49 pages • 1 hour read
Michael OndaatjeA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
The uncanny nature of the past, returning repeatedly, both familiar and strange, permeates the narrative present. Anil obsessively revisits her past, in the form of childhood memories and recent encounters with lovers and friends. Sarath, Gamini, and Ananda are all, in similar ways, trapped by past events, the death of loved ones and the never-ending atrocities of war. Even the central business of the novel, the mystery of Sailor’s bones, is steeped in the murky waters of the past, and Sarath’s profession as an archeologist directly concerns itself with such mysteries and discoveries. Further, the specters of colonialism and nationalism, two sides of a single coin, hover over everything.
Throughout the novel, as the characters get to know and understand one another, they reminisce about past events and share personal memories. These reminiscences illustrate the similar ways in which each of the characters is haunted by their own unresolved pasts. Sarath and Gamini, for example, are both haunted by the death of Sarath’s wife, Ravina, choosing to pour their emotional efforts into their work instead. Anil, similarly unmoored by her separation from her birthplace, also derives great meaning and purpose from her work. Her relationship with Cullis Wright, a married photojournalist, represents her inability to commit and her tendency to alienate herself from others. This suggests that divesting from her homeland resulted in other types of emotional alienation. Once she starts working on Sailor’s case, however, she begins to reconnect with all that she thought she left behind in Sri Lanka.
The caves in which Anil and Sarath find Sailor serve as an important symbol of the past’s influence on the present. Most of the remains there are quite old, as the caves functioned as sacred burial grounds for religious orders, and its oldness gives it a feeling of timelessness. That sense of timelessness suggests that their discovery of Sailor’s body mixed in with the older corpses is just another discovery in a long line of killings. The recently murdered body, which they call Sailor, was burned and moved to this site, to which only high-ranking government officials have access. In this way, the past becomes a cover for present atrocities. Both Anil and Sarath deal with dead bodies, bringing the past into their present on a regular basis. As a forensic pathologist, Anil determines how past events have impacted the human bodies she investigates, while archeologist Sarath discovers the remains of civilizations and interprets these for present audiences. Sarath’s mind, like that of his mentor, Palipana, always keeps watch on the past—and how it translates to the present. For Sarath, as for Palipana, “History [is] ever-present” (80). When Sarath and Anil walk along the pathways near Palipana’s forest monastery, the ruins of past civilizations peek through the foliage. The forest provides temporary sanctuary—the war is audible in the distance—but these present events are not comprehensible without evidence from the past. For instance, the civil war in the narrative present is the result not only of recent events, such as government oppression of minority groups, but also of historical circumstances, including the colonial intrusions that pitted Indigenous Sri Lankans against one another. Further, the ruins in the forest imply that earlier wars and conflicts preceded this one, suggesting that war is timeless.
The past functions to preserve heritage and identity, as well, connecting it to the theme of Rootlessness and Return. For example, when specific medications are in short supply, Gamini uses traditional remedies to combat illnesses and injuries. Memory also serves as an anchor, a way in which to retain the self. Anil’s friend Leaf, diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease, for example, “was starting to lose her memory, fighting for her life” (256). Without memories of the past, the opportunities for the present are limited. This is, ultimately, what reconnects Anil to her work and her birthplace. She stops trying “to escape the past” (265) and instead meets it, in the form of her desire to identify Sailor, to set right what war made wrong. This reconnection is also a kind of salvation, as implied by Ondaatje’s structure. Early sections depicting past events in the novel appear isolated from the main narrative, demarcated by italics. As the novel develops, however, the past intrudes more heavily on the present, interspersing memories in the main narrative. The fact that the novel ends on Ananda’s work with the Buddha statue reinforces this point: The past becomes sacred again. Anil and Ananda both work to reconstruct, restore, and respect the past work, and this work saves them.
Throughout Anil’s Ghost, Ondaatje links Anil’s attachment to Sailor—not merely as evidence or victim but as a person with his own story—to her alienation from her own history. She rejected her Sri Lankan identity in favor of denaturalized internationalism, even carrying a United Nations marking on her passport. She is careful to keep others at a distance, living a nomadic existence. However, as she works with Sarath and talks to his brother, Gamini, she begins to feel a kinship with these men and, concomitantly, to Sri Lanka. In working to identify Sailor, Anil eventually comes to rediscover herself.
Anil deliberately cultivates her distance from others and her country of origin. She leaves Sri Lanka amid the war for the comforts of life abroad, and in the meantime she loses all connection to it: “The island no longer held her by the past” (11). This is evidenced by the deaths of her parents, her loss of her the ability to speak her mother tongue, and her increasing physical distance from the country. She turns herself into an outsider who “interpret[s] Sri Lanka with a long-distance gaze” (11). Further, she discards her given name, which the author never reveals, in favor of her brother’s middle name. In this act, Ondaatje suggests, Anil rejects the identity her Sri Lankan culture imposes upon her in favor of one of her own making. “[s]he’d hunted down the desired name like a specific lover she had seen and wanted, tempted by nothing else along the way” (68). She is alienated from not only her national identity but also her personal identity: She did not want a feminine name to define her or determine her expectations. This explains, at least in part, her desire to distance herself from Sri Lanka, where people judge her swimming pictures by the size of her hips and her attractiveness—implying her marriageability. She rejects such traditional trappings. However, she neglects to note this alienation’s impact on her current life.
