Before I begin, I would like to warn any potential readers that I may digress a little at times. I’m more or less writing without reflecting: this is not a structured, considered article but more of a diary entry, an immediate reaction to my time here in Galle.
Before I came to Sri Lanka, I read a book that has affected my outlook somewhat. Anne Morgan‘s Reading The World opened my eyes to how little I really know about other countries, their cultures and their literature. I know nothing about the difficulty of publishing books in Albania, the geographic limitations of The Marshall Islands or the impossibility finding stories in translation from São Tomé and Principe. I am know the literary industry is extremely Eurocentric but I had never really stopped to think what a restrictive effect this has on our cultural knowledge. As a French and Spanish graduate, I generally feel quite chuffed about the amount of ‘foreign’ books I have read in the original language. However, I am increasingly aware of how restricted my world view is. France and Spain are still Europe: as a reader I share many of the same cultural references as French and Spanish readers, making the novels more or less relatable. Despite the bewildering, diverse nature of Latin America, the effect of colonialism means we still have a mode of access into works from this continent. Beyond the three languages I understand, there is a whole world I know nothing about, a whole world whose literature I can only dream of accessing. Even if read in translation, it is unlikely that we will ever achieve Anne’s feat and read a book from every country in the world – and certainly not in a year!
Instead, I have simply made myself a promise to read more widely and to open my mind a little more to countries and languages I have barely even heard of. I finished Anne’s book the day before I flew out to Sri Lanka and it couldn’t have been better timing. I had already downloaded a few interesting-sounding Sri Lankan books (although the label ‘Sri Lankan literature’ is problematic enough in itself), and resolved to learn more about the history, people and culture of the country in which I would be spending the next two months, not least because it has such a complex, difficult yet fascinating past.
That was all before I realised the Galle Literary Festival would be taking place during my first week in Sri Lanka. With no set plans, it made absolute sense for me to head down to the South coast for some bookish fun before going to Kandy to teach English.
So, let’s talk about the festival. Rather than buying a whole festival pass (a bit much for a backpacker, at £65!), I opted to buy individual tickets for a few events I really fancied attending. I learnt that Dinah Jefferies had to cancel her visit on the same day I finished reading The Tea Planeter’s Wife, but I would have definitely gone to her talk if she’d come. The wonderful Kate Tempest was top of my list, along with John Gimlette (whose Elephant Complex I am still reading and loving), Peter Frankopan of The Silk Roads fame and Aruk Arundpragasam, whose debut novel, The Story of a Brief Marriage was next on my list.
Here’s a run-down of the events. (I had intended for the summaries to be brief, but I’m afraid they aren’t, really…)
Peter Frankopan – The Silk Roads
While not being directly about Sri Lanka, Peter Frankopan’s ‘New History of the World’ tells the story of the trade routes between Ancient Greece and Rome and the exotic countries of the East. This book has been on my ‘list’ for a while but I’ll admit that I didn’t really intend on reading it in the near future, simply because there are so many others to choose from. However, Peter’s fascinating talk has completely changed that and I hope to read his book at some point on this trip. A professor at Worcester College, Peter’s talk was done lecture-style with an accompanying slideshow. Yet this was not a dry history lesson in the slightest. Frankopan provided enough facts and context for ignorant audience members like myself, while also flattering us by assuming a certain level of literary and cultural knowledge. He told a story from Alexander the Great to Nike’s latest design, explaining why these famous Silk Roads are still crucial today. I could go into much more detail – I took pages of notes and found the whole thing fascinating -, but you probably know most of the history already. (And you should read the book, anyway!)
He talked a lot about the history of Europe’s power and the importance of maintaining good relations between nations. Relating his subject matter to the Sri Lankan context of his talk, Peter reminded us that this country knows the price of dissonance more than many others. He explained China’s ‘One Belt, One Road’ initiative, which more or less ignores Europe, and showed how Sri Lanka can capitalise on the 21st century maritime Silk Road.
Ending his talk with a quote from Confucius, Peter returned to the importance of harmonious relations between countries, not only for the exchange of goods but also that of ideas and attitudes: “Education and Knowledge breed Hope, and Hope breeds Peace.”
