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Sir Vidia's Shadow: A Friendship Across Five Continents
In an intriguing memoir of friendship, the best-selling novelist, travel writer, and author of The Great Railway Bazaar recounts his experiences and memories as he journeyed around the world with renowned writer V. S. Naipaul. 35,000 first printing. Tour.
358 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1998
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795 people want to read
About the author
Paul Theroux
239 books2,617 followersPaul Edward Theroux is an American travel writer and novelist, whose best known work is The Great Railway Bazaar (1975), a travelogue about a trip he made by train from Great Britain through Western and Eastern Europe, the Middle East, through South Asia, then South-East Asia, up through East Asia, as far east as Japan, and then back across Russia to his point of origin. Although perhaps best known as a travelogue writer, Theroux has also published numerous works of fiction, some of which were made into feature films. He was awarded the 1981 James Tait Black Memorial Prize for his novel The Mosquito Coast.
He is the father of Marcel and Louis Theroux, and the brother of Alexander and Peter. Justin Theroux is his nephew.
He is the father of Marcel and Louis Theroux, and the brother of Alexander and Peter. Justin Theroux is his nephew.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 101 reviews
October 31, 2017
Absolutely spellbinding! I can't remember the last time I laughed over a book so much. Theroux's depiction of Naipaul's (Vidia's) scorn had me cackling with laughter. Naipaul's enmity knows no bounds. He hates everyone. No one can tell him anything he doesn't already know. I'm hard put to recollect other examples of such megalomania in either real life or literature. How could it have left him anything but absolutely miserable? Yet, one thinks, perhaps this was what he had to do to be able to write as he has (a view Theroux rejects). That is to say, ecstatically, brilliantly, for there can be no question about the quality of Naipaul's work. Theroux first met him in Uganda. It was 1965.
But, you'll want to know, is the book filled with damning evidence of Naipaul's cruel temperament? Good God, is it ever! The tale of his treatment of his wife while she was on her deathbed will set your hair on fire. But then it is also filled with Naipaul's moving, deeply considered proclamations on the beauty and deep satisfactions of literature. My only regret is that I've waited so long to read Theroux. I've just ordered The Great Railway Bazaar and if it's half as good as Sir Vidia's Shadow, I will be very happy indeed. The book is also a testament to the vicissitudes of the writing life; in that sense, it's essential. If you've read Naipaul's oeuvre, as I have, it may even be indispensable.
I was just a young man in Africa, trying to make my life. He was one of the strangest men I had ever met, and the most difficult. He was almost unlovable. He was contradictory, he quizzed me incessantly, he challenged everything I said, he demanded attention, he could be petty, he uttered heresies about Africa, he fussed, he mocked, he made his innocent wife cry, he had impossible standards, he was self important, he was obsessive on the subject of his health. He hated children, music, and dogs. But he was also brilliant, and passionate in his convictions, and to be with him, as a friend or fellow writer, I had always to be at my best.
But, you'll want to know, is the book filled with damning evidence of Naipaul's cruel temperament? Good God, is it ever! The tale of his treatment of his wife while she was on her deathbed will set your hair on fire. But then it is also filled with Naipaul's moving, deeply considered proclamations on the beauty and deep satisfactions of literature. My only regret is that I've waited so long to read Theroux. I've just ordered The Great Railway Bazaar and if it's half as good as Sir Vidia's Shadow, I will be very happy indeed. The book is also a testament to the vicissitudes of the writing life; in that sense, it's essential. If you've read Naipaul's oeuvre, as I have, it may even be indispensable.
December 28, 2024
After reading Patrick French's scrupulously researched and compulsively thorough study of V S Naipaul, I was prepared to like this book less. Some passages were fictionalized, as was pointed out by French and confirmed by Paul Theroux. After reading both books I find myself drawn more to this one, however. French seems accurate and fair, but Naipaul's character is not as vividly drawn. Naipaul has much of the same persona in both accounts, and there are no great discrepancies that stand out.
The main distinction between the books is this is a personal memoir, not a professional biography. Paul Theroux knew Naipaul intimately in a variety of settings, where French knows him only through his interviews and papers. The difference is a significant one. Naipaul likely may have wanted it this way. By cooperating with Patrck French on an authorized biography it gave him a chance to set the record straight. The irony may be that nothing much was changed between the two portraits.
Naipaul was legendary in his snarky treatment of those he considered fools (i.e. most people), his uncompromising critique of places and things, scathing sarcasm and perverse humor. This made for scenes of both mortifying and hilarious encounters with almost everyone he met. He was not merely a misanthrope, curmudgeon or egotist; he had an deeply anti-social streak. Theroux's later feud with Naipaul does nothing to discredit his account of the friendship they shared, or this book.
In French's interpretation of the two men he draws a picture of Theroux as a perennial hanger on, and was tireless in his correspondence with Naipaul, who doesn't return his letters or interest. Here it is suggested the relationship was more symbiotic. In Paul Theroux's version of events he is not a sycophant, although he looks up to the famous older writer as a model and mentor. At an early stage in their connection, Theroux strangely contemplates initiating an affair with Naipaul's first wife Pat.
Theroux shows how little Naipaul changed as he visited and corresponded with him over a thirty year period. At times the portrayal becomes less flattering. It reflects Theroux's further acquaintance with his elder, and Naipaul's later decline. It is sad to see how the years go by. Eventually Theroux comes to believe he is equal to or better than his master. He criticizes the manner that Naipaul cut off former ties, but realizes friends are chosen for their kindness not for their virtues.
Some have seen this book as a poison pen missive, or literary retribution from an abandoned friend. There is this aspect, when Theroux tells how Naipaul's second wife Nadia split them apart after the wedding. But the essence of the work is a labor of love from a dedicated friend and admirer of a great writer. Theroux feels he owes his early success to the belief and support he was given as a young man. In his memories of Naipaul there is an abiding compassion and at times even a sense of awe.
