Devika Brendon’s Novel ‘Aversion;’ Navigating Contemporary Sri Lanka, Seeking Calm in the Storm

Devika Brendon is an academic, teacher, reviewer and editor of English Literature whose first novel ‘Aversion’ was recently published. She is also a creative writer of poetry and prose, and her poems and short stories, and journalistic essays and articles, have been widely published in anthologies and journals in both print and digital media. In this exclusive e-mail interview with the Daily FT, Devika shares a wide array of thoughts, ranging from publishing her novel in multiple formats to her routine as an author.

What inspired the idea for your novel ‘Aversion’? 

The novel started in 2016/17 as a series of outbursts, which gradually became tempered into observations about contemporary Sri Lanka. Culture shock was part of it, as I had grown up in a different country; but I arrived – as it turned out – just at the start of a particularly challenging and turbulent time in the island’s history. So, the short pieces I jotted down were ways of venting and processing all the surges of response I was experiencing, to all the new complexities around me. But although they were standalone pieces, I began to see common patterns and threads tying them together.

I researched Dante’s three books, ‘The Inferno’, ‘Purgatorio’ and ‘Paradiso,’ explored Buddhist and Hindu mythology and spiritual beliefs and practices, and found Carl Muller’s novel ‘Colombo’ very inspiring. I was trying to work out how a person would navigate this world without becoming caught in the tumult of it. The artist who designed the cover captured this idea perfectly.

‘Aversion’ means several things. It means primarily the oppositional stance that many people feel compelled to take, especially these days, where interpersonal conflict is everywhere. We have hostility towards the society we live in, and the people we deal with. And we feel constantly triggered. Taking an instant dislike to someone, hating something on sight, snap judgments, quick dismissal of another’s dignity, rights and inherent humanity, are all examples of this. ‘Aversion’ is actually one of the ‘3 Poisons’ that afflict humanity, according to Buddhist doctrine. It can also be read as ‘A version’, meaning recognising that each human being has their own perspective, or version of reality, to which they are very committed. That recognition is the beginning of empathy, and compassion, the bridging virtues, which are the remedies for aversion, which sets us at odds with each other.

Can you share with us one of your favourite scenes/lines in your novel ‘Aversion.’

 Possibly my favourite scene in the novel occurs towards the end of the story, in Chapter 26, the long final chapter, in a subtitled section called ‘Firewall’. The protagonist, an investigative journalist called Clementine, remembers an incident in which her niece, whom she adores, aged four years old, had climbed onto a high windowsill, and suddenly thrown herself into her arms without any warning. The shock of that moment, and the sense of relief that she was there, and able to stand firm in that moment, led the character to make an emotional link with the tragic recent deaths of young people in Colombo, which were being reported in the papers at the end of 2024.

The motif of the lotus, national flower of Sri Lanka, was an important symbol in the book, in various key scenes, and I nearly removed these references after the death of the student [the suicide widely reported on media] at the Lotus Tower last year. It was really heartbreaking.

What made you publish ‘Aversion’ in multiple formats (i.e. print, e-book form and audio book)? 

‘Aversion’ is an experimental novel, in many ways. It’s pluralist in form, incorporating prose fiction, journalistic style opinion pieces, poetry, and diary jottings. And it seems to me to be a novel which has a certain soundscape to it: reading the sentences aloud adds textures and dimensions to the incidents and images. It’s also an intergenerational book, in that people of all ages seem to find it interesting. The older readers and traditionalist book lovers like the printed form; but many people like to read in digital format on their tablets or phones, so we did an e-book version and released it on the Kobo site; and I did some voice recordings of the first and last chapters, which people really loved. So, we are looking into doing an audio version too.

As you write both poetry and fiction, do you find yourself going back and forth between the two genres? 

During lockdown, I wrote a lot of poetry. It was such a hugely disrupted period: everything felt unanchored and unmoored, and the lyrical intensity of poetry was easier to formulate, to capture discontinuous moments in time. For prose writing, particularly a novel, I found it challenging to develop sequential rhythms and continuing character arcs and storylines. I have written several short stories and even a play, but never a full novel, prior to this. And it’s a very didactic novel in some ways, and the characters needed to mediate that for the reader.

