Abstract

Introduction
To begin this bibliographical introduction for the year 2015 by referring to an occurrence in 2016 would be technically incorrect; at the same time, however, it would be churlish to make readers wait till December 2017 to learn about the demise of the longest serving Professor of English in Sri Lanka who died on 15 May 2016. Ashley Halpé, whose essay “The Hidden Common Wealth: Indigenous Literatures and the Commonwealth Lit./New Literatures in English Industry” was the lead article in the 27th volume of JCL published in 1991, was a first-year student in the first ever cohort that enrolled in the iconic University of Ceylon, Peradeniya. Halpé graduated with First Class Honours in English when first classes were rare, sat the very competitive Ceylon Civil Service Examinations soon after graduation and was placed first but opted to be an Assistant Lecturer in English rather than join the Civil Service. At the age of 31, he became one of the youngest Professors in Sri Lanka, served as Head of the Department of English for 25 years, had two different spells as Dean of Arts in Peradeniya, was University Proctor, Director of Student Welfare, Senior Student Counsellor, Senior Treasurer of the University’s Music and Drama societies, and took an interest in many other aspects of University life. As Head, he pioneered the introduction of Sri Lankan Literature in English into the curriculum and (significantly) incorporated the works of Commonwealth authors, like R. K. Narayan, Raja Rao, Mulk Raj Anand, Chinua Achebe, Wole Soyinka, and Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o into the syllabus before these authors gained acceptance in some universities based in their own countries. Halpé’s contribution was not confined to the academe. He was chair of Sri Lanka Association for Commonwealth Literature and Language Studies (SLACLALS) for many years, one of the founders of the English Association of Sri Lanka and also instituted Navasilu, the journal of the Association. He was a poet (poems from his collections Silent Arbiters and Homing and Other Poems appear in several anthologies) and an artist, and was bestowed many State honours for his services to the Arts. At a meeting of the Senate held in the early 1990s, Ashley Halpé pointed out that the 50th anniversary of the University would occur in 1993 and that the occasion should be properly celebrated. Among his many contributions to that event was an article entitled “Peradeniya … That ‘Dear Perpetual Place’”. Although additional professorships in English were made available after new universities were established and the rules were changed to allow personal Chairs, for many, Ashley Halpé was the dear perpetual professor whose name was synonymous with English Studies more than 16 years after he retired. His passing leaves a void that will be very hard to fill.
The unique provision in the Gratiaen Prize that allows manuscripts once again paid dividends in that four of the shortlisted works were manuscripts. These included perhaps the most celebrated previous Gratiaen winner (Shehan Karunatilaka) and two others who had been previously shortlisted: Ashok Ferrey and Thiagaraja Arasanayagam. The judging panel, comprising Elmo Jayawardena, Dr Dinali Devendra, and Tracy Holsinger, however, pointed out that many who submitted manuscripts, including senior writers, had sold themselves short by doing so without vetting the same. They urged those who insisted on self-publishing to exercise more caution and not to rush through a publication just for the sake of seeing it in print or to submit the same for an award. Since four of the five entries are still not available to the public, the judges’ citations must necessarily suffice by way of introduction: In Grace Wickremasinghe’s anthology “Closure”, we recognize a risk taker and a bold new voice; funny, rude and reflective, the frank confessions found here deal with the fallout of intimacy and failed relationships and deliver a message of hope and courage to the underdog. “White Lanterns: Wesak 2011” by Arasanayagam Thiyagaraja is a requiem for a lost island. Deceptively spare, eloquent and evocative, the poet conjures golden memories of a time gone by to battle present demons, silent gods and a lifetime of violence. Steeped in nostalgia and heartbreak, this twilight elegy engulfs and sweeps one along in its rolling tide of emotion and cadence. Ashok Ferry shines with intimate descriptions of a mixed race marriage in trouble in “The Ceaseless Chatter of Demons”. Infidelity, hypocrisy, tradition and chauvinism come under scrutiny in this dark comedy where crumbling institutions, superstition, and the devil in disguise stand in the way of redemption. Can love save the day? Shehan Karunatilaka delivers a macabre, ghostly tale in “Devil Dance”, which sees a brilliant, incendiary journalist set out on a seemingly impossible quest to avenge his own death. A sharp critique of racism and atrocity set against a culture of insurrection and war, conspiracy and murder, “Devil Dance” is played out over three turbulent decades in Colombo. We were moved by the love, bravery and fortitude expressed in Chammi Rajapatirana’s Traveller’s Tales. In a nation where mental health issues are barely acknowledged and where care is deplorably insufficient, this honest, insightful work about living with autism is very timely and reminds us simply not to take things for granted and to always be aware of and appreciate each other’s humanity.
