An autobiography with a difference

Reviewed by Goolbai Gunasekera

Some years ago Manel told me she was writing Stolen Sunset but was doubtful about the advisability of publication. For an award-winning author of her eminence and international fame it seemed a strangely hesitant remark.

But why? I asked her puzzled.

Political overtones, she replied tersely.

I see what she meant but there is nothing in this wonderful story that could possibly offend anyone living or dead. Unlike some who speak with a forked tongue, Manel speaks the truth. I am reminded of the saying that when one writes an autobiography, or a section of an autobiography, one makes two kinds of enemies.

The people you mention and the people you don't mention - so perhaps Manel could have said much more than she did as far as political commentary went. Often political opinions were spoken through the words of the servants or house helpers and were usually amusing and pithy. Take the news that a cooperative had tried to sell contaminated lentils to the public.

The culprits were caught and apprehended. Asked Piyaratne, "What punishment did the officer selling the contaminated lentils get". Replied Anura, "Must have got a promotion". We could have enjoyed more of such tales.

Tragedy

I think I have rarely read a book which deals so movingly with a personal catastrophe - a catastrophe that overwhelmed the Ratnatunga family when Tissa, the head of the family, had a totally unexpected and unanticipated stroke. When is tragedy ever anticipated after all?

Without a shred of self-pity, the author sets about recognising what was an ideal life into one where her husband's sickbed was to be the focus for attention. It was a complete about turn without any warning. As a reader and grandmother what touched me deeply was her concern that her 14-year-old grandson who may not have understood why he no longer had a grandmother with the time to say Pirith and stroke him to sleep at night. She felt his hurt even his anger but could help it no longer. She hardly had time for herself as the gargantuan task of reorganisation was going on. A tsunami could hardly have made a greater impact on her life.

Within hours that lovely house by the sea became a virtual sickroom - except that Manel did not allow it to become one. Helpers and attendants were brought in. New menus had to be arranged, medicines had to be carefully monitored.

A room downstairs had to be turned into a bedroom that provided for constant medical care. And through it all, Manel retained her sanity and above all her humanity towards not only her husband which was to be expected but towards the many beings who were now resident in her home which up until now had been free of night time servants.

Manel and Tissa had savoured a quiet house when house help left them to enjoy privacy after all the house work was done. It was a custom by choice and a privacy they totally loved.

Attitudes

But now there was a phalanx of live-in helpers - Rohita, Piyaratne, Jayasena, Hemantha and others all became a part of their daily lives and as their private lives overlapped and even intruded into the author's own, she learns of situations, customs and village attitudes, she had no idea existed. It was a learning experience, movingly crafted.

While Stolen Sunset is really in two parts, it is the first part that does more than recount the story of an illness; it is the story of a marriage. Recollections of exciting foreign stints, meetings with great personalities such as Sultan Hemangko Buwana of Indonesia, fascinating tours of Syria give insights into their shared and very similar attitudes and into their mutual support of each other.

Manel's school days were obviously highly successful since she ended as head girl of Visakha. For much of her schooling she was my mother's pupil and she speaks of the time when my mother decided that it was time her 15-year-old pupils knew about the birds and the bees. I would personally have loved to have been in that class since my mother's advice to me on that same subject left me as ignorant as I was before.

It was predictable to find that she left Manel and her class, a book to read. The pictures so shocked Manel (though probably not the entire class), that she shut the book in a hurry. Assuming that her pupils were now clued up and very knowledgeable on sex, my mother then proceeded to less combustible sections like baby layette.

I do not think that in writing of Stolen Sunset Manel intended for it to be a comment on the social or even political climate of her times but so it happened. In the describing of the girlhood and marriage of Manel Hewavitarne, a new Manel emerged metamorphosed into Manel Ratnatunga who has, with this book, added further lustre to her name as being one of Sri Lanka's best known and most versatile of writers.

From a feminine point of view allowing her flowering talent and encouraging his wife to become what she has become is probably one of Tissa's greatest achievements.

I end my words with a deep sense of gratitude to Manel - a woman whom I have always regarded as the akka I never had in Sri Lanka - for affording me the opportunity to pay tribute to you, both as a great writer and as a true daughter of Lanka.