Maybe more than any other book I've read recently, the themes of 'Island Witch', the third novel by Amanda Jayatissa, are completely obvious, so much so that nobody reading can fail to miss any of them: colonialism, male privilege and change due to the passage of time. While it features an impeccably crafted story that builds to a memorably dark finish, it's as much a lament for another time and an outpouring of rage at what happened as it passed as it is a plot-driven novel. All the emotion inherent in that is what gives it power.

The island witch of the title is Amara Akki, who lives in 19^th-century Sri Lanka, so then known as a British colony, Ceylon, and she's the daughter of the local capuwa, someone we might call a witch doctor. Capuwas follow the right hand path, appealing to deviyo, or the gods, rather than dealing with yakku, or demons, as cattadiya might. The word 'witch' fairly describes who she is and what she may be growing into as a profession, inheriting the family business as it were, but it serves as a standard pejorative too, the locals openly defiant of the old ways even if they're quietly not as converted to Christanity as they might claim.

I mentioned colonialism as a theme, but it's approached in a different way to usual, less political in nature and more religious. For some context, Sri Lanka gained independence in 1948, but it has quite a colonial history, being previously colonised by the British, the Dutch, the Portuguese, and going back through the centuries, a whole slew of others, so the Sri Lankan people were used to living under a mixture of their own culture and an occupying one. Here, the changes apparent in Amara's life are less due to the British ruling their colony and more by Christians who control the schools.

Jayatissa sets this in play early. For one, while Amara is a witch who lives on the edge of town and sees the jungle as her second home, she also attends a Christian school and is taught by nuns. It's not as horrific as the treatment of Native Americans in Christian-run schools, but it's clearly a big clash, with Amara constantly treated with suspicion. For another, the very first chapter features Amara's father taking care of a hooniyama, a curse. The Da Silva family outwardly support British rule and so have joined the Christian church, but still felt the need to call in a capuwa to solve this problem.

Everything here is about the conflict between the old ways and the new, the town representing a civilised future and the jungle a primitive past. Traditionally, such a story would push colonisation as a civilising influence chasing away primitive superstitions and bringing a nation into, well, the 19^th-century. Nowadays, we tend to see more revisionism in which authors, artists and musicians see that civilising influence as cultural genocide and endow their work with a far more subversive edge. Jayatissa focuses this on Amara, so we're clearly meant to take her side. Given how she and her family are treated, that's never in doubt, but that just renders the ending, as inevitable as it becomes, even more thought-provoking.

You see, there are also mysteries here to be solved. While the framework deals with the clash of cultures and religions in a historical sense, this is a horror novel and there are deaths happening that need to be solved. They're already happening when we join the story and we shouldn't find a lot of surprise in the fact that suspicion is gradually being levelled at the capuwa, just as any time something happens to Amara's fellow students, accusations that she cursed them quickly appear. There's more reason than culture clash, though, because the people dying are people with whom Amara's father is known to have held some sort of grudge. As this moves towards witch hunt, the term very appropriate here, it falls to Amara to investigate.

There's a further mystery in the fact that Amara is experiencing visions that may be supernatural in nature. She doesn't understand them, which we initially take as a coming-of-age sort of thing, but gradually we realise that they have more meaning than that and, in fact, may even be crucial to finding a solution to the murders. Surely the greatest success of this book, even above a vivid depiction of colonial culture clash, is Jayatissa's characterisation of Amara, even if it's obviously to the detriment of others.

Male characters in particular tend to have less substance, but then there's a strong theme that's all about the treatment of women. I can't remember if we ever learn Amara's father's true name, as she calls him Thaththa, which I took for a childhood nickname. Raam, the one and only boy who gives Amara the time of day, eventually does what we fully expect him to do all along and, though Jayatissa endow that scene and the ones that follow with serious emotion, it does reduce him to a simple archetype.

Female characters are given much more depth. Beyond Amara herself, her mother, Amma, has an interesting back story, coming from an impeccable family—modern-looking wealthy and with the approval of society—but disgracing it by marrying the local capuwa. Others occupy a sort of scale of acceptance, from enemies who persecute Amara through acquaintances who are suspicious of her to old friends who have drifted away but are willing to stand up for her when it comes down to it. However, none are free. They're all pressured towards marriage and children, independence a quaint thing tolerated in children but less so as they become adults.

All this means that there's a huge amount here. It's fascinating as a look at a time of change in a colonised country and Jayatissa absolutely nails that aspect of the book. Fans of historical fiction, even if it's straight drama, ought to appreciate this. The themes may be obvious but they're well-developed and that makes immersion all the more powerful. And, talking of power, where it goes in the end carries a serious punch. I'm not going to forget this one in a hurry. ~~ Hal C F Astell

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