The main distinction between the books is this is a personal memoir, not a professional biography. Paul Theroux knew Naipaul intimately in a variety of settings, where French knows him only through his interviews and papers. The difference is a significant one. Naipaul likely may have wanted it this way. By cooperating with Patrck French on an authorized biography it gave him a chance to set the record straight. The irony may be that nothing much was changed between the two portraits.
Naipaul was legendary in his snarky treatment of those he considered fools (i.e. most people), his uncompromising critique of places and things, scathing sarcasm and perverse humor. This made for scenes of both mortifying and hilarious encounters with almost everyone he met. He was not merely a misanthrope, curmudgeon or egotist; he had an deeply anti-social streak. Theroux's later feud with Naipaul does nothing to discredit his account of the friendship they shared, or this book.
In French's interpretation of the two men he draws a picture of Theroux as a perennial hanger on, and was tireless in his correspondence with Naipaul, who doesn't return his letters or interest. Here it is suggested the relationship was more symbiotic. In Paul Theroux's version of events he is not a sycophant, although he looks up to the famous older writer as a model and mentor. At an early stage in their connection, Theroux strangely contemplates initiating an affair with Naipaul's first wife Pat.
Theroux shows how little Naipaul changed as he visited and corresponded with him over a thirty year period. At times the portrayal becomes less flattering. It reflects Theroux's further acquaintance with his elder, and Naipaul's later decline. It is sad to see how the years go by. Eventually Theroux comes to believe he is equal to or better than his master. He criticizes the manner that Naipaul cut off former ties, but realizes friends are chosen for their kindness not for their virtues.
Some have seen this book as a poison pen missive, or literary retribution from an abandoned friend. There is this aspect, when Theroux tells how Naipaul's second wife Nadia split them apart after the wedding. But the essence of the work is a labor of love from a dedicated friend and admirer of a great writer. Theroux feels he owes his early success to the belief and support he was given as a young man. In his memories of Naipaul there is an abiding compassion and at times even a sense of awe.
June 22, 2007
This is the best book of Paul Theroux in my view. It is about his 30-year long friendship - literary friendship - with the Nobel laureate V.S.Naipaul, starting from 1966 and ending abruptly around 1996. Though most commentators castigated Theroux as being bitchy and catty in this book, I feel that they have not read his book with an open mind at all. What comes off in the book is Theroux's anguish at the end of the friendship by Naipaul. He gives due credit to naipaul for being his early mentor. His records of the events over such a long period are precise and detailed. He suggests the contrasts between his own libido-driven personality and Naipaul's low-key sexual life. He gives credit to Naipaul being uncannily perceptive in assessing the possibilities of Uganda's future correctly as compared to all the other artists with whom he used to interact in Uganda in the 1960's.
This is one of the finest books I have read on 'friendship' and I for one, feel sorry for the agony Naipaul caused him by ending the friendship with a 'take it on the chin and move on'. Naipaul is known as a difficult man to be friendly with though there is no doubt about his great accomplishments as a writer.
Though 'enjoyed' is not the right word to use in the book's context, I enjoyed reading the book thoroughly. It was gripping reading as only Paul Theroux can produce. A must for all people who love reading Theroux.
This is one of the finest books I have read on 'friendship' and I for one, feel sorry for the agony Naipaul caused him by ending the friendship with a 'take it on the chin and move on'. Naipaul is known as a difficult man to be friendly with though there is no doubt about his great accomplishments as a writer.
Though 'enjoyed' is not the right word to use in the book's context, I enjoyed reading the book thoroughly. It was gripping reading as only Paul Theroux can produce. A must for all people who love reading Theroux.
April 9, 2021
This is a unique type of biography: the biography of a friendship between two great authors, Paul Theroux and V S Naipaul. Sir Vidia's Shadow: A Friendship Across Five Continents is written from Theroux's point of view, beginning when he meets Naipaul and his wife Pat in Kampala, Uganda, in the 1960s, and lasts until Pat dies and Naipaul remarries in 1996. The new wife, Nadira, insults Theroux. When Theroux and his son accidentally meet Naipaul in London, Naipaul "cuts" him and indicates that the friendship is suddenly over.
But for most of the book, Theroux and Naipaul are close friends; though Naipaul is one of those characters who never picks up the check. Yet Theroux feels he is compensated for being the protegé of the Trinidadian author.
I love both authors, though it is Theroux who has had the most influence on my life, especially with his travel books. (Some day, I should get around to his novels.) Naipaul, too, has been on my list of authors to watch ever since I first read The Return of Eva Peron and Bend of the River in 1981.
The closest biography of a friendship I have found is Boswell's Life of Samuel Johnson LLD, though Boswell covers all of Johnson's life, whereas Theroux covers only the period of the friendship.
But for most of the book, Theroux and Naipaul are close friends; though Naipaul is one of those characters who never picks up the check. Yet Theroux feels he is compensated for being the protegé of the Trinidadian author.
I love both authors, though it is Theroux who has had the most influence on my life, especially with his travel books. (Some day, I should get around to his novels.) Naipaul, too, has been on my list of authors to watch ever since I first read The Return of Eva Peron and Bend of the River in 1981.
The closest biography of a friendship I have found is Boswell's Life of Samuel Johnson LLD, though Boswell covers all of Johnson's life, whereas Theroux covers only the period of the friendship.
November 22, 2012
I am so glad I picked up this memoir as an accompaniment to my book club’s choice of “Half a Life” by V.S. Naipaul. In this book, Paul Theroux documents an apparently very close friendship with Naipaul, beginning in 1966 in Africa and ending nearly 30 years later with a falling out. During this time, both men publish many books and articles, travel extensively, take lovers and get divorced. When they meet, Naipaul is already famous and has won several prizes, but Theroux is just beginning his writing career and looks up to the slightly older Naipaul as a mentor. The book ends before Naipaul is awarded the Nobel Prize in 2001, but Theroux has by this time also become a world-famous author and credits much of his success to the advice and encouragement received from Naipaul through the years.
