyed with having to deal with the rain and the mud and the crowds who seem to come for other reasons other than books. The long walk from the parking lot was enough to deter even the most die hard book lover but it is an event that I just do not miss. Call me a total boring bookworm but I honestly get goose bumps from being in a place that has all these books. Book fair - Rock on!

In one of the comments to a previous blog entry (The Prince), someone recommended Vihanga Perera's Unplugged Quarter. As I had reviewed a previous book of his ( Stable Horses, in May 2009) I thought it might be interesting to review his newest book. In a previous review I read of this book by someone whose name I cannot quite remember (a foreign girl I think) the reviewer compared Vihanga Perera to Aristophanes. Yep, she did! And I was quite surprised. Aristophanes after all is a very big deal. After reading this book, I think she got it wrong. Vihanga is no Aristophanes, instead he is closer perhaps to James Joyce in his word play and combinations.

Unplugged Quarter is certainly a more mature book than Stable Horses. If I remember right, I just didn't like Stable Horses. This book is different. There is a story line of some sort. The writing except for some instances is mostly smooth. It stays amusing.

Very quickly, the story concerns the Head of the Department (written throughout the book like that which after being funny became annoying) Vahanya Bertolt (!!!! her parents must have hated her) referred to as Bertolt Breast by the uni students and her live in uncle Bheem. They both live in a collapsing house. It would not be a Vihanga Perera book if there was no reference to the university system and university students. So they duly appear. Peradeniya university and English Honours students: Sri, Manishka, Poornaka, Nipunika, Kesha Godapola and a student constantly referred to as Sucked Cock - Nishadi Denagama; then there is a failed guitarist Nayana who is related to the Head of the Department and who is in hiding from some sordid escapade with a young girl in Negombo. I believe those are the main characters. A series of sub characters enter and exit throughout the book. There is a chapter entitled Aeschylus or Euripides where two university professors go head to head in a poetic encounter. Does this actually happen in the University of Peradeniya? If it does kudos to them, because it told me of the existence of a vibrant artistic culture that I did not know existed. Perhaps the English lit graduates of our university system have quite a different experience from those in other departments.Earlier in the book there is a discussion of Nihal de Silva's The Road from Elephant Pass by the students. I for one will agree with them in their interpretation. I seem to be the exception to the rule and really didn't like the way the book was written and couldn't believe that people fell hook line and sinker for the pc drivel! But that is another review.

Anyway back to the book - I actually didn't have a big problem with this book. True the writing is uneven. True, Vihanga Perera has flashes of brilliance, and wittiness and true talent but it peters out all too fast. There are nice references to ideas, music, situations and wicked and sarcastic asides. Vihanga's strength is that he conveys student life so accurately. Unlike Chucking the Dragon, the very names, the very language, the very attitude smack of authenticity and doesn't seem to be written just for the sake of a good read. Don't get me wrong, I loved the Dragon, but it didn't feel quite authentic.

All this leads me to believe that eventually Vihanga Perera will produce the great Sri Lankan novel - well I certainly won't be surprised if he does so, but does he have to inflict his journey towards it on us. I have decided that I must be a masochist as I keep on reading his work. Therefore, perhaps it would be wise for me not to review Vihanga Perera's future work until I read the great Sri Lankan novel that he shows promise of writing.

Tea and Me by Chanima Wijebandara

2010-09-12T02:41:00.000-07:00

As reviews of poetry books have been requested, off I trotted over to my neighbourhood bookshop to see the pickings. Tea and me by Chanima Wijebandara caught my eye. Firstly I love the yellow bookcover and secondly because the book was slim, I thought I could read it quickly and review it before the week is up. Divided into three parts - we begin with a poem that cries out at the injustice of society when one is a woman. While there were some awkward parts, you cannot deny the poem was written straight from the heart and that is what makes it appealing. There is undeniably a strong feminist streak that runs through most of the poems. While some poems are mawkish in their depiction of love, there are others that are strong and vibrant. For example a favourite poem is

The New "pound of Flesh"

The sophisticated modern man
who saved me
from the stereotypical tragedy,
took my heart,
took my hand
and soared to unknown heights,
emancipated
and glorified the
unconventional woman in me,
after six years and a half
now wants
three children
three meals
and six cups of tea a day
from me
to continue!

Is there a new Vivimarie in the making? Other poems are Cocktail - an amusing description of the hollow and brief encounters at what else but a cocktail party; File Delayed - makes one think on what is important in life and that have been missed amidst the pressures of work; Marriage - is a startlingly good poem that reveals the facade of a violent marriage. One of the things I loved about Vivimarie's poetry is how she took everyday events and highlighted the mundane or particular social issues in a few lines. Chanima seems to closely follow in Vivimarie's footsteps. She has passion and there is outrage. Two things that can fuel the writing of good poetry. However, I feel that she needs to mature in her writing. Undoubtedly, Chanima Wijebandara has talent. She has important things to say about life and love and social issues. Tea and me for a first attempt at writing poetry is commendable but it has room for improvement. Like the title, I will await Chanima's second publication and hope that she has let it steep and brew awhile before it goes to press.
On another note, the Colombo Book Fair starts in a few days time. Oh Goody! You can bet that I will be there stocking up on books to do more reviews on. See ya there!

Stitch Your Eyelids Shut by Vivimarie VanderPoorten

2010-08-03T02:56:00.000-07:00

Like I have said before, I am not a poetry person, but since I picked up her first book Nothing Prepares You, I have been a huge fan of Vivimarie VanderPoorten and was looking forward to her second book of poetry. Stitch your eyelids shut, the title taken from Pablo Neruda's poem Ode to Sadness gives us many poems that deal with disturbing themes, sadness, lost loves, conflict and emotions among other themes.

Perhaps there may be those readers who will feel inundated by this weight of sorrow. But Vivimarie continues to be one of Sri Lanka's foremost contemporary poets, detailing every day life with such accuracy that one is surprised to read of an ordinary emotion told in an extraordinary way.

There are many poems that deal with love, most of them lost. A particularly poignant love poem is Aftertaste:

still

wet on my lips

we are divided by

the blue wide sheets

of the crumpled ocean

and I have stopped waiting

on this side

of the beach's over bright bedroom

yet still I want

to write for you

even though I have kissed another man since

and filled

the empty

The poems I like best in this collection have to do with family. Grandmother Died, My Sister's fish, Letter to my sister, December 1995. Some poems are different and interesting like Quiz and Random Questions, though I have the feeling Random Questions is a nod of appreciation to Malinda Seniviratne's Gratiaen shortlisted manuscript of poems that had a whole host of question poems.

Having won the Gratiaen for her first book of poems leads me to the question is this book as good if not better than her first. Unfortunately, the answer for me is a no (and this is an entirely subjective opinion). Her first book was sassy and sharp. I found some of the poems in this collection tedious, others were laboured but let me hasten to add that most of the poems were good - in fact they were more than good, and that is what makes this collection worth having.

The Hour when the moon weeps by Liyanage Amarakeerthi, translated by Kumari Goonesekere

2010-07-21T03:02:00.000-07:00

When you read a translation, and you don't like the book, you never know if its bad due to the translation or if the book is simply bad. My book crazy aunt had spoken so highly of Liyanage Amarakeerthi that I was quite excited when I got my hands on The Hour when the moon weeps. But the book did not live up to my expectations and I am not sure why. It is my gut feeling that the translator has not done the book justice and when I see that it won the HAI Goonetilleke Prize for best translation, I am doubly dissapointed. There are six short stories, it is a fairly slim book. Perhaps the trouble is with me, for when reading I was either bored or I just could not understand the stories. For example, a story titled Black Pokuta and Red Pokuta totally confused me. The story jumped time lines and tenses and in the end I was not sure between reality and imagination. Perhaps that was the author's intention, if so, then he succeeded.

I read this book as an indication of the state of contemporary Sinhala fiction writing. Perhaps I wanted to read stories that were modern and cutting edge and spoke of the dilemmas and lives of present day youth. Instead, what I got was traditional village scenes, of bathing beauties and thwarted love. The story I liked the best was the title story: it conveyed albeit disjointedly (but perhaps that is the writers style) the internal battle of a hardened criminal who aches for revenge.

