There’s some damn good fiction coming out of Sri Lanka these days, but it’s not all that easy to find. Bookstores exist in Colombo, but they’re not exactly on tourist routes. We at WoWasis found really great stores — including the Odel shop — in the shopping gallery at the airport, near the exit gates for international flights. There, we loaded up with books written by Sri Lankan authors, including the phenomenal The Road from Elephant’s Pass by Nihal DeSilva, which we reviewed in an earlier WoWasis post. And then there is Shehan Karunatilaka’s remarkable novel of a lost cricket player and the doomed-by-alcohol sports writer trying to find him, Chinaman: The Legend of Pradeep Mathew (2011, ISBN 978 81 8400 152 5). One of the amazing aspects of this well-written story is that the reader is never quite sure that Mathew didn’t exist. And the author has gone to the trouble of creating a website that describes this fictional character’s bowling deliveries, and seeded the internet with other Pradeep Mathew stuff as well. Just Google him. 

The vehicle for the story is the game of cricket, but you don’t have to know anything of the game to be immersed in the story. It’s a tale of great but unrequited sleuthing, of failed relationships, of fixed sporting events, and the Sri Lankan Civil War. Most of the story is told in first person by sportswriter and cricket enthusiast WG Karunasena, whose fanatical enthusiasm for cricket and booze have soured relationships with wife, son, friends, and business associates. His quest is to find the man he considers to be the greatest cricketer who ever lived, Pradeep Mathew, a man who’s literally been written out of the statistical record. WG is driven by the book he’s trying to finish on Mathew, and despite reports of his death, he believes him to be living. He loves Sri Lanka, but not necessarily Sri Lankans: 

Nations are prey to my genetic Murphy’s Law. Ideally, we Sri Lankans should have retained our friendly, childlike nature and combined it with the inventiveness of our colonizers. Instead, we inherit Portuguese lethargy, Dutch hedonism, and British snobbery. We inherit the power lust of our conquerors, but none of their vision. 

And there’s a nifty turn of events that takes up the last 50 pages of this 395 thriller that we won’t divulge here, except to say that WG’s long lost son takes pen in hand to assist in the outcome of the book. Like his father, Garfield is bit of a philosopher as well: 

I have no desire to own a woman or be owned by one. I like to have sex with women and to be friends with them. Both of which seem to cease after rings are exchanged. Marriage is two people deciding whose turn it is to be unhappy. I have been there and been unable to do that. 

The book is full of twists and turns, and after the first 50 or so pages, takes on its own life, and we found it impossible to put down, really needing to see how the tale would evolve. And the title? “Chinaman” refers to a bowling technique first thrown by Elliss Achong, who was a Chinese descent (fact, not fiction). It describes an unorthodox left-handed delivery that puts an unusual spin on the ball. 

Overall, the book is an exceptional thriller that gains momentum with every page, and we recommend it, for fiction fans, cricket buffs, and those desirous to peek into the hard shell of Sri Lankan society.