Anil begins reconnecting to her roots when she first returns to Colombo. This begins early, when she relishes the rains which remind her of her childhood. She also remembers the homesickness that led to her brief first marriage to another Sri Lankan while she studied in London. However, she also recalls the marriage “as something illicit that deeply embarrassed her” (144). Afterward, she buries herself in work and returns to Sri Lanka only with reluctance. Her return, however, sparks renewed interest in Sri Lanka due to her connection with the people there, particularly Sarath and Gamini, who similarly suppress their alienation through hard work. Through this, Ondaatje suggests that alienation from people and alienation from the past are connected, liking the rootlessness theme to the presence of the past theme. Sarath, for example, keeps his past and his wife’s death by suicide buried in favor of work, which further alienated him from people. Anil begins to reestablish links with her past and connections to her country through her work with Sarath and her conversations with Gamini.
The discovery of and attempts to identify Sailor’s body also facilitate Anil’s reconnection to the past. At first, Anil wants only to uncover the truth of what happened to Sailor. The more she reconnects with Sri Lanka and its people, however, she becomes more invested in Sailor and his identity, suggesting that she links her own reemerging identity with Sailor’s. “Identification,” here, expresses double meanings: Identifying with someone or something is also a way of expressing an affinity, even a kinship, with said person or object. Thus, Anil’s identification of Sailor exposes facets of her own identity. This suggests that Sailor is more than a single, unidentified casualty of war, but a representation of the damage of the civil war’s collective trauma. This is reinforced when Ananda recreates Sailor’s face as a tribute to his wife, one of the many dead: “It was not a reconstruction of Sailor’s face they were looking at” (188), but, rather, an interpretation of the lives lost in the tragedy that is the civil war.
Anil’s insistence on giving her findings on Sailor, despite the dangers, symbolizes her total reconnection with her Sri Lankan identity. In her testimony, she tells the gathered group of government officials and military personnel, “‘I think you murdered hundreds of us” (272). Sarath, in the back of the audience, notices the use of the pronoun “us”: “Fifteen years away,” he thinks, “and she is finally us” (272). Searching for meaning in her own history while seeking justice for the victims of a brutal war, Anil rediscovers her links to an identity that still animates her.
Throughout the novel, political violence disrupts the character’s lives and determines the flow of events. It facilitates a culture of mistrust and an atmosphere of silence: To speak about the government’s activities, for example, exposing that the government murdered Sailor, is to risk life and freedom. While Sarath is aware of the stakes of their task, Anil often engages in reckless behavior, having forgotten that “[i]n the shadow of war and politics there can be surreal turns of cause and effect” (42). For example, the identification of a dead child leads to the jailing of a social worker and the murder of a human rights lawyer. The state of emergency in the country and the continuous “racial attacks and political killings” (42) over nearly two decades compromise the social contract and break down social structures. Authority is no longer legitimate; the truth is always suspect; and mutual mistrust distorts relationships.
This atmosphere of political perversion is behind Anil’s leaving Sri Lanka and the reason for her constantly looking outward for perspective. She longs to hear from “voices she [can] trust” (54) from outside the country—voices from the West. This is ironic, given Sarath’s view that Westerners, particularly Western journalists, are untrustworthy when it comes to the conflict in Sri Lanka. She bears out this ironic longing for Western input in her distrust of Sarath. Though Anil slowly grows to trust Sarath, she suspects his loyalties until the very end of the book. Through the novel, however, she begins to understand the reasons behind the ambiguity of trust: “those who were slammed and stained by violence lost the power of language and love” (55). This is why Sarath retreats into his archeological work, looking to the past. Similarly, Gamini buries himself in the endless work of healing. They are both silenced by the trauma of war: They do not speak of their lost love for each other, nor do they speak of the suicide of the woman they both loved. Ananda, too, can only speak about the loss of his wife via his work, for example, on Sailor.
The violence that fuels the civil war originates in the political perversion of Sri Lanka’s colonial history, when British colonizers divided Indigenous groups and pitted them against one another. After the colonial powers departed, previously disempowered majorities filled the power vacuum and seized opportunities to impose retribution on previously empowered minority groups. The communication breakdown that defines colonialism—taking advantage of and widening linguistic, cultural, religious, and ethnic divisions—reverberates beyond it as rootlessness and alienation. For example, Sarath and Gamini, brothers who are more alike than different, argue about who is to blame for the war. Civil wars symbolically link to family feuds, wars between brothers and compatriots. The silence of oppression that signifies colonial rule turns into the silence manifested by threats of violence against individuals, their families, and their communities. Choosing sides is inherently dangerous, as evidenced by Sarath’s chameleon-like behavior.
Ultimately, Sarath decides to support Anil search for truth unburdened by historical traumas and the current, dysfunctional politics of the war. This decision takes on a deeper meaning because he understands that this decision has potentially fatal consequences. Ondaatje suggests that Sarath yearns to distance himself from the cynicism he has cultivated out of necessity. For example, through his career as an archeologist, Sarath seeks to uncover the best artistic and cultural accomplishments of his ancestors, “discoveries made during the worst political times, alongside a thousand dirty little acts of race and politics, gang madness and financial gain” (156). This kind of continual violence, he goes on to suggest, not only causes individual trauma but also infects the population as a whole: “War having come this far like a poison in the bloodstream could not get out” (156). The author suggests that Sarath, in helping Anil with her case against the government, aids in purging this contagion, allowing the country to heal.
The bombing that kills President Katugala during his National Heroes Day appearance at the end of the novel signifies both the first stage of this reclamation and another act of retribution. The fact that confirmation of the president’s death comes first from abroad before “the truth slipped across the city” of Colombo (295) indicates that the fog of war has not yet lifted. The threats and realities of political violence still control the narrative, and the truth continues to be muffled, or even silenced.
By Michael Ondaatje