The Hungry Ghosts by Shyam Selvadurai

I'm a sucker for a story involving a fabulous but sinister grandmother and “The Hungry Ghosts” has one who is absolutely fascinating to read about. Set in Sri Lanka during a time of civil war, the protagonist Shivan describes his early life when he and his impoverished mother and sister were forced to move in with his grandmother Daya Nona. This is an intimidating older woman who is kind of a cross between Ebenezer Scrooge and Miss Havisham. The story plays out a bit like a Dickensian tale as Shivan becomes the favoured grandson of this irascible and tightfisted lady who begins instructing him on how to manage her many rental properties. He appears to have good future prospects but as he becomes a teenager the political unrest in the country reaches a degree where it becomes unsafe for Shivan and his sister to remain living there. Though their mother is Sinhalese their deceased father was Tamil, an ethnic minority who were severely persecuted amidst the conflict. Added to this is Shivan growing awareness of his own homosexuality. Despite Daya Nona's objections, the trio move to Toronto where they experience difficulty establishing new lives as immigrants. The narrative relates the story of Shivan's life from a point where he's independently established a good job, apartment and relationship but he must make a crucial decision between his hard-won present day existence and the country he's left behind with all its painful memories.

I was glad to already have some understanding of the recent conflicts in Sri Lanka after reading novels such as “The Seven Moons of Maali Almeida” and “A Passage North” which encouraged me to research more about the deep-set political divisions in the country which led to much bloodshed. The complex and tragic situation has been fought for decades with periods of egregious discord and genocide. Though it mostly occurs in the background of Selvadurai's novel it influences and effects the lives of its characters to such a degree it's necessary to be aware of the stakes involved. The novel explains this somewhat and helped broaden my understanding even further. It's extremely effective how the larger conflicts within the country suddenly become very personal at a certain point in the story and how some individuals used the larger political strife for their own personal gain and advancement. This increases the characters' complexity as they find themselves caught between opportunity, loyalty and justice.

At the centre of this tale is Shivan's conflicted sense of being as he obtains certain freedom and safety in Canada, but longs for his homeland. At one point he remarks: “Rising in me was a great longing to be back in Sri Lanka and also, paradoxically, a revulsion against being there. These two irreconcilable feelings pressed tight against each other.” These feelings are very connected with his grandmother who is both his supporter and partly responsible for inhibiting his freedom. It's impressive how their relationship develops more and more layers as revelations are uncovered and events dramatically unfold. Equally, it's poignant how the novel shows that parts of the gay community in Canada which Shivan desperately wants to join is plagued by racism which makes him feel even more cruelly ostracised. Though it's moving how the story roots the reader so strongly in Shivan's first person point of view, the narrative wobbles somewhat as we switch in some sections to the mother and grandmother's perspectives. I'm not sure if we're meant to believe these are their actual thoughts/experiences or Shivan's projection of their points of view. While I understand the author wanted to give a balance to the story and delineate these figures' states of mind it confuses the novel somewhat.

Another aspect of the novel running alongside Shivan's personal account are Buddhist stories which his grandmother relates to him. These act as parables which comment upon the characters' actions and decisions. I enjoyed how this sense of storytelling becomes so infused with his sense of being. Of course, I felt very sympathetic to Shivan since he is naturally bookish and it's pleasurable how he drops in the names of many titles and authors he reads. Alongside the strength of his character, the evolving dynamics of his relationship to his mother and grandmother are very compelling. However, the tensions between Shivan and his longterm boyfriend feel more inscrutable. This becomes the most prominent aspect of the later part of the novel and makes the book less satisfying than if it had stuck more closely to Shivan's immediate family. Nevertheless, I greatly enjoyed this tale which evocatively brings to life two very different and distinct environments and a boy caught between them.

The Seven Moons of Maali Almeida by Shehan Karunatilaka

How could I not fall for a novel whose plot superficially resembles the movie 'Ghost'? That's not to say this book was inspired by that film as its use of ghosts caught “In-Between” is rooted in Sri Lankan folklore, but it's the reference which immediately came to my mind when reading this tremendous story. There may not be any Oda Mae Brown, but there is a more sinister self-interested sort of medium called The Crow Man. Thankfully the protagonist is also much more interesting than the blandly good, pretty boy Sam Wheat. Maali Almeida documents atrocities of war and wants tyrants to be held accountable but he is not virtuous. From page one it states that if he had a business card it'd say: “Maali Almeida: Photographer. Gambler. Slut.” He accepts work from shady organizations, loses a lot of his money at a casino and sleeps around with many men behind his (secret) partner DD's back. What's more he's disillusioned with the government and doesn't attach himself to any particular political organization in Sri Lanka which is heavily embroiled in a deadly civil war during the late 80s when this novel is set. Because of all his complexity and so-called “flaws”, I fell in love with this character.