The literary nature of their friendship was one of the most interesting parts of the book. Theroux describes the loneliness and discouragement he felt early on in his career, when he was unsure of his path and didn’t know where his next nickel would come from. He attributes similar moments to Naipaul and shows how they understood and encouraged one another at these crucial points. Theroux also provides many insights into Naipaul’s writing philosophy, which he sums up as “tell the truth.” Naipaul feels there is nothing quite so distracting as when a writer uses words carelessly, misapplying or mystifying or prettifying rather than clarifying. Naipaul’s insistence on simplicity in prose and exactness in word choice is evident in those of his novels which I have read; I am inspired to achieve this simplicity in my own writing from now on.
Naturally, friendship is another driving theme of the book. Theroux casts himself as staying in the shadow cast by Naipaul, who was the better-known and more critically acclaimed writer of the two, throughout their relationship. Naipaul comes across as being a forceful personality with strong opinions who enjoys playing Jedi Master to Theroux’s Padawan. Despite (or perhaps because of) living continents apart and conducting much of their relationship by letter, the two were able to pick up the threads of friendship instantly no matter how much time passed between meetings. They accepted each other’s weaknesses and supported each other in both good and bad times. I saw connections between the fact that Naipaul was close to very few people besides Theroux and the solitary, friendless protagonists in his novels.
I have read in several places that Naipaul has been accused of perpetuating a vision of the third world as inferior to the developed, Western democracies. This memoir shows that he loathes many aspects of his own culture, calling it a “small and incomplete world” that exists in “spiritual blight.” He sees colonies as “dependent and inferior” by their very nature and says they have “a self-destructive instinct for chaos.” But he also calls colonialism a farce and says the modern world’s primary issues are race and class. And he says “unless one hears a little squeal of pain after one’s done some writing, one has not really done much.” This book makes it clear that he is by nature highly critical and desirous to reveal the reality behind the façade, themes which strongly informed the two Naipaul novels I read (“A House for Mr. Biswas” and “Half a Life”).
Naipaul’s sense of alienation was another recurring topic of this memoir which I found helpful in understanding his novels. Naipaul feels he is an exile, a man without a country. Born in India, raised in Trinidad and settled in England, he says he “has no home.” Like the protagonist in “A House for Mr. Biswas,” the real-life Naipaul is obsessed with buying a home in one of the “fashionable” parts of London and seems unhappy until he achieves this level of security. But he is also homeless in the land of literature, saying that the Great Books he read as a child in school in Trinidad had nothing to do with the world he knew. He sees his writing as bringing into existence the “destitution and alienation” of the world he knows. I found myself wondering whether, like the unexamined life or a tree falling unwitnessed in the wood, the unwritten world in some sense does not exist? If no one has written about a life/people/place/country, does it make a sound? “Mr. Biswas” made Trinidad a real place populated by real people for me. Had Naipaul not written about it, and, let’s be fair, had he not gotten a Nobel Prize, how many people outside of Trinidad would have given the island a second thought?
This leads me to my final takeaway from this book. Naipaul says “most people have no idea what they think of a book after they’ve read it” and points out that writing book reviews (something both Theroux and Naipaul did frequently throughout their careers in order to make money between novels) forces one to reach conclusions about what has been read. This is what makes me a fan of both book clubs and book review websites like GoodReads and Amazon. I find that having to articulate my feelings about a book to my book club friends or in a review on the internet really helps crystallize my opinions. Taking a stand publicly forces me to acknowledge my own prejudices and biases. No more simply “liking” something, I must back this up with evidence and this makes me think more deeply about what I have read.
So here’s a summation of why I liked this book enough to give it five stars. Theroux’s memoir depicts Naipaul as a man with an enormous ego, but it also shows how important belief in oneself is in the writing process. I admire Naipaul’s tenacity in writing about obscure places and ordinary people, and trusting that eventually, someone, somewhere would appreciate what he was trying to say enough to publish it. I respect him for having an opinion and putting it out there for the world to judge. Naipaul is quoted several times in this book as saying the author must never come before the work, but for me, having a better understanding of the man definitely enhanced my ability to understand his novels and his world.
The literary nature of their friendship was one of the most interesting parts of the book. Theroux describes the loneliness and discouragement he felt early on in his career, when he was unsure of his path and didn’t know where his next nickel would come from. He attributes similar moments to Naipaul and shows how they understood and encouraged one another at these crucial points. Theroux also provides many insights into Naipaul’s writing philosophy, which he sums up as “tell the truth.” Naipaul feels there is nothing quite so distracting as when a writer uses words carelessly, misapplying or mystifying or prettifying rather than clarifying. Naipaul’s insistence on simplicity in prose and exactness in word choice is evident in those of his novels which I have read; I am inspired to achieve this simplicity in my own writing from now on.
Naturally, friendship is another driving theme of the book. Theroux casts himself as staying in the shadow cast by Naipaul, who was the better-known and more critically acclaimed writer of the two, throughout their relationship. Naipaul comes across as being a forceful personality with strong opinions who enjoys playing Jedi Master to Theroux’s Padawan. Despite (or perhaps because of) living continents apart and conducting much of their relationship by letter, the two were able to pick up the threads of friendship instantly no matter how much time passed between meetings. They accepted each other’s weaknesses and supported each other in both good and bad times. I saw connections between the fact that Naipaul was close to very few people besides Theroux and the solitary, friendless protagonists in his novels.
I have read in several places that Naipaul has been accused of perpetuating a vision of the third world as inferior to the developed, Western democracies. This memoir shows that he loathes many aspects of his own culture, calling it a “small and incomplete world” that exists in “spiritual blight.” He sees colonies as “dependent and inferior” by their very nature and says they have “a self-destructive instinct for chaos.” But he also calls colonialism a farce and says the modern world’s primary issues are race and class. And he says “unless one hears a little squeal of pain after one’s done some writing, one has not really done much.” This book makes it clear that he is by nature highly critical and desirous to reveal the reality behind the façade, themes which strongly informed the two Naipaul novels I read (“A House for Mr. Biswas” and “Half a Life”).