The year under review also saw the birth of a new literary festival “Annasi and Kadalagotu”. Elmo Jayawardena, who founded the festival, had this to say about it: The literary festival was tri-lingual, the first of its kind in Sri Lanka, where literature from Sinhala, Tamil and English was given equal weight. A ticket was 100 rupees (less than $1) for the whole-day event. On stage were the erudite and the ordinary woven together by a common thread of love for the written or recited word. This festival differed from many others in that everything was from the pavement: beginning with the name of the festival to the all-and-sundry proletariat participation. It undoubtedly presented a different literary flavour to participants and provided opportunities to artistes who hitherto did not have a forum to show their talent. The venue, the Aesthetic Centre in Colombo, provided a charm of its own. Open spaces, lotus dressed ponds and a multitude of book sellers spread along the corridors were soothing to the eye. An autistic young man launched his book speaking to the crowd through a computer. A rubber-slippered labourer participated in a panel with a PhD from Cornell. A saffron clad Buddhist priest discussed his award-winning novel and a vagabondish film-maker showed a documentary on child soldiers to a packed audience.
The Annual Inter-Faculty English Drama Competition of the University of Peradeniya, organized by the Ceylon Dramatic Society (better known as DRAMSOC), was held on 14 September. Carmen Wickramagamage, one of the judges, comments: In many ways, the competition proved to be promising for English drama at the University of Peradeniya and in the region of Kandy because of the noteworthy increase in the number of Faculties participating in the Competition and the quality of their productions. While the Faculty of Arts won Best Play, Best Director, Best Actor and Best Actress for a play that would remain in the audience’s mind for some time to come for a tightly crafted and painfully intense production of Arlene Hutton’s play “I Dream before I Take the Stand” that rehearses a female rape victim’s (figural) rape once more at the hands of her male lawyer, the Engineering Faculty carried almost all the awards in the “technical” category for sounds, lighting, special effects, costumes and props. In second place, however, was the play “Demons and Angels” by the Faculty of Science which attempts a subtle portrayal of the hidden “other” depths to today’s humans — the closeted selves, the half-concealed desires and half-forgotten dreams that few dare to air in the light of day. Two features of the dramatic productions this year are worthy of note: the attempt to bring out of the closet issues such as lesbian love and homosexual identities though the portrayals sometimes tended towards what can only be described as risqué, the bilingual medium resorted to in at least two of the plays. As regards the first feature noted, it is a sign that today’s youth do not seem to find such “facts of life” as anathema as their older counterparts, though one was left wondering too whether there was a self-congratulatory tone about it. As for the second, the question was whether the bilingual medium was a better reflector of the nature of English use in Sri Lanka today. However, the audience was left wondering, at times, what the rationale was for the assignation of English and Sinhala dialogue segments to the various characters. Maybe, a third afterthought might be whether a Drama Competition, purporting to be in English, should so liberally sprinkle its medium of communication with Sinhala dialogue, thus overlooking members of the audience who may not have had the facility with the Sinhala language to fully appreciate the dialogues in Sinhala. At times, too, while entertained by the technical virtuosity on display, there was some concern whether it indicated a flawed conception of drama. For that reason, the Arts Faculty production proved to be a corrective: it relied little on technical competency and showed in no uncertain terms what good dialogue and acting can do.