To me, the difference between writing poetry and prose is the difference between a fireworks explosion and the slow, subtle unfolding of a lily. One needs pressure. The other needs time.

Do you have a writing/editing routine?

 My writing routine is now very satisfying. I spend the first half of the day intaking information from various sources, cogitating, pondering, and then flowing into writing. I don’t take calls or get into chats in that early part of the day. Or I try not to. It’s an introspective period. Whatever appointments I have, I try to set for the early afternoon. Then in the evening, I come out of my shell, and am more social and outgoing. But I try to get to sleep early. I love sunrises, and like to see them. I have friends in different time zones, so that means someone somewhere is usually up for a chat at any time. I very much revel in the interconnectedness of our digital, technologised world!

Finally, what are your future plans as an author? 

 I have absolutely loved writing this book, and I have several more in draft, all in different genres. While ‘Aversion’ is a medley of genres, the others are more clearcut. The second one, ‘His Sometime Daughter’, is set in ancient Britain, and is a revisionist historical tale; the third, ‘Largesse,’ has a plus size heroine dealing with a narrowing world, and is set in 1990s Australia; ‘Hard to Love’ is a full blown romance story set in Iceland; and ‘Black Death’ is a thriller set in London and the cut throat world of real estate. I’ve decided to let the stories show me the way, and take me where they want me to go!

‘Aversion’ is available for sale in Sri Lanka.

There are physical printed copies of Aversion available, several of them signed by the author, at the office of Jam Fruit Tree Publications, Colombo 3 (https://thejamfruittree.com/). Purchases made online can be delivered locally.


To purchase the e-book, please visit the following link:

https://www.kobo.com/ww/en/ebook/aversion-2

The audio version of ‘Aversion’ will be available soon.

Devika Brendon’s Aversion

Devika Brendon’s Aversion is a fearless literary debut that defies genre and convention. A longtime academic, teacher and editor of English Literature, Brendon steps into fiction with the same sharp empathy and intellectual rigor that have long defined her work. Blending satire, magical realism, poetry, journalism and diary, Aversion follows a disillusioned investigative journalist navigating a fractured Sri Lanka, one far removed from the postcard paradise often portrayed abroad. With each fragmented chapter, Brendon’s protagonist confronts both public disorder and private turmoil, slowly moving from cynicism to clarity. The novel’s nonlinear structure mirrors the disjointed nature of life in a nation caught between collapse and hope. Aversion is more than a critique. It is a reckoning, a meditation on survival, and ultimately, a plea for empathy. In this conversation, Brendon opens up about her writing process, inspirations, and how fiction can challenge complacency and illuminate truth.

“Aversion” began as a series of outbursts. How did those raw expressions evolve into a structured narrative?

Each of the 26 chapters centres on an incident or issue, whether in the news, in public or in a personal setting. The protagonist, an investigative reporter, experiences frustration or bewilderment as she observes these moments. Her role demands constant observation and reporting, but the people she encounters, including social workers, activists and citizens committed to change, gradually challenge her initial aversion. The narrative began to take shape when these secondary characters started having real conversations with her. The book became what is known as a récit, a narrative built from recollection and anecdote. As the story progresses, the protagonist also begins to write poetry and explore her thoughts in more fluid ways. The structure is discontinuous, designed to reflect how life feels in contemporary Sri Lanka, chaotic, intense and fragmented. Drafting added polish, but I wanted to preserve the rawness because sometimes the gloss can obscure the truth.

You draw on Dante, Buddhist and Hindu mythologies, and even Carl Muller’s work. What connects these diverse influences?

The common thread is the journey, each individual navigating their own path through complexity. The title Aversion touches on a key source of suffering, our instinct to avoid pain and uncomfortable truths. In Sri Lanka, as elsewhere, people often mask reality with smooth surfaces. But I wanted to explore what lies beneath, what we don’t say, don’t face or can’t bear. We are interconnected. Our actions and inactions affect others. The book’s sharpest satire targets those who act not just with ignorance but with deliberate callousness. There’s a quote I love: “God lives in the way you don’t look away.” It resonates deeply. It is hard to stay engaged with suffering and cruelty because we are all exhausted. But the best people I know stay connected. They try. That spirit fuels the novel’s moral spine.

