STRETCHING ALONG the western shore of South India, the Malabar Coast provides the setting for the stories collected in The Christians of Malabar (TSAR, 136 pages, $10.95 paper), James Leo Conway`s first book. The stories are similarly linked by juxtapositions that lend a subtle irony to Conway`s writing. Western travellers stumble upon native customs, South India is contrasted with the North, and the Indian characters are divided by religion, language, and class. Difference becomes the controlling metaphor. The search for meaning within the reality of Indian life compels not only the tourists and pilgrims who gaze upon the natives, but also those who gaze back. In "High Range," Charles, a literacy worker, visits the tea estate of friends, "now the only foreign planters in the south . " The past merges with the present, and the narrator is caught in the conflict between the estate`s owners and the native managers and workers. Charles remains a voyeur, seeing only what he allows himself to see. "I will remember everything as a sign of some thing else, he observes, "because that is how I have looked at it." Conway, who wrote these stories while reaching in India, explores but fails to resolve the problems of cultural appropriation. A sense of ambiguity pervades the writing, Produced by the publishers of the Toronto South Asian Review, The Christians of Malabar is an unusual entry in the debate over the ownership of cultural heritage. The quality of these stories will undoubtedly help to shape future discussion.