Set in Sri Lanka. The first-person narrator is a retired male sports reporter with a drinking problem. "My name is Wijedasa Gamini Karunasena. My mother and sister call me Sudu; my three brothers no longer call me. Strangers call me Karunasena; friends call me Wije. My wife calls me Gamini dear when she wants money and unprintable things when I don't give it to her. But, regrettably and unfortunately, no one calls me by my initials." (p.45). He wants to convince people that Pradeep Mathew was Sri Lanka's best cricketeer ever. He uncovers evidence and interviews people to discover why Mathew hasn't got the credit his acts deserve - capable of bowling with either hand he could imitate many bowlers, and sometimes played in disguise; he was arrogant, undisciplined; he didn't get on with the authorities; he got caught up with match fixing; he was distracted by women; he blackmailed. Who coached him? Wije's shown a copy of Mathew's death certificate from Australia. He gets to script a TV series about Sri Lankan greats and plans to write a book.
There are tables of statistics. There are diagrams to explain cricket, and photos of some of the characters. I know a bit about cricket and recognise many of the names and events mentioned. I could easily believe it's all true.
This is set against a backdrop of domestic and political problems, power-cuts and betting. He's given a year to live if he keeps drinking. He goes to a sort of AA meeting. His friend Jonny admits to being gay then gets arrested and shot dead in prison. Wije's son suddenly disappears to Europe to join a band, has a child. His son hates how his father bullied him into playing cricket. Wije gets into contact with shady characters like Kuga who let it be known that they're dead in order to stay out of the news.
A dream sequence turns out to be near-death hallucination. After his death his son takes over the narrative. He decides to go to New Zealand to do some research prior to editing and publishing his father's manuscript - the manuscript of this book. He meets his father's hero.
The prose is lively (though it dawdles around p.210-250), with titled sections. Some sections are just a short paragraph, others last several pages. Here are samples of passages that make the book a page-turner even without taking account of the plot -
- These are the men I have spent my years with and they are all drunk. Failed artists, scholars and idealists who now hate all artists, scholars and idealists (p.8)
- We also play silly games. Like the Seamless Paki, a contest of who could construct the longest sequence of overlapping Pakistani cricketers' names. At the moment Ari is reigning champ for 'Saqlain Mushtaq Mohammad Wasim Akram Raza' (p.21)
- Jonny's accent is a mixture of Geordie and Punjabi, two very similar dialects (p.21)
- The day I take parenting advice from a trishaw driver is the day Israeli cricket gets test status (p.82)
- An urchin wearing a Titanic T-shirt serves up two steaming cups, a masala stain covering Kate Winslet's face like a veil (p.82)
- This is buffet bowling. Help yourself (p.127)
- The ambulance is only fifteen minutes late, which isn't bad. They say ambulances in Sri Lanka barely make it to the funeral (p.135)
- She will never know that even though I love her more than anything, I will always hate myself a tiny bit more (p.139)
- I must warn you, the following story features midgets and racist language. While I myself may be something of a freak, I am certainly no racist. Sinhalese, Tamils, Muslims and Burghers all nauseate me in equal measure (p.160)
'Garfy is together again with Adriana. Little Jimi is talking now.'
I'd like to think our son named my grandson after the great Jim Laker, though somehow I doubt it.
'It says here that powercuts are going to start again,' says Ari. 'Maybe they will will replay our documentary.'
The print quality of our papers has improved in inverse proportion to the quality of the writing. (p.248)- He turns up at the wake of Mathew's mother hoping to get more info
The maliciousness of this gossip is directly proportional to the distance from the casket and the bereaved. Ari and I take seats behind a herd of old ladies in white saris. Their conversation drops in volume at our approach. They are of an age where fat is beginning to turn into skin.
I exaggerate my dependency on my cane. Ari wears his sister's hearing aid and pretends to adjust it. They decide we are harmless and continue their chatter. Like most women whose husbands have slid into senility, they no longer take men very seriously. (p.252) - We are about to finish tea, about to begin the choreographed ritual, about to say goodbye four times, once while seated, once standing, once at the door, once again at the car. I could have held a 0-0 draw. But at the ninetieth minute, I concede a penalty (p.287
- Anything concave has been turned into an ashtray (p.307)
- I said, 'Pradeepan, what you're staring at?' He said, "The comma." He said he'd never seen a comma in his account balance before (p.315)
Other reviews
- Nicholas Lezard (He has with no apparent effort got into the mind of an articulate, wise, but despairing and cynical drunken old hack, and this long, languorous and winding novel has registers of tragedy, farce, laugh-out-loud humour and great grace.)
- Kamila Shamsie (Admittedly, the relentless back and forth of the narrative can be frustrating, and makes one long for the tempo of cricket rather than ping pong. It is not without purpose – the dislocations and disorientation mirror Wije's own life – but for a while it diminishes the pleasure of the book, until suddenly it doesn't. It's impossible to say if that's the writer playing himself into form, or the reader getting her eye in. The structure itself ultimately becomes a strength – to tell this rambunctious story neatly wouldn't have been nearly as effective. So it is a slight disappointment when the novel fails to end where it should, and breaks with its own structure to lead us into that rather tired territory in which a character who gathers up the pieces of the story within the novel reveals himself to have the pen name "Shehan Karunatilaka".)
- Sidin Vadukut (The book is not without its gimmicks. There are a few towards the end that are particularly laboured. And there are a few occasions where the dialogues seem too smart by half. But all good innings have room for a few hoicks over slip. And Chinaman is a Test match-winning innings-at-the-death watch-over-and-over-on-Youtube kind of a book.)
- Jim Morphy (After a long, meandering ride, and via a few literary tricks, the book arrives at Karunasena’s son, Garfield (winks all ’round, again), describing what it’s like to face his father’s idol from 22 yards. The sporting and personal stories have come together. All threads finish neatly, leaving the reader warm, satisfied, and with dozens of sporting clips to find on Youtube.)
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