You weave together fiction, journalism, poetry and diary. What were the freedoms and the challenges of this hybrid form?

It is definitely a medley. Writing in this form felt like a liberation. It allowed me to portray a protagonist whose growth unfolds in many tones, serious, tender, chaotic, witty. But yes, it might challenge readers expecting a conventional single-tone novel. Aversion is more mosaic than monolith. It is made of coloured fragments, and you need imagination and awareness to piece them together. The hybrid form mirrors real life. We don’t live in one genre. We oscillate between roles, professional, personal, poetic, political.

How do you balance introspection with outward engagement, both in your writing and your daily life?

It is always a struggle, but a necessary one. Extremes don’t help. We must find a rhythm between private reflection and public action. I try to pace myself, to maintain checks and balances. Mindful action is ideal, though spontaneity gives us life. You have to come out of your shell. One doesn’t want to remain a beautiful dreamer forever. Progress, both personal and collective, requires real-world engagement. In that sense, Aversion is also a record of learning to balance these aspects.

Your next books include historical fiction, romance, thrillers and even a children’s series. What drives this genre fluidity?

I am an explorer by nature. I grew up reading across genres with enormous pleasure. Now I want to try expressing my own stories in those fields. The next book is historical fiction, set in King Lear’s Britain, and draws on trauma recovery and interpersonal dynamics. Another is set in the Australia where I grew up. Then there is a love story that travels between Ireland and Iceland, its heroine is named Lara, because her parents loved Dr. Zhivago. I am also working on a satirical thriller set in London’s ruthless property market and adapting a children’s story I wrote years ago into a series. Until now, I have mainly written short stories and poetry. Now I am deeply interested in character development. I want to create people who feel alive, not just like caricatures. The joy is in watching them evolve, how they speak, what they wear, what they will 
do next.

You’ve mentioned the difference between writing short stories and novels. Could you expand on that?

Short stories are like condensed crystals. Every word carries weight. Novels are different. They offer a larger canvas. You have space to let characters unfold and let the story breathe. In a novel, you can explore inner change over time. That’s what fascinated me in Aversion, watching the protagonist move from anger to awareness. The pace and process of change became central to the story.

What has the audience response been like? Have reactions surprised you?

The responses have been deeply moving. Many readers have told me the book jolted them in a good way.
Some highlights:
“Full of dark humor… a wake-up call 
to everyone lulled by the island breeze.”
“It slapped me a few times because 
I saw myself in it and that’s what good 
writing does.”
“It invites confrontation, ‘come at me, bro’ energy, and that’s kind of badass.”
“A very honest portrayal of the dark core of SL beyond the gloss and shine shared 
on SM.”
These reactions reassure me that the novel’s confrontation with truth, however messy or uncomfortable, resonates.

Finally, what do you hope Aversion leaves readers with?

I hope it leaves readers with compassion, with courage and with a willingness to look more deeply at the world, at others and at themselves. Aversion does not pretend to have neat solutions. But it insists on presence, on engagement and on being awake. That is the first step toward healing. And maybe even joy.

Aversion is more than a novel. It is an artistic reckoning. In blending truth with fiction, satire with sincerity, Devika Brendon has created a work that dares readers to see beyond illusion and inertia. It asks difficult questions and offers no easy answers. But in doing so, it illuminates something essential, the power of attention, of honesty and of narrative itself.

Aversion: Navigating A Nation’s Tumultuous Tides

Devika Brendon grew up in a rich literary environment. Her parents shared a deep love for literature, and her late mother, Yasmine Gooneratne, was a renowned Sri Lankan writer and academic. When she and her brother were young, Devika’s mother used to read epic-stirring adventure tales to them, which really got their imagination engaged. “In our house, every room had bookshelves and it was a problem every time we had to move. It was obvious that my parents loved words, and loved literature, and therefore I was also immersed in it,” said Devika. When she was about seven years old, Devika started trying to write by herself. Not many people were doing that at her age, so it was something that her teachers really promoted and encouraged. Today, Devika Brendon is the author of Aversion published by The Jam Fruit Tree Publications. Her poetry, and short stories have been widely published in Australia, India, and Sri Lanka, but this debut novel of hers holds special significance, drawing deeply from the author’s meaningful experiences in Sri Lanka over the past eight years.