Naipaul’s sense of alienation was another recurring topic of this memoir which I found helpful in understanding his novels. Naipaul feels he is an exile, a man without a country. Born in India, raised in Trinidad and settled in England, he says he “has no home.” Like the protagonist in “A House for Mr. Biswas,” the real-life Naipaul is obsessed with buying a home in one of the “fashionable” parts of London and seems unhappy until he achieves this level of security. But he is also homeless in the land of literature, saying that the Great Books he read as a child in school in Trinidad had nothing to do with the world he knew. He sees his writing as bringing into existence the “destitution and alienation” of the world he knows. I found myself wondering whether, like the unexamined life or a tree falling unwitnessed in the wood, the unwritten world in some sense does not exist? If no one has written about a life/people/place/country, does it make a sound? “Mr. Biswas” made Trinidad a real place populated by real people for me. Had Naipaul not written about it, and, let’s be fair, had he not gotten a Nobel Prize, how many people outside of Trinidad would have given the island a second thought?
This leads me to my final takeaway from this book. Naipaul says “most people have no idea what they think of a book after they’ve read it” and points out that writing book reviews (something both Theroux and Naipaul did frequently throughout their careers in order to make money between novels) forces one to reach conclusions about what has been read. This is what makes me a fan of both book clubs and book review websites like GoodReads and Amazon. I find that having to articulate my feelings about a book to my book club friends or in a review on the internet really helps crystallize my opinions. Taking a stand publicly forces me to acknowledge my own prejudices and biases. No more simply “liking” something, I must back this up with evidence and this makes me think more deeply about what I have read.
So here’s a summation of why I liked this book enough to give it five stars. Theroux’s memoir depicts Naipaul as a man with an enormous ego, but it also shows how important belief in oneself is in the writing process. I admire Naipaul’s tenacity in writing about obscure places and ordinary people, and trusting that eventually, someone, somewhere would appreciate what he was trying to say enough to publish it. I respect him for having an opinion and putting it out there for the world to judge. Naipaul is quoted several times in this book as saying the author must never come before the work, but for me, having a better understanding of the man definitely enhanced my ability to understand his novels and his world.
July 14, 2023
Surprised to find this was one of my favorite books ever. Can’t remember the last time I laughed so much while reading.
Read
October 10, 2010These two assholes deserved each other.
January 18, 2025
When I read Theroux in the 1990s the books were two train journeys in different parts of the world. Then I read him on Henry Miller. In all instances he was an above-it-all snot. I heard about this book when it came out, but not liking Theroux and having been bored by Naipaul's Mr. Biswas (read because Gaddis liked Mimic Men, I think) I had no interest in it at the time.
Time passed. The copy I have was purchased used. The two writers deserve each other. What impresses me is how Theroux comes out looking better than Naipaul, but that's through suppression of his raw feelings on him until the last pages. Toady is a word that comes to mind, enabler another, coward a third. It's not smart to be impressed by a writer and his rules to the point you have them in your head, or to think that succumbing to a cult of personality can be forgiven by every reader. There are enough cults around to make one leery of anyone blind enough to join the Naipaul one.
What I mean is, Theroux was impressionable when he was 24 and Naipaul 35 or so, but as the years went on surely he could see better what Naipaul was. Wilful ignorance. The glitter is lifted from Theroux's eyelids when he receives a fax from the second Lady Naipaul that would be considered, by most standards, insulting and high-handed. He has been barred from the presence of the great man. That's what hurts him the most, that a woman with literary pretensions (Theroux's implicit judgment) got in the way of this literary friendship. To me it seemed more like a conman and his mark separated by a hostile third force, but that's only an opinion.
Why 4 stars? For the unadorned anger, for the ugly portrait of himself (as he must be aware), and for the even uglier one of Naipaul, done with liveliness and venting of the spleen that powers certain writers' sentences. (Trolls share that.) It's a welcome change to see Theroux shoot himself and Naipaul in the feet over and over instead of hitting the targets he focused on in those earlier books, the Other.
Time passed. The copy I have was purchased used. The two writers deserve each other. What impresses me is how Theroux comes out looking better than Naipaul, but that's through suppression of his raw feelings on him until the last pages. Toady is a word that comes to mind, enabler another, coward a third. It's not smart to be impressed by a writer and his rules to the point you have them in your head, or to think that succumbing to a cult of personality can be forgiven by every reader. There are enough cults around to make one leery of anyone blind enough to join the Naipaul one.
What I mean is, Theroux was impressionable when he was 24 and Naipaul 35 or so, but as the years went on surely he could see better what Naipaul was. Wilful ignorance. The glitter is lifted from Theroux's eyelids when he receives a fax from the second Lady Naipaul that would be considered, by most standards, insulting and high-handed. He has been barred from the presence of the great man. That's what hurts him the most, that a woman with literary pretensions (Theroux's implicit judgment) got in the way of this literary friendship. To me it seemed more like a conman and his mark separated by a hostile third force, but that's only an opinion.
Why 4 stars? For the unadorned anger, for the ugly portrait of himself (as he must be aware), and for the even uglier one of Naipaul, done with liveliness and venting of the spleen that powers certain writers' sentences. (Trolls share that.) It's a welcome change to see Theroux shoot himself and Naipaul in the feet over and over instead of hitting the targets he focused on in those earlier books, the Other.
December 13, 2008
I will never be able to read a VS Naipaul book, now that I have read "Sir Vidia's Shadow" - I know too much. I actually tried to read one of his books a couple of years ago, but never got very far. "Sir Vidia's" is an interesting look into the creative process for both Naipaul and Theroux. Theroux is, at the very least, an honest writer - painting himself as a bit of a cliche in the beginning (the "man's man" writer - a very Hemingway-esque guy who always satisfies his lover...many Freudian interpretations possible here), but it is when he shifts to the descriptions of Naipaul where he finds firmer ground. The portrait is detailed, complex and confusing, much like a good portrait should be. In the end, however, it is Theroux who we understand - wounded and lashing out at a former mentor...