The Mind Adventures Theatre Company was extremely active in both writing and producing plays. It was their year in residence at the British Council Colombo and its first production under the auspices of the institution was “Only Soldiers”, written and directed by Arun Welandawe-Prematilleke based on Michael Tomlinson’s novel The Most Dangerous Moment, which was about the Japanese air attack on Colombo during the Second World War, an attack which was only partially successful because of the bravery of the airmen sent to intercept them. As the Theatre Company’s website notes: “Amidst the backdrop of when the Japanese fleet attacked naval bases in Ceylon, “Only Soldiers” looks at the bonds of war, the families formed and the friends lost”. Its other major production was “The Secret of the Golden Dawn”. Sri Lanka has experienced its own form of Raj nostalgia over the last number of years, especially in the medium of television, with several programmes focusing on the life and times of the local elite during colonial occupation. This play concentrates on the lives of the elite colonizers resident in Sri Lanka, especially those into occultism. The play is situated at a time when Colonel Olcott and Helena Blavatsky, the co-founders of the Theosophical Society, were in Sri Lanka; in fact, the play centres on a meeting of the Order with Blavatsky being one of the guests. What is very special about the meeting, however, is that for the first time an educated native also into the occult has been invited despite objections by some of the members. The play is set up on the basis that his presence will change the Order and perhaps the balance between the rulers and the ruled forever.
The company also brought out three short satirical plays “Tea/Coffee”, “Eco-Warriors”, and “The Corn” under the broad title “Blowhards: Braggarts, Boasters and Bastards”. They satirized three topical subjects and how Colombo society responds to them. The first upbraids people who indulge in activism for trendy reasons (a young woman gives up drinking tea and resorts to coffee because she is outraged by the working conditions of tea plantation workers in Sri Lanka); the second focuses on a young socialite, a New Age mother, and a newly appointed minister who suddenly decide to go fashionably “Eco” with comical results; and “The Corn” foregrounds the “plight” of a once-privileged mother and son who have had to face many “inconveniences” when the husband/father, a former politician, is arrested and under investigation. Another play the company brought out to commemorate International Women’s Day was “Legend of the Amazon: The Secret of Wonder Woman”. A Daily News reporter states that the play “In its original form … was a revue with song and dance, which was developed in part through research of the 2014 Gender Gap Report. Through a series of humorous sketches, it explored body image, how women treat women and gender stereotypes”. The company should be applauded for writing original scripts that focus on contemporary, local issues rather than rely on scripts from overseas.
Although the play will be staged in Sri Lanka in 2016, “Dear Children, Sincerely”, a Rwanda–Sri Lanka International Theatre collaboration in which Ruwanthie de Chickera was involved as Director/Writer/Co-conceptualizer, was First performed in Rwanda at the Ubumuntu Arts Festival in July 2015. It is a project based on detailed interviews with over 30 seniors of Rwanda and Sri Lanka. By all accounts, the production witnessed by a large audience was a great success. The collaborating artists were able to gather much by comparing and contrasting each other’s and their own histories. The exercise of having Asian and African performers on stage provided a unique perspective to the audience. The Newsletter of Stages Theatre Group, which is the group in which de Chickera is active, announced in its December 2015 Newsletter that “[o]n a national level, we have seen theatre artists coming together to create NFTAS — the National Federation of Theatre Artists in Sri Lanka, an initiative that has successfully brought together over 600 artists from within the country to look at ways in which the theatre industry can be strengthened and sustained”. That is heartening news indeed.
In May, CentreStage Productions staged the English version of “Reality Show” with a new cast. Later in the year, “Pyramus and Thisby” was revived as part of the Lionel Wendt Arts Festival. An experimental play based on the play within a play in Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, “Pyramus and Thisby” is situated in the low country of what was then called Ceylon in the early 1990s. Director Jehan Aloysius enhances the Bard’s text with low-country mask theatre such as Kolam and Thovil, acrobatics and fusion dance. This play was chosen to represent Sri Lanka in three Indian cities in 2016.
