This novel was not what I expected: I had imagined something closer to a memoir or a journalistic exploration of post-civil war Sri Lanka. Instead, A Passage North is a deeply introspective, philosophical meditation on time, memory, grief, and the lingering aftershocks of war. It was shortlisted for the 2021 Booker Prize.
The story follows Krishan, a young Tamil man who, after studying in Delhi, returns to live with his family in Colombo. Though he has also spent time working in development projects in the North, assisting Tamil communities devastated by the civil war, he remains acutely aware of the distance and privilege that circumstances have afforded him. He’s been both deeply affected by the war and also been at a remove, watching bombings on TV, obsessing over horrific political murders from the safety of his student housing.
The death of Rani, his grandmother’s caregiver, prompts a journey to her village in the North. This journey becomes both literal and metaphorical. Along the way, Krishan revisits painful memories, including a recently ended relationship with another student in India, whose absence continues to haunt him. Anjum seems to have chosen her activism, her destiny, over a more serious connection with him. The narrator also pores over Rani’s life and the trauma that has blighted it.
Arudpragasam weaves together themes of diaspora, survivor’s guilt, trauma, and cultural identity, all set against a backdrop of richly observed details such as death rituals and caste dynamics.
The book’s politics and philosophy are both deeply held and also fluid, tied to specific moments, people, and bodily experiences and expressions.
The novel balances moments of philosophical stillness with visceral accounts of wartime violence.
One word: meandering.
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