A fascinating and eternally-relevant subject matter, explained by an engaging, knowledgeable speaker. I can only imagine the book is equally as rich in facts, colour and history.
John Gimlette – Elephant Complex
Travel writer and full-time lawyer, John Gimlette likes to completely immerse himself in a country and its culture in order to write both as an outsider and someone in the know. In the very title of his latest book, he emphasises the complexity of the country of Sri Lanka. After months spent researching, exploring and discovering this wonderful island, Gimlette says he felt even more bewildered than when he began his journey. On many occasions he mentions how certain attitudes or concepts are entirely foreign to Western readers, such as the Sri Lankan view of the dignity of suicide or their fatalistic attitude to life. One of many though-provoking moments in the book (which I am still reading) is when he explains a comparison once made between cricket and fate. John’s acquaintance said he thought Sri Lankans like cricket so much because they are obsessed with the fact that we all die eventually. In cricket, the game is lost for good if your star player goes out too soon; there is no redemption, unlike in football or hockey. This may be both utterly depressing, but it offers a tiny insight into the way the local people think and shows how alien certain concepts may be to readers like myself.
Gimlette’s book is jam-packed with information. It combines history with personal experience and is filled with anecdotes told to him by Sri Lankans from many ages and backgrounds. He begins with the Tamil community in Tooting (which, numbering 8000 people, is more than the number of Brits that were ever in Ceylon in its colonial heyday), then takes us with him on his journey through and around the island. He meets heads of state, doctors, farmers and even young Negomban gigolos. He journeys all the way around the coast and across the hill country, visits the Viddu tribe of the South-East and even crosses the dangerous land mine connecting the Jaffna peninsula with the mainland. Among many other events and moments in the country’s history, Gimlette’s book describes the arrival of the Portugese and the Dutch, Sri Lanka’s cinnamon trade, the horrific consequences of the 2004 tsunami and, of course, the bloody conflicts of Asia’s longest Civil War.
His talk at the literary festival sort of provided an overview of the book: it was an introduction to those who have yet to pick it up, a summary for those familiar with the history and a friendly nod to those who have already read it. He used much of the same language as he does in the book, which I both liked and found slightly annoying. It meant his speech was engaging, vivid and well-constructed, but it also made it slightly predictable. He kept returning to the comparison between the size of Sri Lanka and Ireland, for example. This is something that has stuck with me as I’ve been reading, especially the way in which he asks his reader to imagine the destruction that would be caused if 7500 elephants lived in the Irish Republic (and can you believe that 70% of them live outside of national parks?). I also liked his portrait of Galle, which he described as a city of wonder for children: with beaches, castles, monsters and monkeys, what more could a child want from a holiday destination? However, I was slightly disappointed to read an identical sentence when I went back to the book later on.
Nevertheless, the many fascinating facts and stories described in the rest of John’s talk have only left me more excited to keep reading. It was also satisfying to be able to put images to scenarios depicted in the book. I read of a night John spent with a farmer in a treehouse, during which they sung songs to keep the wild elephants from eating the rice crop beneath the trees. This was a visual scene in the book, so I really liked being able to see what the treehouse looked like in John’s PowerPoint, especially as I am yet to visit this part of the country.
While frequently underlining the impossibility of ever really ‘understanding’ Sri Lanka – with its two, impenetrable languages, diverse wildlife, extraordinary landscapes, various religions and complex history -, John made me even more excited to explore the island. While I will certainly not do many of the incredible things he got up to while conducting his research, I am looking forward to visiting the different regions and learning more and more about the culture and history. I am sure the rest of the book will really open my eyes to the country’s past.
Anuk Arundpragasam – The Story of a Brief Marriage
Anuk’s talk was the last event in my busy Thursday schedule and, if I’m honest, I nearly skipped it for a nap. I hadn’t got round to reading his book yet and didn’t even have a clue what it was about. However, I’m glad I pulled myself together, bought an iced coffee and set off for the Maritime Museum, as Anuk’s talk was probably the best of the three I saw that day. Currently living between Colombo and New Year, Anuk is doing his philosophy PhD. His debut novel, A Story of a Brief Marriage, catapulted him to literary fame with its raw portrayal of life in north Sri Lanka in the last year of the Civil War.
