A Review of Logathasan Tharmathurai’s The Sadness of Geography: My Life as a Tamil Exile (2019)

Posted by: lesliejfernandez

A Review of Logathasan Tharmathurai’s The Sadness of Geography: My Life as a Tamil Exile (Dundurn, 2019)
By Stephen Hong Sohn

So I’ve been lately more interested in reading some texts that concern Sri Lanka, so naturally I was excited to read Logathasan Tharmathurai’s The Sadness of Geography: My Life as a Tamil Exile (Dundurn, 2019).

Let’s let the official page at Dundurn set this book up for us: “The harrowing journey of a teenage refugee who never gave up on his dream of seeing his family again. Born to a wealthy family in northern Sri Lanka, Logathasan Tharmathurai and his family lost everything during the long and brutal Sri Lankan Civil War. In January 1985, at the age of eighteen, he left his home in a desperate bid to build a new life for himself and his family abroad after a deeply traumatic encounter with a group of Sinhalese soldiers. As his terrifying and often astonishing journey unfolds, he finds himself in a refugee camp, being smuggled across international borders, living with drug dealers, and imprisoned. The Sadness of Geography is a moving story of innocence lost, the persecution of an entire people, and the universal quest for a better life.”

The early parts of the memoir set up Tharmathurai’s life when things are fairly stable. The wealth of his family—due in part of the success of his father’s business—allows him considerable privilege, but this status soon disintegrates in light of political instability. The dangerous conditions of the country envelope his family. His father descends into drinking; the family’s unity fractures, and the future naturally looks uncertain. Soon, Tharmathurai sees no other option but to radicalize and considers working with revolutionary groups. But, this approach seems less and less viable, so Tharmathurai then considers leaving the country entirely, hoping he can settle somewhere else and send money back home. His first stop is Germany. While he languishes in refugee detention, he receives word from his brother Lathy, who is in France, that Lathy intends to smuggle him into the country. Tharmathurai thus crosses the border into France, but his life there is a struggle. Without official documentation, he cannot attain any sustainable work or income, and he soon realizes that he’s become a burden to his brother. A last-ditch attempt to get to Canada enables him to get the foothold he has needed. This final transnational journey proves to be fruitful, and he is able not only to find refuge and employment, but also secure the passage of his remaining family back to Canada.

The latter portions of the memoir—and I provide a spoiler warning here—reveal the continuing fissures between Tharmathurai and his father, who tragically dies before any familial reconciliation can be reached. The political heft in this memoir clearly is rooted in the way that Tharmathurai details the oppressive conditions under which Tamils had to live in Sri Lanka. It is not surprising to see Tharmathurai attempt risky migrations in order to find a better life. Even in the space of detention and refugee liminality, Tharmathurai’s memoir makes it ever clear that the potentiality for something more is what drives him to go on these perilous paths, ones that promise far more than what might have been possible in the proverbial homeland.

If I can offer one small critique, it is that I did want more information about his time in Canada. There is a compression to the memoir that occurs in the final chapters, and given his surely astonishing trajectory as an immigrant, I wanted to know more about this path toward financial stability and family reunification.

For more, and to buy the book, go here!

Review Author: Stephen Hong Sohn
Review Editor: Leslie J. Fernandez

If you have any questions or want us to consider your book for review, please don’t hesitate to contact us via email!
Prof. Stephen Hong Sohn at ssohnucr@gmail.com
Gnei Soraya Zarook, PhD Student in English, at gzaro001@ucr.edu

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