At the start of the book Maali wakes to find himself in the liminal space between life and the great beyond. Just like we can't recall birth, he can't recall his death. He's instructed by an official that he has seven moons to decide whether he wants to enter the light or remain as a spectre amongst the living. A countdown begins during which he wants to discover his killer, reconnect with those he loves and reveal to the public shocking evidence of a national scandal. It's satisfying reading a novel built around a certain structure that moves towards a definite ending and the suspenseful way in which this story unravels makes it thrilling to reach the conclusion. We gradually discover details of his life through people he “haunts”, but he also encounters many of the dead victims he got paid for photographing. In addition to those who were actively killed there are the ghosts of those who found life in Sri Lanka untenable and committed suicide. These spirits are raging. There is a tension between those who want to get their revenge and the desire to leave all the pain of life behind.

This is dramatically played out over the course of the novel as Maali becomes familiar with Sena, a deceased man who is hatching a terrorist plot aided by a dangerous, demonic spirit. Underlying these tense and fantastical events are deeply pressing questions about our degree of involvement to enact change and our motivations in life. Maali has seen enough deception, hypocrisy and double-crossing coupled with egregious acts of oppression and mass murder to know that no leader, political organization or band of people can be trusted with consistently safeguarding the welfare for everyone in his country. A brief list of the primary political groups involved in Sri Lanka's conflict is given towards the beginning of the novel. This not only slyly tips off Western readers to who the main stakeholders are and the general motivations of these groups but also shows how none of these opposing forces are purely “good” or “right”. Not aligning himself with any of them makes him an outsider, but he also feels like an outcast because he's a closeted homosexual. Experience has taught him it's safer to adamantly deny being gay even when it's clear he's not straight. His infidelity and many furtive sexual encounters are partly caused by this social pressure but also his puerile justification that it's man's nature as shown in this funny exchange: “You tell him the pecker is proof that man has no free will. There is a pause and, then, DD snorts: 'That is the lamest excuse ever.'”

The story is narrated in the second person which makes sense for a protagonist who has been separated from his physical body. It also grounds the reader in Maali's immediate experience as he struggles to navigate the laws and rules of this peculiar afterlife. The means by which he travels through wind and the degree to which the dead can whisper to the living or physically interact with them are bound by certain constraints. This is handled quite playfully with evocative details such as what it feels like to walk through a wall. It's also amusing how the transitory space which is meant to encourage him into the light resembles an overworked bureaucratic waiting room and ghosts do prankish things like make a scientist's bum itch. So the story doesn't often feel too hampered by logistics and there were only a couple of scenes where it felt like the author was heavy handedly whipping Maali's ghost to a particular place to advance the plot. However, the way in which the afterlife is layered over the realistic world is also presented in a genuinely creepy and atmospheric way. At one point this is even made personal to the reader when it's observed: “There are at least five spirits wandering the space you're in now. One may be reading over your shoulder.” Terrifying and twisted spirits frequently appear to Maali and that initial horror is deepened by the tragic backstories that accompany many of these pitiable souls.

Maali still has the impulse to document what he witnesses and the novel frequently refers to how he continues trying to take pictures with the camera around his neck even though the device is muddied and broken. There's a poignant tragedy to this and the race to allow incriminating photos he took to be seen by the general public. These aspects of the story challenges the general sense that if we can witness any wrongdoing in the world it will be corrected. It's revolutionary how images and video filmed by ordinary people which become viral inspire protest and movement towards change. However, there's also a danger that we can become numb to such violent imagery because of our distance from it and a sense of hopelessness. Can an overwhelming amount of individual tragedy be met with anything but inertia? This novel intelligently probes these issues while not allowing the central suspenseful plot to be drowned by them.

My affection for the central character was also formed because of the love triangle at the centre of this novel. Maali doesn't only live with the equally closeted politician's son and golden boy DD who is described as a “former swimmer, athlete and ruggerite” but also DD's cousin Jaki who has a misplaced attraction towards Maali until they settle down to become good friends. The dynamic of this trio is presented in a compelling and charming way. There's a persistent tragic sense that Maali and DD's dreams of moving to San Francisco to live freely and openly will never be realised. This is underpinned by recollections of endearing moments such as how they had “a hall lined with books that you and DD have gifted each other for misremembered birthdays. Neither of you have read the books received as presents, only the ones you bought for the other.” All these elements combine to produce a big emotional impact. I admire how this novel manages to be mischievous, thrilling, unsettling, insightful, moving and so much fun to read. It's also interesting how the book was originally published in India in 2020 with the title “Chats with the Dead”. Now that it's been published in the UK and has been longlisted for this year's Booker Prize the novel is getting a second life – which feels pleasingly appropriate given the nature of its story.

