I have to admit, this was a reread that I underestimated. The first time I read the book, I was impressed by the language but frustrated by the never-ending descriptions and cataloguing of events that seemed to blend into one another.
I felt exactly the same way this time around.
Samanth’s writing is stellar. He can conjure up images with words and analogies that are as devastating as they are beautiful. He could very well be the most awe-inspiring writer I’ve read in recent times. After two reads, I still cannot decide whether his choice of a non-committal and yet deeply personal account of the prachanai is a good choice or a great choice.
All I know is that I’ll think twice (in a good way) before I pick this up again. With a Sri Lanka trip looming in the near future, I’ll have to remember this before I make any hasty decisions for the third time around.
This Divided Island: Stories from the Sri Lankan War is a haunting and meticulously crafted exploration of the human toll exacted by Sri Lanka’s 26-year civil war, which ended in 2009 with the defeat of the Tamil Tiger guerrillas. As a Tamil Indian journalist, Samanth brings a unique perspective, navigating the fraught ethnic divide between the Sinhalese majority and Tamil minority with a rare blend of empathy and impartiality. Published in 2014, the book is less a chronological history and more a tapestry of personal stories, travelogue, and cultural reflection, weaving together the voices of survivors, ex-combatants, and ordinary citizens caught in the war’s crossfire.
Samanth’s strength lies in his narrative journalism, which is both poetic and precise. He avoids reductive moralizing, presenting the conflict’s complexities through vivid anecdotes and interviews. For instance, his encounter with a retired Tamil major who served in the Sinhalese army reveals the absurdity and tragedy of ethnic loyalties, likening the man’s experience to a bat rejected by both birds and mammals. The book’s opening metaphor—Sri Lanka not as a teardrop but a “hand grenade”—sets the tone for its unflinching look at a nation scarred by violence. Samanth’s travels across Colombo, Jaffna, and the war-ravaged north and east ground the narrative in place, capturing a society “still hot from the embers of war.”
His research is diligent, tracing the conflict’s roots to colonial policies and post-independence Sinhalese nationalism, which marginalized Tamils through language laws and land grabs. Yet, he doesn’t shy away from the Tamil Tigers’ brutality, detailing their forced conscriptions and internal purges. This balanced approach ensures no side is romanticized, making the book a compelling study of how ideologies curdle into violence.
The book’s episodic structure, while evocative, can feel fragmented, lacking a cohesive arc or definitive conclusion. Some readers, like reviewer Shehan Karunatilaka in Live Mint, note the absence of a “big ending” that ties together the war’s causes and lingering divisions. Additionally, Samanth’s focus on individual stories sometimes overshadows broader geopolitical factors, such as India’s controversial role in the conflict, which is mentioned but not deeply explored. This omission, highlighted in an Amazon review, may frustrate readers seeking a more comprehensive political analysis.
This Divided Island is a masterful work of non-fiction, blending lyrical prose with rigorous reporting. Samanth’s refusal to take sides, combined with his ability to humanize all parties, makes this a vital read for understanding not just Sri Lanka’s war but the universal ways conflict reshapes lives. It’s a book that lingers, both for its beauty and its sorrow, offering no easy answers but plenty of truth.
The Reluctant Book Worm 
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