While the year under review witnessed nothing exceptional being published in fiction, there were some notable titles. Although the Gratiaen Prize-winning Love and Protest was published in 2015, it was already discussed in the previous bibliographical introduction since the event took place in 2014. Two of the other significant offerings were by expatriate writers. At one level Jaffna Boy by Bernard Sinniah is a literary memoir, cast in the same mould as Conrad Felsinger’s It Was the Babbler’s Nest, which captures the manifold aspects of life in high school. But it differs substantially at another. Sinniah was educated at the elite CMS Missionary School in St. John’s, Jaffna. The stereotypical demands made of a Jaffna boy who studied in one of these schools before the ethnic conflict changed the Jaffna landscape forever was to succeed in one of the professions or rise to the highest ranks of government service. But this novel explodes the stereotype of the industrious, frugal Jaffna boy who is focused on future achievement. As Sinniah confesses at one point, “I left Jaffna as a failed Jaffna boy”. The “failure” is something he does not regret, however. Eschewing reference to the political turmoil that was to affect the country a few years after he left school, he focuses on the pranks, the camaraderie, and the wholesome life at boarding school in an era when, as one reviewer puts it, “a 10-year-old’s biggest concern was how to avoid doing his homework … rather than how to avoid being recruited into a militant movement”. It is often difficult to write such a book without wallowing in nostalgia. Although the first chapter “The Mail Train” suggests that it will be a book of this kind, such apprehensions are unfounded. Jaffna Boy is a riveting tale of life in a boarding school further enlivened with humour. That the “failed Jaffna boy” was invited as Chief Guest to St John’s as a successful corporate leader indicates that the story had a happy ending in real life too.
Another literary work that demands attention is Channa Wickramasekara’s Tracks. One of the most active Sri Lankan-born writers in Australia, at present, each book he brings out is substantially different from his previous contributions. Here he examines what turns out to be a temporary “aberration” in the life of Sheehan, a middle-class Australian of Sri Lankan descent who is attracted to Robbie, a boy with a rebellious approach to life. Though they attend the same high school, the latter is from a social stratum that is lower in terms of status and income. Not many works of fiction by Sri Lankan expatriates have previously focused on working-class backgrounds. Wickramasekara’s novel, consequently, is path-breaking in its own way as it shows how low-income families try to cope with the restricted choices open to them. Such struggles inevitably lead to maladjusted relationships within and outside the family. Sheehan is attracted to Robbie, his hero, to satisfy basic needs and to kick over the traces, which is common to many born to such a class at certain points of their lives, but Sheean always has the option of returning to his comparatively privileged background. This is what happens towards the end of the novel with Sheean having completed this rite of passage, facing the prospect of further studies in a good university and perhaps a “proper” relationship with a woman.
The most substantial local novel in English this year was Parallel Lives by journalist Nanda Pethiyagoda — her first novel. Other Sri Lankan authors have written stories in which the lives of two people complement each other or are similar in many details. Ru Freeman’s A Disobedient Girl and Nayomi Munaweera’s Island of a Thousand Mirrors are good examples, but none of them was as ambitious in scope as Parallel Lives. The basic “parallel” is simple enough. Namali is from an upper-class, “high-caste” family and, when she was very young, Podi Menike, a low-caste, impoverished girl is brought home to be her servant and companion. Their lives run parallel but rarely intersect. Namali falls in love with a Tamil neighbour named Gopal Canagasabai, but it is a relationship which cannot proceed very far because of parental intervention. Gopal is sent abroad for his further studies and Namali consents to marry Asela, an unsuitable partner for her, and who eventually turns out to be abusive. Soon after the riots of 1983, she re-encounters Gopal in a refugee camp. He had returned to the island on a visit and been affected by the violence. Their love is rekindled and they maintain this relationship till he dies. Podi Menike’s life has been even more challenging. She was almost raped on one occasion and her mother’s lover takes Podi Menike’s sister away which causes the latter much grief. Her sole saving grace is Namali’s constant care and concern for her: “… we have … the best karma to have each other as friends and companions through life’s journey”. This novel suffers on occasion, because the author has tried to bring in too many historical moments and character relationships within its confines. We are taken from the town to the village; from the metropolis to Jaffna; from the real world to the realms of the occult as Namali “communicates” with her dead sister. Much attention is paid to Buddhist rituals, in addition to the pogrom of July 1983, the second JVP uprising, and the 28-year civil war. Parallel Lives, as many commentators contend, could have benefitted from some careful editing. Awkward expression and redundancies abound, such as “I felt buried in a landslide of soil”. However, this is overall a readable novel that throws light on some aspects of contemporary Sri Lanka.
