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The Seven Moons of Maali Almeida: a Failed Novel about a Failed People

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By Dhanuka Bandara

Shehan Karunatilaka’s first novel, Chinaman: The Legend of Pradeep Matthew won immediate critical and public acclaim upon its publication in 2010. The manuscript of the novel had already won the Gratiaen Prize and there was some buzz about it in the Sri Lankan critical circles even before the novel’s publication. It certainly did not disappoint, in fact it over-delivered. I remember many who thought that it was the “Great Sri Lankan Novel” and maybe it is. Chinaman went on to gain international recognition, including the Commonwealth Book Prize (2012). Unlike Karunatilaka’s first novel, his second, the Booker Prize winning, The Seven Moons of Maali Almeida, was first acclaimed in the West. Before it won the Booker Prize hardly anyone had read it in Sri Lanka and the book was known in a different, earlier version, Chats with the Dead.

I first heard about Karunatilaka’s great triumph on BBC. It is the first time a Sri Lankan had won the Booker Prize, excluding Michael Ondaatje whose Sri Lankan connection is pretty tenuous. From the get go I had an uneasy feeling about this novel. I heard that it was about the murder of a Sri Lankan, queer, war photographer in the 80s. It seemed to me that Karunatilaka was trying to hit all the right tropes to write the kind of postcolonial novel that the West found agreeable to their woke tastes. Karunatilaka received his precious prize from the Queen Consort, Camilla Parker who, to the best of my knowledge, has never really shown any real interest in literary endeavors, at a glitzy event whose “celebrity guest” was Dua Lipa, whose connection with the literary world is also not clear. Couple of weeks later I bought a copy of the book and started reading it, expecting it to be average at best, and found it to be an unmitigated failure as a novel in every imaginable respect; stylistically, ideologically and otherwise.

I know that there are many in Sri Lanka who have similar sentiments about the book and most of them are not willing to share them in public lest they are called, right-wing nationalists, Sinhala Buddhist chauvinists, jingoists, homophobes or worse. There is this pervasive pressure to claim that one likes the book, especially given that it comes with the approval of the supposedly erudite western critics, who know what they are doing, and the novel also seemingly espouses a political ideology that is deemed desirable in “polite” liberal circles in Colombo, Sri Lanka and elsewhere. Nevertheless, needless to say, that it is important that we have an honest, and measured critical discussion about our first Booker Prize winning novel. Whether you like it or not, its historical significance is indubitable.

How did then a novel, that in my view, is a complete failure win the prestigious Booker Prize that the absolute greats of twentieth century writing had won in the past? Karunatilaka’s book confirms everything that the West has learnt about Sri Lanka in the last couple of decades; that we are a stupid, racist, sexist, homophobic people who have entirely f—ed up. Ironically enough, this is not altogether untrue. Hence the title of this piece. The Seven Moons of Maali Almeida is a failed novel about a failed people. The failure of the book reflects our own failure. However, I found that it is repugnant to exploit the misery—self-inflicted or otherwise—of one’s own people to win accolades from the West, who in no small measure is also responsible for the mess that Sri Lanka (and the “Third World” in general) is today.

The novel opens with the dead protagonist waking up in what appears to be purgatory, or perhaps it could be better understood as “gandhabba avadiya”—an in between space where he is given “seven moons” to find out who killed him and a stash of hidden photographs of great consequence. The opening is tangibly Dantesque and Maali Almeida meets Dr. Ranee Sridharan—no doubt a fictional rendition of Rajani Thiranagama—who sort of plays Virgil to Almeida’s Dante. She appears to be some kind of gate-keeper in the afterworld. The fictionalization of Rajani Thirangama in this way seems rather distasteful, a questionable narrative choice, and rather platitudinous at that; an attempt at appealing to the NGO crowd that romanticize and venerate Rajani Thiranagama and her legacy, albeit without an iota of her courage and conviction.