November 19, 2013
What a stroke of luck for an aspiring writer struggling in backwater Uganda: to have a future Nobel laureate dumped in your lap as mentor and guide into the London literary world. After recently re-reading Theroux's breakthrough book, The Great Railway Bazaar, 1975, I was driven to read this literary memoir, which chronicles the author's career and his close association with Naipaul--which ended in acrimony after 30 years. Early on, before he had published a book and asked Naipaul's advice, Theroux was counseled to "Tell the truth." That he does here (at least his version of it), painting an unflattering and at times salacious portrait of Naipaul, who comes across as often arrogant, rude, racist and self-involved--though at the same time witty and insightful. While some of this may be payback for Naipaul ultimately shunning him (particularly Theroux's trashing of Naipaul's second wife), it is fascinating literary gossip and autobiography that most any writer and many readers of literature would enjoy. How much of it is fact and how much fiction remains unknown. Theroux claims to have not kept a journal over the years of their relationship yet writes extensive dialogue from meetings, luncheons and dinner parties--even noting what Sir Vidia had to eat. Theroux may indeed have a stunning memory--a great gift for any writer, particularly a journalist or memoirist. But Theroux is also a novelist, whose inventive skills should not be underestimated in this case.
October 12, 2014
Paul begins in his usual notorious way, by trying to write fictitiously about Naipaul. Soon he gives up and reveals the identity of his character. That is the Paul one knows.
But he dwells in on the life of the master so elaborately that one feels enamored of his work. So well written of the person he liked and followed in his writing.
His infatuation with Naipaul's first wife is understandable. But he despises his second wife no doubt, who is a divorced Pakistani journalist.
He claims to understand the myth called Naipaul. But no. Naipaul surprises him all his life. 'Lots of libido' was the first comment Naipaul offered him on reading his poetry. And it was always like this. Paul claiming Naipaul for either making his career as a writer or being a guide of his literary life.
But Paul was quite unlike Naipaul, in his writing and the life of a writer. But he is a prodigious protegee of the master. Paul had paid a rich tribute to Naipaul, by writing two books about his mentor. No greater tribute could have been paid.It is not important that the first one is out of print
So one likes both, Paul and Naipaul.
The writing life is very lonely and grinding. It is heartening how both did survive and made it well too.
In the later part of the book though, Paul got deluded by the success of one of his travel books: that if he is a better writer than Naipaul. One never thought if it was ever the case. Even Salman Rushdie too is largely ignored by the master when they meet. Many people may think is was rightly done so by Naipaul.
But Paul is a decent writer. He worked harder all the way and produced many remarkable books like Naipaul, but they are mostly travel books. While writing fiction he falters right from the beginning.
May be there is a memoir up his sleeve, about the life after his friendship with Naipaul was over. It was largely for antagonising his second wife
He is naughty, in this book too, for making a false start and then picking up, thankfully. Also one doubts his sexual escapades as fraudulent, in this book or in others.
The things Vidia does to fend away boredom and idleness of a writer's life are funny and heart-rending. He becomes immune to the strongest sneezing-powder and moves around with it up his nostrils in his house. May be it was the over use.
Paul's own divorce too was sad.
The dominating Naipaul always brought to tears his first wife Pat. And declined to take her to the ceremony of his knighthood. It was disappointing for a sick and dying wife.
The sad demise of Shiva, the brother of Vidia too is dealt with fairly. He was as talented as both, which Paul asserts needlessly otherwise.
God bless these two unique writers of our time.
I read this book a couple of times after my son brought it from his library near our home. The last reading was at least three years back. I am amazed how often I recall the description of this book. This review too is based on those readings. A lot more I could have added to it, however.
But he dwells in on the life of the master so elaborately that one feels enamored of his work. So well written of the person he liked and followed in his writing.
His infatuation with Naipaul's first wife is understandable. But he despises his second wife no doubt, who is a divorced Pakistani journalist.
He claims to understand the myth called Naipaul. But no. Naipaul surprises him all his life. 'Lots of libido' was the first comment Naipaul offered him on reading his poetry. And it was always like this. Paul claiming Naipaul for either making his career as a writer or being a guide of his literary life.
But Paul was quite unlike Naipaul, in his writing and the life of a writer. But he is a prodigious protegee of the master. Paul had paid a rich tribute to Naipaul, by writing two books about his mentor. No greater tribute could have been paid.It is not important that the first one is out of print
So one likes both, Paul and Naipaul.
The writing life is very lonely and grinding. It is heartening how both did survive and made it well too.
In the later part of the book though, Paul got deluded by the success of one of his travel books: that if he is a better writer than Naipaul. One never thought if it was ever the case. Even Salman Rushdie too is largely ignored by the master when they meet. Many people may think is was rightly done so by Naipaul.
But Paul is a decent writer. He worked harder all the way and produced many remarkable books like Naipaul, but they are mostly travel books. While writing fiction he falters right from the beginning.
May be there is a memoir up his sleeve, about the life after his friendship with Naipaul was over. It was largely for antagonising his second wife
He is naughty, in this book too, for making a false start and then picking up, thankfully. Also one doubts his sexual escapades as fraudulent, in this book or in others.
The things Vidia does to fend away boredom and idleness of a writer's life are funny and heart-rending. He becomes immune to the strongest sneezing-powder and moves around with it up his nostrils in his house. May be it was the over use.
Paul's own divorce too was sad.
The dominating Naipaul always brought to tears his first wife Pat. And declined to take her to the ceremony of his knighthood. It was disappointing for a sick and dying wife.
The sad demise of Shiva, the brother of Vidia too is dealt with fairly. He was as talented as both, which Paul asserts needlessly otherwise.
God bless these two unique writers of our time.