Does a book lose something in translation? My personal opinion is that translation is not the word for word translating of a book but it should convey the sense, spirit, humour, darkness and joy that a book may hold. My feeling of Amarakeerthi's book is that the translator did a word for word translation which resulted in an awkward, clumsy rendition of what could have been a good book. Perhaps it is the lack of good translators that does not allow works from our three languages to cross into each other's worlds. I would be most interested to hear if there are other good translations of works from Sinhala or Tamil.

Chucking the Dragon by Mark Wilde

2010-07-06T22:35:00.001-07:00

Whoa! What a book. Firstly, I just love the whole design of the book. Secondly, Mark Wilde has kickass taste in music. Thirdly, this is some attention grabbing story.

A problem I have with some Sri Lankan books is that they have a nice story but they are told so badly that it ruins it for the reader. The story in Chucking the Dragon is not pretty: a young man who is preparing to attend the University of Colombo finds himself hooked on heroin. The son of privileged but somewhat indifferent parents, he ends up doing anything and everything to get money for his drug habit. In the West such stories are a dime a dozen, but here in Sri Lanka this is a first. And though many not want to think so, this could be the story of many young people today.

Written as an autobiography Mark Wilde takes you on a wild and bumpy journey that covers almost everything sordid - from being a rent boy, to drug overdoses, to painful withdrawel symptoms when Wilde wants to kick the habit - the reader is spared nothing. Wilde reflects the typical young arrogant university student attitude of having an opinion on everything, living life on the edge and hellbent on the road to disaster. The writing is edgy and sometimes x-rated, it pushes the boundaries of Sri Lankan English writing which I like. And let me hasten to add that I do not say because Wilde uses four letter words that his writing pushes the boundaries. I say it because his sentences trip on the tongue like a drug induced monologue. For much of the novel, Wilde stays in character.

Now what is this story about. Chucking the Dragon, is Wilde's tortured tale of kicking the heroin habit. Hence the title, with the dragon referring to heroin. But it begins when he is still an addict, with only other addicts as friends, having lost the love of his life, and at his first year at university. At uni he feels a misfit, so while other students are talking of careers and love affairs, he goes into the toilets to shoot up. He ends up almost dropping out but yet with minimal studying he does better than the regular students. Is Mark Wilde saying something about the standard of university education? Eventually, Wilde disillusioned with his life, decides to kick the habit by going cold turkey in a beach shack down south. However, after almost a year of being clean and renewing old friendships and lovers Wilde contemplates going back on the habit.

This is one of my must read books. If I have a criticism it is that some things didn't ring true. The title page says Mark Wilde is not his real name. The guy knows very little about Colombo University life and certainly doesn't know much about the difference of middle class or privileged Sri Lankan lives. Some situations are more suited to a Western landscape than here in Sri Lanka and the writing sounds squarely American. I would not be surprised if Mark Wilde the writer turns out to be an ex-pat kid or an international school product. The fact that he emphasizes he goes to Ananda makes it wierdly out of place, but that is a minor point. This is one novel where it doesnt really matter. For to tell you the truth, this is a tale that could be anywhere. For while admittedly the sense of place is somewhat lacking in this case who cares. It is one heck of a tale.

The Gratiaen Prize in neglecting to at least shortlist this novel (I am told it was available for sale at the Gratiaen shortlist so I am presuming it was submitted) reveals itself to be narrow minded and old fashioned. Sri Lankan writing in English needs to not only talk about villages and walauwas but reflect modern Sri Lankan life as well. Chucking the Dragon is one of the most original, thought provoking books that I have read written by a Sri Lankan in a long time. If the judges had been less prudish, perhaps they may have given this book the chance it should have got.

The Whirlwind by Ayathurai Santhan

2010-05-30T22:44:00.000-07:00

First I shall grouse about the Grataien. It is really irritating not to be able to read the shortlisted works and sometimes not even to be able to read the winning works until a year has passed. So this year there were three manuscripts and two books and of course last year's winner got published just in time as well. I have yet to pick up copies of the two winners - this year and last year, but my aunt who went for the Gratiaen picked this book up for me.

I didn't go for either the shortlisting or the award night but the literary chatter was that there was this interesting book written by a writer from Jaffna about the time the IPKF was stationed there. In fact, I thought at the time, that this might have been a sure winner. Then I read the book and straight off, I will tell you if it had won, I would have been dissapointed.

In my opinion a prize winning book has to stand out. While this book actually had what could have been a gripping story, the writing style left much to be desired and I was not even sure that it should have been shortlisted.

The story is set over a very short period of time. Perhaps over a few days. When the IPKF came as so called peace monitors to the North of the Island, they saw all the people there as Sri Lankans - an identity the Northerners had erased from their psyche and they saw all Tamils as potential LTTErs. Concentrating on one village that has all the people rounded up and housed in one compound that had one toilet for around 400 people, the people are confused if they are there for their safety or being detained. The depiction of the Indian army is sketchy and not drawn out yet it does not turn out to be a weakness of the book, for the slim novel in fact concentrates on the relationships, hardships and fears that the Northern Tamil families were going through during a period that they hoped would save them and yet became another kind of horror for them.

When you read this book, you feel for our people and what they have had to go through. They are mere pawns that are toyed with all players - the LTTE, the Sri Lankan army, the Indian army. Ayathurai Santhan is careful not to tread on the ideology of the average Northern Tamil person. He shows all these people as victims, being tossed from one side to the other at the whim of whoever rules. It might have been interesting if he had taken a stance, for after all the LTTE could not have existed and been successful for so long, without popular support in the area. The book ends without resolution.

The writing is replete with Sri Lankan English of the lesser kind: akward, clumsy and sometimes grammatically incorrect. Now, I hope I don't get flak for this comment. For example: "Though everyday, Sivan had passed by this house often, this was the second time he happened to be inside." Is a sentence written in the way Sri Lankan's typically speak. And there is nothing wrong with that if it was written as direct speech.

My final comments is that this is a book that I highly recommend only because there is a dearth of writing in English about the conflict from the Tamil perspective. I admit that it is written in a sometimes crude and akward manner, that the story could have been fleshed out better, that as it is, it is not a very strong book. But it is important that all Sri Lankans be able to read about our history, and what better way to do it, than through fiction, the different voices and perspectives of our history - be it good or evil. I applaud Ayathurai Santhan for taking the courage and writing such a book. I just wish it had been edited much more and we would have a stronger perhaps even a prize winning book. I look forward to more books written from varying perspectives, perhaps one that is sympathetic to the LTTE cause for we need to know how part of our own people wished to secede from the country in the hope for a life of equality, justice and peace.

The Prince by Manu Gunasena

2010-05-20T21:50:00.000-07:00

This is a story that has been told for hundreds of years in many different ways. Yet, while it is a story that all of us know there are many who have not read it. When I picked up The Prince by Manu Gunasena I was pleasantly surprised to find that it read well and was simply told. In fact so simply that at first I was under the impression it was a book written for children.

The book starts with the dilemma of a North Indian prince who has been having confusing dreams. Living a life of decadence (dancing girls, Madeira wine, music) the young prince finds himself bored and unchallenged. He wants something but cannot quite name his want.

That is our introduction, the next chapter takes us to the very beginning of the tale - the story of the miraculous birth of the prince. The two childless wives of the king beg him to take another wife, then, the elder wife dreams of a white elephant entering her soul. Thereafter is the conception and birth of the prince followed by predictions of fame, fortune and worldly power.

The prince grows up within the palace, lacking for nothing. He is cosseted and protected and sees nothing but luxury and 'happy' things. But his search for that certain something ensures that he rebels and eventually he comes face to face with the very elements that the king wanted to protect him from: old age, sickness, death and the ascetic.

He now finds a name for his quest- the Stoic Stone and soon he leaves home as a mendicant in search of this elusive prize. Eventually after many years and many paths, he finds it. The Stoic Stone or Nirvana as we know it becomes his forever.

Many readers would have guessed that the story is about Lord Buddha, however, credit goes to Manu Gunasena for retelling this ancient tale in a straightforward yet interesting way. Admittedly many adults might find the book too simple for them but towards the end of the book, it shifts direction and becomes sharply philosophical.

The book is a very easy read with each chapter featuring a Manu Gunasena poem. This is one feature I could have done without. The poems were not very good and detracted from the tightness of the chapters. Consider one:

Betwixt life's splendour and fates' gloom

the Prince now rooted stood;

He had himself, the knowledge loomed,

sans thought spawned sorrow's brod.

Now that he had sired sorrow

His search couldn't wait the morrow,

now nothing would intrude;

To stir his will, his pledge fulfill;

Renounce the world; the truth distill.

