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Masters Autobiography Trilogy #3
Pilgrim son: A personal odyssey
John Masters came to the United States following a military career with a Ghurka regiment on India's Northwest frontier and as a serving officer (ultimately brigadier) with Orde Wingate's Chindits in Burma. (See "Bugles and a Tiger" and "The Road Past Mandalay.")The third installment tells how he becomes both an American citizen and a best-selling novelist.
Hardcover
First published January 1, 1971
About the author
John Masters
141 books54 followersMasters was the son of a lieutenant-colonel whose family had a long tradition of service in the Indian Army. He was educated at Wellington and Sandhurst. On graduating from Sandhurst in 1933, he was seconded to the Duke of Cornwall's Light Infantry (DCLI) for a year before applying to serve with the 4th Prince of Wales's Own Gurkha Rifles. He saw service on the North-West Frontier with the 2nd battalion of the regiment, and was rapidly given a variety of appointments within the battalion and the regimental depot, becoming the Adjutant of the 2nd battalion in early 1939.
During World War II his battalion was sent to Basra in Iraq, during the brief Anglo-Iraqi War. Masters subsequently served in Iraq, Syria and Persia. In early 1942, he attended the Indian Army Staff College at Quetta. Here he met the wife of a fellow officer and began an affair. They were later to marry. This caused a small scandal at the time.
After Staff College he first served as Brigade Major in 114th Indian Infantry Brigade before being "poached" by "Joe" Lentaigne, another officer from 4th Gurkhas, to be Brigade Major in 111th Indian Infantry Brigade, a Chindit formation. From March, 1944, the brigade served behind the Japanese lines in Burma. On the death of General Orde Wingate on 24 April, Lentaigne became the Chindits' overall commander and Masters commanded the main body of 111 Brigade.
In May, the brigade was ordered to hold a position code-named ‘Blackpool’ near Mogaung in northern Burma. The isolated position was attacked with great intensity for seventeen days and eventually the brigade was forced to withdraw. Masters had to order the medical orderlies to shoot 19 of his own men, casualties who had no hope of recovery or rescue. Masters later wrote about these events in the second volume of his autobiography, The Road Past Mandalay.
After briefly commanding the 3rd battalion of his regiment, Masters subsequently became GSO1 (the Chief of Staff) of Indian 19th Infantry Division, which was heavily involved in the later stages of the Burma Campaign, until the end of the war. After a spell as a staff officer in GHQ India in Delhi, he then served as an instructor at the British Army Staff College, Camberley. He left the army after this posting, and moved to the United States, where he attempted to set up a business promoting walking tours in the Himalayas, one of his hobbies. The business was not a success and, to make ends meet, he decided to write of his experiences in the army. When his novels proved popular, he became a full-time writer.
In later life, Masters and his wife Barbara moved to Santa Fe, New Mexico, USA. He died in 1983 from complications following heart surgery. His family and friends scattered his ashes from an aeroplane over the mountain trails he loved to hike. General Sir Michael Rose, the former UN commander in Bosnia, is a stepson of Masters.
During World War II his battalion was sent to Basra in Iraq, during the brief Anglo-Iraqi War. Masters subsequently served in Iraq, Syria and Persia. In early 1942, he attended the Indian Army Staff College at Quetta. Here he met the wife of a fellow officer and began an affair. They were later to marry. This caused a small scandal at the time.
After Staff College he first served as Brigade Major in 114th Indian Infantry Brigade before being "poached" by "Joe" Lentaigne, another officer from 4th Gurkhas, to be Brigade Major in 111th Indian Infantry Brigade, a Chindit formation. From March, 1944, the brigade served behind the Japanese lines in Burma. On the death of General Orde Wingate on 24 April, Lentaigne became the Chindits' overall commander and Masters commanded the main body of 111 Brigade.