This is not to diminish Rajani Thiranagama’s significance as an activist, and her death which has accorded her the status of martyrdom; rather it is Karunatilaka’s frivolous and unskilled treatment of her that I find, well, almost disrespectful. For example, look at the following section where Dr. Ranee tells the protagonist about her husband and family: “He supported me though he didn’t agree with me. He stopped all politics after I died. He’s Down There. Looking after my girls. He’s a lovely father. And I visit him in dreams and tell him whenever I can.” This kind of writing is corny, to say the least.

Karunatilaka glibly oversimplifies the Sri Lankan ethnic conflict and the youth insurrection in the 80s. The overall point appears to be as Sri Lankans we just like to murder each other. For example look at the following descriptions of abbreviations which are clearly included in the novel to make life easier for the western readership:

LTTE – The Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam

· Want a separate Tamil state

· Prepared to slaughter Tamil civilians and moderates to achieve this.

JVP – The Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna

· Want to overthrow the capitalist state

· Are willing to murder the working class while they liberate them.

UNP – The United National Party

· Known as the Uncle Nephew Party

· In power since the late ’70s and embroiled in the above two wars.

My point is not that there isn’t any truth in these claims, rather they oversimplify and particularly so for a western readership, the civil unrest in the 80s. And these oversimplifications and generalizations help establish the larger point of the novel, which is that we are a dumb and animalistic people: “If we have an animal as a national symbol, why not a pangolin, something original that we can own.

Like many Sri Lankans, pangolins have big tongues, thick hides and small brains. They pick on ants, rats and anything smaller than them. They hide in terror when faced with bullies and get up to mischief when the lights are out. They are hundreds of thousands of years old and are plodding towards extinction.” The number of “orientalist” clichés that Karunatilaka has packed into these lines is quite impressive. We (the Sri Lankans) are primarily animals. We look like animals and act like animals. We are cowardly bullies and we are headed towards extinction. We occupy a lower rung of the evolutionary hierarchy. No doubt the discerning judges of the Booker Prize paid due attention to passages such as this and it had a determining impact on their final decision.

There are many Sri Lankan novels about the political unrest since independence: When Memory Dies (A. Sivanandan), Anil’s Ghost (Michael Ondaatje) Funny Boy (Shyam Selvadurai), Reef (Romesh Gunesekera), Moonsoons and Potholes (Manuka Wijesinghe) among others. However, it is Karunatilaka who has truly managed to cash in on the misery of his own people by coming up with the right formula. All the novels mentioned above are more or less better written, better structured and have a better reading of the civil unrest that gripped the country in the 70s and 80s, and at any rate are more compelling as novels. Sivanandan’s When Memory Dies has a particularly nuanced reading of Sri Lankan politics since independence. Yet none of them met with the critical success of Maali Almeida.

Perhaps the timing was just right for Karunatilaka’s book, or perhaps it won the acclaim that it did, because its author turns the orientalist nonsense up to twelve. While on the one hand, as I have argued above, the novel oversimplifies the causes behind the violence in the 80s, and shows us as no better than animals, it endlessly indulges in exoticization. One of the novel’s striking aspects is its superficial use of Sri Lankan mythology. Terms such as preta, bodhisattva, varam and kanatte keep coming up over and over again and sometimes for no reason at all.

Consider for a moment the following sentence: “Forgotten smiles and bewildered eyes flutter in the air as the lorry turns into the kanatte” (224). Karunatilaka here appears to deliberately try to make the novel exotic and esoteric. What else could it be? After all there is a perfectly good English word for kanatte which we all know and use. Here is another example: “The man changes his shirt and walks to the bus stop. He jokes with the boy at the cigarette kade and takes the number 134 bus into Colombo.” What on earth is a “cigarette kade”? As an occasional smoker myself I know for a fact that there are no cigarette kades. There are petti kades that sell cigarettes though. If Karunatilaka’s attempt here is to add a “local flavor” to his writing—fatuous as it is—he should at least get his lingo right.