If I have a resevation about this book, it is that he will lose his audience. If they are children by the time they get to the end of the book, they will get lost within the philosophical debate. If they are adults they might get bored before they got to the philosophical debates. But all in all it is an interesting read and a book I would recommend parents buy and read to their children. For in the end, it is a story that deserves to be told, it is a story worth knowing.

Serendipity by Ashok Ferrey

2010-03-07T19:55:00.001-08:00

Having read and enjoyed Ferrey's first collection of short stories Colpetty People and not enjoyed as much his second collection of short stories, The Good Little Ceylonese Girl, I was most interested to se if this good short story writer could make the transition to good novelist.

Serendipity is a bit of a ramble. Its an all over the place kind of novel. It could work. But does it, is the important question? Piyumi Segarajasingham, the unlikeable shallow promiscuous heroine leaves her discontented mother behind in London to return to Sri Lanka to deal with a personal crisis. In between she seems to have been recruited by a man named Skanda, a front man for an unnamed organisation, to do God knows what. An underqualified Pole named Marek who falls madly in love with Piyumi over a carton of guava juice finds himself 'serendipitiously' on the same plane as her going to teach at an International School in Colombo. A lesbian activist Deb, who head the badly named 'Women in Want, is in love with Piyumi. A trishaw driver named Viraj is in love first with Deb, because she is white and then settles for Piyumi because she is there. Then you have a motley assortment of other characters - Mrs Herath and her sister Mrs Fonseca (the Minister's wife). You have Mrs Fonseca's daughter whom they want to arrange a match for with Marek! Meanwhile, we are not spared the shenanigan's of Marek's mother who begins an affair with her neighbour Dennis Ridoynauth (Where on earth does he finds these names?) Suranganee the recalcitrant cook at Aunty Chelvam's (don't ask?) is young, nubile and sharp tongued. By now I am totally confused as the list of characters go on and on - the back text says over twenty!

Now, I have a problem with so many characters. They remain just so - characters as Ferrey takes neither the time nor trouble to develop any of them. They remain caricatures with clever and not so clever one liners that don't mean anything very much in the end. May she rest in pieces (after a bomb attack), Boom-fuck-a-boom-fuck-a-boom (to describe the said bomb). The Shadow Minister for Ports would actually prefer a brandy and on and on it goes. Sometimes it is too much.

Then Ferrey uses the most wierd names. I am sure he thinks he is being clever (and there is no doubt that man is clever). Mogambo International School; Lawyers Bilious and Dicey; The National Anthem is sung as: No more, No more, No more Martha-a-a; The Head master's name is Percy ffinch- Percy; the name of the cafe is Fuk-a-Luk, the name of the removal van is Truk-a-Luk. Ferrey must learn the art of restraint.

Now the book markets itself as a satire. Just what is satire? It is defined as a text or performance that uses irony, derision, or wit to expose or attack human vice, foolishness or stupidity. There is plenty of that in the book, but I am uncertain if Ferrey uses irony, or derision or wit to expose any of them. What he does use in good liberal doses is ridicule. Sometimes below the belt, sometimes viciously. I expect satire to have some depth, that unfortunately you will not find here. Though from his writing you know that Ferrey is vastly capable.

Another problem I find with Ferrey's writing is that its all the same. Which ever book you read, you will find the same phrases, same plot, same kind of characters etc. The man can certainly write but it is like a recipe that he follows all the time, every time. With Ferrey, we have a writer who sells himself short. He writes well, his writing is different, it is clean, polished and sometimes shows a glimmer of sophistication. But Ferrey thinks his readers are stupid. The story line is dummified, the cliches (by his own admission he says the book is rife with cliches) abound and I am positively sure I have read of of the same lines in his other books.

He is also sloppy in his writing. I believe there is a time lag here. The book is set in the 1980s, Piyumi Segarajsingham who was a little girl when she left the country in 1983, can no way qualify and practice as a barrister even in 1989!! unless she was a genius and there is no indication of that! Then on page 126 Ferrey slips up and calls Women in Want after the real name of the NGO he has modeled it.

There seems to be nothing too sacred for Ferrey to have included in this book: white vans, Golden Key, terrorism, class, caste, NGOs, sexuality, bomb attacks, security check points, interns, fitness freaks, gyms, elections, election posters and so on. Michelle de Kretser at the Galle Literary Festival, said that some of the things you leave out tell a story more effectively than all that you put in. Ferrey needs to listen to his inner voice more.

On the whole the book for me was a large dissapointment. Ferrey while having the talent to write unfortunately plays to the gallery. The people who buy and like his book are a reflection of the society he laughs at. But this particular book is crammed with too much and yet there is no decent story line. You don't get caught up in the character's lives- you don't laugh with them or cry with them. Instead you are supposed to laugh at them all the way, all the time. I can't do that. I get tired.

A Calf in Milk and Milk Chocolate by Jagath Kumarasinghe

2010-01-10T20:05:00.000-08:00

First let me wish all of you a Happy New Year. Let's hope that 2010 will hold a bright future not only for us but for the country as well.

Sometimes, I wish that I hadn't restricted this blog to only Sri Lankan books. For instance I read Michelle de Kretser's book The Lost Dog, towards the end of last year (she is coming to the Galle Literary Festival this year, I hear). I couldn't understand head or tail why reviewers thought it was such a great book. For me, it was boring, obscure and totally self-indulgent. But as she is not a Sri Lankan author, I can't review her book and must content myself with these few snide remarks!

So off I went to read a truly Sri Lankan author and happily my mother had bought Gratiaen winner Jagatha Kumarasinghe's latest book, A Calf in Milk and Milk Chocolate - isn't that a great title? Even if you never read the book, the title will make you lick your lips. So I took it off to my holiday destination to read in peace and tranquillity. What a mistake!

Jagath is a truly unintelligible writer, for me at least, and all things being relative, I could be very wrong. The stories claim to be advertisements in spiritual realism. Unfortunately, it sounds that if you want to be spiritual you have to be incomprehensible as well. The ten stories are liberally sprinkled with Bible quotes and sound as if they are going to be portentous. Instead they seem to ramble on and on using fairly bizarre language that makes the reader exhausted in a few minutes.

I generally hate reviews that copy chunks out of books, but just in case you haven't read the book this will give you an idea of what I am talking about. For instance, what do you make of the following passage -

"I myself am erected. Even men get themselves erected and that would lead them to beget and I myself am erected on this sprawling grounds, which is quite hilly. Yeah four things say not it is enough; The grave: and the barren womb; The earth that is not filed (sic) with water And the fire that saith Not, it is enough ...The sprawling grounds on which I am erected has many a grave, and on this ground I witness the nature of a barren womb and the nature of fire which is kindling within my belly that never satisfies. The Sinhalese use a nice word for hunger - Badagini - it denotes about the very nature in the belly when the fire within the belly gets roaring you need food to sacrifice for the fire. And I have a chimney which is running upwards and which adds zigzagging curly smoke to the sky where heaven is. ( The Barren Womb Grounds)"

Whoa! Now that is a mouthful. And a complex and confused mouthful to me. The whole book is peppered with such passages full of spelling mistakes and grammar mistakes disguised as philosophy. It is such a perplexing read that you are not sure if the writer intends the mistakes and perhaps they are not mistakes or are they real mistakes. Who knows?

Jagath's first book Kider Chetty Street which won the Gratiaen Prize some years ago was also full of this adhoc English but at least it was sweet. But I take this opportunity to question the judges for I believe they were single-handedly responsible for all sorts of drivel to be written up as Sri Lankan English. When in fact Sri Lankan English is merely English that is written reflecting the way it is spoken and written in Sri Lanka. Jagath is by no stretch of imagination our local James Joyce if that was the implication of the judges.

This latest book of his is neither sweet nor accessible nor does it make sense to me. But who knows perhaps it is a gem for other readers.

I am sorry, I hate giving bad reviews and wished I could give it a better review. But maybe it's just me. Perhaps others will love the book. Let me know.

Keerthihan's Kite - story by Sandi Titus, illustrations by Anura Srinath

2009-11-15T20:45:00.000-08:00

My neice who is around five, got what I thought was a fabulous present for a book. I am still not sure where it's available or how much it cost, but I am sure bookshops like Odel and Barefoot will have it.