In May, the brigade was ordered to hold a position code-named ‘Blackpool’ near Mogaung in northern Burma. The isolated position was attacked with great intensity for seventeen days and eventually the brigade was forced to withdraw. Masters had to order the medical orderlies to shoot 19 of his own men, casualties who had no hope of recovery or rescue. Masters later wrote about these events in the second volume of his autobiography, The Road Past Mandalay.
After briefly commanding the 3rd battalion of his regiment, Masters subsequently became GSO1 (the Chief of Staff) of Indian 19th Infantry Division, which was heavily involved in the later stages of the Burma Campaign, until the end of the war. After a spell as a staff officer in GHQ India in Delhi, he then served as an instructor at the British Army Staff College, Camberley. He left the army after this posting, and moved to the United States, where he attempted to set up a business promoting walking tours in the Himalayas, one of his hobbies. The business was not a success and, to make ends meet, he decided to write of his experiences in the army. When his novels proved popular, he became a full-time writer.
In later life, Masters and his wife Barbara moved to Santa Fe, New Mexico, USA. He died in 1983 from complications following heart surgery. His family and friends scattered his ashes from an aeroplane over the mountain trails he loved to hike. General Sir Michael Rose, the former UN commander in Bosnia, is a stepson of Masters.
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Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews
June 8, 2026
John Masters: Pilgrim Son
John Masters wrote three autobiographical works: Bugles and a Tiger (1956), The Road Past Mandalay (1961), and Pilgrim Son (1971). Together they trace a remarkable journey: from a young officer shaped by the British Indian Army in the North West Frontier, through the action as an officer in the Second World War in Burma, to an émigré writer reconstructing himself in post-imperial America.
By the time Masters began writing his three volume memoirs, he had already reinvented himself. No longer simply a 5th generation Anglo-Indian career officer in the British Indian Army, he was an American citizen and a successful novelist, having published much of his celebrated “Indian Historical Series,” including Nightrunners of Bengal, The Deceivers, The Lotus and the Wind, Bhowani Junction, Coromandel!, Far, Far the Mountain Peak, and To the Coral Strand. These novels had already established him as one of the principal US chroniclers of fiction set in the last decades of the Raj.
The first two autobiographies, Bugles and a Tiger and The Road Past Mandalay, chronicle a soldier formed by empire and war. They are energetic, adventurous, and often tinged with nostalgia. There is a strong sense of pride in military tradition, and the narrative energy is external and action-driven. Battles are vividly rendered; comradeship and regimental identity dominate. Masters writes as a man firmly rooted in a structure of empire, tradition, and duty. Even when he acknowledges decline, the tone remains fundamentally confident. If you liked those you may not take easily to volume three!
In striking contrast, Pilgrim Son presents a writer reshaping himself in a post-imperial world. The tone becomes reflective and introspective, at times questioning and self-examining. The central concern is no longer simply war or service, but identity: is he British, American, colonial son? Is he a ‘somewhere’ or a ‘nowhere’ to borrow the later ideas of the British writer and political thinker David Goodhart in his 2017 book The Road to Somewhere?
The literary style reflects this shift. The pace is MUCH slower; the prose grows more analytical and philosophical. Internal conflict replaces physical conflict as the narrative engine. If the earlier books are driven by events, Pilgrim Son is driven by meaning.
Masters writes revealingly in Pilgrim Son that his early fictional portrayals of the British in India were repeatedly rejected by American editors, who saw little merit in sympathetic depictions of imperial figures. They could discern no “good deeds” in British India and resisted the viewpoints he had created. For a fifth-generation military Anglo-Indian this must have been a profound cultural shock. Indeed, he carried an Indian passport and was classified as “Indian” rather than “British” by U.S. immigration authorities. The negotiation between inherited loyalties and adopted citizenship seems to echo throughout his later reflections.
There is an illuminating parallel here with his most famous novel, Bhowani Junction. If one regards it as his “great novel,” the autobiographies provide its psychological and historical underpinning. In the early memoirs, Masters presents himself as the heir to generations of imperial service. He is loyal to the Raj, conscious of its fragility, but still writing from inside its moral framework. Identity is secured by regiment, empire, and tradition.
