Interview With Devika Brendon, re: Her New Novel ‘Aversion’. By Ifham Nizam, of The Island

Exploring Contemporary Sri Lanka – Your novel captures the turbulence of contemporary Sri Lanka. Were there specific historical or political events that particularly shaped the narrative?

In the last 8 years, the period during which I was writing sections of this novel, the entire world has become turbulent. So many systems and processes and values and relationships we all seemed to take for granted have been completely and often violently overturned, globally. Chaos seems to be the daily norm. So what began as a personal response to a specific country opened into a more universal consideration: how do we as human beings navigate the abrupt breakdown of what we thought was true, and real, and reliable? The global pandemic made this the universal question all of us faced. Could our infrastructure, both personal and national, handle the challenges and the crises of everyday life in the 21st century?

 

Influence of Dante and Mythology – You mentioned drawing inspiration from Dante’s Inferno, Buddhist and Hindu mythology, and Carl Muller’s Colombo. How did these influences shape your storytelling style and character development?

Dante’s Divine Comedy - and specifically the Nine Circles of Hell from The Inferno - were concepts that often came to mind as I watched the news every day, and shaped the way I saw the characters in the landscape around me. This is where the magical realism element came in: Colombo to me became a kind of theatre, a series of performance spaces in which people enacted their stories. Under the gloss and the sheen of the city, there are scenes of real horror, as Carl Muller’s book indelibly shows, but also moments of great beauty and tenderness. My protagonist begins the story with no understanding of what she sees: she judges people on face value, without knowing their histories. As she begins to engage with the people she works with, who are trying to uplift the country in a number of ways, she sees that many people act out of a sense of torment that they carry: frustration, fear and anger. They are suffering, and their actions are formed out of that suffering. If they have no self awareness, they could ricochet forever in the circles of hell, exchanging one situation of torment for another, and never emerge. She begins to develop empathy, and compassion.

The troubled person cannot help others, and if we respond to things that happen in anger, which is easy to do, we often burden others or make situations worse. So a study of Buddhist scriptures and Hindu mythology showed me that to really grow, a person needs to stop reacting to everything that occurs, but rather step back and observe. Try not to rush in with hasty assumptions or biases. Try not to carry grievances. Try to see under the surface of what is happening with people, and what they present. Respect the equivalent self of the other, rather than project onto them. Then the surging sea, the suffering of the human condition, in which we are all caught, stops at the threshold and does not enter the space where we reside.

 

Interpersonal Conflict and Aversion – Your novel explores aversion as both a personal and societal issue. Do you believe social media has amplified this tendency in modern society?

Aversion is the feeling of almost automatic opposition we feel towards people and situations. Interestingly, a constant state of irritation, and being easily triggered, are signs of stress, and anxiety. These are sharply on the rise in our society and the wider world, and definitely there is a correlation between the onset of this escalation and the increased use of social media. People are caught in a web of interpersonal conflict and complexity, being impacted by what they see and read, from the moment they open their technological devices, each day. Conflict and differences of opinion have been weaponised, very strategically, and many people today live a hybrid life, with a lot of communication going on in the virtual spaces of digital technology, and our capacity to relate in physical interaction being drained. The building of real community, meaningful communication and human connection across the various divides is the only real remedy for this estrangement and isolation.

Symbolism of the Lotus – The lotus motif plays a key role in Aversion. Did your interpretation of this symbol evolve throughout the writing process?

The lotus with its multiple petals represents awakening and blossoming consciousness. The roots of the lotus nurture the flower, which flowers in muddy waters. This can be seen around us on multiple levels: beauty and grace emerging unexpectedly from dark circumstances; the human being transforming themselves into a more elevated and enlightened entity through the effort of inner exploration and self nurturing; the citizens of the nation itself showing such strength and capacity to continue to live and hope, and encourage each other amidst difficult circumstances. To blossom in life requires respect for our roots, and mindfulness. The lotus to me symbolizes all this.

Experimental Narrative Style – Your book blends prose fiction, opinion pieces, poetry, and diary entries. Did you face challenges in maintaining coherence across these different styles?

The story emerged in a series of outbursts, in response to various diverse events, at different times between 2016 and 2024, and it was actually fascinating to lay the sections out at the end of the process, and see the connections glimmering and gleaming and glinting between the segments. It felt as though I was stitching pieces together on a sewing table. There are 26 chapters, each subdivided into shorter parts. I tried to match like with like, but not in too neat a way. I wanted a slight asymmetry, so certain elements sparkled, when viewed at certain angles - like the stars on the cover!

