First we had New York cricket in Joseph O'Neill's "Netherland"; now, in Shehan Karunatilaka's "The Legend of Pradeep Mathew," we get the more colorful Sri Lankan variation. Crotchety, arrack-marinated sportswriter W.G. "Wije" Karunasena is tasked with writing a documentary on Pradeep Mathew -- "Sri Lanka's greatest cricketer who never was" -- and races to do so before his liver packs in. ("There is nothing more inspiring than a solid deadline.")
Accompanied by his friend Ari, his quest to track down the elusive star quickly turns into a wild and wacky obstacle course comprising six-fingered coaches, shady match-fixers and grasping government officials.
Karunatilaka's rambunctious debut brims with inventive ideas and comic set-pieces. The sleuthing is fun and Wije is king of the killer one-liner (Ari looks like "Sherlock in a sarong"). However, buried among the mayhem are thought-provoking meditations on Sri Lanka's bloody history, family friction, corruption and alcoholism. The latter provides much of the madcap humor but also more bittersweet interludes. When Wije is on his deathbed, Karunatilaka skillfully tinges his wit with pathos: "The nurse adjusts my bedpan while Sheila smothers me in kisses. It is the closest I have come to a ménage à trois in my wretched, uneventful life." Better still, we reach a point where we are forced to ask ourselves if Wije's sozzled state has warped the authenticity of his account.
Cricket aficionados will love "The Legend of Pradeep Mathew," but Karunatilaka has stuffed his novel so full of life -- albeit a crazily inflated version of it -- for it to charm and dazzle the rest of us in equal measure.
