- Why Martin Wickramasinghe’s essays, debates, and intellectual networks matter as much as his fiction
Martin Wickramasinghe has been introduced to Sri Lankans in largely the same way for decades. He was the novelist of village life, the author whose books appeared on school reading lists, the writer whose stories later found a second life through cinema and television.
A few of his books such as Madol Doowa, Ape Gama, Gamperaliya, Kaliyugaya, and Yuganthaya shaped how generations encountered him. Over time, that familiarity hardened into certainty, and Wickramasinghe was known, taught, and remembered within a narrow frame.
In recent years, however, a quiet effort has begun to unsettle that certainty. A series of lectures organised by the Martin Wickramasinghe Trust, established in 1976, set out to revisit the writer not as a literary monument, but as a thinker whose work cut across culture, politics, economics, religion, language, and social life. The programme forms part of a series of initiatives undertaken by the Trust since its inception to sustain Wickramasinghe’s legacy.
Researcher Uditha Devapriya, who has been delivering the lecture series, sees the problem clearly. Wickramasinghe’s public reputation, he believes, has become too settled, and too comfortable. Wickramasinghe’s novels are read repeatedly, adapted widely, and discussed endlessly, but his essays remain largely untouched outside academic circles. The imbalance has produced a version of Wickramasinghe that feels familiar, but incomplete.
Wickramasinghe, Devapriya says, has written only thirteen novels. In comparison, he has produced an enormous volume of essays and articles over several decades. These writings deal with anthropology, linguistics, religion, philosophy, art, economy, and politics. Many have been published in newspapers and journals, later collected into themed volumes. By the time of his death in 1976, this body of work stood as a record of sustained engagement with society and thought, but public memory continues to circle around a few of his novels.
This narrowing of attention also shaped how Wickramasinghe was labelled. He was thought to be a Sinhala nationalist thinker, a description that gained strength through titles such as ‘Helaye Maha Gathkaru’. However, a closer reading of his work complicates that picture. In both Sinhala and English, he questioned myths, mocked blind reverence for tradition, and challenged cultural assumptions that later hardened into ideology.
Designed to reopen these questions, the lecture series began with a webinar hosted by the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS) in the United Kingdom. Titled ‘The Evolution of a Sri Lankan Mind’, the lecture positioned him for an audience unfamiliar with Sri Lankan literary history, presenting him not only as a national figure but as a thinker shaped by specific social and historical forces. From there, the series moved to the India International Centre (IIC) in New Delhi, where the lecture, ‘Modernism and the Sri Lankan Mind’, placed him among wider regional debates.
That session examined his relationship to contemporaries such as George Keyt, Lionel Wendt, Lester James Peries, Piyadasa Sirisena, and Ananda Coomaraswamy. Devapriya’s argument was that Wickramasinghe did not belong fully to any of these circles. He was unlike the English-educated, Western-oriented artists such as Keyt or Wendt. He was also unlike Sirisena, whose social and ideological roots followed a different course. Wickramasinghe occupied a space in between, shaped by Sinhala and English education, without the stamp of elite schooling.
As is well known, Wickramasinghe’s formal education ended early after his father’s death. Before leaving for Colombo, he spent years in his southern village, moving freely among people, fishing, wandering, and observing. His family’s social standing allowed him both access and independence.
“He did not view rural life with nostalgia. His childhood for him was a training ground in observation. Villagers trusted him, and that trust gave him room to explore,” Devapriya said. This period, he says, was formative and gave Wickramasinghe an intimate understanding of social life that later entered his writing in subtle ways.
In 1906, at the age of 16, Wickramasinghe left for Colombo and found work as a shop assistant. The next 10 years shaped him quietly but decisively. He read constantly, moving across disciplines without formal guidance. Religion, science, philosophy, and literature sat side by side in his reading life. In 1916, he published his first newspaper article in Dinamina. Titled ‘Plants and Animals’, it asked a simple question about karmic laws, as applied to humans and animals, and whether plants were also subjected to them.
