Funny Boy by Shyam Selvadurai

Now there are many books that I’ve already read this year.

Some moved me deeply; others had an atmosphere, a strong storyline, characters that call out to you, and ones that speak in your head with clear voices, a plot that has a crescendo, and then ones that paint visual images across a board, that stay with you forever.

This one had it all.

The difference lay in the fact that it started slow, at first capturing an air, a melody that was essentially Sri Lanko-tamil. I’d rather a novel start slow and then build its way into your heart and mind, than start with a bang and end with a whimper. This one gathered pace, like a building storm, and then whirled around my head in its humid Sri Lankan air, weaving it all just right. It was a read that has stayed with me, with the country it projects.

I am writing this review after a month of completion of Shyam Selvadurai’s debut novel. A funny boy is a coming of age novel. It is not just that, set, as it is, against the backdrop of a troubled Sri Lanka, and realistically builds the strife-ridden scenario, quite seamlessly into the story of a young boy, who’s different. That is clear from the start, but what the difference is, comes into focus much later, and very sensuously too.

Little is said, and much is derived.

It draws you in very gradually, and then you know. Your heart beats hard, as you read on, the gradual development of young Arjie, and the blossoming of his self-awareness.

Arjie, in fact, tells the story. All names in the novel are quaint, as they are authentic. The humour with which certain episodes are recounted, are written with a flair, as those where there is bereavement, grief of untimely death, the loss of a secret loved one.

The writing is exquisite, in as much detail as required to get the reader hooked. I certainly was.

Arjie’s is a Tamil family, living in Sri Lanka in peace and harmony, till the situation erupts and spiralling out of control, snatching so much of one’s identity with it. Who is one after all, one might ask- the country or the genetic makeup- or are they really apart? Or perhaps, they can both reside in peace in a person, until one is told otherwise.

For a child- the differences are few, if any. The relationship Arjie shares with an aunt, which later transforms, is telling of this fact, and Selvadurai deftly uses his characters to showcase this dilemma many must face as Tamil Srilankans. Every person has a rightful place, a well-etched visage and character. Every chapter nudges the story a little ahead.

In one chapter, ‘Small Choices’, Arjie’s father is forced to take in an old friend’s son, whom he grows to trust and love. The story hereon, takes a very interesting turn, and we get an insight into the underbelly of the strife between Tamils and Sri Lankans.

This is a part I enjoyed very much, among others, even as it made me squirm, and wish for the story to surge ahead, which it did. I knew something was amiss, I knew there was some action about to unfurl upon me, and it would be pivotal in taking the fate of the family to its predictable place.

It did!

This is not a sad novel. It’s a tale well told. Selvadurai has lived the story even as he has recounted it with truth and precision. If one enjoys a good story, and a great ambience, this one is a fabulous read, be it on an armchair, or on a trip aboard a ship or an aircraft. I read it seated on a bench by a roadside, and then completed it in an airport, where I had four hours to kill.

©kamalininatesan