On Manic Pixie Murdered Journalists and the Moons we've outlived: a review of The Seven Moons of Maali Almeida

Read With Me: October, 2022.

Disclaimer: reader discretion is advised. I do not advocate for themes discussed in books I review - I read a wide variety of fiction and non-fiction, for education and leisure. My views as a reader are my own, and not representative of any employer or organization. My reviews are biased by default, and will be heavily influenced by my code of ethics. You are free to click off where you please, and more than welcome to suggest books for reviewing :)

Book 1: The Seven Moons of Maali Almeida

Acclaim: Winner of the 2022 Booker Prize.

Rating: 4⭐️ / pg rating: 16+

Synopsis: Colombo, 1990. Maali Almeida, war photographer, gambler and closet gay, has woken up dead in what seems like a celestial visa office. His dismembered body is sinking in the Beira Lake and he has no idea who killed him. At a time when scores are settled by death squads, suicide bombers and hired goons, the list of suspects is depressingly long, as the ghouls and ghosts who around him can attest. But even in the afterlife, time is running out for Maali. He has seven moons to try and contact the man and woman he loves most and lead them to a hidden cache of photos that will rock Sri Lanka.

Genre: Metaphysical Thriller / Crime Fiction 

Themes discussed: Civil War, Homosexuality and Homophobia, After Life, Moral Dilemmas.

Review: 

I walked into this book much like I walk into most books: completely unaware of its content. Most often these impulsive decisions lead me to two varied conclusions:

a) I could hardly stomach the first few pages and I will never be picking this up again

or 

b) I'm forever changed

This time, the latter. Shehan Karunatilaka's mystical thriller, The Seven Moons of Maali Almeida is a brilliant, witty novel written on wet cement. And by that I mean, it's an attempt to write over a history that's yet to become a thing of the past. It travels relentlessly between satire and fact, a dangerous balancing act that could have gotten this mad genius of an author a nice white van adventure had it been released a decade earlier than it was. Which, I suppose, is a stamp of approval unlike no other. 

Maali is a peculiar narrator, which is to say he isn't much of a narrator at all, given that the book's P.O.V was entirely second person. A first for me as a reader, what with my aversion to anything but third person omniscient. Still, it fit. Better yet, it worked - in the last third, it was necessary. 

I love myself a good manic pixie dream protagonist and Maali is just that - a little less pixie, and a little more indecisive than manic. He flits between arrogant toerag and universal heartthrob almost as much as he lets the wind carry him places. If you haven't noticed, I'm trying to keep this review spoiler free because I despise spoilers more than I despise books written by Colleen Hover (if this turns you away from my review, be gone: I love a good romance, but I've had my fill of Wattpad retellings). 

First, I'd like to get the gigantic, yellow vindictive lion (no Elephants here) out of the way: this book is controversial. It is riddled with controversy and dipped in a bucket load of satire for good measure. It discusses 1983 like an American would discuss a Roman holiday: slivers of information tucked in whispered conversations you are most definitely meant to eavesdrop. It paints the LTTE, JVP, UNP and the Indian Peace Front in the same shade of red as it does the UN and the US Aid. It takes no sides and deals its cards like a sober gambler. It hints at a justice no one can provide and speculates on grief no one feels. Karunatilaka is clever and he doesn't let you forget that for 386 pages of ridiculously good writing. 

I have spent a good part of the past year reading books written by and about Sri Lankans - an attempt to divulge the past my education willfully dismissed, that I willfully dismissed for a large part of my life. I've been digging for stories about the Lanka my parents refuse to discuss. 

Seven Moons is that story, but it is also painfully shy of much information. As is expected. No Sri Lankan story is complete without caution. 

Maali is a beloved character to me, for several reasons. He's unreliable, unapologetic, a bumbling mess of ideas and mostly, a coward. He runs away just as much as he runs towards danger; an idiot with a plan. He's insufferable and devastatingly shut-in. Everyone is friends with Maali, but Maali only ever had two friends. I think Maali's apathy adds to the book's alluring tale. It shrouds the story like cling film over casseroles: it protects and preserves a history we can only access if we're willing to unravel it. 

I read this book feverishly the first time. The second time, I sat with it like an old friend. I looked up the unfamiliar names and unheard attempts at restoring peace: the Mothers front which exists and the CNTR, which does not, more proof that we have yet to outrun what ran our country not too long ago. I dwelled on the places mentioned, equal parts fascinated and terrified of the blasts and battles we've swept under sidewalks we still walk on. 

Controversy aside, Seven Moons is hilariously Sri Lankan. It tickles my funny bone like no other book has: from the benevolent 'Aiyo's sprinkled throughout to the expat scenes we often witness in Colombo, every bit of it felt like a warm hug from Mother Lanka, undeserved yet welcome. 

In particular, you're more likely to enjoy this book if you frequent the Colombo 7 scenes after dark and know the city when it sleeps, if you're the kind of privileged Sri Lankan who denies their privilege. In my denial of being such, I admit my part in these scenes. I don't dwell there often but it was a pleasant surprise to relate to what I read, and to know the caricatures of every character as people I have had the pleasure of meeting. 

Still, the Lanka I know is not the Lanka in these pages: it feels like an alternate reality, a book about a Lanka where nothing went right. Consequently, a book about a Lanka we should leave behind. I hope, just as the author does, that this book finds its way to the Fantasy isle very soon and it remains strangely detached from reality, as intended. 

If you're wondering why I docked a star: I wasn't fond of some jabs it took, and I wasn't comfortable with Maali's incessant promiscuity. Queerness aside, fidelity is something I find hard to compromise on. 

I don't critic books as often as I praise them, and I don't praise books as often as I should. In Seven Moons, Maali deals with many characters who carry their own charms (the figurative kind). I particularly enjoyed reading about Sena, the vengeful communist and Dr. Ranee, the murdered activist. Dr. Ranee is someone I read about last July and Sena is an indisputable replica of many JVP supporters I know personally. In some delirious sense, this was Dante's inferno rewritten - the parallels were hard to ignore, and the surrealism was built on a tottering pile of maddening truth. 

I enjoyed the full circle moments and the carefully crafted jokes (and every hasty punchline). If ever there was a book about Sri Lanka that deserved a Booker Prize, it is this. With its easy flowing prose that was never too purple, and dynamic characters who pivoted from calm to unhinged, it is easily a stellar book worth every bit of praise. 

It is not an easy read and it was never meant to be one - it strokes the ego and gnaws at your heart, it tickles the funny bone and punctures your lungs. It leaves you wheezing from laughter and tears. And it is evidence of the brilliance Lanka hosts. 

Final Verdict: 

Shamelessly Sri Lankan. A Must Read if you're a Colombo backburner with a savior complex and an affinity to mystical literature. 

Here's to prolific tales and illuminating fiction,

N x