The response to his very first piece was swift and hostile. Letters poured in from around the country, and Wickramasinghe answered them all. This exchange marked the beginning of his public intellectual life. He entered debate through disagreement, not applause. Controversy and anger towards him did not drive him away from writing; instead, they drew him further in, shaping him into one of the most respected authors at all times.
When the lecture series moved to Sri Lanka, the first local session was held at the Lakmahal Community Library in Colombo. Titled ‘A World of Books’, the lecture focused on his early years in the city and traced the reading that shaped his thinking before his first newspaper article appeared.
The next session, held at the Social Scientists’ Association (SSA) on 10 December, was titled ‘Reflections on an Open Mind’. “He criticised myth-making directly, including popular narratives around Ravana. He questioned romanticised views of history and culture. Even his final novel, Bavatharanaya, written when he was over 80, challenged religious orthodoxy through a radical reading of the Buddha’s life,” opines Devapriya.
At the Marga Institute on 26 January, the lecture ‘Disintegration, Transformation, and Development’ shifted attention to Wickramasinghe’s thinking on material conditions, long-term planning, and social change. Together, these lectures revealed a thinker concerned with material conditions, long term planning, and social change. They also showed that his engagement with society extended far beyond literary themes.
The series is set to continue with a major public lecture at the International Centre for Ethnic Studies (ICES) in Colombo on 6 February, titled ‘The Making of a Modern Sri Lankan Mind’ and focusing on his writings on anthropology.
Devapriya has also begun research on a book with the Trust. Despite Wickramasinghe’s towering reputation, how much of his work is actually known? The dominance of a few novels and short stories, reinforced by film and television adaptations, has shaped how people see Wickramasinghe. Much of his essays and critical work remain largely untouched, particularly among young readers. The Trust has made it clear that it wants to move beyond this frame.
“The study will make use of three sources which have not yet been made fully from a scholarly standpoint,” Uditha says. “The first are his memoirs, which have a rich storehouse of material with regard to his social background and the many worlds he encountered here in Sri Lanka. The second are the books he read, which to me are as important as what he wrote. The third are the letters and correspondences he exchanged with others, including his peers in the field.” Devapriya adds that, so far, they have talked to more than 15 scholars and individuals. In this he says he was assisted by a team of young researchers, “and indispensable help and patronage from the Trust.”
Hirun Matheesha, who works with Devapriya on the book and the lectures, approaches Wickramasinghe from another direction. His interest mainly lies in the writer’s own letters, his networking and public presence. The Trust has catalogued a large collection of Wickramasinghe’s correspondence, revealing a writer engaged in sustained exchange.
“Wickramasinghe wrote constantly to people he met, sent them his books, waited for their responses, and replied in detail,” Hirun noted. “Through this exchange, he built a network that extended beyond Sri Lanka.” He adds that he sees this as a form of self-positioning long before the language branding entered public life. Wickramasinghe did not wait for institutions to promote him, and he cultivated relationships through letters and conversation.
Another aspect that drew Hirun’s attention was Wickramasinghe’s handling of finances. Creative work rarely offered steady income, especially in the early 20th century. But, Hirun says Wickramasinghe planned these carefully. “He spent cautiously and thought long term.” Hirun is of the view that this side of Wickramasinghe offers lessons rarely associated with writers.
Commenting on the ongoing presentation-based lecture series, Hirun says younger audiences read less, and presentations and other forms of content would allow them to absorb ideas quickly. This understanding has shaped the decision to rely on talks and discussions, and to consider digital platforms as a future extension. According to him, lectures at different locations attracted different kinds of crowds, which suggests that people are willing to engage with Wickramasinghe from multiple angles, provided they are presented clearly.
Together, the lectures and research projects form a sustained effort to move Wickramasinghe beyond a narrow literary frame and into a fuller intellectual landscape. The aim is not to replace the novelist Sri Lankans know, but to show him also as the anthropologist, critic, thinker, and networker he truly was.