One of the problems I have about Sri Lankan books for children is that either they are boring or they are badly done. The writing is bad, the illustrations are bad and there are so many mediocre books around, you wonder how parents can buy any of it for their kids. There are exceptions of course, I have seen a few nicely done children's books, one of my earlier reviews was on MilkRice that still remains my favourite present for kids. But the general rule is that children's books need to improve here in Sri Lanka.

Now this book looks expensive and I presume it is expensive. This makes me wonder how many people would pick it up for their kids. But as the saying goes: Good things no cheap; cheap things no good. But the book looks good that much is obvious.

This book is primarily for little children and an older child of 5-6 might like to look at it on his own. But best of all, it seems to be a good introduction to the English, Sinhala and Tamil languages. Yes, you read that right. Keerthihan's Kite is a trilingual book for children.

I have not heard of the author or illustrator: Sandi Titus and Anura Srinath respectively, but one name I recognized in the credits is Michael Meyler (who brought out that most entertaining book, Dictionary of Sri Lankan English).

The story is rather simple. Keerthihan, a little boy who lives in Jaffna, wants to fly his own kite, like the big boys around. He decides to make his own kite and after a series of disasters, he eventually makes a kite that can fly.

Each page has only one sentence written out in all three languages. Sometimes the first sentence is written in English but not always. Sinhala and Tamil, also have their turn at being on top. The rest of the page is devoted to brightly coloured illustrations that make the page very attractive.

Towards the back of the page, you have an interesting feature. There is a transliteration of Sinhala and Tamil in English. This is of course not going to help you to learn the Sinhala and Tamil script but it is certainly a first step to start learning any of the other two languages. It is excellent for Sinhala and Tamil readers to learn English as well.

Right at the very end of the book is a DVD that has the narration of the book in all three languages, with basic animation of the illustrations found in the book. I thought it was very very nicely done.

To my mind, perhaps a few parents will see the value of this book and pick it up for their children but more importantly it is a book that schools and libraries should be forced to buy, if they don't happen to see its worth straight away.

In this day and age when we know it is so important to learn all three languages of Sri Lanka, it is a good start to see a book like this in the market. I hope more trilingual books will be produced in the future.

That Deep Silence by Punyakante Wijenaike

2009-10-14T07:34:00.000-07:00

My grandmother says that one of her favorite books of all time is Giraya by Punyakante Wijenaike. To be honest, I am not one for these old time stories, so I haven’t read it and somehow don’t feel like reading it yet. Perhaps one day.
Wijenaike is a prolific writer. This is her sixteenth publication in her writing life. She has won many prestigious awards, among them the State Literary award; she has been a Commonwealth Prize winner and a Gratiaen Prize winner. When ones hears this about an author, there is a certain expectation that needs to be met. And it was with this expectation that I took That Deep Silence to read.
To be frank Wijenaike is not my kind of author. Her themes can be seen as hack and overdone to the hilt. But when reading this book, I felt it was seeped in sadness, nostalgia and mourning and it is that which I will talk about. There is pathos in Wijenaike’s writing. It is a remembrance of times past – when all was good and well. However, instead of Wijenaike conveying that by retelling the stories of the good old days, she dwells on the horror stories of today. It is her focusing on the negative of modern life that forces you to realize that the past was glorious. Perhaps that is her technique. For instance, there is very little to be happy about in this book. All is doom and gloom. Is this what the conflict has done to at least one literary creator? Possibly.
Most of Wijenaike’s characters are middle or lower class members of society – some of them used to belong to the landed gentry but have now been reduced to virtual poverty. There is a lack of feeling between children and parents, there is a lack of communication and camaraderie between husbands and wives, there is plenty of conflict, abandonment, abuse, and murder.
Her war stories are trite – a soldiers widow, a child soldier. They have all been done before, in much the same manner. There is nothing different or exceptional in these stories. There are stories of sexual repression, that may have been apt in another era, and a story that deals with homosexuality in an uncomfortable manner. I am not sure of it being that relevant in today’s world with that impact. The story of cancer is stereotypical. Some of the stories like Living for the Day, seem to be inspired from newspaper reports and most of her stories remind me of those you find in the papers, in the creative writing section.
Wijenaike’s poetry is more from the heart, than being well crafted. They seem to be semi ramblings again on the themes of loss, sadness, displacement, conflict, death. The poetry comes out as being a genuine concern for what is happening to the country as well as the society. And yet, in her poetry, she is able to break out of her depression and write about a butterfly, an ominous rain cloud, which is a welcome respite from the heavy atmosphere she has created.
The whole book is like one big cry for help. It is in a sense as if Wijenaike, who is more at home writing fiction like Giraya, has through her desperation on the state of the country written this straight from her heart. How good it is, depends on how the reader takes it. If it is taken in the spirit that I think it is written in – an inability to stand by and watch as the world of the writer collapses, then that’s fine. However, if the reader expects writing of an excellent quality and is thus disappointed and unable to see the message of the writer, then more’s the pity.
Wijenaike’s nicest story is No grass for my feet. An account of growing up in the 1930s and onwards. Perhaps it is based on her life. If that is so, I hope her next book is her autobiography. It will be a book worth reading but I hope she can drop her ‘all is misery’ style and write the account as it is – sadness, happiness, hope and despair. After all a life is not just one emotion, it has its fair share of all. What we must remember is that after sadness, joy does come. I hope Wijenaike remembers that too.

Uprooted by Martin Wickremesinghe

2009-08-20T03:15:00.000-07:00

Translated by Lakshmi de Silva and Ranga Wickramasinghe.

I didn’t know this book existed until I read that the Hi book club was featuring the book. So of course though I wouldn’t be caught dead at the book club, I trotted off to get the book. So my first complaint is that it should have had much more publicity than it got. My second complaint is what’s with the cover? Its godawful! Certainly not one to encourage a reader to pick up. Boring covers will turn off readers. So I wish they had taken the trouble to give me a nice bright cover.
Having studied in English, and my Sinhala being shaky and all, I had not read any of Martin Wick’s work. while I was growing up. It was only recently that I read Madol Duwa, in translation. I had heard about Martin Wicks, and they seem to make a big deal of him and all that, and the literati think that he is the greatest of any of our writers, so I was keen to read him. Therefore, a thank you is in order for those who made it possible for me to read this. And a message that I would like to see more translations of our Sinhala and Tamil writers out there.
Now onto the book. Firstly the translation cannot be faulted. It was wonderful to read such a beautifully translated book. I remember the awful translation of Madol Duwa, that ruined a good book for me. Translation is an art and the combination of Lakshmi de Silva and Ranga Wickramasinghe (a relative of the authors?) gave the novel an authentic feel. They obviously know their subject and author well and that is the key to good translations.
I really liked this novel. Is it a different story? Is it told in a unique manner? No and not quite are the answers. It is a sweet story, nicely told. But to me not gripping. Perhaps I am jaded by my twentyfirst century outlook. So I tried to put myself in the place of a reader of 1944. My grandmother was ten years old, my grandfather was twenty years old. Perhaps he would have read the book, but honestly my ten year old grandmother should have managed the book as well. It is simply written, the language is not innovative or beautiful, but it was written well. Was this a startling story of the time? Not really, I should think. If it was startling at all, I suppose it was the fact that children, young people and adults of that time were reading stories of Western heroes and heroines and here at last was a story for the Sinhala people. But wait a minute, this was written in Sinhala, so it was a different audience that Martin Wicks was writing for. He was writing for the Sinhala reading man and woman and child. This is a story that I feel they could have very well lived. A traditional family living through changing times, fallen fortunes, upwardly mobile young men and impoverished genteel women looking for security through marriage.
In the introduction, I am told that the novel is an imported art form. So perhaps that is why Martin Wick’s is so lauded, it is because he introduced to the Sinhala reader a mode of reading and therefore thinking through the form of written story telling.
For me some of the behaviour of the characters were not in keeping with their character, for instance, I was not sure why Nanda’s mother, who initially was so vehemently opposed to Piyal marrying Nanda would even encourage her second marriage to him. In my experience of the older generation, they are loathe to forgive and change and would carry grievances and tradition to the nth degree. Was Martin Wick’s like modern Hindi films trying to show the Sinhala society how they should behave, as opposed to how they actually behave. Who knows?
Today, when Sri Lankan literature especially in English is having a period of revival, it would have been lovely to have had the opportunity to meet Mr Martin Wicks, have him featured at the GLF, but alas! I believe he is no more.
While I was reading the book, I couldn’t help but make comparisons. Martin Wick’s published this book in 1944, Ulysess by James Joyce in 1922;The Great Gatsby by Fitzgerald in 1925; Gone with the Wind by Margeret Mitchell in 1936; 1984 by George Orwell in 1949; Lolita was published in 1955. My critics (and there are so many, as we discovered when I reviewed Colombo Streets) may say these writers wrote in English, they had an advantage. So let’s take a look at some non-English writers of the same period and what they were writing. Maxim Gorky had already died by 1936, as had Lorca who was assassinated in August 1936 by Franco’s nationalists. Rabindranath Tagore won the Nobel Prize for Gitanjali in 1913; Herman Hesse published Sidhdhartha in 1922. In 1928 Ting Ling had published Miss Sophie’s diary about the sexual fantasies of a Chinese woman infatuated with a young man; In 1929, Rilke published Letter to a Young Poet; Astrid Lingren wrote Pippi Longstocking in 1945, Solzhenitsyn published One day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich in 1962. I have heard of every single one of these writers and read their writing (with the exception of Ting Ling, but was intrigued when I read about her and her writing, so had to include it, to strengthen my case). So what is the point you may ask?
While I liked Martin Wick’s Uprooted a lot. I don’t think it comes close in quality of writing or subject matter to any of the works I have cited above. If these writers many of them Martin Wick’s contemporaries were writing such edgy, thought provoking, socially relevant commentaries, how is it that Uprooted in my opinion doesn’t compare.
This is just my opinion, I am sure that many out there, will jump to the defense of Martin Wick’s and quite justifiably so. But we have to be realistic. We are a small country that is yet to produce a world standard of anything from anyone who has lived in this country. I had to add the disclaimer or else I would be inundated by examples of Sri Lankan born writers living out of the country. That doesn’t cut it for me. Martin Wick’s is a good writer but is he a great writer? Is he Sri Lanka’s greatest writer from the twentieth century? If yes, then I am disappointed. But to end on a good note. I await the translations of the second and third books of the trilogy with eagerness. Truly, I can’t wait to read them.