“Every single thing in the novel is based on something that actually either happened to me, or that someone trustworthy has told me, or is something that I witnessed happening to other people,” said the author. The protagonist is an investigative reporter who spends her entire time going out and looking at things through the eye of investigative criticism or scrutiny. Her character arrives in Sri Lanka for work, and in the beginning she is seen to be overwhelmed by the chaos. At the beginning of the story, Devika wanted her to be a confronting, hostile and extremely unappealing person. “A journalist is supposed to be unbiased and objective, and any journalist would tell you that this is extremely difficult to do. But it’s part of your training to go past your first emotive response. To step back, look at the big picture, look at the historical context, look at the economic context, and look at all the factors that are happening to the people,” says Devika. ‘Therefore at the beginning, what’s really interesting is that the protagonist is trained that way. But when she comes here, the reality of Sri Lanka throws her and she responds like a child.’

But gradually and slowly, the protagonist begins to engage with people who are doing good work and consciously trying to uplift society. She learns to admire and befriend them. She begins to see beneath the surface of things and starts looking at the causes of why people might be reacting the way they do. She has to set aside her own emotive filter and develop empathy and compassion instead of contempt and judgment. “It takes a while for an interaction to occur, whether it’s between people or between a person and a country. So it takes her a while to start interacting with the country, because she was in a very hostile and defensive position at the beginning. I wanted the readers to be put off by her and then to stay to see her transformation,” says the author.

On a simple level, Devika wanted to see whether anybody feels the way she did. Her intention was to get people to start thinking how Sri Lanka might look, to someone who just met it. Not someone who’s been living here forever and has glossed over it. “That’s where my perspective comes in because I’m an outsider. When I came here, I had culture shock, and I was looking at everything askance, and I was hoping this diasporic perspective would be useful. I’m not an expat, I never intended to return, but I found the whole experience to be very interesting and very revelatory. I also discovered aspects of myself that I never discovered before in Australia,” explained the author.

She feels that as human beings, and particularly in Sri Lanka, we tend to amplify the bad things and add on to all the gossip and news we hear. We tend to add layers upon layers, with our opinions and comments, making things worse and creating a sense of debilitation. But this doesn’t offer remedies or solutions, and it definitely doesn’t offer support to the victims. What the author suggests is that we could rethink this whole cultural attitude. “It’s the same with my protagonist, her voice at the beginning isn’t God’s voice, it’s only her opinion. And her opinion can be flawed and biased, and she is also on a journey of personal growth. This adding-on of trauma when a terrible incident occurs gets amplified over and over again, until it becomes sort of a juggernaut. And afterwards there is this terrible silence,” said Devika. “I was trying to show a story of contemporary Sri Lanka where there is a remedy for the wrong we are witnessing. The remedy doesn’t come from outside us, the remedy comes from each person choosing to decide not to further the offense and to weigh up their cause of action. Are they going to lighten the load or increase it?”

Devika explains how it creates an opportunity for an alternative response, if we can consciously resolve not to get triggered by what is presented to us, and instead observe if there is a pattern, and see if there’s something we could suggest. She also added how blowing issues out of proportion and making the trauma a phenomenon or sensation doesn’t spread awareness about the issue. In fact it does the opposite of it. Awareness requires looking within and deeper and she believes that can’t happen when we are overwhelmed by the noise on social media.

The protagonist in the novel also experiences burnout from writing about these horrifying stories constantly. The author wanted to show how you need to take a break and understand that it is not only human suffering that needs to be witnessed. There’s also beauty, there’s unexpected joy, and there’s kindness. “It is kind of addictive to be that person who is always making sarcastic comments and showing how they are better than other people because they aren’t following the crowd. But ultimately it’s very isolating, because you are missing out on other people and the wholeness of life. You can choose to be more fluid, you can choose to be more open. My protagonist starts off comparing what she sees of the country to hell, but later realises that it is more of a testing ground. Are people going to be haters? Or are they going to be builders?” asks Devika. She explains how one can’t be a hater and also a builder. To be constructive, you have to work with the people, actually talk to them, listen and understand where they are coming from.