Audio Book Experience – You mentioned that Aversion has a unique soundscape. How did you approach narrating your own work, and what challenges did you encounter in bringing it to life through audio?

There’s a dreamlike quality to some of the scenes in the book: the words convey at times the motions of the sea, of the dancing at clubs and in parades, of joy and sorrow. So when narrating the audio, I tried to sense those feelings intuitively, rather than intellectually, and portray the way the narrator finds them flowing through her. She tends to use her intellect in her work to try and cut life into manageable parts; so it’s interesting to feel the irrepressible energy of the country filtering through her defences.

One of my favourite scenes ends with a question that is not answered. It’s a moment of high tension for the protagonist. I didn’t feel the need to show what happened next.

Transition from Poetry to Prose – You compared poetry to a fireworks explosion and prose to the slow unfolding of a lily. Did you find yourself naturally drawn to one form more than the other while writing Aversion?

I felt that it was easy to intersperse one with the other. Situations faced by the characters in the book and in life call for both reason and feeling, a duality, and the story shifts accordingly, in step with the movement of the action. So much of our lives goes on in our minds: what we think, what we believe, what we remember, and hold onto; and what we forget and release. It’s like the flow of a dance, a sequence of yoga or the beginning of a sung Chalisa. The ideas begin and the story rises like a slow tide, and the mind is like a drum, finding the rhythm and the energy that the words attempt to convey.

Writing Routine and Discipline – You described a structured writing routine. How do you handle creative blocks, and do you have any specific rituals to get back into the flow of writing?

I find that creative energy and productivity is very much determined by physical health and well-being. We learn if we are most productive in the morning or the evening, and we learn how to pace ourselves to maximise our joy. The creative blocks for me are usually caused by too many projects coming in at the same time, and colliding deadlines cause paralysis. Clear boundary setting is needed, not only with incoming demands or concerns, but within ourselves. If things feel stacked up, only we can unstack them, and recalibrate our schedules to serve our workflow. Twelve minute stretches are an excellent break, throughout a working day. So is doing something that needs to be done like washing or sweeping or tidying a space in the home. Clearing the space in which we live is a calming sort of mindfulness.

Upcoming Projects – You have multiple books in progress, each in a different genre. How do you shift between writing styles and maintain distinct voices for each project?

I don’t consciously strategize it. I drafted all the 5 books as concepts in point form and affixed certain visual images to each. Then I live my life, and whichever book landscape appeals to me at that time, I visit with that, dividing my time more or less equally until one pushes itself forward and takes over. That’s what happened with this book.

Advice for Aspiring Writers – Given your experience as an author and editor, what advice would you give to aspiring writers, especially those navigating multiple literary forms like you?

Get a lot of rest; avoid burnout; and do as much active, detailed research as you can into the contexts in which you are writing. Worldbuilding starts with curiosity. Read a lot, watch a lot of movies, intake information - but not only from manmade sources. Absorb the energy of life around you, see how each being tries to move towards its fulfillment, each in its own way.

 

Opportunity Costs: Identity Politics and Sri Lankan Diaspora Writing

The Asian Literary Society (ALS) facilitated a Forum at The National Library in Colombo on May 7th. The convenors invited a range of academics, scholars, journalists, and creative writers, to discuss a timely and relevant topic: ‘How far do we adhere to our roots? Exploring literature, language and cultural heritage of Sri Lanka’.

ALS is a platform established in 2017 to celebrate and support Asian literary arts and indigenous languages. It operates in the international digital sphere, and in the last year has organised physical events, which they call ‘Caravan’ events, in several Asian countries, to celebrate the literature of each country. The recent event held in Colombo was the ALS Caravan 2025 Forum, and it comprised a panel discussion, poetry readings, and the awarding of prizes in the ALS Caravan 2025 Poetry Contest, for poems offered in all 3 main languages of Sinhala, English and Tamil.

ALS has members in over 100 countries, and almost 25,000 active followers on Facebook, encouraging members to share articles, poems and short stories which are relevant to Asian art, literature and culture. The community ALS is creating is inclusive, intergenerational and diverse. Young and emerging writers are welcomed to participate and engage with the work of established authors and teachers, and this forum facilitates mentoring which is a vital component of building literary culture.

