I couldn’t sleep last night — woke up after three hours, and after denying it for some time, finally admitted to myself that I wasn’t going to get back to sleep, and so I should read instead. That way, I could still rest, and maybe make something of the day later.
It was very quiet, very dark, and I had _Brotherless Night_ patiently waiting for me. I’d read half the book, made it through the burning of the Jaffna library and Black July, and then just hit a wall; I put it aside for a few months. It was too much, too raw. I needed breathing space before I could come back to it. I knew what was coming.
I’ve finished it now, reading in the middle of the night. It made me tear up a few times, which books sometimes do. But when I finished this book, I actually had to just sob for a few minutes. I don’t think a book has ever done that to me before.
I’m left thinking about how so few people can do so much damage, and how it can seem almost impossible to prevent it, or heal from it. And yet, we have to try.
This book is part of how we try.
***
I’m too close to this material. And yet, I am not nearly as close as the author, V.V. Ganeshananthan, Vasugi, whom I know as Sugi, who grew up with her parents and my parents as friends in Connecticut, part of the Tamil diaspora. I cannot imagine what it took for her to spend half her life researching and writing this book, how utterly heartbreaking it must have been.
Sugi calls me Writing Acca — Acca is big sister in Tamil. We’re not actually related, but Acca is also a term of respect; you might use it for an older woman you’re fond of. (One not quite old enough, perhaps, to be Aunty to you.) Where I have tried to touch on the troubles in Sri Lanka in my own work — so often coded in science fiction, hidden behind a protective veil — Sugi dove in, full force.
Thangachi is little sister. I am so proud of you, my writing thangachi. This book is everything I could have asked for from you, and more. You astonish me and inspire me. I have stories that have felt too hard to write, but what is that, really?
Surely it’s not hard, to sit in a comfortable room, well rested and well fed and safe, to tell an important story about people who have endured such grief and terror.
It is hard, of course. But not hard enough that it should stop us.
Sugi, I’ll leave you with a poem I wrote, way back when I was visiting my alma mater, researching a story set during the conflict. I wrote it in 2004, but retroactively, I dedicate it to you. Thank you.
*****
after a good book deal, 2004
this can be a home, if I want it
since the telephone call that carried the news
the reasons for my new apprehensions
with or without my contributions
and open another, the novel in my bag
go hideously astray
that understanding may come of this
the perfect warmth, the moving air
tiny pink roses, profuse and delicious
or bursting
*****
Buy it here: https://www.amazon.com/Brotherless-Night…/dp/0812997158
NY Times Book Review: https://www.nytimes.com/…/v-v-ganeshananthan…
Publishers Weekly: https://www.publishersweekly.com/9780812997156