According to the author, one of the major themes in this book is misogyny. There’s quite a few chapters that illustrate the oppression of women and the subjugation of women. Devika, who co-founded the End Sexual Violence Now (ESVN) group which raises awareness of the violence against women, believes that this has really held the country back. Since her protagonist feels compelled to engage with these issues, in her mind she questions, isn’t Sri Lanka supposed to be a socialist country? Aren’t we supposed to be defending the rights of the vulnerable? Devika notes how there’s a difference between what people say the country should be, and the way the country is, and that difference is unfortunately a tragic difference. But it can be and should be changed, not dismissed as it is what it is. “I wanted to challenge people to think about what we see when we hold a mirror up to Sri Lanka. It’s fascinating to me when people say that my book is very critical of the country. The fact that you want something to be better and can see that it could be better is a loving vision to me,” said the author. She also believes that Sri Lankans are naturally very critical about their country because they feel instinctively that there’s so much talent and potential, and it sickens everybody to see that being wasted. But she highlighted that this criticism has to be constructive, and not just noise which is counter-productive.

Coming up with a title for her book was interesting because she was trying to work out what all these different incidents she wanted to write about have in common. And it was all about the incredible oppositional and argumentative attitude of people. Then she found out that there was a word for it, which is ‘Aversion’. Devika explained how she is really advocating certain Buddhist virtues through her book including mindfulness and equanimity. In fact, ‘Aversion’ itself is one of the three poisons of human character, and they defile our nature. The remedy for it is Metta which is love and kindness. She later realised that it was the perfect title, because the opposite of angry judgment, contempt and disdain is love and kindness.

The book came out as ‘a series of outbursts’ for Devika. It’s a discontinuous narrative and she chose to write it like that. Therefore it has different kinds of writing in it such as outburst poetry, and notes on opinion pieces. She wanted that to reflect how it felt like to live here, since to her, Sri Lanka on any given day seems full of abrupt moments with a level of chaos which has become normalized. There is not a chronological timeline for Aversion, since she wanted to show how it feels for the character: everything coming at her, in a random and mythic way. Not one thing after another, but often all at once. She also explained how in Sri Lanka, often what happens today has roots in history, so what you see on the surface, in real time, has complex roots and history. “I didn’t even know what kind of genre this book is when I was writing it. But then I realised that this book fits the definition of a récit very well. It’s people reciting stories. It enabled me to step back and look at it with a little bit of detachment. As I was developing her character, I began to see that all of us are carrying a lot of depth, everyone, even people who seem at first to be shallow and lacking in dimension,” she said.

Devika’s mother gave her some advice about the first draft, which she was able to read before she passed away last year. “She told me that this is a very didactic, idea-oriented book, and it would benefit the story if I introduced some sympathetic characters who were able to befriend the protagonist and speak with her,” the author said. Devika did follow her advice and introduced several characters in her book. It progressed well, but it’s the first time she created characters over a long sequence of chapters. Therefore the character building, the act, the arc of a character’s development, was an exciting challenge for her.

Devika’s friend and colleague, Kaviru Samarawickrama, listened to her talking about the book, and illustrated the cover for her book. The author explained how the image Kaviru created perfectly envisions what she wanted to say. In the foreground, there is the raging sea, which represents the suffering of the present moment. But beyond that is a calm starry night without any disturbance at all. But the artist has given far more proportion to the surging torrent, because that’s the task we experience each day, which is to navigate through that and not get lost, aiming to ultimately reach serenity. “The stars were used to navigate by sailors when they were travelling the seas, and their positions are significant in our birth charts, so we should try not to be guided by lower things. If you really want to move forwards, you need to look up and aspire to something higher. Not in terms of living on the 55th floor of an apartment building, but rather elevating yourself and growing into a better vision of what you could be,” explained the author.

When the book came out, Devika recalled feeling really excited to the point where she couldn’t stop holding it. She says: “I carry a copy of it everywhere I go. I still can’t quite believe it, because it was in my head for so long, and now it’s out in the world. I honestly feel like we are at a turning point in Sri Lanka but it is really important how we proceed, as a country, now. So I wanted to add my book into that conversation. I believe each individual should decide for themselves and inspire collective action. We are all works in progress and we are all the product of what we experience.”