In a novel that trashes Sri Lankans for being Sri Lankan, the only characters who are portrayed in a positive light, with an ethical consciousness and as free agents are those who belong to Colombo’s liberal, English speaking upper middle-class: the protagonist himself, his lover, Dilan Dharmendran (DD) and his friend Jaki. None of these narrative choices are accidental, if anything they are clichés. The only good people in this country, and possibly elsewhere, who are not racist, sexist or homophobic are the westernized liberal middle-class. By now, I’m old enough to know that this is the sort of nonsense that gets you to places. The question then is how are we to come to terms with Maali Almeida? Our first bona fide Booker Prize winning novel.

I have been careful to point out above that, in the final analysis, what Karunatilaka is saying about Sri Lankans is not even altogether untrue. It is true that racism, sexism and our utter collective stupidity have wrecked this country. We are today a defeated, humiliated, and impotent people and many of us are struggling to leave the country altogether. Therefore, I suggest that we understand the failure of Maali Almeida as our own failure. The failure of Maali Almeida, and the failure of Shehan Karunatilaka, reflects the failure of Sri Lanka as a nation, and as a people. I think it is with the acceptance of this reality that we would be able to redeem ourselves as a people, and hopefully someday produce a decent novel or two. After all, the beginning of wisdom is the realization that one is one’s own problem.



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Addressing human rights needs multi-pronged approach

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Volker Türk

by Jehan Perera

The ongoing 63rd session of the United Nations Human Rights Council, which runs from September 7 to October 7, 2026, in Geneva is important to Sri Lanka. Its outcome will send a signal to other international actors, including the European Union, as to whether Sri Lanka’s reform policy is on track. The written update on Sri Lanka, prepared by the Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights under High Commissioner Volker Türk and presented by Deputy High Commissioner Nada Al-Nashif, has taken a more holistic approach to the government’s performance over the past year. It acknowledged the progress Sri Lanka has made under the NPP government in relation to accountability for financial fraud and other economic crimes. At the same time, the High Commissioner’s update made clear that progress in relation to economic crime cannot be equated with progress in relation to accountability for grave human rights violations committed during the armed conflict and in other periods of political violence.

The government may have felt sufficiently confident that its response to the High Commissioner’s update could be handled by its representative in Geneva and did not require the attendance of Foreign Minister Vijitha Herath. Sri Lanka’s representative Sumith Dassanayake called for a fundamental review of country-specific mandates within the UN Human Rights Council. Sri Lanka has been facing repeated scrutiny in the form of successive UNHRC resolutions from 2012 onwards. Ambassador Dassanayake argued that such mandates should not continue indefinitely and must be regularly assessed against measurable objectives and tangible outcomes. This may reflect confidence that its record of reform is beginning to receive recognition internationally. The reports and statements at the Human Rights Council acknowledged progress in the government’s efforts to address corruption and economic crime.

The government’s anti-corruption drive has included investigations into allegations involving individuals who held the highest political offices in the country. The arrest of former President Ranil Wickremesinghe in connection with alleged misuse of public funds, and the investigation into the controversial SriLankan Airlines Airbus transaction involving former President Mahinda Rajapaksa’s son, are examples of the reach of these investigations. The arrest of SLPP National Organiser and Member of Parliament Namal Rajapaksa in connection with allegations relating to the Airbus purchase scandal has also demonstrated that the government is willing to pursue cases involving politically powerful figures.

Wide Range

The ongoing investigations appear to encompass a wide range of parliamentarians and government members, both past and present. They suggest that accountability for corruption is not being confined to lower-level officials or to individuals who lack political influence. This is precisely the kind of accountability that the public has long demanded and that previous governments have too often failed to deliver. The government is also reaching into the upper levels of the military hierarchies of the past. The case in which 11 young men, most of them Tamil, disappeared after being abducted in Colombo between 2008 and 2009 involved allegations that some families were asked to pay ransoms. The investigation into this case has reached senior military figures. The willingness to pursue such cases is important because it challenges the assumption that those who exercised power during the war are beyond the reach of the law. Such cases would provide a practical test of whether the government’s commitment to accountability for economic crimes is part of a broader commitment to the rule of law.