A Passage North by Anuk Arudpragasam

On the surface it's easy to summarize what happens in “A Passage North”. Krishan, a young man who has returned to live and work in his native country of Sri Lanka after the recent Civil War, travels to the war-torn Northern Province to pay respects at the funeral of Rani, his grandmother's former care-giver who died suddenly. This journey comprises the bulk of the action in this story. Readers who prefer a novel with a lot of plot-driven physical drama won't find it in this novel. The power of this book and the complexity of its tale comes from Krishan's meditative process. He was absent from the genocide which resulted in the death of many thousands of fellow Tamils. Though his father was a casualty of one of the Tiger bombings in Colombo, he didn't directly witness or feel the effects of this calamity. However, Rani was a witness to these horrific events and experienced tragic losses which left her severely traumatized. The question for Krishan is how to reconcile what he knows with what he has not directly seen and what steps should be taken to positively contribute to his country which has been ravaged by war. While he is contending with this enormous issue he's also simply a young guy who likes to hang out with his friends and smoke. He spends long periods of time wandering while staring out at the horizon and pines for his lover Anjum who's become a committed activist. Through the course of this novel we get a poignant sense of his state of being at a significant crossroad in life.

The author is a student of philosophy and this is heavily reflected in the narrative which meaningfully considers a number of dilemmas to do with the nature of life, time and reality. This is clear from the opening page which begins with the question of inhabiting the present moment. His meditative process offers a moving and new perspective on a number of issues. For instance, the world now witnesses significant conflicts online through first-hand footage shared by individuals embroiled in the action. However Krishan is cautious about granting these images legitimacy: “his initial reluctance to acknowledge the magnitude of what had happened at the end of the war, as though he'd been hesitant to believe the evidence on his computer screen because his own poor, violated, stateless people were the ones alleging it, as though he'd been unable to take the suffering of his own people seriously till it was validated by the authority of a panel of foreign experts, legitimized by a documentary narrated by a clean-shaven white man standing in front of a camera in suit and tie.” The question of authority is now a difficult one as we're wary of being manipulated, but also want to empower the real experience of individuals and resist being swayed by subliminal racial biases. This signifies a difficult modern issue we now all face that is not just to do with the act of witnessing but about the validity of what we see, who we choose to believe and how we interpret it.

Krishan considers issues which are both universal and specific, but his point of view does feel very rooted in his youth and this is acknowledged: “thinking as he lay there, in that naïve and moving way of adolescents”. Obviously, he does not have all the answers – nor should he – but some of his diatribes are more meaningful than others. I found his insights into migration particularly striking - especially how the trauma of war means some citizens can't bear to live in their native country any longer. Equally, I appreciated his sensitivity in considering not only his own perspective as a young man in a heterosexual relationship but that of women, queer people and hijras. A scene where he makes eye contact with another man on public transport also gives a dynamic perspective on masculinity and how men respond to one another. However, I found some other meditations he indulges in less enlightening such as the meaning of sight loss as one grows older and an extended lesson in the difference between desire and yearning. His musings do occasionally stray into overly-ponderous and pedagogical Alain de Botton territory. His ruminations aren't wrong, per say, but I don't read novels to be lectured to. Similarly, some sections recount versions of mythology or folklore and, later in the novel, the stories of dissident political figures. These stories are interesting and have points which relate to the dilemmas Krishan faces, but aren't very artfully blended into the overall narrative.

Where this story comes most alive and feels three-dimensional is when it describes the characters of his grandmother Appamma and her carer Rani. Krishan's interactions with Appamma are funny and endearing so I wish we were given more of that in the story. Equally, Appamma and Rani form a unique relationship impacted by Appamma's failing health and faltering mental state as well as the serious trauma which Rani struggles to live with and the electroshock therapy she regularly receives to treat it. The descriptions of these characters and their scenes are very powerful and I'd have been glad to read a whole novel just about them. Krishan's dilemma is significant and he offers a refreshing point of view which I'm very sympathetic with, but I felt his detailed and extensive thought process often prevented me from really getting to emotionally connect with him as a character. His most endearing scenes concern the timid formation of his relationship with Anjum and the conflict they face as a couple where their motivation to make an impact in their country overshadows their ability to be together. Krishan's melancholy over this state is conveyed in a moving way, but felt secondary within a narrative that sometimes drifts into overanalysis. There are many sensitive and considered insights in this book, but I'm not sure Arudpragasam has yet found the sweet spot where his philosophical perspective blends with the art of storytelling.