I read this book a couple of times after my son brought it from his library near our home. The last reading was at least three years back. I am amazed how often I recall the description of this book. This review too is based on those readings. A lot more I could have added to it, however.
July 10, 2008
An excellent, highly engaging chronicle of a literary friendship between a writer and his mentor. Theroux is, it seems to me, a trust-worthy guide, an insightful observer and commentator. He offers acute observations on friendship, loyalty, the writing life, Africa, sex. Naipaul is a prick (but we already knew that), someone whose ideas, judgments and opinions become more and more calcified. Details abound. One admires the friendship between Naipaul and Theroux nonetheless, for its steadfastness (for a good thirty years) and its literary aspects.
----------
Theroux on friendship:
"At its most profound, friendship is not a hearty, matey celebration of linked arms and vigorous toasts; it is, rather, a solemn understanding that is hardly ever discussed. Friends rarely use the word "friendship" and seldom speak of how they are linked. There is a sort of trust that is offered by very few people; there are favors that very few can grant: such instances are the test of friendship. With your ego switched off, you accept this person--his demands, his silences--and it is reciprocal. The relationship does not have the hideous complexity of family sibling rivalry--that struggling like crabs in a basket. Nor does it have the heat of romantic love or the contractual connection of marriage. Yet a sympathy as deep as love springs from the moment you detect any disturbance or intimation of inadequacy in this other person. You take the rest on faith. It is not belief but acceptance, and even a kind of protection.
"Friendship arises less from a form of an admiring love of strength than a sense of gentleness, a suspicion of weakness. It is compassionate intimacy, a powerful kindness, and a knowledge of imperfection." [283-84]
----------
Theroux on friendship:
"At its most profound, friendship is not a hearty, matey celebration of linked arms and vigorous toasts; it is, rather, a solemn understanding that is hardly ever discussed. Friends rarely use the word "friendship" and seldom speak of how they are linked. There is a sort of trust that is offered by very few people; there are favors that very few can grant: such instances are the test of friendship. With your ego switched off, you accept this person--his demands, his silences--and it is reciprocal. The relationship does not have the hideous complexity of family sibling rivalry--that struggling like crabs in a basket. Nor does it have the heat of romantic love or the contractual connection of marriage. Yet a sympathy as deep as love springs from the moment you detect any disturbance or intimation of inadequacy in this other person. You take the rest on faith. It is not belief but acceptance, and even a kind of protection.
"Friendship arises less from a form of an admiring love of strength than a sense of gentleness, a suspicion of weakness. It is compassionate intimacy, a powerful kindness, and a knowledge of imperfection." [283-84]
May 4, 2008
A fan of both Theroux and Naipaul, this book was a voyeuristic journey throughout their lifes and friendship. Theroux portrays their relationship in which he is the underling, always expected to pick up the restaurant tab and listen to Naipaul's diatribes without comment. The lessons learned (and, I would argue, the contacts gained) from Naipaul justified the occasional harsh treatment. I met Theroux briefly in February and he told the audience that it was a book on the unexplored theme of friendship. Indeed. But Theroux demands an explanation for the friendship's demise and is told by Naipaul to "take it on the chin and move on." That's more of a rationale than most people ever receive for failed friendships and relationships.
January 31, 2018
I am a fan of the writing of both Paul Theroux and V.S. Naipaul and was interested by this account of their falling out mainly due to a a memorable experience I had that concerned Naipaul. It seems he was being hosted by The Japan Foundation and was appearing at a panel discussion in Tokyo circa 1997. I was familiar with a few of his books and I was absolutely floored at what a pompous ass he was. He said things such as, "I put Africa on the map! No one was writing about Africa until I was!" He dismissed people left right and center, and nonetheless audience members were sucking up to him, "Sir Naipaul, what do you think of George Orwell?" His second wife Naidra, the one he left his dying first wife for, leaned over and took this question for him! "He loves Orwell, he is big fan of Orwell." I was incredulous that this arrogant man would allow his wife to speak for him and that he brings her to panel discussions! These were the things I witnessed. Still, I could not deny that he was a gifted writer and had many interesting and worthwhile things to say in his writing. I also knew that the advance reviews of Theroux's book on their lengthy friendship and break up, Sir Vidia's Shadow (1998), which did not put Naipaul in a good light, had to be true to life, due to what I had witnessed that day. Imagine my chagrin when in the second chapter of Theroux's book, when Naipaul was 34 visiting Kampala, says, without irony:
'I have been compared with Orwell. Imagine. In a review. It was meant to be a compliment.' And he laughed again. 'It was lost on me. I have a very low opinion of Orwell's writing.'
The book is full of other such contentious statements, it seems Naipal likes to provoke people. Interesting that in most cases Theroux would let such remarks pas without challenging him because he valued Naipla's opinion and was grateful for his support and encouragement over the years. Most of the book follows the careers and developments of the two writers as they both gained stature in the world of books. Theeroux's portrait is very forgiving up until the incidents that fuel the falling out (Vidia's wife Pat's death, his new marriage, sharing a stage at a literary festival, the selling of signed first editions of Theroux's to a book seller, a nasty fax from Vidia's new wife, and the ensuing silence, and chance encounter in London where Vidia tells Theroux he has made no mistake about his intentions). That is aside from that, there was somewhat unflattering portrait of Vidia's brother Shiva who died in 2009. In a postscript where the two writers bury the hatchet in 2011 at the literary festival that was the beginning of the end for the friends. I have read more books by Theroux than Naipaul, so his perspective on his career was of great interest to me. That being said I have only read a few of Naipaul's books (A Bend in the River, Guerillas, Among the Believers, and Beyond Belief), all of which I liked, so Theroux's assessment of several of the others has landed them on my to read list. For me it was more of a memoir than a hatchet job, but it is also that.
'I have been compared with Orwell. Imagine. In a review. It was meant to be a compliment.' And he laughed again. 'It was lost on me. I have a very low opinion of Orwell's writing.'
