The Saint of Bright Doors

I tore through this book, and might just re-read it immediately, which is something I never do.

It starts out as a fantasy story that feels exceptionally weird because Chandrasekera's willing to do his world building / exposition very slowly. I kept going through a lot of confusion because the writing itself is just so beautiful. And then gradually as the exposition falls into place it becomes clearer that the book is at least partly a critique of religious fanaticisms and chauvinisms... but each time I felt I really had a handle on the book something in its world would shift - either the protagonist learning a new piece of his own story or a significant detail the the author waited until a dramatic moment to show the reader. Even the ending feels like another instance of that, and it is a relatively unclear ending, though it fits the whole mood of the book enough not to be frustrating.

To be clear: I like this kind of storytelling better than spending pages and pages on worldbuilding before anything happens, and all loose ends tied up by the conclusion. It just needs a damn good writer to make it work, and Chandrasekera is one. I also never felt like I was more confused than the protagonist himself, which I think is how the book managed not to fall into feeling like a cheap trick.

After reading it, I read up on the story of Rāhula, and realised that many more details in this book are clearly-intentional references to that than I'd picked up on. And I read some Sri Lankan history and realised that much of what felt like echoes of Myanmar or Israel were more direct references to specific aspects of Sri Lanka's civil war. Part of why I want to re-read is to have those things in mind, but I think it's also a strength of the book that it works as a more general allegory too. I think I would advise other readers to go in the same order as me: dive into the book first, and catch up on its references after.

#SFFBookClub

The thing I enjoyed the most about the Saint of Bright Doors is the way my expectations were constantly dashed. The first line starts the book off feeling like a dark fantasy, as Fetter's shadow is stripped away from him. But from there he grows up some and moves to a city where there's all sorts of technology that make it feel like a parallel modern universe. But there's also subterfuge and revolution, group therapy for (non)-chosen ones, complicated family, and the mire of prison bureaucracy.

I think overall it's just different than a lot of books I've read, and I appreciate the myriad ideas it's trying to fit together. The pacing and narrative arc were not what I had expected, but somehow it was a delight all the same.

(One minor point that hit home is that this is in part a story of plagues and pogroms; and, horrifyingly that people have become so inured to them that they are "seasonal" and rich people take vacations to avoid them. I also appreciated the one-off detail of how shitty cops are at wearing masks properly.)

One last side note: I enjoyed screamsbeneath's review in general, but especially the mention of Vajra Chandrasekera's blog about Unbuddhism; it helped fix some of my ignorance of Sri Lanka to add context and depth to the book.

I greatly enjoyed my time with the book, even when the plot felt to me going nowhere (and not in that intentional cozy sort of way, but in a rambling past things that aren’t central to whatever it is that has or will happen). Some of this is likely due to cultural expectations of a narrative progression, and it was actually a joy to have that shaken up. The prose is decadent and evocative, breathing life into a world that was equally enchanting and horrifying. I also greatly appreciated fiction that pulls from Buddhist traditions and imagery, while not bowing to a need to only shine it in a grand and endearing light. Much of this may go unnoticed without having been previously exposed to the stories not often found in mainstream Buddhism, but it’s not required for enjoyment, just a lovely layer of depth to an already nuanced world. If, like me, you are woefully ignorant to the historical and political turmoil in Sri Lanka, reading the authors blog post on Unbuddhism (googling his name and the term will turn it up) will help illuminate the parallels of the recent history and present depicted in the story. I happened upon that prior to reading and it didn’t spoil anything while giving my a grounding in an unfamiliar culture that was a juxtaposition to my exposure to Vajrayana stories and teachings. Highly recommended, along with many of the more recent blog posts.

What a stunning, breathtaking novel—definitely one of my favorite reads of 2023. Chandrasekera is a new author to me, and this is his debut novel, but he’s already published a great number of short stories in respectable outlets. Thus, this is a debut novel without the common beginner writer errors you often find, wrapped up in a deftly written narrative inspired by the environs of South Asia—political, social, emotional, and possibly more—as well as, clearly, the author’s own experiences of living in Sri Lanka. It is a tale you could call magical realism, with a story that sometimes veers towards the too-real and other times towards the unfathomable. I had heard of the title previously, and considered it interesting enough to mentally file away for later; yet it was thanks to my library branch having a copy of it in the ‘new books’ section that it managed to get pushed right up to the top, and I am very glad it did.

This is best categorized as magical realism, but in an unexpected turn, this is one of those magical realism novels that finally to me felt like it edges closer to the ‘magical’ realm of things than the ‘realism’ side. For one, the world is extremely fictional (set in Luriat, a cosmopolitan city clearly inspired by South Asian urbanity), taking its cues from the real world but also impossible to place as any one actual place. Chandrasekera imbues the story with clever worldbuilding details that don’t stick out like a sore thumb but are seamlessly integrated into the narrative; even though the reader does not get explicit explanations for everything, they somehow make sense. I was immersed in the world and rarely needed to backtrack a detail that pulled me out of it. That’s not to say everything is self-explanatory, but the mysterious nature of the world, and the fact that the reader is foreign to it, is part of the book’s inherent charm. The setting is clearly depicted through showing, though there is some telling—yet it is incorporated into the narrative in an unobtrusive way. The worldbuilding feels rich and evocative, yet in a way that makes sense—it isn’t trying too hard or over-the-top.

