Galle Literary Festival: Stories by the Sea

The Galle Literary Festival, back after a four-year hiatus, had unusual vistas, accessible authors and novel experiences to offer

On 13 January, the first day of the Galle Literary Festival, I was torn. Pulled in different directions by a desire for a boozy lunch, or the promise of a walk through the architectural glory of the University of Ruhuna, or the chance to hear Sebastian Faulks discuss James Bond and his book Devil May Care, I gave in to none. Instead, with sweat dribbling down my back, I chose what most caught-without-a-hat-in-tropical-sunshine would choose—the closest venue, and it was air-conditioned.

The predicaments of the Galle Literary Festival (GLF), which is back after a four-year hiatus, are problems you would like to have. From garden and island excursions, exhibitions, parties and performances, to cooking and cocktail-making classes, to sessions that bring poets and the audience together, and if you want, a dinner or a lunch with writers, for a price, of course.

In its seventh edition, the event is an immersive experience into the life of the Colombo rich (or Colombo 7 as Sri Lankans call it, a reference to the pincode of its swanky parts). The GLF, understandably, has earned an air of elitism. Unlike literary festivals in India, many of the talks and discussions are ticketed at Rs 500 per event, while others can cost Rs 3,500-5,000.

At the opening dinner at the Akersloot Bastion, a visiting writer said that while it is true that the festival has received criticism for being out the reach of many in the city, it is a reprieve from the Jaipur kind of onslaught, referring to the teeming and growing crowds at the world’s largest free lit fest. “Here, it is nice to be in the company of other writers in a place where you can engage calmly,” she said.

This year, however, the proportion of free events was increased. This has also changed the audience profile, skewing it younger, says Shyam Selvadurai, the festival curator. “I couldn’t have afforded the fest if I wanted to attend. It would cost at least Rs 25,000 including travel, food, stay, tickets. But the new highway from Colombo, which can get you here in a couple of hours, has helped reduce the cost,” he says. The primary reason for the ticketing is that it is a critical part of the festival budget, with ticket revenues subsidising the free events.

But there can be a clever edge to this mix of ticketed and free events. They can serve as gentle economic nudges to discussions that might not have been the most popular but which urgently demand attention. “I made an effort to push people to see more Sinhala writers, to go to a talk about Muslims to the west of Sri Lanka. Yes, it is free, but you also have to commit to a bit of art, a bit of stretching. The more intellectual political panels, such as the one on LGBTQ issues or the one on literary juries, were free,” says Selvadurai, who was the curator is 2011 and 2012 as well.

Walking into the Galle Fort area is like walking into a living room that has been prepped for a presidential visit—its excellent polish has rubbed off its edges. With cobbled paths, restored villas, cafés and boutiques, it all seems composed to satisfy the needs and desires of a certain kind of tourist. The event venues are sprinkled all over the reconstructed Dutch Fort area, from heritage villas to the Maritime Museum or the Scouts Headquarters. Between sessions, people bought ice-cream or went for walks along the fort walls.

Unlike other festivals, where writers and publishers exit the stage into more private conclaves at the end of the day, GLF has a more intimate feel. Through ‘literary lunches’ and dinners, a reader can meet a writer in a less guarded environment, engage more closely than a raised hand at a panel discussion would afford, or learn what writers eat for dinner. In a way, day or night, writers are out there for you to discover and even party with. So, while one night you could be looking at fireworks on a private island with a poet from Brooklyn, on another you could be swinging your legs off a fort wall with a historian of the Roman empire, or, my favourite, move to the hip-hop music of an Australian author-poet-rapper in a colonial villa while ripe frangipani flowers pirouette to the ground.

This year, GLF went beyond Galle to the hill town of Kandy and north to Jaffna, where the festival is free to all because ‘no one can afford a ticket there’. This spells ambitious plans for the renewed festival, taking it to those who cannot come to Galle. In terms of language, while sessions were mostly in English, the talks in Kandy were in Sinhala. Jaffna (23-24 January) will be in English and Tamil. “What we wanted was a combination in Jaffna of subjects interesting to the Tamil population as well as writers they might have never heard of like Sebastian Faulks and Ovidia Yu,” says Selvadurai.

+++

For a country that was at war with itself for 26 years, there is more than one generation that has grown up not knowing a country at peace. The war ended in 2009, and looking at the schedule for Jaffna, which was the worst affected, the issue finds place in one event out of nine. Selvadurai explains that the end of the war has spelt changes in the literary space as well. “I didn’t, unlike the last times, feel that I absolutely had to have programming that addresses war. Today, there are several places in Sri Lanka where this is being done. So the pressure is off us. Earlier, because people were frightened and it was a repressive regime, I thought an international festival will be a safer venue because the eyes of the world would be on Sri Lanka at that time,” he says. What has a haunting connection with—and tries to somehow redeem—Jaffna’s past is the festival location: the Jaffna Public Library, a repository of more than 100,000 books burned down in 1981 by a mob that’s been rebuilt since.

Literary platforms in Sri Lanka are increasing. Of note are Cinnamon Colomboscope and the Annasi and Kadalagotu (A and K) Literary Festival, launched last year. Niranjani Perera, a lecturer from the capital city who was sitting next to me at a packed panel on Sri Lankan writing in English, said that it was festivals like the A and K which brought local writers and readers together, while Galle was more about foreign writers. “The A and K name is special. They are roadside snacks loved by all Sri Lankans irrespective of who you are and where you are from,” said Perera, who is a regular at GLF. Annasi is pineapple with chilli and salt, while Kadalagotu is a paper cone of chickpea, coconut, chilli and salt. “I really hope they get Arundhati Roy. I love her books,” said Perera before leaving.

This edition of the GLF introduced the Thinking Out Aloud series, which the organisers hoped would deliver more depth by allowing one artist or writer to speak for 45 minutes and not be led in conversation. These were, it turned out, some of the most rewarding sessions. Tom Holland, in an amusing session on the rise and fall of Caesar House, talked about its myths and truths, drawing similarities between Caligula and Donald Trump or Putin and Nero. Crime writer Andrea Schenkel discussed why her books never have a detective figure and how to create violence without being explicit about it. Artist and writer Jenny Balfour-Paul, who followed in the footsteps of Thomas Machell, a forgotten Victorian explorer, led an information-packed talk that illuminated the world map of the 19th century in a new way. From comic writing to historical non-fiction, travel, crime, drama, memoirs and poetry, the GLF talks were rich and diverse.

On a Saturday morning, I wandered into a poetry session. Though it was a free event, the room in the Galle Heritage Villa was barely full. I could see William Seighart, publisher and founder of the Forward Prize for poetry, chairing a session on how to use poetry as a balm for an aching heart. In the UK, Seighart conducts ‘Poetry Pharmacies’ to cure ailments through words. And here we were, 20 strangers sitting around like in an AA meeting, seeking a remedy for feeling rootless or overwhelmed. The session held an ease that allowed people to confess their fears. Seighart’s talk, I realised, most accurately condensed my experience of the GLF—a small, free, intimate event, nudging me to explore new territory, but in a friendly, warm way.

(Padmaparna Ghosh is a Delhi-based writer)

About The Author

Padmaparna Ghosh