Wedding Gifts and Other Presents by Asitha Ameresekere

2009-07-21T03:07:00.001-07:00

It’s funny that apparently short stories in the West do not do well. Publishers evidently are loathe to publish a first time author’s collection of short stories and prefer to launch him with a novel and then publish the short story collection. And yet, when I think of Jumpha Lahiri and Rohinton Mistry, they burst onto the literary scene with short story collections. And then followed up with novels. So, I don’t know, perhaps my impression is wrong.
Maybe, Asitha Ameresekere would not have got an audience in a western publishing house but here in Sri Lanka the short story rules. Lucky for us, for that allowed Ameresekere to get published here. If you are looking for short stories written in a typically Sri Lankan style, then this is not the book for you. Born and brought up in England, the only thing Sri Lankan about Ameresekere is his name and ok perhaps the way he looks. (At the Galle Literary Festival, he was compared to Abishek Bachaan! – a bit of a stretch to the imagination, I think.) Anyway, here is a book written with understated humour, wit, impeccable style and language.
This slim collection has twelve stories that zip up and down a strange universe. The first story deals with Sri Lanka and ever after that the country or its citizens are never again mentioned. I sometime wonder if Ameresekere threw in the token Lankan story to appeal to those here for you can see his heart lies elsewhere. It must be admitted that the story set in Sri Lanka is the most awkward and despite its setting is also not typical of Sri Lankan short stories. But never mind, it was entertaining if implausible.
My all time favourite story is the Shame of the Pig, a strange love story if any, but so beautifully written and so imaginatively told, that I feel Ameresekere shines here as a short story writer. The elements are all there: the language, the plot, the craft, the depiction.
Some stories are immensely short, and others are perhaps unnecessarily long. I had the impression of reading through twelve short short films and so I was not surprised to learn that Ameresekere is primarily a film maker. It shows in his stories. You can see the story rather than be simply reading it.
In reading this collection, I kept on wondering how many Sri Lankans would find it appealing. Then, I had to remind myself that I am a Sri Lankan and I find it appealing, and I can’t be that unique, so perhaps there are others out there who liked the book. I would be interested in getting feedback on this point.
I will admit that I think his stories to a Sri Lankan reader may be slightly odd. They may not be easily understood but that is not a bad thing. Literature can be many things at once.
I wonder if Ameresekere will be a popular read in Sri Lanka. If I can predict something, I will say no. He is too international, not slapstick funny, too sophisticated for the general local reading public.
After reading Ameresekere’s collection, I began to wonder why the short story was so popular in Sri Lanka. Most Lankan writers find it easier to start with writing short stories. A quick research on the web, gives me that: A short story is like prose fiction but more intense and compact than a novel or a novella. In the twentieth century for the first time, the short story didn’t have to revolve around a plot and very often readers claimed that nothing ever happens in the short story. Ameresekere’s stories are written so beautifully that it takes you a while to realize there is not much of a plot. It is more a feel of time and place.
In ending I have to mention my weakness for covers – and this cover is simply beautiful!

China Bay Blues by Afdhel Aziz

2009-06-21T21:59:00.000-07:00

I have two favourite Sri Lankan poets. Vivimarie van der Poorten (whom I have reviewed earlier) is one and Afdhel Aziz is the other. In this book of poetry, Afdhel Aziz crams a staggering 93 poems and one short story into his first collection of poetry. Interspersed with interesting photographs by Shehani Fernando (though if you took the photographs out, you wouldn’t have missed them), the poems are light, deep, frivolous, tender, passionate, imaginative, jazzy … let me stop there, or else I would run out of adjectives. So, what do I like about this book?
I like that China Bay Blues is modern, snappy and yet there are poems that turn my insides to water. I like that China Bay Blues has love poems written by a guy, is patriotic without being Sinhala Buddhist, and male bonding is between father and son. I like that China Bay Blues finishes with prose in the form of a short story that is to me still like a long poem.
Afdhel Aziz uses language that he is comfortable with. Don’t look here if you want village lasses, odes to ancient kings or chaste love poems. Instead you have raw sensuality: For instance:

Your naked body is silhouetted against
The bare boards of the wooden floor
as you tread softly to the window and
look at the quiet square below the window.

The line of your back
as you lean out, hiding
your skin with the curtain

Now is the time to live. (Quartert, Kandy)

It is like a scene from a movie. I can imagine the scene. And that is perhaps what I get out of each of his poems. Strong imagery that creates such a vivid scene, I can say almost say: I was there! The best part of it, is that his poetry speaks to me. It says what I want to say to lovers, parents, countrymen – just better than I could ever do.
The poems address a multitude of topics. His poem titled Patriot has this great line:

‘So will you die for your country?’
Surprised, I counter
‘Surely it is better to live for it?’

What a great concept? It takes the idea of patriotism that has been traditionally thought of in one way and turns it on its head. With Sri Lanka currently poised at the crossroads, perhaps its worth to take such an attitude towards our countrymen.
Afdhel Aziz is perhaps one of our truly modern poets writing in English. He takes everyday objects and traces the multiple lines of historical meaning. He writes about the hummingbird, about a secret garden, a tattoo, a light house, a radio song. He is obsessed about jazz. And reading his poems on jazz have made me aware of the sounds, the rhythm, the feeling:

Sweet soulful song
from shiny brass horn
fingers moving like hydra
as the notes sound high up
to the heavens

like butterflies hovering
around the wings of a sail
curved in the breeze

pursed lips, brow furrowed
in concentration, as
cheeks puff in prayer

air turns to gold
and the wind sings along
the memory of home
the echo of jazz
when Miles plays . . . (Miles away)

It has been too long since Afdhel gave us another collection of poetry. Afdhel Aziz, I await.