In Bhowani Junction, however, the crisis of Anglo-Indian identity becomes dramatised and symbolically charged through the mixed-race heroine, Victoria Jones. She must choose between British identity, Indian identity, or some unstable middle ground. What is first-hand experience in the memoirs becomes political and emotional drama in the fiction. The uncertainties only faintly suggested in the early autobiographies become central and unavoidable in the novel.
In the memoirs, empire is experienced as a professional calling; a system he describes as flawed but honourable. In Bhowani Junction, empire appears morally unstable, socially divisive, and historically doomed. The shift is telling as he pivots to avoid deportation from the USA and appeal to his editor's politics (as an "Indian National" in the eyes of the USA, he was in the US on only a temporary visa as the wait for an Indian to be considered was 4.5 years wait and was down to his last $100 before he got paid for a first book deal!). It suggests that the novelist, perhaps more than the soldier, understood the inevitability of imperial dissolution.
The commercial success of Bhowani Junction confirmed Masters’ literary stature. The sale of the film rights reportedly brought him $155,000 which is equivalent to roughly $1.9 million USD in 2026 terms. Yet even here irony intrudes: the film adaptation altered the novel’s conclusion, having Victoria leave India to live with Col. Rodney Savage rather than remain with Patrick Taylor in India and confront its uncertain future, as she does in the book. In doing so, Hollywood softened the ambiguity that Masters had so carefully constructed.
Readers who relish the pace, vigour and martial clarity of 'Bugles and a Tiger 'and 'The Road Past Mandalay' may find 'Pilgrim Son' a marked tonal departure, as I did. But taken together, the trilogy charts the psychological arc of a 5th generation Anglo-Indian from imperial confidence to post-imperial questioning and the compromises of writing for a living in a foreign country. Masters’ autobiographies thus stand as both personal testimony and literary counterpart to his fiction. If I had to pull one thread from it all this is a sustained meditation on identity in a changing world.
Personally I found Pilgrim Son rather hard work, but read it through to the end to try to understand better his fiction. From the gripping, fast-paced storylines of the early autobiographies (and early novels) we change to having to hear minute details of what car he buys, and when he bought them, just where and how he goes on holiday, what the neighbours say about it, each painstaking knock-back of the editors' demands on his prose as time and money ebbs away in the USA - things his character might have dismissed as just tittle-tattle in his earlier military incarnation! In his transition to become an American citizen and published writer for US audiences there are a lot of changes.
John Masters wrote three autobiographical works: Bugles and a Tiger (1956), The Road Past Mandalay (1961), and Pilgrim Son (1971). Together they trace a remarkable journey: from a young officer shaped by the British Indian Army in the North West Frontier, through the action as an officer in the Second World War in Burma, to an émigré writer reconstructing himself in post-imperial America.
By the time Masters began writing his three volume memoirs, he had already reinvented himself. No longer simply a 5th generation Anglo-Indian career officer in the British Indian Army, he was an American citizen and a successful novelist, having published much of his celebrated “Indian Historical Series,” including Nightrunners of Bengal, The Deceivers, The Lotus and the Wind, Bhowani Junction, Coromandel!, Far, Far the Mountain Peak, and To the Coral Strand. These novels had already established him as one of the principal US chroniclers of fiction set in the last decades of the Raj.
The first two autobiographies, Bugles and a Tiger and The Road Past Mandalay, chronicle a soldier formed by empire and war. They are energetic, adventurous, and often tinged with nostalgia. There is a strong sense of pride in military tradition, and the narrative energy is external and action-driven. Battles are vividly rendered; comradeship and regimental identity dominate. Masters writes as a man firmly rooted in a structure of empire, tradition, and duty. Even when he acknowledges decline, the tone remains fundamentally confident. If you liked those you may not take easily to volume three!
In striking contrast, Pilgrim Son presents a writer reshaping himself in a post-imperial world. The tone becomes reflective and introspective, at times questioning and self-examining. The central concern is no longer simply war or service, but identity: is he British, American, colonial son? Is he a ‘somewhere’ or a ‘nowhere’ to borrow the later ideas of the British writer and political thinker David Goodhart in his 2017 book The Road to Somewhere?
