First of all, a chinaman is a bowl that came from a racist coinage about a West Indian spinner of Asian descent. This novel bends genre and never claims to be telling the full truth, but at the same time has a very honest and personal tone. It taught me to appreciate cricket, a game I have only made fun of up until now. I adore the W.G. (Wije) that he presents along with the disclaimer that he doesn't remember everything clearly because of his alcoholism. This book made me laugh aloud at times and caught me up in the mystery, but there was a bit too much meandering at times. However, the randomness of the narrative is totally in character for an alcoholic in his sixties who is obsessed with a mystery, facing death, and lamenting, while avoiding the ways he has screwed up his career and family. My husband's father was a lot like Wije only more screwed up.

The most interesting part of the book for me involved the political analysis of cricket and how this allowed the author to examine Sri Lanka's history, racism, war, and corruption. The meaning of winning at sport for former colonies who aren't European is something I really hadn't considered. Although there are numerous examples of how cricket was racist in the past, it isn't really a colonial rivalry in this book, but more of a division between the development levels of countries or that of white and "other" people. This is partly because Wije is mostly focused on SL playing the Aussies. In his portrayal, England's cricket sucks (up to around 2000) . As Wije explained, Sri Lanka doesn't really have a rivalry like India-Pakistan because though the Lankans hate Australia's team, Australia can't really be bothered with the Lankans. You can't have an arch rivalry unless both sides care. Australia is shown as so dominant that they don't really hate anyone. Anyway, the Lankans felt like they had a lot to prove. One great scene illustrates these relationships very well. Pradeep is being interviewed about a game with Australia by a Yorkshiremen that most speakers of English find hard to understand. Pradeep had been instructed just to say stock phrases to avoid making mistakes in English, but the interviewer is acting like a prick because he is asking really specific and critical questions. Finally, Pradeep can't stand it any longer and just rips into the commentator with brilliant use of English. This scene is emblematic of the kind of analysis the book provides.

Here is a great quote from the book of a more philosophical bent. From his hospital bed, he wonders:

"That night I think of unknowables. How much love does one need in a lifetime? Is there a quantity of brain space that is allocated to love? And for those of us who have loved less, does this space become occupied by something else? Like cricket, or religion, perhaps."

Finally, I want to warn you that the ending takes an unexpected turn if you decide to read it.