Shehan Karunatilaka made a sporty literature debut with Chinaman: The Legend of Pradeep Mathew, which won the 2012 Commonwealth Book Prize. A decade later, he established himself as one of South Asia’s most distinctive literary voices with the Booker-winning novel The Seven Moons of Maali Almeida — a bleakly humorous, haunting exploration of war, death and absurdity brought him global acclaim.
Beyond his fiction, Shehan has penned children’s books and written widely on sports, music, and travel for several publications. On the sidelines of Kerala Tourism’s three-day Yaanam travel literary festival in Varkala, he spoke with TNIE about his creative journey, the weight of success, and the craft behind his unforgettable characters.
As a person who has been to Kerala several times, how do you see the similarities between Kerala and Sri Lanka?
I have visited Kerala around seven times, starting with the Kovalam Lit Fest about a decade ago, and later the Calicut Literary Fest and others. Every time, I note how the landscape looks just like Gampaha or parts of Kandy (in Sri Lanka). Even the letters on street signs resemble Tamil and Sinhala. Also, the food — that’s where you see the cultural ties most clearly. Food doesn’t lie.
While Sri Lankans are said to have roots in north India, perhaps Odisha, our cultural links with the south are undeniable. Malayalam, for instance, sounds similar to Sri Lankan tongues. Even in storytelling, we share familiar themes. So coming here always feels good, feels like part of home.
Can you share a bit about taking wings as a writer?
I didn’t have any ambition to be a writer. I wanted to be a cricketer, then a rock star, all that typical male adolescent stuff. Even in my twenties, I played in bands. I was lazy, and the bands weren’t great. Looking back, I think the reason I became a writer, and not a musician, is because writing was the one thing I did every day.
When I was around 30 or 32, I suddenly had this idea for a story about a cricketer (Chinaman: The Legend of Pradeep Mathew). It felt different because it was something I knew well. I could research it easily. I spent a whole year watching matches, talking to players. I enjoyed the process, which kept me going. That was the beginning.
Writing is still hard. It’s not the easiest thing to do. But I have learned that you just have to keep at it, research properly, write daily, and have faith in the story. It’s been a long, rewarding journey. I started writing seriously in 2007, and the Booker came in 2022.
What went through your mind on winning the Booker Prize?
When I finished ‘The Seven Moons of Maali Almeida’ and sent it to the publisher in 2021, that was the real high moment because after that, everything is out of your control. One can never tell if it will click or disappear completely.
When the Booker longlist came, I remember thinking, “Okay, at least someone’s going to read this book.” Then it got shortlisted, and I was thrilled that I would get to go to London, maybe get reviewed, maybe sell a few copies.
When they finally read my name out, it was sheer terror — cameras everywhere, the queen giving the prize, and suddenly I was doing interviews till two in the morning
It’s been life-changing, of course. When I wrote my first two books, I often felt maybe no one would read them. I guess most writers feel that way. Now I know I have an audience. And if the next book turns out bad, that’s the end. The pressure is always there. I am very grateful. I have been very lucky.
In The Seven Moons, you revisit the Sri Lankan civil war through a supernatural lens. What made you choose that approach to explore trauma and memory?
I think my inspiration came from the war itself. Everyone had their own version of why it happened, whose fault it was, and why it lasted so long. I thought, instead of arguing about it, let the dead speak, let the victims of the war have their say. That’s why I chose the ghost story format.
I didn’t set out to write about the war. I like horror films, and I wanted to write a story about a ghost solving his own murder in seven days. But once I began writing, the themes revealed themselves, it was set in 1989, so the war naturally came in. You are never fully in control — you start with one idea, and the story takes you somewhere else.
Do you prefer fiction over non-fiction, when it comes to reading too?
Fiction, for sure. Getting lost in a good story that someone has imagined and being able to travel. That’s the ultimate kind of travel for me. Through fiction, you can read someone who lived and died long before you were born, or go to the other side of the planet, even to other worlds. That’s the joy of reading, that complete escape. That’s also what I try to create when I write.
You once mentioned that Sri Lankans have a certain gallows humour. How do you balance that humour with the gravity of your subjects when you write?
I don’t consciously plan it. I don’t sit and think, “Oh, this part is too heavy, let me throw in a joke.” I think it’s just how we are, maybe it’s a Sri Lankan or South Asian thing… that we deal with tragedy by making jokes about it.
I grew up around people who talk that way, uncles who tell long, funny, winding stories about grim topics. It’s also a kind of survival mechanism for both the writer and the reader when the story deals with pretty gruesome subjects. But, when one is writing about torture chambers or war zones, the jokes have to stop.
You write in English, but your characters come from a multilingual Sri Lankan background. How do you maintain that linguistic authenticity?
Sri Lankans speak English in a very particular way. But many of my characters wouldn’t speak English in real life; they would speak Sinhala or Tamil, but I write them in English as it comes. If something sounds too Western, I write it in Sinhala and then do a rough translation. It’s a craft process. In one scene where two men try to sink a body that won’t go down, they shout at each other in an absurd, humorous way. When I was editing, I felt like the lines sounded too polished, so I rewrote it. I spend a lot of time getting the dialogue and diction right.
How do you handle writer’s block?
I don’t think it’s a real thing. Other professionals don’t get plumber’s block or accountant’s block. Yes, on some days, you just don’t feel like working. It’s the same with writing.
I turn up at my desk every day around 5am. Some days, nothing comes… maybe I am just tired or need to read more, but I still sit there and try. If I am not writing, I am researching, reading, or plotting. I think if you’re defeated by writer’s block, then you’re not a proper writer. The only secret is to show up every day.
What are you currently working on?
I have been writing a few children’s books. I’m also expanding some of my short stories into novellas. One’s turning into a thriller, another leans toward science fiction.
And yes, two novels that I have been researching for years. Both are set in Sri Lanka. No ghosts, no cricket this time.
What are your impressions of Yaanam?
I have been to a lot of lit fests, but this one feels a bit different. Travel writing is a distinct genre now. Things are evolving, there are so many forms of storytelling. I think it’s a great idea to bring photographers, bloggers, and different kinds of writers together. I really enjoyed it.