The literary style reflects this shift. The pace is MUCH slower; the prose grows more analytical and philosophical. Internal conflict replaces physical conflict as the narrative engine. If the earlier books are driven by events, Pilgrim Son is driven by meaning.
Masters writes revealingly in Pilgrim Son that his early fictional portrayals of the British in India were repeatedly rejected by American editors, who saw little merit in sympathetic depictions of imperial figures. They could discern no “good deeds” in British India and resisted the viewpoints he had created. For a fifth-generation military Anglo-Indian this must have been a profound cultural shock. Indeed, he carried an Indian passport and was classified as “Indian” rather than “British” by U.S. immigration authorities. The negotiation between inherited loyalties and adopted citizenship seems to echo throughout his later reflections.
There is an illuminating parallel here with his most famous novel, Bhowani Junction. If one regards it as his “great novel,” the autobiographies provide its psychological and historical underpinning. In the early memoirs, Masters presents himself as the heir to generations of imperial service. He is loyal to the Raj, conscious of its fragility, but still writing from inside its moral framework. Identity is secured by regiment, empire, and tradition.
In Bhowani Junction, however, the crisis of Anglo-Indian identity becomes dramatised and symbolically charged through the mixed-race heroine, Victoria Jones. She must choose between British identity, Indian identity, or some unstable middle ground. What is first-hand experience in the memoirs becomes political and emotional drama in the fiction. The uncertainties only faintly suggested in the early autobiographies become central and unavoidable in the novel.
In the memoirs, empire is experienced as a professional calling; a system he describes as flawed but honourable. In Bhowani Junction, empire appears morally unstable, socially divisive, and historically doomed. The shift is telling as he pivots to avoid deportation from the USA and appeal to his editor's politics (as an "Indian National" in the eyes of the USA, he was in the US on only a temporary visa as the wait for an Indian to be considered was 4.5 years wait and was down to his last $100 before he got paid for a first book deal!). It suggests that the novelist, perhaps more than the soldier, understood the inevitability of imperial dissolution.
The commercial success of Bhowani Junction confirmed Masters’ literary stature. The sale of the film rights reportedly brought him $155,000 which is equivalent to roughly $1.9 million USD in 2026 terms. Yet even here irony intrudes: the film adaptation altered the novel’s conclusion, having Victoria leave India to live with Col. Rodney Savage rather than remain with Patrick Taylor in India and confront its uncertain future, as she does in the book. In doing so, Hollywood softened the ambiguity that Masters had so carefully constructed.
Readers who relish the pace, vigour and martial clarity of 'Bugles and a Tiger 'and 'The Road Past Mandalay' may find 'Pilgrim Son' a marked tonal departure, as I did. But taken together, the trilogy charts the psychological arc of a 5th generation Anglo-Indian from imperial confidence to post-imperial questioning and the compromises of writing for a living in a foreign country. Masters’ autobiographies thus stand as both personal testimony and literary counterpart to his fiction. If I had to pull one thread from it all this is a sustained meditation on identity in a changing world.
Personally I found Pilgrim Son rather hard work, but read it through to the end to try to understand better his fiction. From the gripping, fast-paced storylines of the early autobiographies (and early novels) we change to having to hear minute details of what car he buys, and when he bought them, just where and how he goes on holiday, what the neighbours say about it, each painstaking knock-back of the editors' demands on his prose as time and money ebbs away in the USA - things his character might have dismissed as just tittle-tattle in his earlier military incarnation! In his transition to become an American citizen and published writer for US audiences there are a lot of changes.
April 9, 2024
John Masters' 1971 Pilgrim Son: A Personal Odyssey, the third in a 3-volume memoir, chronicles the journey of the author to find a place for himself and his family--both socially and physically--in the postwar world to which, after having spent his adult life in military service, including combat from the mid-1930s in the North West Frontier Province through the long years of the Second World War, he is comparatively ill-accustomed.
