Anuk Arudpragasam

It begins with a message: a telephone call informing Krishan that his grandmother's former care-giver, Rani, has died in unexpected circumstances, at the bottom of a well in her village in the north, her neck broken by the fall. The news arrives on the heels of an email from Anjum, an activist he fell in love with four years earlier while living in Delhi, bringing with it the stirring of distant memories and desires. As Krishan makes the long journey by train from Colombo into the war-torn Northern Province for the funeral, so begins a passage into the soul of an island devastated by violence. Written with precision and grace, A Passage North is a poignant memorial for the missing and the dead, and a luminous meditation on time, consciousness, and the lasting imprint of the connections we make with others.

A Passage North

"A young man journeys into Sri Lanka's formerly war-torn north, and into a country's soul, in this searing novel of love and the legacy of war from the award-winning author of The Story of a Brief Marriage. "The closest we seem to get to the present are those brief moments we stop to consider the spaces our bodies are occupying, the warmth of the sheets in which we wake, the scratched surface of the window on a train taking us somewhere else..." A Passage North begins with a message: a telephone call informing Krishan, newly returned to Colombo, that his grandmother's caretaker, Rani, has died in unexpected circumstances--found at the bottom of the village well, her neck broken. The news coincides with the arrival of an email from Anjum, a woman with whom he had a brief but passionate relationship in Delhi a few years before, bringing with it the stirring of old memories and desires. As Krishan makes the long journey by train from Colombo into the war-torn northern province for the funeral, so begins an astonishing passage into the soul of a country. At once a meditation on love and longing, and an incisive account of the impact of Sri Lanka's civil war, this procession to a pyre "at the end of the earth" shines a light on the distances we bridge in ourselves and those we love, and the indelible imprints of an island's past. Anuk Arudpragasam's masterful novel is an effigy for the missing and the dead, and a vivid search for meaning, even amid tragedy"--

A Novel

THE PRESENT, WE assume, is eternally before us, one of the few things in life from which we cannot be parted. It over- whelms us in the painful first moments of entry into the world, when it is still too new to be managed or negotiated, remains by our side during childhood and adolescence, in those years before the weight of memory and expectation, and so it is sad and a little unsettling to see that we become, as we grow older, much less capable of touching, grazing, or even glimpsing it, that the closest we seem to get to the present are those brief moments we stop to consider the spaces our bodies are occupy- ing, the intimate warmth of the sheets in which we wake, the scratched surface of the window on a train taking us some- where else, as if the only way we can hold time still is by trying physically to prevent the objects around us from moving.

Might have set the bars too high but this book did not manage to meet my expectations. To quote the synopsis: "A young man journeys into Sri Lanka's war-torn north in this searing novel of longing, loss, and the legacy of war". But after I finished the feeling left behind was quite the opposite. 

The beginning was well written, the first paragraph alone already intrigues you but once you get through several few pages it felt more and more tedious to read. Each sentences and paragraphs are so long—one even took a whole page, and it becomes quite confusing to see where the writer is going with the idea. 

I expected more historical elements to it but what I got was lots and lots of contemplating; which is not bad per se and I do usually like books that delve into the character's mind and tries to untangle the threads that weave together a person's consciousness, but this one was just not it? 

The chapters that talk about the protagonist's grandma and her caretaker was interesting but the ones where he kept reminiscing about his ex was just so flat and boring (and honestly giving manic pixie dream girl vibes) I can't help but cringe all too many times. 

Trisa P

Might have set the bars too high but this book did not manage to meet my expectations. To quote the synopsis: "A young man journeys into Sri Lanka's war-torn north in this searing novel of longing, loss, and the legacy of war". But after I finished the feeling left behind was quite the opposite. 

The beginning was well written, the first paragraph alone already intrigues you but once you get through several few pages it felt more and more tedious to read. Each sentences and paragraphs are so long—one even took a whole page, and it becomes quite confusing to see where the writer is going with the idea. 

I expected more historical elements to it but what I got was lots and lots of contemplating; which is not bad per se and I do usually like books that delve into the character's mind and tries to untangle the threads that weave together a person's consciousness, but this one was just not it? 

The chapters that talk about the protagonist's grandma and her caretaker was interesting but the ones where he kept reminiscing about his ex was just so flat and boring (and honestly giving manic pixie dream girl vibes) I can't help but cringe all too many times. 

SHORTLISTED FOR THE BOOKER PRIZE • A young man journeys into Sri Lanka’s war-torn north in this searing novel of longing, loss, and the legacy of war from the author of The Story of a Brief Marriage. “A novel of tragic power and uncommon beauty.”—Anthony Marra “One of the most individual minds of their generation.”—Financial Times NAMED ONE OF THE BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR BY TIME AND NPR A Passage North begins with a message from out of the blue: a telephone call informing Krishan that his grandmother’s caretaker, Rani, has died under unexpected circumstances—found at the bottom of a well in her village in the north, her neck broken by the fall. The news arrives on the heels of an email from Anjum, an impassioned yet aloof activist Krishnan fell in love with years before while living in Delhi, stirring old memories and desires from a world he left behind. As Krishan makes the long journey by train from Colombo into the war-torn Northern Province for Rani’s funeral, so begins an astonishing passage into the innermost reaches of a country. At once a powerful meditation on absence and longing, as well as an unsparing account of the legacy of Sri Lanka’s thirty-year civil war, this procession to a pyre “at the end of the earth” lays bare the imprints of an island’s past, the unattainable distances between who we are and what we seek. Written with precision and grace, Anuk Arudpragasam’s masterful novel is an attempt to come to terms with life in the wake of devastation, and a poignant memorial for those lost and those still living.

Fraser Simons

The thoughts expressed by our protagonist here are absolutely sumptuous. I’m sure the show-don’t-tell crowd absolutely hate this novel, but I found absolutely riveting from the start. Interiority done right. And, most difficult to find of all, possibly, the articulation of a complex individual distilled into solely the most interesting processes. Meaning verisimilitude similarly handled well—not absolutely every human function for the sake of filling a page.

True, I often want a much more active plot, which this decidedly does not have. A Sri Lankan man heads North to see attend the funeral of his grandmothers caretaker. He also receives email from a former relationship with. What follows feels exactly in keeping with the tone and contours of the effects a death has on some individuals. He is ruminative and pensive, voicing thoughts he generally tramps down. Even the innocuousness of some of the journey felt slightly profound. Contemplating the personalities and lives of people driving, sometimes angrily, performatively stoking an inner spark before falling asleep, acquiescing to a banal existence. Red ants marching into the night. 

Honestly, if I’d read a physical copy of this I believe it would be tabbed and underlined. This is a case of—in stark contrast to Son of the House, which I just read—the author being interested in the same things that I am. My mind works similarly, I have the same/similar thoughts, and as a result the feeling of being connected to a person that never one grows, constantly shaped with every paragraph. 

There is, I feel, an understanding expressed for how memory works, what the effects of death can have on the interiority of a person, and the beauty in the specificity of a seemingly simple interaction, which is actually the stuff of life.

Maria-Stefania Popa

“There was something about twilight that heightened his anxiety, which brought it to the surface of his consciousness and made it palpable, as though with the gradual disappearance of the horizon the last hopes and promises of the day too were disappearing from view, another day coming and going with nothing to show for itself.”

Very interesting. I really appreciated the exploration of relationships and grief. The writing style isn't something I could say I prefer; it has a way of listing events and actions that makes my mind wander from the page. The shining glory of it is the observation of grief, loss, death and how relationships can evolve and dissipate.

A Passage North

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