The event was structured interview-style, whereby the journalist interviewer asked questions to which Anuk replied eloquently. This was sandwiched between two readings from his book. The first extract – the opening few pages of the novel – had me utterly enthralled. What a powerful way to start a story. The intervieweer’s first question was about this difficult opening: did Anuk worry about losing readers by starting in this way? Might it have been better to wait until his readers were caught up in the story before painting such a vivid scene of a young boy’s amputation? The writer’s response was typical of his honest manner of speaking. He explained that he was never really writing for his reader. He was writing for himself – and as a punishment to himself, as I will later explain -, rather than to ‘sell books’ or ‘captivate readers’. From the outset, we know that we are going to be right up close to the characters and their pain; there is no possibility of distancing ourselves. The fiction is all the more truthful for it.
I’m sure I’ll want to write a review of the novel when I’ve read it so I will keep this as short as possible, but there were meant memorable moments during the interview that I would like to include.
Perhaps the most striking – and endearing – aspect of Anuk’s answers was his utter honesty. When asked why he wrote this painful story, he answered that it was a punishment to himself, a way of responding to his guilt for having been unaffected by the civil war. He is ashamed of his privilege and wrote not in an attempt to rationalise or understand the suffering of others but simply to remind himself how different his life has been to the one led by his characters. Similarly, when asked what he is writing his PhD on, he openly confessed that he has not been working on his thesis for quite some time, and is simply using the scholarship as a way to buy time to write as much possible. He might like to be a teacher, but only in Sri Lanka and only to young students; he wouldn’t want to do anything that requires too much outside work.
This may paint an unfair portrait of Anuk, however, for selfishness or idleness are certainly not the motivations for his writing. My favourite parts of his interview were the moments where he began to philosophise a little, offering us an insight into the workings of his mind. The novel is set over a period of five hours. When questioned about this, he said it is simply because he doesn’t like establishing characters, settings or scenes and would prefer to go straight to the action. However, when pushed, he went on to say that he was really inspired by theories about habit, awareness and moments of complete consciousness. Most of our lives are ruled by habit, and there are only a few moments in each day, week, month or lifetime where we are truly aware of what we are doing and why. Anuk’s PhD thesis will explore the theories of certain 20th century philosophers about habit and the ethical implications of living our lives more or less unconsciously. The protagonist, Dinesh, reaches one of these rare moments of “crystal consciousness” when he becomes engaged to his fiancé. For this reason, the writer has chosen to really hone in on this particular moment, rather than setting his book over a longer period.
As a consequence, the narrative doesn’t give much context to the reader. As I said before, this means you cannot buffer yourself intellectually but are instead brought right up close to the difficult scenes. Anuk told a story about when he hurt himself as a young boy and his mother responded with a slap. She found it hard to deal with his pain and do nothing. When you don’t act, you have to dwell on the pain of others. Political responses are important but that instinct to diagnose politically is a way of moving away from happening. Again related to the guilt Anuk wants to punish himself with, he made himself train his gaze on the political moment and come closer to the real experiences of it. Furthermore, not only was Anuk not really directing his writing at a particular readership, but he also reminds us that most Sri Lankan’s know the history anyway.
Finally, one other topic that particularly interested me was Anuk’s discussion of his relationship to English and Tamil and the difficulties of translation. Educated in English, Anuk does not feel comfortable writing in Tamil, although he is beginning to write privately in the language. He would not like his novel to be translated in Tamil and if it were, he would have to translate it himself. He does not feel that the book was written for a Tamil audience. Firstly, it is about Anuk’s own distance from the events depicted – his feeling of otherness is crucial- and he describes English as a “manifest mark” of why he wasn’t affected by he war. Secondly, Tamil readers would not have the time to put their feet up and read a novel. Again, this may make the writer sound slightly lofty, but it is this estrangement from his birth country that he wishes to emphasise. Interestingly, he kept saying that English was not his language. Audience members questioned why he would say this when he was educated in the language, has written an award-winning novel in it and is currently completing a PhD in the US. However, he says that living in New York has opened his eyes to his Sri Lankan dialect. He is also aware that he was brought up with a completely different set of cultural references to his contemporaries in America, who were nourished on Austen, Proust and Joyce, rather than the great Indian and South Asian writers Anuk knows and loves.