Colombo Streets by Thisuri Wanniarachchi

2009-06-09T00:18:00.000-07:00

A recent trend in Sri Lanka is to start writing books at a young age. A few years ago, a fourteen year old boy wrote a thriller. It was well written if somewhat gruesome and disconcerting from one so young. The latest book in this trend is from a fifteen year old school girl. Colombo Streets, has a catchy title and a distinctive cover. The production of the book is good and inviting to the casual reader. And after seeing the launch in the newspaper I was intrigued and picked the book up. But I was soon to decide that if there is any reason to ban children from writing books, this is it.
After having read the book, and expressed my displeasure to my friends, I honestly had no intention of reviewing the book, as I thought this blog had dealt too much with bad writing and was looking around for a good book of Sri Lankan literature. But after reading the interview that Thisuri Wanniarachchi gave to the Nation newspaper, I felt that I had to write a review on both her interview and her book.
First the interview: She claims that she doesn’t like to read much and she hates reading. She implies that reading is a waste of her time and she may as well spend that time writing. Here is a piece of advice: You can’t be a good writer, unless you are a good reader. She has the audacity to admit that she has a weak vocabulary because she doesn’t read much and that people have called her writing style ‘simple’. She is under a misconception. Her writing style is not simple, it is simply bad.
Her interview goes on to say much more that is silly and trite and I wont dwell much more on that. Now onto the book.
The gist of the book is as follows: A young Tamil girl from Kilinochchi is adopted at the age of ten by a Sinhala grandmother who lives in Colombo. Favoured by the grandmother, cheekily called J- Lo, her Sinhalese adopted sister Sarah feels jealous of Indeevari. Sarah, a champion swimmer begins to feel ill and to everyone’s shock and disappointment she is diagnosed with cancer. She moves to Singapore for treatment and after some time she is sent back to Sri Lanka with no hope for recovery. Eventually, after being introduced to a charismatic Buddhist priest she is healed.
It should have been a feel good book but it wasn’t. Why was this?
According to Thisuri’s interview the ultimate message of the book apparently is to leave people with cancer a message of hope. But there were so many other messages found in the book that reduced her primary message. For instance, there were many complicated situations that needed to be handled delicately – the issue of displacement, cancer, ethnic conflict, generation gap, adoption etc. The book seemed to breeze through not tackling any issue with the sensitivity and delicacy that was warranted. In fact, the book almost trivialized all the issues it dealt with.
Unevenly handled, the book glosses over Indeevari’s situation of displacement, conflict, and adoption. The book also handled the subject of cancer carelessly, which is a disservice to those stricken with cancer and who know first hand what it is to go through a serious illness.
I would like to end on a positive note, therefore I would say that Thisuri’s use of language was modern and young and reflective of the age of the narrator.
A word of advice to indulgent parents: Encourage your children to read first, buy them books, rather than publish their book. They will thank you for it, when they are ready to write their novel as adults.

Stable Horses by Vihanga Perera

2009-05-10T22:06:00.000-07:00

According to C.S. Kaushalyan, the protagonist in the novel Stable Horses, the Salalihini Sandeshaya nor the Hansa Sandeshaya are epic poems. Consider his statement in Vihanga Perera’s new Gratiaen shortlisted novel: “To say the least, none of the Lankan writers had ever – ever - versed in epic formats.” But perhaps he didn’t know of our epic poems existence and for that he could be forgiven in making such a broad statement. But I do hope that statement is not a reflection of Vihanga Perera’s personal opinion.
Just weeks after the Gratiaen Prize shortlist, I picked up a copy of the book.
The very first sentence, the very first paragraph was unfortunately replete with akwardness, missing articles, spelling mistakes, grammar mistakes that are so numerous, they cannot be listed. The sentence construction of the whole novel was also clumsy and graceless but that could be a particular style and I could get used to it, if it was consistent. Think Animal’s People by Indra Sinha or Londonstani by Gautam Malkani. The point was that it wasn’t. Even though the blurb at the back says: “It is the story of his entering a literary competition. With the necessity of winning. With the urge to rhyme it to the top.” The novel itself other than for the introduction is nothing about the literary competition but rather about the complexities of life and growing up.
Perhaps Vihanga Perera is writing for an uber intelligent reader. And that I confess, I am not. For us average readers, this book was confusing in the chapter arrangement, confusing in the presentation of ideas, confusing in the use of language, confusing in the theme. I admit that it was a tough read for me. The book begins with informing the reader the book is to be submitted to the prestigious GoldenFoot prize. Everybody and their grandmother knows that this is a reference to the Gratiaen Prize. Ok, so the judges may have had a little giggle at that ‘clever’ reference. Then the ‘novel’ but it really is a series of interconnected short stories, with pompous and vague titles, stumbles through a series of themes: A young man working unhappily in an advertising agency, arranges to meet a young woman later that day. We are then taken into a chapter that delves on an attempt at writing poetry or song, I am not sure which. To tell you the truth it is not that good. But perhaps that is point the author is trying to depict. Then there is a little aside about saving drowning ants in the loo, a little pseudo- philosophizing and then we are moved abruptly onto a lover’s parting. Perhaps one of the better chapters. After that a school teachers funeral, a rambling on the last year of school, and then onto another good chapter on rejection at love again. Then more bad trite chapters and a good chapter. It goes on and on.
Oh dear! I am rather upset. Here I am, an amateur reviewer who has not read the winning submission at the Gratiaen and is reviewing now the second Gratiaen shortlist and its not going well either, I am beginning to wonder if something is wrong with me! Perhaps I cannot appreciate good writing by our good Sri Lankan authors. It must be me because the alternative thought that the Gratiaen judges could be wrong, is too disturbing.
What really bugs me about this book, is that the author spent a few weekends in his newspaper column complaining about the difference between Sri Lankan English and Standard English and then I find that this book is nothing but Sri Lankan English and written badly at that!
Don’t get me wrong Vihanga Perera has potential. His writing has moments of being funny, clever, witty, etc but to get there you have to wade through numerous hours of pure rubbish. So in the end, I don’t think its worth it at all. At this rate, I have to take back my previous review on the Gratiaen shortlist and say that Anthea was much better! Trite, but much better.

The Mango Tree by Anthea Senaratna

2009-04-23T03:19:00.000-07:00

When the Gratiaen shortlist was announced and I noticed this book among the six, I went out and bought it. Dressed with a nice attractive cover which is also quirky, Anthea Seneratna presents the reader with 16 stories in 121 pages. I read the book in one evening as it is a very easy read. I found some of the titles of the stories rather intriguing: Two Pieces of Chicken; Wednesdays and Weekends; Shut –ins; Rainburst etc.
Let me digress for a moment to set the stage before I comment on the book per se. Imagine yourself driving down Arnold Coomaraswamy Mawatha on the weekends, looking at the paintings hung all along the park boundary. Imagine yourself evaluating the paintings. While there are some extremely talented artists to be discovered here, most of them are pleasant, entertaining, nicely done but absolutely ordinary. They have talent but it is like a drawing room talent – certainly not art gallery talent.
When a book is shortlisted for the Gratiaen, you expect it to be art gallery talent not drawing room talent. Unfortunately, The Mango Tree while sweet and nice and pleasant and nicely written with good English and no grammatical errors, is eventually a mediocre book. It is definitely drawing room talent.
Now onto the stories:
It’s amazing how many middle class writers are obsessed about the poor, the underprivileged, the seamy side of life. A life that they know nothing of, can hope to know nothing of and they certainly would not want to know anything of and it shows in their writing. I call it the guilty middle class woman syndrome. So they will write about poor illtreated housewives, they write about soldiers injured in the war and unable to fit into ‘normal’ life. They write about unhappy women, unhappy situations far removed from their own experience.
For a book to grip you, to hold you spellbound, there has to be an element of truth and reality in it. Good writers, and I am not talking about great writers, but merely good writers have that ability of taking you through the most mundane of situations but holding you spellbound. When Arthur Golden wrote Memoirs of a Geisha, I am sure most readers completely forgot the writer was not a geisha, not a woman, not a Japanese. In Sri Lanka we have a few writers who can do this, but not many. Among the younger writer’s however, I can see a different breed who write about what they know, in their own style, and that makes all the difference.
For the first time since I started this blog, I am stuck. I do not quite know how to finish this review. I am not sure if I can say any more. But I will try. For a light read, this is certainly a good book. The English is good, the grammar is correct, some stories are amusing. The ones that stand out for me are: Tuition Class, Freedom Bound. Some stories had no point or were an indulgence for the writer. Perhaps if it hadn’t been shortlisted for the Gratiaen Prize I might have been kinder. But because it was, and because I expected so much more, in all fairness to those who read, I cannot. However, I hasten to add, that I am sure there will be many people who will read this book and like it. It may sell well, and I do hope so. But in the end, in my opinion the book is a self indulgent exercise that has been offered to the public as literature.

