Wednesday the 27th
One by one people thronged in around the shady hall. Mihilaka Medura,
located in the backyard of the BMICH, did not have a fan or
air-conditioner. Natural air was soothing enough.
Exactly a week ago, it was another Wednesday, October 27. The
literary forum was about to begin as the wristwatches read 3.30pm almost
ubiquitously.
Sundara Nihathamani de Mel slowly approached the lectern to welcome
the gathering. The main speakers represented the literary award
ceremonies: Vidyodaya, Swarna Pustaka, Godage, and the oldest, State
Literary Award. Praneeth Abhayasundara, Ratnasiri Arangala, Leel
Gunasekara and Ariyawansa Ranaweera were waiting for their chance to
speak up.
The intellectuals gathered around to defend why they chose Kandak Se
Ma by Sumithra Rahubadda as the best Sinhala novel and short-listed
other works. Tilakaratne Kuruwitabandara was in the chair, ready to
moderate and intervene if necessary.
After each and every speaker was done with the job, the literary
forum appeared. Anula Vijeyaratne Menike shot the first arrow.
“I have two reasons to be proud of this time’s best novel. First the
author is a good friend of mine. And the fact that she is a woman. But…”
She paused. Her voice was indistinct and vague – there was furrow in
everyone’s brow trying to fathom what they hear. She was nevertheless
making herself comprehensible inch by inch.
“But,” she said once again, “this is written in spoken form. I wonder
why written-form novels are always given preference.”
She went on, but Ratnasiri Arangala wanted to chip in. He got every
right fair enough being one of the speakers.
“Well, even I’m not sure which mode we should go for. Whether it
should be written form or spoken form.”
Anula commented again.
“When you write something in spoken form, it does injustice to those
who write in written form. We write using proper grammar, trying to
express complicated things. But that goes unnoticed. I mean it’s so
unfair.”
Tennyson Perera stood to offer his views.
“Thing is most of the writers don’t know how to write in written
form. That’s why they write in spoken form.”
And that cleared the path: speakers themselves and those from the
audience cashed in.
“True. But better write in spoken form if you don’t know your
grammar. Even university professors have made mistakes in written form
narratives.”
“Still and all you can express well when you write in written form.”
“That’s wrong. Now for instance James Joyce wrote Ulysses in spoken
form. That was his stream of consciousness.”
“It can be true. But remember Ulysses is a translation.”
“Translation? Who says so?”
“It is a translation. And Joyce is a Norwegian.”
“No, friend. He is an Irishman.”
“Whoever… But I think we should stick to standards.”
“People easily go to novels written in spoken form, because it makes
your work simple and elegant.”
“On the contrary, there are novels completely in spoken form, and
those sentences are too lousy. Too simple. There’s no depth in them.”
“But I don’t think we can go back to the written form. First we
should understand what the spoken form is, and what the written form
is.”
“There’s no hard and fast difference between written and spoken form.
But in Sinhala we can clearly see a difference.”
“Yours is simple and elegant when you write in spoken form.”
“Now look, I have been doing research into this more than anyone in
this audience. And still I’m confused as to what form should be adopted.
There are times I think we should adopt the spoken form. But when you
use written form, your ideas may look beautiful.”
“But you don’t sound natural when you write in written form.”
“I find spoken form too boring.” The conversation went on and on.
Somaratne Balasuriya was in the middle of the audience. When he stood
up, that drew everybody’s attention. Balasuriya was in the creative
writing business sometime ago. Tilakaratne Kuruwitabandara summoned him
to express his views.
“I was listening to this dispute over narrative form.” He was silent,
his eyes roaming in the audience.
“Let’s say we are writing a novel about a man in prison. He is
imprisoned for three months. He hasn’t got pen or paper either. He is in
the dark. What do you think his writings can be? I don’t think that’s
something simple. And you have to write them in spoken form – thoughts
don’t come to you in written form. Although we write in spoken form, it
should have the jailbird’s fear, worry and everything.
So it always depends on the experience you pen. When a good author
writes, one sentence may have three words, but it gives out so much
pathos. Sometimes it’s poetry. Sometimes it’s philosophy that changes
our life. This can be sometimes even deeper than a sentence written with
proper grammar.”
Many spoke after Balasuriya, and daya dissanayaka winded the session
up. I was still musing on Balasuriya’s words over delicious refreshments
provided by Book Publishers’ Association.
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