Success in prosecuting corruption cannot substitute for justice for those who were unlawfully killed, disappeared, tortured or otherwise victimised. The UN report noted that there had been no recognition or accountability for crimes under international law, gross human rights violations and serious violations of international humanitarian law committed by all parties during the war. The government has yet to establish a credible and effective process to address the many cases of enforced disappearance, extrajudicial killing, torture and other serious violations. The government needs to take the international commitments it has inherited on human rights issues seriously. It needs to adopt a multi-pronged approach and go beyond focusing primarily on financial and corruption-related accountability.

Need Action

As a member of the international community, Sri Lanka has a responsibility to abide by the commitments it has made. It cannot selectively uphold international obligations postponing those that are politically difficult. Also, as a small country, Sri Lanka has a self-interest in ensuring the survival of international law, which is all that it has to protect it from the depredations of the bigger international actors. The erosion of international law by powerful states makes it all the more important that smaller states uphold the principles on which the international system is based. Sri Lanka cannot credibly appeal to international law when it is threatened from outside while disregarding its own obligations within. Sri Lanka also needs to win the confidence of its own population that it is committed to justice and equality for all. Public opinion polls and community-level research have disclosed that ethnic and religious minorities are appreciative of the sense of greater security they enjoy under the present government from ethnic or religious extremists.

But a sense of security is not the same as the fulfilment of rights. As far as the Tamil people are concerned, the government has yet to deliver on several of its specific promises. These include the long-standing problems of missing persons, the release of political prisoners who have been members of Tamil militant organisations, and the return of land taken over for military purposes during the war. The issue of Buddhist statues and archaeological sites found on their properties which are then taken from their control continue to trouble them especially as they see no signs of resolution of those disputes. The issue of pastureland in the east of the country in Mylathamadu is particularly concerning to them as they see orders by successive presidents, both President Ranil Wickremesinghe and President Anura Kumara Dissanayake, being disregarded on the ground. The Mylathamadu pastureland dispute is where traditional Tamil dairy farmers have engaged in multi-year protests against the ongoing encroachment of their ancestral grazing lands by Sinhalese crop cultivators relocated under government development schemes.

The government’s failure to hold Provincial Council elections is particularly troubling. The provincial council system is the only one that can provide the Tamil people and other ethnic minorities the opportunity to wield political power and exercise a measure of self-determination in the areas in which they are the numerical majority. The continued postponement of Provincial Council elections therefore has consequences that go beyond an ordinary electoral delay. It deprives communities of an important constitutional avenue for democratic participation and power-sharing. The ethnic and religious minorities appreciate what the government is doing in the larger national interest, but they must not be made to feel that their special concerns are being ignored. The government cannot resolve Sri Lanka’s entire legacy of rights violations overnight. But it does need to demonstrate that it is willing to move forward on multiple fronts, not only on a few.

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The emptying university: why are academics leaving?

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by Hasini Lecamwasam

Brain drain in Sri Lanka is at an all-time high. The latest Human Flight and Brain Drain Index for 2024 shows that we are 16th of 175 countries on this count, and first in South Asia. That this is a crisis goes without saying. Brain drain affects all sectors, and is a huge strain on the resources of a developing country. Particularly in Sri Lanka, where considerable public investment is made in the moulding of professionals through the system of free education, this amounts to transferring the resources of poorer countries to richer ones with top migration destinations. It is, therefore, important to consider the push and pull factors behind skilled outmigration, specifically from the public university system of Sri Lanka, a key focus of the Kuppi column.