The venue for the ALS Caravan Forum was the Main Auditorium, at the National Library and Documentation Services Board, in Colombo. The Chief Guest was Dr. Rajiva Wijesinha, writer and former MP, the Guests of Honour included Professor Ankuran Dutta from the High Commission of India, Mr. W. Sunil, Director General of the National Library and Documentation Services Board, and Dr. Bina Gandhi, Deputy Director of the SAARC Cultural Centre, and Distinguished Guests were Dr. Ratna Sri Wijesinghe, Chairman of the National Library and Documentation Services Board, and Professor Emeritus Walter Perera of Peradeniya University, who was also invited to be the Chairperson of the Panel.

The focus of the Panel was a discussion about adhering to our roots, as writers. This is a topic of interest for Sri Lankan writers, who are born into diverse ethnic and religious communities, and who as a broad category now also comprise writers who have emigrated to other countries, who have studied, worked and lived in Australia, the USA, Canada and the U.K., amongst other countries, and who identify as part of the diaspora Sri Lankan community.

Dr. Vivimarie Vanderpoorten, Senior Lecturer in English and Linguistics at the Open University, commenced discussion by pointing out that cultural identity these days is a fluid concept. It is not solely determined by where you are born or grow up. We all have unique relationships to the nation and of Sri Lanka, its history and culture, and its society, determined by our own personal and familial experience of the country in the timeline of its formative events.

Shankari Chandran, for example, born in the U.K., identifies herself as a ‘Tamil Australian’ author on her website. She was educated in Australia and lives and works in Australia, and was recently awarded Australia’s Miles Franklin Literary Prize. She has been open in interviews about her complex relationship with both Australia and her Tamil family’s experience of Sri Lanka. The subject matter of her books contains references to both countries and the lived experiences of generations of her family in both cultures.

https://lithub.com/miles-franklin-winner-shankari-chandran-on-defining-australianness/

Michael Ondaatje, in ‘Anil’s Ghost’, was criticized for writing a book set in Sri Lanka and dealing with its recent history at the time of publication, when he had emigrated to Canada decades before. It seemed to matter a great deal to Sri Lankan local authors that anyone writing about contemporary Sri Lanka should be physically domiciled here, and have viscerally lived through the events they portray in their fiction. If they had not suffered, as part of the country, they should not speak about it.


Some commenters went so far, in the social media discussions that have had such a strong impact on literary culture in Sri Lanka, as to suggest that anyone who had chosen to emigrate to another country should not write about the country they had left behind, as if their roots were severed, or should be severed, as a sort of penalty for their choice to live and work elsewhere. Even within Sri Lanka, if a writer living in Colombo had not gone out into the field and lived in the war zones, lost family members or been directly affected by the tsunami, could their fictional narratives of the recent war or the natural disaster of 2004/5 really be taken at all seriously? Research is part of the answer to that rhetorical question; but surely the other part is imaginative empathy, essential to the creation of any truly great literature.

Whether diaspora writers have a right to stand up and be counted as Sri Lankan writers is a contentious subject, as the reasons for the mass exodus of Sri Lankans from the country over the past few decades have been socio-economic, and the inevitable consequence of war, austerity, economic frustration and diminishing productivity, and those who had the opportunity to go abroad and study and work abroad were usually the more likely to be English educated. In fact, many countries today demand English proficiency as part of their immigration admission criteria into their country.

The spectre of the post-Independence Sinhala Only legislation of the late 1950s, which was not directly raised in this discussion, hovered over us as we discussed the diversities of words and breadth of meaning in the Sinhala language, as illustrated by Dr. Dhammika Jayasinghe, and Dr. Ramola Rassool. We were charmed when Dr. Kamala Wijeratne, having explored the complexities of the ‘Russian Doll’ layered identities of race, religion, region and caste built into our very names, referred to the well known children’s song ‘Me Gahe Boho’, which many of us from all communities had heard sung in our childhood.

