Less than a quarter of a mile from our house, the red road met the tarred road that led to Colombo, twelve miles away. But where we lived a stranger rarely passed by, and a motor car was a nine days' wonder. Not that it was what you call a lonely road, or a quiet one; oh no, the red dust swirled upwards in the luminous daylight, disturbed by many pairs of feet, and at dusk, the blackness was loud and vibrant . . .

from `The Red Road and the River'


Childhood in Ceylon is vividly portrayed in a sequence of stories and vignettes which evoke the exotic beauty of the author's birthplace, the secretive pleasures of his boyhood there, and the poignance of a Buddhism riveted on ephemerality. The lyricism of the writing and a large cast of characters make this book a delight. It portrays an exceptional individual, a gifted imagination growing up in one culture and gradually being possessed by another.