From frustration to exit

Several bitter realities in our crumbling public university system act as push factors in the migration decisions of academics. Many essays on this column have, over several years, attempted to highlight numerous aspects of this erosion. Perhaps, primary among them is the lack of adequate funding, which has debilitating ramifications for the system: very little investment is made in the up-keep of infrastructure (and even less in its expansion), resulting in serious constraints in accommodating growing batches of students and the wellbeing of the staff (particularly in regional universities); research funding is negligible, severely curtailing academics’ ability to effectively discharge their primary duty of teaching which should ideally be informed by their research (and the research of others, access to which is also, unfortunately, mediated by funding); a funding crunch also means a slash in (or greater constraints on) recruitments, increasing the workloads of academics, currently in service, and eating into the quality of their teaching and research.

What recruitments are done frustrate those with any faith in merit. As many of our interventions in this column have shown, recruitment processes are characterised by archaic selection criteria that place very little weight on a candidate’s postgraduate growth and the advantages of interdisciplinary training. Added to this is the general preference for ‘culturally compliant’ candidates who would not rock the boat too much. The combined effect is that those with the capacity and spirit to try out innovations in education are discouraged from joining or staying on in the public university system. Some, or many, of them may instead seek appointments abroad.

A thread that binds all of these problems together is pervasive hierarchy which, again, many interventions on this column have sought to highlight. It is the interest in preserving hierarchy that leads to the preference for alumni in recruitment processes. Hierarchy within universities can be particularly frustrating for younger faculty and women, who typically have to bear the brunt of the workload of their senior, often male, colleagues. In a context of funding, and, therefore, recruitment, restrictions, this translates into a disproportionate burden being placed on junior (usually female) faculty, seriously hindering their prospects of growing into successful academics due to the time constraints within which they have to operate. Junior academics, therefore, are more likely to look to educational institutions abroad for what they hope would be a different work culture that respects them more.

Ideological ruses

On top of these structural frustrations are also the workings of neoliberal ideology. For one, the nature of relations between the global metropole and peripheral countries like Sri Lanka largely dictates what is desirable and what is not. The apparent lifestyles of Western countries – from food to clothing, housing, appliances, and so on – have continued to lure people from the periphery with the promise of a ‘better’ life, alongside better career advancement opportunities. This, of course, masks much of the struggle that goes on behind the scenes to survive in Western societies. For instance, in most cases highly attractive public infrastructure such as roads, public transport, clean air, quality control of food, and so on belie the astronomical privatised costs of healthcare and education. Health insurance is usually mandatory and steep in most high-income settings, while even subsidised education (for which eligibility criteria are strict) creates a serious dent in household earnings. Of course, the happy images of glossy trams and gleeful international travellers don’t convey this.

A second ideological ruse is the myth of greater opportunities and recognition abroad. While there is no denying that local skilled sectors – be it higher education, health, civil service, or private white-collar positions – are replete with issues that inhibit merit-based professional advancement, the notion that things are fundamentally different in Western countries stems from an uninformed optimism. As is now increasingly known and discussed, Western labour markets are notoriously racialised, and equivalent skills are rarely treated as such. Instead, it is usually demanded that skilled migrants clear certain formal examinations in their host countries. In fields like medicine, this is followed by an interview that may also be racially prejudiced. Once these initial steps are cleared, remuneration reverts to square one irrespective of experience accumulated abroad, not to mention the many subtle aggressions, rejections, and trials one has to go through in the negotiation of everyday life. In the many cases where professional qualifications are used as leverage for a move abroad, sights are set on a better future for one’s children, which again is informed by the misplaced faith in greater opportunities and a lack of awareness of the factors outlined above. Needless to say, in the global swing to the Right, things have become even more challenging. In such a context, considering the few rare cases where skilled migrants live extremely comfortable lives as the norm becomes a dangerous misconception.