He soon realizes in the runup to the independence of India that "the remaining British officers of the Indian Army" no longer would a place on the Subcontinent; their "phasing out...would not be gradual, as the phasing-in of Indians had been: it would be sudden and final" (1971 Michael Joseph hardcover, page 31). For a time Masters serves as one of the Directing Staff, or instructors, in the Army's Staff College at Camberley back in Britain, a place "traditionally important, and prestigious enough" (page 41). This is better than nothing, of course, and has its worthwhile aspects, but it is far from the active life of the frontline soldier he used to live, and his wife, who "[a]s a girl...had never opened a can or boiled a kettle," no longer is "protect[ed]" by the "shoals of servants" in India, instead now having a "domestic staff" of only two (page 51). Moreover, "[a]fter the geographical space and freedom of India," Masters considers this little isle a "prison," for "[t]he restrictions on foreign trade hit [them] particularly hard," making travel abroad difficult (page 53).
Eventually, therefore, after much soul-searching and quite a bit of very careful research, Masters decides to take the plunge for the United States, planning to open a business "tak[ing] expeditions of Americans into the Himalayas" (page 71). This falls through, of course--"of course," because we know this fellow now as an author, not as a travel guide, right? Still, the story of his attempts to found this company--and his back-up attempts to market a new brassiere the wife of a friend has invented (page 73)--are entertaining, filled with keen observations of a new culture he is trying to understand, with frustration at interminable and unfathomable bureaucracy, and with amusing incidents aplenty.
In the beginning in New York City, the unknowing author-to-be, schlepping his "Himalayan Holidays file," puts in the shoe-leather work of "walk[ing] over 100 block every day, and usually [seeing] ten or twelve [travel] agents." He soon realizes, though, that he now is a complete outsider, for whereas, as he puts it, "The social structure of England was such that with my accent and my army rank my honesty would be taken for granted unless I did something to cause people to doubt it," here "my hairy tweed suit and my accent, though genuine, seemed to arouse the opposite feeling in those with whom I was trying to do business" (page 88). His attempts to peddle to the "wary denizen[s] of the garment district" the innovative "brassy-air" (page 90), as the poor fellow calls it, bring similar results.
His first real break comes when, after "[w]ord of the English colonel hawking his unlikely expedition" to the Himalayas "reached the topless towers on West 45th Street,...someone Up There thought [he] might make a good piece for the Talk of the Town" of the New Yorker (page 98). After an amiable lunch interview over three or four martinis, the charmed correspondent finally advises Masters, "I think if you cared to write up what you've been saying, you might be able to sell it" (page 99).
And so it begins, with a piece sold to The Atlantic Monthly for $100 (page 101)...which ye Bureau of Labor Statistics Inflation Calculator reminds us would be more like $1,300 in early 2024 money, which definitely ain't bad at all. Still, following up on that first success is not easy, and in the four weeks after his first sale, Masters "had written half a dozen articles and short stories. None had been sold or seemed likely to be" (page 109).
As the man to whom "[t]he breakdown of the Mogul Empire [is] far more real...than the Industrial Revolution" and who understands "the difference between a Jain and a Sikh, but not between a Baptist and a Methodist" (page 139) reports with a seeming shrug,
"my writing was regarded as too impersonal because if I were describing a cobra wriggling up to sink its fangs into a man's leg I regarded it as unnecessary to describe was the man was feeling about it. Most people knew what it was like to have an angry cobra crawling towards them, I thought, and if they didn't, then their imaginations would fill in the gap more vividly than my words." (page 109).
At the same time, he is working on what, half a dozen years later, at last will be released as Bugles and a Tiger. Its original title is "Brutal and Licentious, a quote from a well-known summation of the soldiery" (page 119). This planned title does not fit the final book at all, I would say, but boy, oh, boy, is it eye-catching!