The cultural focus on the Sinhala language which is evident in Sri Lanka makes sense politically in its context, in the need to cultivate national pride, post-Independence, but in 2025 it is clear that short-sightedly relegating English and Tamil to secondary status for the last 70 years has resulted in the talents and creative skills of many local writers being restricted in their impact to the borders of Sri Lanka. Not being taught English Language or Literature at an excellent level from a young age in Sri Lanka has limited many writers in their 20s, 30s and 40s (and above) from reaching an international audience. This is a loss to the international literary community, not just the writers themselves. And an inevitable result is the hostility directed towards the English speaking elite, who are always perceived as differentially and unfairly advantaged.

https://www.dailymirror.lk/news-features/Sinhala-Only-in-retrospect/131-157978

The rise of the internet and the digital proficiency of the millennial generation since the early 2000s has to a great extent opened the borders of the imagination for readers and writers in contemporary Sri Lanka, who have access to computers and international English language and literature forums discussions, via digital media. Poets, short story writers, essayists and novelists are now not limited to entering the literary competitions available in Sri Lanka. Many international journals accept incoming contributions from all over the world, and so it is possible to be published widely in English speaking countries, as a local Sri Lankan author.

To encourage poetry submissions in all 3 languages, the ALS Caravan team appointed judges to assess contributions in all 3 languages, and all those poets whose contributions won recognition were awarded Certificates to commemorate the occasion.

 
It was noticeable that the entries in Tamil were fewer in number, and that reaching out actively to educators and members in the regional communities outside Colombo is vital to ensure that good representation is maintained, going forward.

Reconciliation after civil war and socio-political disruption is an ongoing process, and it is evident that many writers have been contending with unwanted challenges in recent years. For my part, as an outsider coming into the country 9 years ago, I was struck by the number of excellent women writers in Sri Lanka, and also by the way many of them had been unfortunately subjected to misogynistic stereotypes and verbal harassment after winning some of the few awards that were available to writers in this country.

Articulate and expressive women in South Asia are intersectionally discriminated against: both because of their gender and their race. By writing their stories, and articulating their narratives, they assert their right to occupy cultural space, and this seemed to be resented by many men, who saw themselves as disrespected and threatened and potentially excluded from the echelons they so wished to enter, and in which they sought acclaim.

It was clear that there was then, circa 2015, no objective reviewing culture in the literary sphere in Sri Lanka, and that the reviews of people’s work that were offered on social media were often biased, and based on personal viewpoints that would be considered inappropriate in both content and mode of expression, in other countries. Unfortunately, as it was in other spheres of this country, unacceptable and damaging conduct in the literary sphere had become normalized in the Sri Lanka of those times.

Certain people were even apparently designated ‘attack worthy’ and women writers in particular were critiqued not for the quality of their work, but for their appearance and their clothing, and even the elitist locales of their homes. These sneering attacks reached up to 20,000 followers on social media, and inevitably influenced the ideas of many impressionable writers in the country. Several writers stopped writing creatively after they were subjected to this sort of barrage, and our literary culture is poorer for the loss of their voices.

It is easy for perpetrators of such denigratory behavior to claim that they never intended their blogs or their FB posts or comments to be taken so seriously, yet that is how careers are built in the contemporary era, through approval ratings measured in sensationalist content, digital likes and follows. The older generation, operating in the sphere of print papers, formality, self-restraint and old school courtesy, had no idea of the impact and influence that could be wielded by proponents of social media in the literary sphere. Wielded carelessly or intentionally to cause harm, their unfiltered and often wilfully inflammatory commentary could cause lasting reputational damage.

The late Anne Ranasinghe the poet, praised for her work and efforts on behalf of literature in Sri Lanka by Dr. Rajiva Wijesinha in his opening remarks, had been attacked a decade ago when this low point in the culture was prevalent, in a ‘review’ of her work, where she had been accused of elitism and classism, in some of her poetic works set for the local English Syllabus. Looking at this and other critiques of that kind today, they seem to have been an attempt on the part of the authors to clear space in the Syllabus, and the literary culture as a whole, for local Sinhalese authors, by excluding people like Anne Ranasinghe, who was of European origin, although marrying and living her entire adult life in Sri Lanka.

Her socio economic status of relative privilege as the wife of a doctor also seemed to influence the writer of that review against her. It is easy, but also lazy, to claim that a person who is economically secure must also be blinded by their privilege, entitled and indifferent to human suffering, and to then view their writing through that lens of self-justifying moral contempt. Anne Ranasinghe, then in her eighties, threatened to sue the paper in which the review was published, for defamation, and reputational damage. To have your poetic works misunderstood, and written about as being damaging to the culture, and having an author suggesting that they should be thus removed from the national Syllabus, is surely an example of the impact of this kind of so called literary criticism. Under the aegis of ‘free speech’, some people felt empowered and free to express such opinions in the Democratic Socialist Republic of Sri Lanka, on social media, which seemed so informal, so ephemeral - but was, in fact, so impactful.