MILKRICE by MANY AUTHORS

2009-03-25T21:52:00.000-07:00

In this day and age, when children would rather play computer games and game boy, it is difficult to find an alternative that would hold them spell bound for hours. So it is in this context that I trawled through some recent children’s books and came across a book that had been published last year. Like any other plebian, I judge a book by its cover and the cover was nice, bright and attractive. The book was a collection of stories for children and was called MilkRice – another catchy title, I thought, that gave no indication of what was inside the book, but was still Sri Lankan enough to say a lot.
There are nine stories that cover a range of situations. Instead of repeating each and every story, to fill space let me tell you what I liked.
I liked that all the stories were imaginative, Sri Lankan (I liked that part a lot actually), short, simple and easy to read. The target audience would be I think around 9 years old, perhaps a parent could read it to a 5 year old. Anyway, I also liked that some big names had got together to write stories for children. Authors like Faith Ratnayake, Neluka Silva, Lal Medawattegedera and Premini Amerasinghe, had contributed. I loved the little drawings that accompanied each story, giving it a Sri Lankan touch. I also liked that the stories would give the Sri Lankan child a vehicle to identify what it is like to grow up in Sri Lanka, rather than for them to read stories set in the West and for them to read about valleys and dales, crumpets and jam, rosy cheeks and ski holidays.
I liked that all the stories had a moral, some subtle some not so subtle. For instance, there were stories that spoke about being humane to animals, another story was about bullying. Two stories were about fabulous imagination, another two stories were about difference and how it should not matter to us, and one story about child soldiers. The most sophisticated story was about the child soldiers, the most imaginative story was the one about hats. The story my nephews and nieces loved was the one about the cat, rat and snake. And the story that my little cousin adored having read to her was the one about the aeroplane. All this goes to show that this is a little gem of a collection for Sri Lankan kids. Something about ten years ago, children didn’t have. A book of stories to call their own.

Theravada Man by Manuka Wijesinghe

2009-03-05T21:51:00.000-08:00

After having read Manuka Wijesinghe’s first book Monsoons and Potholes which I enjoyed very much even though it was repetitive and a bit of a difficult read, I approached her second book just released early this year, with some trepidation. The launch of the book at Barefoot in Galle at the wonderful Galle Literary Festival was well done, even though the attendance was poor. The skit performed by the extremely talented Indu Dharmasena, Sangvada, Michael Meyler (who knew the man could act as well) and Manuka was hilarious. In half an hour they had reduced this 359 page book into a complete story. Quite a feat!
To my utter surprise the book read well. The story flowed on and on and most important of all kept the reader’s interest. The central figure the Theravada schoolteacher who was referred throughout the whole book as iskolemahaththaya is looking for a wife. Hooked up with an astrologer, they engage in various philosophical discussions that cover all aspects of life until they reach the desired object – the wife. Once married, the schoolteacher’s wife referred to as iskolehamine, as she is also a teacher, produces a number of children, replaces the astrologer as the recepient of various philosophical discussions, and discovers close to the end that she has been nothing but merely a goal post in the iskolemaththaya’s life. There are various kavi’s that are interspersed in the text that even though I read them diligently were rather distractive. Other than for historical documentation, reproducing the kavis in whole did not add more to the novel. In addition the novel has two playlets that they call nadagamas, which while entertaining to read, again was not essential to the story. I fear that both were included because they could not be published anywhere else.
Not having met Manuka personally but heard her speak briefly, I suspect that the book is written the way Manuka speaks. The book is rather breathless as it speeds its way through from beginning to end. There are many interesting philosophical discussions on the way but it almost seems that the book is secondary, and that the writer is using it as a way of transmitting her critique on life and philosophy to the world at large. Sometimes the reader feels battered. Sometimes the reader feels lost. Sometimes the reader feels it could have been said in many more words less.
But the final word is that on the whole it was an entertaining book. Typical of her previous writing there is a cause, but it is less pressing, less intense. I preferred Monsoons and Potholes because it came from the soul. But Theravada Man is better written, more slick and it is only right at the very end, that you ask. And what was all that about?

The Rolled Back Beach by Neluka Silva and Simon Harris

2009-02-18T22:13:00.000-08:00

There are some things about a ‘tsunami’ book that make you jump to conclusions. First, that it is dated, this means that if you are reading it in 2009, you know it is all about 2004 December 26th. Then you know it will be sad. Then you know that it will be written most probably by a person who wasn’t even caught in the tsunami and who will employ pathos and emotional blackmail to make you feel really bad about not being caught in the tsunami. And finally, you wonder is it worth it?
When I got The Rolled Back Beach by Simon Harris and Neluka Silva as a gift, all those thoughts went through my mind. And I am happy to report that I was proved quite wrong regarding the last conclusion. It is worth reading.
First I was jolly pleased that I got a book as a gift, it’s such a rare thing these days. My mother remembers being given books ad nauseoum when she was a child. But not any more. Today, most people give you silly clothes that don’t fit, or ugly things for your home. A book, in my opinion is the best gift of all. You can read it and then if you don’t like it you can give it to someone else!
Anyway, I am straying. So I got this book and thought it must be the first time that I saw a book of fiction that had only two authors. And then I began to read. Now here is a note of caution for writers. When there is an obvious difference in the style and standard of the writing between two authors it can be a difficult thing to review a book. Most often you would probably like some stories of both in somewhat equal proportions. But what do you do if you like one author much better than the other. Well that is what happened to me. In this collection, I liked all the stories of Simon Harris (except for Beth’s Bear,) and while Neluka Silva is not a bad writer and is quite creative, her stories kind of paled next to Simon. So let me explain why.
Simon Harris writes with a style that is restrained, pared down, and evokes much description from a few sentences. In fact in my mind typically English. And let me hasten to add that is not a bad thing. Let me illustrate, his first story has this: “It was as if all life had been sucked from the night air and replaced with an oppressive stillness that clawed at the old man’s throat as he laboured down the hill beckoning beyond the darkness, barely remembering as a boy how he had raced the same route from Sunday mass to the pebbled beach beneath the watchful gaze of a lighthouse, dormant at the far end of the fort.” Ok that is a really long sentence. But it is like a movie. You can just imagine the scene. His story Comic Relief, another example of beautiful, funny and evocative description that is still sharp, not maudlin and mushy,and in four pages describes rather accurately the bureaucratic nightmare that exists in Sri Lanka.
So, you get the picture about Simon’s writing. Now onto Neluka Silva. If I had read her stories on their own, in her own little collection I might have been charmed. She writes in a typically Sri Lankan way, using a lot of conversation, colloquialisms, charming mannerisms and very local. Perhaps her stories are too local. They remind me a bit of Elmo Jayawardene’s stories. Anyway, what the stories are about for both of them is no surprise. They deal with various aspects of the tsunami – heroisms, shame, fundraising, relief work, grief, regret, and I suspect many of the stories must be true.
So my final word is that it’s a nice book to have and I look forward to more of their writing. But here is a word of advice. Publish separately.

Shrapnel by Neil Fernandopulle

2009-01-15T02:45:00.000-08:00

I picked this collection of short stories because it had won the Gratiaen prize. That fact was announced on the cover. But the cover itself was certainly not appealing. The appearance of the book, cover, look etc was rather dull and boring and I would not have gone out of my way to pick it up if not for the mention of the prize. What can I say? I am shallow. Nice covers and nice print jobs appeal to me. Anyway, this book was published nine years ago and a lot has changed in the printing world since then, so I suppose I should not judge this book by its cover.
I should have gathered from the title that the stories inside would be all about the war. The back cover has a nice blurb: Shrapnel is not about war. It is not about peace. It is not about love or loss. It is not about discovery and disillusionment. It is not about passion and remorse. It is not about the trees and the sky and the here and the tomorrow. It is about all these…
But once I started the stories, I realized it was about the war and the futility of peace. It is all about loss and inadequate love. It has too much disillusionment and not enough discover. It dwells on remorse and fleets through passion. There is nothing about the trees and sky, and an excess about the here and dismal tomorrows.
If you think by now that I didn’t like the book. That is not true. The stories are well written and well told. Perhaps it’s the beating over the head of the theme that tired me out and made it an effort to read.
Neil starts strong. The first story of the collection is strong and short on what else but the ethnic conflict. Highlighting the opportunistic practices of the state, he leaves the reader with a sense of loss and pathos, in describing what happens to a dead child terrorist. It has an interesting take to it and a unique style.
But after that story after story I felt it was much of a muchness. He came again into his own with the last few stories. The best story for me was: Seed dispersal patterns of the Dipterocarps of Sri Lanka. Written with a light hand, clever, witty, funny, and yet conveys so much so lightly Neil shows the talent that he has for writing that is hidden in his previous stories. Then Delirium about a grandmother who perversely refuses treatment for cancer as that is the only thing she feels she can control is also a good story. Dear Vichy about food for sex in a refugee camp is another gem.
But over and over I couldn’t help that I was reading a Sinhala film masquerading as a collection of short stories - Slow, sometimes listless, heavy and descriptive.
I know we live in a time of war, I know that it is hopeless but there is no need to be heavy handed about the theme. Death seems to pervade the book. Death in all its forms. It could be that the book is reflective of our times. Happiness is scarce, joy absent, what remains, is drudgery, no escape, doom to be captive to our karmic destiny.
Thus, the stories have a sameness which could be a good thing and a bad thing. It holds the collection together, true to its title and yet the same time the reader feels brutalized at the end. At the end of the reading, the reader has been battered with stories that have causes, they have morals and they have lessons that we the reader need to learn. And the worst thing is that we have to learn it without humour, without lightness, and without love.