Jean Arasanayagam, Sri Lanka’s senior poet in English, has averaged about two books of poems a year over the last few years. The pattern continued in 2015, with Jean Arasanayagam producing Winged Words and With Flowers in Their Hair. Robert Siegle, who has written several articles and reviews on her poetry, contributed the following two paragraphs, one on each book, to this JCL essay: Winged Words covers ground not unfamiliar to those who have followed this prolific author over the years, but there is a deepening tonal resonance in her look backward over her life, one that spans modernity itself in Sri Lanka in its long bloody arc from colonial to postmodern times. Its poems are a field reporter’s notes on the losses she notes on many fronts: among animals (one of the wings in the title) who have been hunted, poached, or processed for the (sometimes literally) cosmetic vanities of the elite; among the victims of war (including soldiers dead, maimed, or dazed); among the poor (murdered, raped, ground down by poverty); among those who feel the loss of their cultural traditions, most notably, in two long meditations, her husband’s traditional Tamil home, twice lost to relatives punishing him for marrying a Burgher and to war’s depopulation by death and enforced emigration; to her own loss of both her fellow Burghers and the culture they once shared and, more universally, her youthfulness (time being the title’s other wing to the words she writes). What abides, as ever in Arasanayagam, is the uncompromising observer reporting the horrific losses from the kind of history determined by the rapacious violence of colonizers and self-interested Sri Lankan elites: considered an “outlaw” and “renegade” for her witnessing of truth, she faces down a society that has held the assassin’s knife blade to my throat to threaten my outcry against those imprisoning rules which now I break like dried sticks, strewing them everywhere as I go my lonely way, unaccompanied. (p124) I am not entirely sure what her immediate family feel about that last line — husband and daughters, writers all, stay close and deeply connected of course — but she writes often of the shock of betrayal in all those whom history in all its manifestations have turned against her in times when “the ordinary, the bland expression is only / a studied pose,” there being “no escape from duplicity or treachery” (p135). Despite how wise one grows, surviving riots and internment camps and the random acts of violence in wars both civil and economic, one is still surprised. No wonder, then, her turn to “The Lotus Eaters”: “I drink deep of the poppy juice from / the poppy fields of my imagination not to lull / and sooth the senses but to set the mind afire / in raging flames and conflagrations” (p106). Let not the sins of mankind stay hidden. Jean Arasanayagam’s next book takes its title from George Beven’s painting, one which triggers a five-page reverie about the women at worship, sari-clad, flower-bedecked, their prayers very human in their fervour and concerns. As in the volume as a whole, we see Arasanayagam rehearse what amounts to a repetition compulsion, but one which we would do well to understand before we call it recycling material. We see, for example, repeating lines from an earlier poem to somewhat different effect; we see her repeating by republishing earlier poems cued by some of the same places she repeat-visits to establish a pre-war preface to her postwar poetic visits and we see her repeating, repeatedly, the angst of “inner courtyards”, both literal and figurative, that are destroyed and gone except for her memories and lines carrying them forward. All these together constitute her way of leading us through the obsessive repetition compulsion among those left standing, and left as themselves, when it is the world itself that is displaced. From many earlier works, she repeats her own Burgher “genesis” as a ghost summoned forth in all its colonizing horrors and energetic lost culture by the forts and other colonial buildings she sees on a visit north. But also there, in the north, she repeats her husband’s privileged Brahmin childhood world on the now-ruined estate, his exotic (to her plain-church eyes) religion full of sensuous rituals (as in Beven’s painting), the verbal beauty of the “god-language” in mantras and slokas, the profusion of deities each with their distinctive stories and rituals, and, especially, the religious visions that repeat almost nightly in her husband’s dreams. These worlds are displaced by a greedy and violent modernity that leaves both colonizers and the colonized, and practitioners of every religion, bereft of presence except in the literary ontology of her oeuvre. She who speaks these poems is the last one standing from that era, her lease nearly expired, her spirit stubborn and clear as ever, despite feeling keenly the bar of the Brahmin tradition that kept her outside then and the bar of ruin that keeps her outside now — except for her memories and these lines of poetry. She is the voice of the primally human energies she narrates, and, yes, those are flowers threaded through the dark tresses of her verse, offset by the vibrant saris of history both mango orange and blood red.