Anuk Arudpragasam is a fascinating young man with wisdom well beyond his years. Unlike the rest of us, who live our lives according to habit, he appears totally aware of where he is, what he is doing and why. It is not that his responses sound rehearsed, they simply flow eloquently because he is so conscious of his thoughts and actions. It made for an enthralling talk and I can’t wait to immerse myself in what promises to be an extraordinarily beautiful, challenging and eye-opening work of literature.
Kate Tempest – Let Them Eat Chaos
This brings us to Kate. There isn’t much I can say about a style of poetry that is really best experienced first-hand. I shouldn’t attempt to describe or explain Kate’s powerful words as I know I will never do them justice. You should pick up her books yourself, and I encourage you to listen to her album and singles on Spotify. However, nothing can replace the experience of listening to her perform her own work.
I have been lucky enough to see Kate perform twice now and on both occasions she began fairly timidly. At Galle Lit Fest, she was nervous – which isn’t surprising considering the unusual 9.30am start -, apologising for her “round, marshmallowy” South London accent and stating that she feels it’s redundant to talk about books and poetry when they ought to be lived and felt.
Let Them Eat Chaos is an unassuming masterpiece. In it, Kate paints the portrait of a series of characters who all find themselves awake and searching for meaning at 4:18 in the morning. They reflect on their difficult pasts – their troubles with drugs, relationships or the mundanity of the 9-to-5 routine – and ultimately all come to realise that they are part of something bigger. As a storm explodes over the London skyline, each of the seven characters opens their front door and bursts into the street to revel in the beauty and power of the rain.
Kate performed this without notes, as always, and her rhythm was rappy at times and melodical at others. She had certain choruses to which she returned with an increasing intensity, totally captivating her spectators. You might not expect this humble, head-bowing London gal to be such an excellent performer, but you can tell she truly means and feels every word of her poetry.
I also loved her sassy attitude. When the host thanked her for her moving performance and encouraged the audience to quickly leave the tent, Kate interrupted her to say there were still ten minutes left and she wouldn’t feel comfortable ending the event without answering any questions.
Someone asked if the storm at the end of the poem is only supposed to represent tears, or if it could also be interpreted as an allegory for nourishment. To Kate, the storm is ultimately positive. It reminds the characters of their role in the bigger picture. We must come to terms with our individualism and, like the characters, rediscover a sense of community.
Finally, Kate apologised to her enraptured spectators, who were somewhat struggling with the intensity of the show at such an early hour. She admitted it might seem strange to listen to this London-centric story when we are so far away, but she hoped the connection of character could travel and give the story some relevance here. When you consider this statement alongside the ideas of Anuk Arudpragasam and Anne Morgan, this couldn’t make more sense.
Kate is certainly not bigging herself up when she talks of the power of music and literature to reconnect us with our sense of humanity. Although David Frankopan sort of compared himself to the ancient scholars, John Gimlette and Anuk similarly acknowledged their relative ignorance. John knows he can never completely understand Sri Lanka – he is a travel writer, after all -, and Anuk repeatedly referred to his lack of personal experience of the war. However, all four speakers emphasised the importance of education, literature and group experiences in assuring harmony. This works on an individual, national and global level. Kate Tempest called cultural activities the “greatest cultivators of empathy that we have at our disposal”; John Gimlette explained that it is only through research and study that one can even begin to get a grasp on a country; and Peter Frankopan urged us to remember the function of the Silk Roads.
It’s safe to say I enjoyed the Galle Literary Festival and am already planning a trip for next year. I would write about all the other events and activities on offer here, but this post is already too long. I also wrote most of it on my comparatively ‘ancient’ iPad, so I apologise in advance for any typos I’ve missed!
elizaplowden 