nothing prepares you by vivimarie vanderpoorten

2008-12-07T22:08:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I am not a poetry person, though I will read or at least skim through poetry books thrust on me. One such book literally forced upon me by a friend was vivimarie vanderpoorten’s book of poems. Firstly I loved the design of the book, it was clean, simple, nicely laid out, simple black and white sketches,printed on nice paper by a new publishing house that I hadn’t heard of before – Zeus books.
Now for the poems. What a lovely surprise to read poems that instantly appealed to the modern generation of Sri Lanka. From the very first poem that is about the tsunami of 2004 Vivimarie draws the reader in sharply, - there is no gentleness about her poems, -into the lives and sketches of life. In her second poem she admits that pain is her muse and after reading much of Sri Lankan literature, I realize that pain is the muse for most writers. But while others do it badly, Vivimarie does it well. But the ones I like best are her spiky poems that sting with wit, humour and anger. Poems that stand out are Decree Nisi, You’re Welcome, Visiting Giants, Doppelganger, actually most of the poems are good. And I hope Ms Vanderpoorten doesn’t mind if I reproduce one of her poems in this blog, to give you a taste of her poetry.

Haiku: Elections
Time to vote again
Cheerful faces on posters
Pasted promises

A man pees against
the wall, smiling lies can wait:
Nature’s call is strong

One of the reasons I like this book of poetry, is that it is not typical of Sri Lankan poetry that still groans and moans about village life, ayahs, walauwe’s, nelum flowers, Sigiriya frescoes. Come on poets! Write about life, reality, harshness, love – raw and real. And I suppose that is the real reason why I like vivimarie vanderpoorten’s poems. I look forward to her next collection and perhaps she will stun and surprise us with a novel in the near future.

Madol Duwa by Martin Wickremesinghe

2008-12-02T22:42:00.000-08:00

Its perhaps strange but true that I only read the famous Madol Duwa a few days ago. Written by Martin Wickremesinghe, who is dubbed as the father of the Sinhala novel, I had heard about the novel for ages but was not inspired to read it. Charges that it is a blatant copy of Tom Sawyer and Huckelberry Finn perhaps dissuaded me from doing so. In any case my Sinhala is so bad, that I needed an English translation and so it was a happy day when a friend lent me her copy of the book. The book was translated by the notable Ashley Halpe, so one warm afternoon I settled down to read the slim book.
I was pleasantly surprised. Perhaps, it is similar to Mark Twain’s books but Wickremesinghe has done an excellent job in Sri Lankanising the story.
So in brief: a young boy and his servant boy Jinna end up on an island having run away from his father and stepmother. There they learn to live on their own, battle various intruders, and eventually become successful businessman selling vegetables in the area. Eventually Upali, the young hero, is discovered and goes back to his village and father to be welcomed with open arms.
I admired Wickremesinghe’s ability to hold the reader captive with interest. His insertion of Sri Lankan flora and fauna made it familiar and recognizable identifying with the Sri Lankan reader. My one criticism is the translation. I would have expected far more from Professor Halpe and instead was quite disappointed at the almost shoddy job that was done. It is my heartiest wish that Wickeremesinghe’s work would be translated at an international standard and made available to the non-Sinhala reader.

Christine - A Memoir

2008-11-26T01:22:00.000-08:00

I must confess my ignorance. When I first heard of Christine Spittel Wilson and her famous father Dr R.L.Spittel, I was unaware of the formers fame as a writer and the latter’s fame as an anthropologist surgeon. I imagine that it is a common plight among my fellow countrymen today. Many people would, when you ask them if they know about Dr Spittel, vaguely say ‘His name sounds familiar’ but most of them have not read his body of work on the indigenous people of the island of Sri Lanka – the Veddahs. For that matter most people may not have read Christine Spittel Wilson’s eleven other books that she had written previously. I know I had not. I believe for the most part, they are largely forgettable – mushy historical romance, except for Surgeon of the Wilderness, and Brave Island, which were about her father.
But if you read this Christine Spittel Wison’s book, simply titled, Christine – a memoir, it does more than talk to you about her life or her father or romance. It is also the journey of a country.
The book spans the life of a woman from childhood to old age. Christine is in fact still alive at the ripe old age of 95 years, living in the heart of Colombo, next to her childhood house that is the legendary Wycherly.
Apart from being a skillful writer, Christine unwittingly, I suspect, writes a commentary on the changes of Sri Lankan life. The Burgers, privileged during the time of the British, so privileged in fact, I don’t wonder that most of them thought they were in fact the heirs to the British and somewhat superior to the rest of their countrymen, lived for the most part a life of advantage. When reading the book you get a sense that despite Christine’s love and affiliation for the country, there is a sense that this affection only relates to the country and not the people in it.

During our twenty years away the island had changed. Spoken English was being swallowed by Sinhala. The charming small politeness had disappeared and a proud new people had emerged who learned English in their sixth form. (p252)

The book begins with the writer’s childhood where she would watch a bullock drawn water cart suppress the red dust of the road down Alexandra Place by spurting water on it. As a young child she was already aware of her father’s frequent disappearances into the jungle to study and befriend the Veddahs. Her younger sister’s death, when Christine was six, of a medical misadventure when her parents were abroad, left the family scarred and hurt. She attended Bishops College and one day when her father found her speaking to herself because she was lonely, he brought home a little Veddah child to be her companion. As I read that passage, I thought, that he had brought the child home like the way one brings a pet into the family. Therefore it is no surprise when the Veddah child turns bad, began to gamble and steal and eventually was sent to prison for theft. Christine Spittel Wilson writes of the incident without judgement or responsibility which is also perhaps a reflection of the attitude towards the indigenous people of the island, despite her fathers committed work with them.
One of the loveliest passages in the book is when she is taken by her parents as a child to sail from Kalpitiya to Wilpattu on a dhow. Camping on the beach, and eating fresh grilled fish they attended Christmas Eve mass at a tiny Catholic church in the middle of the jungle. Incredible!
Eventually sent to England for her education, Christine returns to the island to get married, live on a tea plantation where one had to ride horses to get about and then finally divorce her husband soon after her daughter is born. She then joins the war effort, becoming becoming a Class lll TWA at Army Command Headquarters. Her description of Colombo then, is ironically similar to what we have now.

Colombo had changed almost overnight. Loops of twisted barbed wire and men in kakhi blocked roads. The racecourse where we had watched somany races, was a heavily camouflaged aerodrome and Wycherly with a white cross painted on the red tiled roof of the nursing home, was now in a strict Security Zone…Troops everywhere. Army vehicles thundering along the towns treets; the Museum where I had done so much research, strange in its camouflage coat. The city filled with officers, troops and yet more arriving daily; people hurrying in their thousands to the hills in over-loaded cars, buses, coaches, bullock carts, bicycles, and on foot, out of Colombo. (p 108)
It was then that Christine meets the man she is to marry, Alistair Wilson – a Scots captain. After some years in Glasgow, they return to live in the island, visiting far flung places with Dr Spittel, and Christine beginning to write seriously. The rest of the book deals with her life after they return to Scotland, then the move to Africa and finally back home to Sri Lanka.
What the book did was to teach me that as always there are different perspectives to a situation and a history. Christine Spittel Wilson writes a beautiful though skewed memoir of her country, her various homes, and in the process gives us a interpretation on the world of that time and this.