The two ideological pull factors mentioned above are complemented by a push factor, which has to do with a highly classed understanding of what a white-collar professional is due in their society. Many of these aspirations are clearly articulated in academic trade union action demanding separate quotas for school entry, increased fuel allowances, winning back the presently stalled vehicle permit scheme, salary hikes, and so on. While working people have every right to agitate for better material conditions, insofar as it remains unconnected to a broader movement for improving the conditions of the lot of the working class, it remains self-serving and very much within the class logic of capitalist society. Since these demands are articulated as a means of maintaining distinction, it is clear that they are not envisaged as part of a class movement. The frustration of not having these needs for distinction satisfied may push some to seek greener pastures abroad, at least financially, (perhaps as a means of social mobility based on it), only to be disappointed on most occasions.

What is to be done?

Addressing the systemic push factors listed above requires, first and foremost, greater allocations for free public higher education. This would immediately translate into more recruitments and less work per academic, and better research and teaching in the long haul. An increase in funding would also ideally lead to greater infrastructural investments, especially including improving the living conditions of those who work in regional universities amid untold hardships. Next, fairer, more creative, and, therefore, more effective recruitment policies are badly needed to attract talented individuals to university positions. Rather than carving out a ‘special category’ for academics to achieve this purpose, which is informed by a classed logic, this needs to be done through fundamental reforms in recruitment processes. Third, a persistent attack on the entrenched hierarchy within universities through internal reform is much called for. Reforming recruitment practices will go a long way towards addressing this. Measures should also be taken to introduce more stringent policies against SGBV (not to mention ragging, even though it is not directly connected to brain drain). Such measures would create a safer, fairer, and more attractive workplace, which would give more reasons for people to stay.

On top of greater allocations, we also need a transformation of our aspirations themselves if this situation is to change. That necessitates a kind of education capable of questioning the ‘paradise’ conception of Western societies, and lays bare their colonial material and ideological dimensions, in both their historical and contemporary manifestations. These colonial understandings of the ‘good life’, moreover, have devastating ecological implications for the planet, not to mention social justice. An education with the ability to transform this mindset would hopefully prove to be more than a mere path to social mobility, rather being a tool of social emancipation that renders mobility moot.

(Hasini Lecamwasam is with the Department of Political Science, University of Peradeniya)

Kuppi is a politics and pedagogy happening on the margins of the lecture hall that parodies, subverts, and simultaneously reaffirms social hierarchies.

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Friends favourite Suzi Croner returns for Oktoberfest 2026

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Charming audiences in Switzerland as Suzi Flückiger, Sri Lanka’s own Suzi Croner is coming home… for a very special occasion.

The bubbly former frontline vocalist of 90s band Friends will take the stage at a popular venue in Colombo for Oktoberfest 2026.

Known in Europe for her country and classic hits, Suzi has remained a much-loved name back home. This will be a rare chance for local fans to see her live and celebrate the voice behind so many Friends memories.

Oktoberfest 2026 in Colombo promises an evening of live music, traditional Bavarian food and beer, colourful dirndls and lederhosen, folk dancing, and plenty of community cheer.

Suzi Croner (Flückiger)

Against this lively backdrop, Suzi will take the stage for a special solo set, featuring her own pre-recorded music. She performed at the event last year too, as a solo artiste, but a German band providing the music.

This year, however she says, it’s a different scene.

“The novel attraction will be the dancers from Germany — all girls, clad in German outfits,” Suzi said. She added that the event will also highlight the activities generally connected with Oktoberfest, which should generate a lot of fun and excitement for those who join her in Colombo next month.

Suzi has become a much-in-demand artiste in Europe, and has even performed Down Under, in Melbourne.

In Switzerland, where she has been based for the past 42 years, she continues to charm audiences with country and classic hits, performing at private events and community nights across Europe.

“My weekends are generally loaded with my work as a singer,” she said. “And I also play tennis three times a week, because I need to keep fit to entertain my audience in an active way.”

Her repertoire is made up mainly of Swiss, German and English songs.

And true to form, Suzi loves springing surprises.

“So watch out when you join me at Oktoberfest 2026, in Colombo!” she said.

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