In any event, Masters, now joined by the rest of his family and a nanny, settles down in the country--a section, however, that actually is quite artsy and bohemian--to try to earn his living. Navigating between the Left of "the American Establishment Liberal, whose virtues were always dimmed and sometimes totally obscured by a mixture of factual ignorance and a divinely inspired belief that his own views are the only ones permissible" (page 111), and the Right, who might paint "VOTE FOR DEWEY upon a beautiful tree "in ugly white letters" (page 141) or praise the "unspeakable liar, self-seeker, and cad" of Joseph McCarthy (page 284)-- Learning the strange language of American sports and unfamiliar cuisine, and the ways of local politics-- Explaining and critiquing midcentury U.S. race relations and sexual attitudes-- Using logic and politeness and every bit of influential string-pulling he can against looming deportation-- Helping raise children, and writing, writing, writing-- All of it makes a colorful tapestry, and the once-colonel sells Nightrunners of Bengal and slowly climbs to success after success, and to happiness.
How would this book be approached by someone who had not read the previous two volumes of the author's memoir? I don't know, and I doubt it matters, actually, because such a reader is unlikely to exist. For those who have read Bugles and a Tiger and The Road Past Mandalay, and for those interested in midcentury America or in the profession of writing, John Masters' Pilgrim Son will be an interesting 5-star read.
He soon realizes in the runup to the independence of India that "the remaining British officers of the Indian Army" no longer would a place on the Subcontinent; their "phasing out...would not be gradual, as the phasing-in of Indians had been: it would be sudden and final" (1971 Michael Joseph hardcover, page 31). For a time Masters serves as one of the Directing Staff, or instructors, in the Army's Staff College at Camberley back in Britain, a place "traditionally important, and prestigious enough" (page 41). This is better than nothing, of course, and has its worthwhile aspects, but it is far from the active life of the frontline soldier he used to live, and his wife, who "[a]s a girl...had never opened a can or boiled a kettle," no longer is "protect[ed]" by the "shoals of servants" in India, instead now having a "domestic staff" of only two (page 51). Moreover, "[a]fter the geographical space and freedom of India," Masters considers this little isle a "prison," for "[t]he restrictions on foreign trade hit [them] particularly hard," making travel abroad difficult (page 53).
Eventually, therefore, after much soul-searching and quite a bit of very careful research, Masters decides to take the plunge for the United States, planning to open a business "tak[ing] expeditions of Americans into the Himalayas" (page 71). This falls through, of course--"of course," because we know this fellow now as an author, not as a travel guide, right? Still, the story of his attempts to found this company--and his back-up attempts to market a new brassiere the wife of a friend has invented (page 73)--are entertaining, filled with keen observations of a new culture he is trying to understand, with frustration at interminable and unfathomable bureaucracy, and with amusing incidents aplenty.
In the beginning in New York City, the unknowing author-to-be, schlepping his "Himalayan Holidays file," puts in the shoe-leather work of "walk[ing] over 100 block every day, and usually [seeing] ten or twelve [travel] agents." He soon realizes, though, that he now is a complete outsider, for whereas, as he puts it, "The social structure of England was such that with my accent and my army rank my honesty would be taken for granted unless I did something to cause people to doubt it," here "my hairy tweed suit and my accent, though genuine, seemed to arouse the opposite feeling in those with whom I was trying to do business" (page 88). His attempts to peddle to the "wary denizen[s] of the garment district" the innovative "brassy-air" (page 90), as the poor fellow calls it, bring similar results.
His first real break comes when, after "[w]ord of the English colonel hawking his unlikely expedition" to the Himalayas "reached the topless towers on West 45th Street,...someone Up There thought [he] might make a good piece for the Talk of the Town" of the New Yorker (page 98). After an amiable lunch interview over three or four martinis, the charmed correspondent finally advises Masters, "I think if you cared to write up what you've been saying, you might be able to sell it" (page 99).