Anupama Godakanda’s first effort, Phoenix: A Collection of Poems, covers many themes in its 94 pages. Influenced by her undergraduate lectures on W. B. Yeats’ theory of the mask, Godakanda avers that “as a social creature I am compelled to wear as many masks as possible and even go so far as to hide my own self from myself — for my own good, it is said.” Indeed, she wears several masks when writing poems in deciding how to relate to people around her. “138 ¾” is about the tussle for dominance in relationships and the impossibility of leaving an obviously unfaithful lover on account of the woman being “hooked” on him: “Is this enough for a lifetime,” she asks, “Lying and hoping?/Hoping and lying?” The poem simply titled “Feminism” asks the inevitable question whether all the stresses and strains of the feminist movement have really achieved anything and “Home” pours scorn on the exotic descriptions enticing tourists to the island whilst foregrounding the reality that is Sri Lanka, with its recent record of violence and harsh treatment of people incarcerated for various reasons. Despite these qualifications, her rootedness to Sri Lanka is patent. Versatility and variety are positive attributes but Godakanda’s cause would have been served best if these poems had been brought together under a unifying theme or at least a few themes. In the absence of such a focus, the collection seems diffused and even self-indulgent on occasion.
When copy of this compilation is sent to JCL, the 17th Triennial Conference of the Association for Commonwealth Literature and Language Studies in Sri Lanka (ACLALS) will be on the verge of being held in Stellenbosch, South Africa, for the first time without any funding from the Commonwealth Foundation. That decision by the Foundation has had serious repercussions on Literary Criticism in Sri Lanka. Phoenix, the journal of the Sri Lanka chapter SLACLALS, which was the last research organ to carry critical articles on literature, especially Sri Lankan and postcolonial literature, will (as forewarned in my previous JCL Introduction) cease publication with this issue unless ACLALS secures a sponsor. The 12th issue of Phoenix cited in this Bibliography, which was brought out with donations from another ACLALS chapter and a benefactor, will not appear in 2016. The SLACLALS committee had to choose between another issue and mini-conference before (possibly) winding up the Association and chose the latter. For the 12th issue the editor decided to publish articles by people who had never previously contributed to Phoenix. It became one of the most substantial issues of the journal which constitutes an apt farewell. This means that, at present, there is no major publication in Sri Lanka that accommodates articles on literature and language. This will result in a number of newspaper articles in the categories of Criticism: General Studies and Individual Studies in next year’s bibliography. This is not a reflection on their quality, but merely indicative of the fact that there is no other outlet for those intent on publishing their reviews and research locally. That the latter appear in newspapers is no reflection on the quality of the publication. It is just that there is no other outlet for those intent on publishing their reviews/research locally.
Creative writers are in a better position since Channels continues to be published and Shyam Selvadurai has brought out the second version of Write to Reconcile, which is available both in printed form and on the web. The individual entries in this bibliography are taken from the PDF pages on the web. While the Table of Contents in both versions tally, the actual pagination is different in the body of the two texts.
My thanks once again to Jagath Samarasinghe, senior manager of Sarasavi Bookshop (Pvt) Limited, Kandy, for allowing free access to the holdings in the bookstore and the staff of the University of Peradeniya Library for trying their utmost to find sources for me.