The book is full of other such contentious statements, it seems Naipal likes to provoke people. Interesting that in most cases Theroux would let such remarks pas without challenging him because he valued Naipla's opinion and was grateful for his support and encouragement over the years. Most of the book follows the careers and developments of the two writers as they both gained stature in the world of books. Theeroux's portrait is very forgiving up until the incidents that fuel the falling out (Vidia's wife Pat's death, his new marriage, sharing a stage at a literary festival, the selling of signed first editions of Theroux's to a book seller, a nasty fax from Vidia's new wife, and the ensuing silence, and chance encounter in London where Vidia tells Theroux he has made no mistake about his intentions). That is aside from that, there was somewhat unflattering portrait of Vidia's brother Shiva who died in 2009. In a postscript where the two writers bury the hatchet in 2011 at the literary festival that was the beginning of the end for the friends. I have read more books by Theroux than Naipaul, so his perspective on his career was of great interest to me. That being said I have only read a few of Naipaul's books (A Bend in the River, Guerillas, Among the Believers, and Beyond Belief), all of which I liked, so Theroux's assessment of several of the others has landed them on my to read list. For me it was more of a memoir than a hatchet job, but it is also that.
October 22, 2016
For reasons unknown, I have been reluctant to read the fiction of Paul Theroux. While most of his travel books have been very satisfying, the only fiction I attempted, 'The Stranger at the Palazzo d'Oro' left me cold. Perhaps it is because the places he visits, the characters he meets and the situations he encounters are stranger than any story.
Sir Vidia's Shadow starts out with a fictional story, but it had me hooked from the beginning and it became more compelling as the fictional beginning morphed into a semi autobiographical story of a friendship and the mentoring of a young writer by an older one.
I have always been interested in the craft of writing and the majority of the book, hung upon the true story of a long friendship and it's strange end, is really the story of Theroux's first steps and then growing confidence as a writer. Reading his travel books over the last few years enabled me to understand the back story as it were of Theroux's own life and provide some flesh to the bare bones of his 'other life' which is often only hinted at in the travel narratives. As presented in his travel writings, his life seemed carefree and one to be envied. The ability to wander for months at a time, with no apparent deadline or family cares seemed like the ideal lifestyle.
But everything has it's price and in Sir Vidia's Shadow, Theroux also provides a glimpse into his own, often troubled life. Like V.S. Naipul, the topic of the book, Theroux also reveals himself as a flawed individual, but, if his side of the story is to be believed, he is at least redeemed by his family life and his more generous attitude towards the need of a friendship. Naipul is portrayed as both money focused and totally self centered and absorbed.
However, what are shown as Naipul's flaws are also seen as the keys to his power as a writer and if anyone wants an understanding on what it is to be a writer, the solitary path that must be travelled, the single mindeness and determination, the often desperate struggle for cash and the rewards and fame that can sometimes be achieved, then this is the essential book.
If anyone wants to also reflect on friendship, their own approach to it and the perception it creates in others, then this is also the book.
Sir Vidia's Shadow starts out with a fictional story, but it had me hooked from the beginning and it became more compelling as the fictional beginning morphed into a semi autobiographical story of a friendship and the mentoring of a young writer by an older one.
I have always been interested in the craft of writing and the majority of the book, hung upon the true story of a long friendship and it's strange end, is really the story of Theroux's first steps and then growing confidence as a writer. Reading his travel books over the last few years enabled me to understand the back story as it were of Theroux's own life and provide some flesh to the bare bones of his 'other life' which is often only hinted at in the travel narratives. As presented in his travel writings, his life seemed carefree and one to be envied. The ability to wander for months at a time, with no apparent deadline or family cares seemed like the ideal lifestyle.
But everything has it's price and in Sir Vidia's Shadow, Theroux also provides a glimpse into his own, often troubled life. Like V.S. Naipul, the topic of the book, Theroux also reveals himself as a flawed individual, but, if his side of the story is to be believed, he is at least redeemed by his family life and his more generous attitude towards the need of a friendship. Naipul is portrayed as both money focused and totally self centered and absorbed.
However, what are shown as Naipul's flaws are also seen as the keys to his power as a writer and if anyone wants an understanding on what it is to be a writer, the solitary path that must be travelled, the single mindeness and determination, the often desperate struggle for cash and the rewards and fame that can sometimes be achieved, then this is the essential book.
If anyone wants to also reflect on friendship, their own approach to it and the perception it creates in others, then this is also the book.
September 7, 2013
I found this difficult to rate, as I have read neither Theroux nor Naipaul. I was however interested in the story a frienship between two men, working in the same field. This recollection by Theroux, whileI thought was technically well written (and I am unaware of any suits for defamation, so probably accurate) is not likely to inspire me to read anything written by eithger of them. They both appear to be deeply unpleasant, and not people that I would really want to know. Elements of misogyny are througout, and the weaknesses in both their characters were clearly displayed. I was interested in the dynamics and logistics of a relationship mostly in letters - the rapid advances in technology mean that an equivalent relationship would likely be on very different terms today. This may be a book that I come back to if I ever do read anything by these authors, but would have to say that there is a certain dignity in silence, and I am not sure what the point of Theroux's lament to his lost friendship really was.
December 6, 2014
My favorite book by Theroux and one of my favorite books, ever. Sir Vidia's Shadow is the no-holds barred examination of his complicated relationship with his mentor, VS Naipaul. One of the few books I've bothered to read twice through and even still dip into from time-to-time. It's intensely personal, viciously honest, scathing yet tender, with many darkly funny moments. Theroux is the master of eloquent sarcasm. Here is one of my favorite passages, which I must've read 42 times, and yet still cracks me up. Paul & VS have arrived at a hotel. The hotel's owner is checking them in:
"What was the name?"
"Naipaul."
"Are you the writer?"
It was an inspired response. The heavens opened. A trumpet sounded, flocks of doves soared, and all the malaikas, the choirs of black angels, in the skies of western Kenya burst into song.
