Book Review: Distant Warriors
Among the litany of war novels and war movies, Distant Warriors stands out with its fed-up teenage stance. The novel isn’t apathetic, but its focus on two surly boys captures the essence of those who want to move beyond the hateful memories and just sleep in on the weekend. Miles away in Australia the old hatreds swirl around the boys, who could almost care less. Of course, it’s young men who usually get served up to die.
Distant Warriors is set in Melbourne, hence the ‘distant’. In a perhaps unintentional metaphor for the international situation, the Tamils are holding a well-organized fundraiser and the Sinhalese are mounting a drunken and largely incompetent protest. The scenery is Western, but the same familiar nationalist vitriol comes from the parents, lawyers, and clergy – some for Eelam, some for Sri Lanka.
Rajan is the Tamil teen, and he’s got to wake up to his little brother blaring the LTTE anthem to his glowing parents. On the other side, Priyantha’s dad ran off with the lady from Tandoori Village and the son gets drawn into a Sinhala mob. His Chinese girlfriend is on his case like the Sun Tzu Art of War quotes that open each chapter. Her advice, however, is more along the line of ‘you’re a dumbass’. The tone of the novel is suburban and evenhanded, though spiced with lyrical gems like “He stared hard at [the email], the way people regard interesting but not necessarily authentic or true things: like breast implants or weather reports”. Another example is “race and culture are like a wire mesh separating individuals… through the mesh you could talk to people on the other side, exchange views, share feelings. If the holes are big enough’, he said with a chuckle, ‘you could even have sex”. The characterization is capable and the players are sympathetic, reprehensible, and tragic as needs be. The switching of perspective from Tamil to Sinhala is managed through the parallel teens, and by showing both sides behaving in similar ways. The end is slightly forced, but memorable.
Distant Warriors appeals primarily to the generation that left Sri Lanka young, and those that never lived here at all. At the same time, it is relevant to those who did live through the horrors and inequities of the past. The former could learn to take the matter a bit seriously, or to at least think about it. The latter might think twice about passing on a birthright of revenge, trauma, and death. Many war stories are heavy-handed and self-righteous, trying to guilt you into feeling something. Despite its rushed ending, Distant Warriors takes another route. The most pressing arguments here are that war keeps you up on the weekend and pisses off your girlfriend. In a way, this hits harder.
The author Channa Wickremesekera was born in Colombo and lives and teaches in Australia. Distant Warriors is published by Perera-Hussein Publishing House. Available at all leading bookshops and all the other places you can’t find the LT anymore.
[...] There’s been a lot said about the LTTE of late, and there’s a small thing I feel like getting off my chest. On kottu and other sites there has been debate as to who killed Kadi and various (often bizarre) conspiracy theories have raised their respective heads. All this is fine, I guess we still don’t “technically” know who did it so I’ll just keep quiet about that. There is however one thing that disturbs me a lot. I’ve been meaning to write about this ever since I started reading Distant Warriors, and this morning I read a comment on kottu saying something along the lines of the LTTE aren’t stupid, they have Oxford, Harvard and Cambridge advisors, and that triggered me. (The rest of the comment went on to condemn the LTTE and the rest of the post doesn’t concern that comment). [...]
[...] This is another seeming standard in Sri Lankan novels, or at least, um, two of them. Distant Warriors also ambles along through normalcy to build to a violent and abrupt ending. I was also watching this Japanese film ‘Audition‘ which, in a similar way built up through normal trips to hotels and daily life to a deeply fucked up ending which had a man’s foot being sawed off, leaving me (literally) cowering behind the seat. I mean, I actually got out of my seat and kneeled on the floor so I wouldn’t have to see any more. But I digress. July is all normal family problems with sorta heavy-handed and one-dimensional hints as to who the final antagonist will be. I’ll quote from the general descriptions of the riots in ‘July’, cause I think they’re worth recording. ‘By noon, there were thousands of people on the streets. A few were workers trying to find their way home. The others were men intent on murder and mayhem. They carried sticks, knives, axes, lengths of cable, and containers – plastic cans, tins, bottles – of petrol. Most didn’t even know what they were doing there but were swept on by the hugeness of the whole thing. They prowled the streets in packs of fifty or more… [...]