The Art of Collecting

A discussion at a collector’s home: 

L-R, Azara Jaleel, Niloo Jayatilake and Thinushka de Soysa

On June 29, ARTRA Magazine hosted a very interesting discussion on the subject of Art Collecting. It took the form of an informal panel discussion, with the Editor of ARTRA, Azara Jaleel, interviewing Niloo Jayatilake and Thinushka de Soysa, both from the finance and corporate sphere and both art collectors, interested in the way the acquisition and holding of original artworks by Sri Lankan artists helps build culture and community, as well as increasing awareness and recognition of the tremendous creativity in this country.

The discussion was hosted in the home of a private collector, where guests could walk around and view the artworks as they hung on the walls, or were placed in specific viewing areas. There had been several ‘Artist Walks’ held here at different times during the week, during which contemporary artists led a group through a viewing of their work, discussing their influences, their themes, their choice of medium, and their artistic process and creative journey.

The aim of the discussion was to offer insight into the world of art creation and acquisition: the fascinating process by which the work of a creative artist starts to become publicly known, recognised and valued, both monetarily and culturally.

The two speakers, in interaction with Azara, unfolded several aspects of this cultural landscape, one of them pointing out that it was only relatively recently that she had begun to consider herself a ‘collector’. She had grown up alongside several artists, as childhood friends, and had begun to purchase their work early in their careers. These works, bought decades ago, are now very valuable. But she highlighted that the joy she gains from seeing these works in her home, and resonating with her as part of her daily life, is the real measure of their value to her.

Artists become widely known through exhibiting their works. So the artistic community, and the interpersonal connections created and sustained within that community, are very significant. Friends and supporters become investors, and the owners of galleries and public spaces, as well as the curators of public art spaces which display artworks and showcase creatives, play an important role in the artist’s work becoming viewed as part of the culture in which it is created.

Organizations centred on promoting the work of specific artists, like the George Keyt Foundation, which celebrates the vibrant work of Sri Lanka’s most well known painter, and the Sapumal Foundation, which highlights the work of the ‘43 Group’, hold public viewings, and exhibitions, and fundraising events, throughout each year. The proceeds from these not only maintain the existing collections, but also help encourage and support young artists who are just starting out.

In the recent past, Udayshanth Fernando was one of the earliest promoters of young artists, by displaying and selling their artworks at Gallery Cafe for a few weeks at a time. Thereafter, his daughter Saskia set up an art gallery which does the same thing. Saskia has gone beyond her father with her annual KALA, where artists from here and South Asia come over to exhibit their works and talk about them. Both galleries are live and active, raising awareness and recognition of the works of art.

Azara pointed out in her discussion what an incredible growth has been taking place in recent years, among contemporary Sri Lankan artists, and that this shows positive progress and growth in the country’s cultural trajectory, as well as being a visible measure of its economic recovery and increased productivity.

The need is very clear to methodically facilitate the development of inter-generational interest and knowledge about the contemporary art world, and the past 100 years of work by Sri Lankan artists.

Viewing an artwork, the product of the creative vision of a fellow human being, is a repeating joy, and a source of inspiration and solace. Sometimes the subject matter of a painting or sculpture can be provocative, or prompt self reflection, and sometimes an artist can cause us to look anew at familiar sights, or think more deeply about political and social events which powerfully shape our lives, and the history of the country in which we live.

The companies in the corporate world who actively support the Sri Lankan creative sphere, such as the John Keells Group, and the Fairway Group, are displaying the works of contemporary painters not only in their board rooms but in public spaces. The Fairway Hotel, in Colombo, for example, showcases the work of Anoma Wijewardene on its walls.

The Galle Literary Festival, over the years, has also featured visual artists and the relatively new Ceylon Literary Festival, now in its second year, is also actively doing this, not only in one city, but in regional areas as well, aiming to make such events accessible to all.

The opportunity for artists to talk about their work, and participate in discussions about creativity in general, and their specific creative journeys, facilitated by groups and institutions dedicated to the creative arts, like AOD, the Academy of Design, and big hotels like the Cinnamon Group, which regularly offer their vibrant spaces to display the artworks, is also an opportunity for the public to gain insight and appreciation into the work process and artistic products of the remarkable creative talents who live and work amongst us.