And so it begins, with a piece sold to The Atlantic Monthly for $100 (page 101)...which ye Bureau of Labor Statistics Inflation Calculator reminds us would be more like $1,300 in early 2024 money, which definitely ain't bad at all. Still, following up on that first success is not easy, and in the four weeks after his first sale, Masters "had written half a dozen articles and short stories. None had been sold or seemed likely to be" (page 109).
As the man to whom "[t]he breakdown of the Mogul Empire [is] far more real...than the Industrial Revolution" and who understands "the difference between a Jain and a Sikh, but not between a Baptist and a Methodist" (page 139) reports with a seeming shrug,
"my writing was regarded as too impersonal because if I were describing a cobra wriggling up to sink its fangs into a man's leg I regarded it as unnecessary to describe was the man was feeling about it. Most people knew what it was like to have an angry cobra crawling towards them, I thought, and if they didn't, then their imaginations would fill in the gap more vividly than my words." (page 109).
At the same time, he is working on what, half a dozen years later, at last will be released as Bugles and a Tiger. Its original title is "Brutal and Licentious, a quote from a well-known summation of the soldiery" (page 119). This planned title does not fit the final book at all, I would say, but boy, oh, boy, is it eye-catching!
In any event, Masters, now joined by the rest of his family and a nanny, settles down in the country--a section, however, that actually is quite artsy and bohemian--to try to earn his living. Navigating between the Left of "the American Establishment Liberal, whose virtues were always dimmed and sometimes totally obscured by a mixture of factual ignorance and a divinely inspired belief that his own views are the only ones permissible" (page 111), and the Right, who might paint "VOTE FOR DEWEY upon a beautiful tree "in ugly white letters" (page 141) or praise the "unspeakable liar, self-seeker, and cad" of Joseph McCarthy (page 284)-- Learning the strange language of American sports and unfamiliar cuisine, and the ways of local politics-- Explaining and critiquing midcentury U.S. race relations and sexual attitudes-- Using logic and politeness and every bit of influential string-pulling he can against looming deportation-- Helping raise children, and writing, writing, writing-- All of it makes a colorful tapestry, and the once-colonel sells Nightrunners of Bengal and slowly climbs to success after success, and to happiness.
How would this book be approached by someone who had not read the previous two volumes of the author's memoir? I don't know, and I doubt it matters, actually, because such a reader is unlikely to exist. For those who have read Bugles and a Tiger and The Road Past Mandalay, and for those interested in midcentury America or in the profession of writing, John Masters' Pilgrim Son will be an interesting 5-star read.
March 25, 2021
Recounted with his usual breezy elegance and wit, ‘Pilgrim Son’ depicts a fascinating but surely rather unlikely meeting of worlds, as John Masters, retired half-colonel of the British Indian Army, settles down to make his living as a writer in New York’s Bohemian Rockland County.
This, the third and final volume of autobiography from the author, picks up in the aftermath of World War 2, detailing Masters’ chance transformation from ‘English fighting man to American writing man’, and finishing up in the period following the publication of his bestselling novel ‘Bhowani Junction’. This entertaining account is full, among other things, of interesting tidbits about: America as seen through the eyes of a foreigner, the art of writing, and the art of life; all related by a figure interesting in his own right.
This, the third and final volume of autobiography from the author, picks up in the aftermath of World War 2, detailing Masters’ chance transformation from ‘English fighting man to American writing man’, and finishing up in the period following the publication of his bestselling novel ‘Bhowani Junction’. This entertaining account is full, among other things, of interesting tidbits about: America as seen through the eyes of a foreigner, the art of writing, and the art of life; all related by a figure interesting in his own right.
September 19, 2009
Masters life changed from that of a professional soldier in the British Indian Army to that of a succesful noveslist and screenwriter. He also became an avid Giants (baseball) fan. His book is the best account of the process of Americanization and success that I've read. The third in a trilogy, it is a wonderful book.
September 16, 2013
The remarkable personal account of a British Indian Army officer emigrating to the USA, and becoming a successful novelist. The bohemian and literary community in New York state at the time is portrayed. A few jarring elements, yet overall a well written and enjoyable read.
Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews