Shyam Selvadurai
Cinnamon Gardens
Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1998. Pp. 389. $29.99
Reviewed by Christoph Lorey
Cinnamon Gardens is Shyam Selvadurai’s long-awaited second novel, following his prize-winning bestseller Funny Boy, which, published to acclaim in 1994 and quickly translated into several languages, has mesmerized readers in numerous countries around the world. In his latest book, Selvadurai evokes the multi-facetted world of 1920s Ceylon seen from the perspective of the powerful upper classes of Colombo’s wealthy suburb, Cinnamon Gardens, during a period when the power of colonial rule was shifting. Very much like Funny Boy, but in a far less personal, far more objective style, Cinnamon Gardens takes the reader to a very mannered society ruled by etiquette, rituals, and ancient traditions that prescribe the way of doing things: the teas, the dinners, the parties, the daily meetings and weekly excursions with family members, the supervision of servants, chauffeurs, and gardeners. While the women, in constant fear of their husbands’ unpredictable mood swings, are trying to find suitable husbands for their daughters, the men of Cinnamon Gardens, with few exceptions English university graduates and high-ranking officials, are trying to preserve their crumbling worlds.
The first and, arguably, most prominent character we meet in this bitter-sweet tale of intertwined lives is Annalukshmi, grand-niece of the family partriarch, the powerfull Mudaliyar Navaratnam, whose job it is to help British government agents carry out colonial policy, and daughter of Louisa Barnett, the strong-willed matriarch, who is forced to raise her daughters alone, while her husband enjoys a life with his mistress abroad. Annalukshmi’s dilemma is similar to the problem faced by most career-minded women in the weekly episodes of Ally McBeal-a comparison made by the author himself in a recent interview in Halifax (Wayves, November 1998: 8). Like Ally in what is currently Hollywood’s most popular TV show, Annalukshmi is a highly intelligent, well-educated, and wealthy young woman who knows exactly what she wants-career, money, independence, beauty, love, sex, etc.-but who doesn’t really know how to beat the odds to get it all. Unlike Ally, however, who grumbles about her lack of love and sexual fulfillment, Annalukshmi fights for (and in the end achieves) independence in a society where a woman’s career is a stigma and “naturally” limited to teaching, a profession reserved “for those girls who [are] too poor or too ugly to ever catch a husband” (4). An interesting twist in the plot of Selvadurai’s novel is the fact that Annalukshmi’s attempts to free herself from the pressures of society are linked to the inner struggles of her uncle Balendran, a closeted homosexual, who chooses marriage and respectability rather than following Richard Howard, the true love of his life.
To some extent, the social milieu of Cinnamon Gardens is reminiscent of the ruthless upper-class circles that color the novels of E. M. Forster, and Selvadurai’s insights into the mechanics of this competitive world of authority and deception are equally sharp and complex. His relentless faith in the healing powers of humor, however, leaves the author unwilling to completely condemn the system that sustains it all. The descriptions of even the most unlikable characters are often witty, but always sensual and revealing, as Selvadurai never ceases to poke through their polished, cold appearances to read the secrets of their tormented hearts. And while Selvadurai is far from painting a balanced picture of Colombian society of the twenties, he is not entirely indifferent to the plights of those who are less fortunate and politically oppressed. There is the story of Arul, Mudaliyar Navaratnam’s elder son, whose decision to marry the woman he loves forces him to live (and die) in exile and poverty. And there is Vijith Jayaweera, the poor clerk at Colombo’s school for wealthy young women, whose political connections to the Labor Union threaten to destroy himself and his family. These characters, too, are depicted with touching clarity, allowing the reader to glimpse at least briefly at the uglier ordinary world that lies beyond the fragrant hedges of Cinnamon Gardens and even beyond the limits of Colombo, where a faceless, silent majority seems to vegetate in poverty.
Cinnamon Gardens, a novel of remarkable richness and maturity, is no doubt an exceptional achievement and a worthy addition to Canada’s finest literature.