A truly vibrant Sri Lankan literary culture cannot be built on the indulgence of personal bias and perceived grievance, and self-serving, narrow definitions of race, gender, religion and class. People like Anne Ranasinghe who write in English because it is their primary language, seem to have often been looked at askance by local writers, who feel that they themselves are disadvantaged or disrespected in comparison: this grievance clearly being a residue, inevitable and pernicious, of the vicious colonialism to which the country was subjected.

The impact of identity politics operating to exclude or marginalise diaspora writers who have achieved public recognition encompasses writers as diverse as Nayomi Munaweera, and Michelle de Kretser, both highly awarded internationally, but the one often criticized for her ‘exoticism’, and the floridity of her fiction, and the other relatively little recognised or written about in Sri Lanka.

It is evident that we are short changing ourselves as a literary culture if we continue to narrow rather than expand our definitions of what we term ‘Sri Lankan’. To expand the metaphor of ‘roots’, which was suggested as the topic of this Panel, we could say that sometimes unsightly or unwanted emergence of elements which are part of the growth process must at times be cut back, to promote healthier flourishing at the root level, and good future growth and longevity.

On a personal note, I gather, from engaging with people from diverse communities here, that issues based on the facts of their birth into whatever physical form and social context into which they were born, profoundly shape their world view. The daily life of many people involves dealing with acts of random hostility and aggression, and derogatory accusations levelled at them, and they are therefore quite likely to misunderstand and misinterpret others.

I find Sri Lanka to be a vantage point from which I can process the bicultural life I’m now living. For the first time in my life since I was a very young girl, I am in a country where the majority of people look like me. The roots I have started to uncover are racial, ethnic, reconnecting with extended family, culinary, and artistic and creative - responding to a hugely contrasting tropical landscape, and the complex history of the country with its multiple strands and threads.

We grew up in Australia eating Sri Lankan food, reading traditional folk tales, and the Buddhist scriptures, listening to baila music, and going to the temple. The rhythms of SL music, the ornate jewellery and the lively conversations I have always loved, and the bright colours and the atmosphere of chaos, overwhelming at first, is like a vibrant cacophony and a mystic kaleidoscope. But I lost the Sinhala language. I can’t read it or write it. I’m learning Sinhala and Tamil only now. The written scripts are beautiful to my eye, and I am slowly understanding the rhythms and idioms used in daily life. I am impatient with my ignorance. I want to fill the gaps in my knowledge. It was my loss.

When we were kids, the chicken curry our fellow expatriates made for the Sunday lunch in Sydney was too ‘chilli hot’ for me. Now I have a bowl of green chillis next to my plate for my meals. I appreciate the less processed food here, and the fresh vegetables and fruits in profusion. It’s healthier. I haven’t watched television since I left Australia. Real life produces enough drama!

I feel that it would benefit Sri Lanka to be more inclusive in its appreciation of what constitutes Sri Lankan literature.

Many diaspora writers are not regarded as having a ‘right’ to write about SLan topics or themes, if they emigrated to other countries years ago, as punishment for being able to make a choice to live a life of greater opportunity. Their lesser recognition in their country of origin is an opportunity cost. But it’s a collective loss.

Photo credit: Grace Wickremasinghe

Some are seen as ‘exoticising’ SL to suit a Western audience, or catering to Western stereotypes, because they write in English, and live in the ‘First World’. Some are even seen as appropriating their own culture, focusing on aspects which will appeal to Western sensibilities, marketing their root culture for profit, skewing their history, parading stereotypes, exoticising their own personae.

I argue that a more inclusive, compassionate and less threatened and defensive approach to diaspora writers would be helpful in appreciating the complex journeys of immigration and cultural dislocation that Sri Lankan writers undergo in the globalized world of today. These disruptions produce a wealth of experience which are the source of rich content for writers of poetry and fiction.


If we collectively revision the way we view each other, as all being creative entities operating variously in a broad and diverse framework, we need not experience a breach, in which otherisation and hostility can operate, but instead create expansion, breadth and greater depth in Sri Lanka’s literary landscape.