Anil's Ghost by Michael Ondaatje

I went to NYC for a brief 4-day stint for what should have been a joyous occasion.  More on that later.  What does this have to do with Anil’s Ghost by Michael Ondaatje?  Well, because of the combined seven hours in delays, I finished the bulk of the novel in an airport.  This was June’s Book Club pick, and since I’ve always loved Mr. Ondaatje’s work, I thought I would cruise through it.  What used to be prime reading time (before sleep, in bed) has now become an abbreviated five-to-ten minutes.  Makes any book a really long read.  I have totally trained myself to sleep – immediately – the minute I’m prone on my mattress.

Anyway.

Anil’s Ghost starts and ends abruptly.  I literally turned the last page and exclaimed, out loud, “that’s it?”  The passengers next to me thought I was reacting to the amount on our meal voucher.  In between, there is the usual poetry, gripping eloquence, dry charm, and almost-hostile affection: who else but an Ondaatje protagonist would stab a long-time lover in the arm and still hope that same lover will pursue?  And how I fell in love with the abandoned Buddhist Grove of Ascetics, with its deep thoughts and slow-moving colours.  If you’re looking for a mystery that solves satisfactorily, don’t look here.  This is a story told in fragments, in brief flashes, that demands the reader to put together the puzzle without a box.  And if you do put it together, neither the story nor the author tell you whether you go it right.

Truthfully, for me, the question upon which this novel turns is this: who, or what, is Anil’s Ghost?
Depending on when you ask me, I’ll answer differently.

When I’m feeling sentimental, I’ll say it is the ghost of her lost cultural identity, epitomised by the struggle of her Sri Lankan heritage to be in harmony with her Western education.  The ghost of her parents and the life and dreams they would have had for their daughter, so blatantly pushed aside for something so completely alien.

When I’m feeling hard-nosed, I’ll say it’s the pressing need for an elusive justice, the desire to find those who murder and obfuscate truth in the pursuit of power, cloaked by bureaucracy.  The ghost of Sailor and his compatriots (Tinker, Soldier and Spy) crying out for vengeance.

When I’m feeling contemplative, I’ll say it’s ghost of history and philosophy struggling through time to remain relevant.  While greed and desecration has been around for millennia, it is the apathy that erodes reverence, not modernity.  It’s just that the tools have gotten so much more efficient, so much more brutal.

And when I’m feeling like a Librarian, preparing for a book talk, I’ll say this: it’s an absorbing read, but not a light one.  If you like complex characters with equally facetted motives, you may like this.  If you appreciate the evocative nature of poetry and the moody ambience of a dark and stormy night, you may like this.  It’s the kind of book made for rainy days and long train rides.  And maybe even airport waiting lounges.