The characters are well-written, contain multitudes of depth, and felt like actual humans. Our protagonist, Fetter, is a complicated mess of a human being, driven by his own trauma and still coming-into-himself as a twenty-something. Can’t get much more relatable than that, I suppose. The other characters are also portrayed as three-dimensional beings—neither black nor white, but flawed humans who are doing their best given their ideals and circumstances. Thus, Fetter comes to belong to a group of radicals, some of whom are commendable and others not; some who are transparent and honest and others who are morally grey. Don’t get me wrong—this is very much a story about Fetter, but his relationships with other people are a key part of his development as a character; in particular, his relationships with his parents are a key part of the story, and Chandrasekera did a great job of exploring how the trauma of family relationships can come to bear on one’s life and self-understanding of one’s purpose. How do the people that we surround ourselves with contribute or hinder who we are meant to be? How much can we resist the knowledge of our fate? Fetter participates in a therapy group even, which feels so quotidian to a contemporary reader, almost making this other world seem like a mere reflection of our own; yet it’s a therapy group for ‘unchosen ones’, the Chosen Ones who are left behind. And the veil is raised once more.

Chandrasekera’s writing is skillfully consistent and adheres to the principles of ‘show, don’t tell’ as well as ‘why use lot word when few word do the trick’. Yet, it also leaves room for tasteful poetic lines throughout. I really regret the fact that my e-reader had an error that led me to lose a lot of my highlights from this book; otherwise, I would’ve had a whole list of quotes tacked to the bottom of this. The effect is one of evanescence and occasionally feels aimless, like our narrator; yet it all comes together at the end beautifully. His experience as a South Asian was also palpable; so many elements were culturally familiar to me that it felt like being seen and vivisected, forced to confront my own demons—for example, the stark contrast of the discussion of mental health and old parents refusing to believe that it matters, or the strict expectations mothers place on their children, with little regard for their child’s agency.

The plot takes a while to start, and at first it can be intimidating because of how many different threads there are. There are the titular Bright Doors, which pose some kind of mystery; there are the curious characters from the therapy group; there is the mystery of Fetter’s father, who has a crowdfunding campaign. All of these disparate elements manage to interweave in unexpected ways, and the ‘twists’ at the end of the novel were truly surprising. Still, you have to get through some moments of feeling untethered or confused, wondering where the story will take you; but have faith in the author, because he knows what he is doing.

I would be remiss if I didn’t at least mention the strong themes in this book—I only hope I can scratch the surface briefly in this review. For starters, the political overtones are strong with this one; given the events that Sri Lanka has been through, some of these notions aren’t surprising; yet, they feel ever more relevant in our current time as we watch more violence erupt in every corner and distrust and misinformation grow insidiously. And of course, these issues pertain to all of us, not just Sri Lankans. Fetter’s world is one of castes and pogroms, which almost seem otherworldly here yet are very much still alive in today’s world; of religious cults and fanatics; of political and ecological violence; of brutal dictators and doublespeak; on the one hand, my brain wants to firmly categorize it in the ‘magical’ side of its classification, but I know it is much closer to the ‘realism’ side than I want to admit. This is the type of novel that makes you even more appreciative of how it sheds a light on the darkest corners of your own reality that shy away from attention or that are easy to ignore—not so, here.

It is a rare author who manages to make evoke such strong feelings of sympathy and care for a book and its characters. Since reading this, I’ve bought myself a copy (after returning the library’s immediately so someone else could read it) and ventured into the author’s short stories, and they manage to recreate some of that feeling—but I am definitely going to be on the lookout for his next full-length work. Kudos!

Favorite quotes forthcoming when I get a chance to review my physical copy again.

I really enjoyed this, but I left it feeling like I should read it again because I feel there were a lot of deeper, philosophical things I missed. (that's a bonus: I love a book that's full enough to read over and over and find things you missed.) So, the thing I want to share, I can't because it's a huge spoiler. But, a hint won't hurt? A little past mid-way through the book, I felt like I was missing something. Like something was almost not-quite visible out of the corner of my eye. And then a twist happened, and yep. Also, this is such a brilliant take on something else I can't say because spoilers. Dang it! Okay, this quote I can share, right? "But you have to understand, while we are all unchosen together, I'm not like the rest of you." Or this one: "Fame, she says, is how a ruling class conditions artists to docility and incorporates their work to lesser ends." See? It's a great book. There's this wry humor and big concepts and sadness and hope. I highly recommend it, but don't rush through it. It's a savoring type of book.