*********************
Brilliant. Just brilliant.
"What was the name?"
"Naipaul."
"Are you the writer?"
It was an inspired response. The heavens opened. A trumpet sounded, flocks of doves soared, and all the malaikas, the choirs of black angels, in the skies of western Kenya burst into song.
*********************
Brilliant. Just brilliant.
January 7, 2011
I did a second reading of this book recently. And I would rank it along side "The Mosquito Coast" as two of the best books written by Theroux -- all the travel books by Theroux are mere fluff.
This book is part biography, part autobiography, part deconstruction (and perhaps part fiction) of Theroux's complicated relationship with VS Naipaul.
Theroux is a struggling lecturer working for the peace corp in Uganda, he meets visiting eminent professor and famous writer VS Naipaul who takes him under his wing and tells him to explore his writing side -- and a friendship begins. But its steadily downhill from there-on ....and that progress of the relationship and the events surrounding it is what this book attempts to potray.
This book is part biography, part autobiography, part deconstruction (and perhaps part fiction) of Theroux's complicated relationship with VS Naipaul.
Theroux is a struggling lecturer working for the peace corp in Uganda, he meets visiting eminent professor and famous writer VS Naipaul who takes him under his wing and tells him to explore his writing side -- and a friendship begins. But its steadily downhill from there-on ....and that progress of the relationship and the events surrounding it is what this book attempts to potray.
August 9, 2009
I don't normally read biography but my brother gave this to me to read on a plane and V.S. Naipaul is one of my all-time favorite authors. I was amazed by how much I enjoyed this book. Felt quite sad and lonely at the end, as I often do at the end of an especially good novel. I've decided to read more of Paul Theroux's work. I've been told his fiction isn't as good as his travel writing but I'm going to try Mosquito Coast.
December 15, 2024
Although Friendship between good men is interrupted,their principles remain unaltered.
The stalk of the lotus may be broken,but the fibres remain connected.
Very enjoyable read.
April 12, 2013
Quirky story about two very quirky men.
June 12, 2017
I had a few false starts with this book but once I got going it developed for me and became a really good read. It was very surprising, intimate, intriguing, meaty and rewarding.
There are a few layers to the book. It poses an immediate question, why did the relationship that developed from mentor - mentee, to fellow writer - friendship dissolve? The book is about a 35 year relationship that suddenly turned bad but it is also about the writing process, a biography of the lives of two men, their illnesses, struggles, successes and relationships. What are the privileges of being a writer?
Theroux meets Naipaul in Uganda whilst teaching and they go on road trips around Africa which Theroux loves but Naipaul hates. Naipaul is 9 years his senior when they meet in Africa and is already a success whereas Theroux is just starting out on his writing journey. Naipaul is blind to Africa, and in one notable scene awards a special prize in an African literary contest.
Naipaul is at once racist, shocking, and thoughtful. Naipaul makes embittered sometimes funny cutting remarks. Everyone other than Naipaul seems to be an infie or (infidel), he never pays for dinner. Although the book is cutting at times Theroux’s portrait is also full of admiration and ardour for Naipaul's writing and guidance. Lest we forget what a difficult, malevolent, unforgiving, changeable, cruel, selfish, misogynist Naipaul is who hates music strangely enough. For example Theroux always pays the bills at restaurants Naipaul despite earning more never offers as if he is pulling rank on Theroux. Theroux also seeks to explain this behaviour. Naipaul is an exile, isolated, insecure and this is what manifests his defensive personality. Theroux values Naipaul's encouragement and guidance alas the apprentice who surpasses the master must be put in his place.
There is a lunch with Antonia Fraser and other writers, an African adventure, a portrait of Naipaul’s long suffering wife Pat, a sweet, kind, forgiving lady who suffers daily emotional abuse whilst Naipaul conducts affairs not so much behind her back. Paul omits the reasons for the falling apart of his own marriage and Naipaul characteristically ignores his pain during the separation. Theroux's criticism of Naipaul’s brother's writing sounds a bit like jealousy, not of his work but relationship with Naipaul.
There is so much in this book. It helped that I am a fan of Paul’s travel writing and aspects of his character but it is also a book about what it means to be a writer and the writing life.
There are a few layers to the book. It poses an immediate question, why did the relationship that developed from mentor - mentee, to fellow writer - friendship dissolve? The book is about a 35 year relationship that suddenly turned bad but it is also about the writing process, a biography of the lives of two men, their illnesses, struggles, successes and relationships. What are the privileges of being a writer?
Theroux meets Naipaul in Uganda whilst teaching and they go on road trips around Africa which Theroux loves but Naipaul hates. Naipaul is 9 years his senior when they meet in Africa and is already a success whereas Theroux is just starting out on his writing journey. Naipaul is blind to Africa, and in one notable scene awards a special prize in an African literary contest.
Naipaul is at once racist, shocking, and thoughtful. Naipaul makes embittered sometimes funny cutting remarks. Everyone other than Naipaul seems to be an infie or (infidel), he never pays for dinner. Although the book is cutting at times Theroux’s portrait is also full of admiration and ardour for Naipaul's writing and guidance. Lest we forget what a difficult, malevolent, unforgiving, changeable, cruel, selfish, misogynist Naipaul is who hates music strangely enough. For example Theroux always pays the bills at restaurants Naipaul despite earning more never offers as if he is pulling rank on Theroux. Theroux also seeks to explain this behaviour. Naipaul is an exile, isolated, insecure and this is what manifests his defensive personality. Theroux values Naipaul's encouragement and guidance alas the apprentice who surpasses the master must be put in his place.
There is a lunch with Antonia Fraser and other writers, an African adventure, a portrait of Naipaul’s long suffering wife Pat, a sweet, kind, forgiving lady who suffers daily emotional abuse whilst Naipaul conducts affairs not so much behind her back. Paul omits the reasons for the falling apart of his own marriage and Naipaul characteristically ignores his pain during the separation. Theroux's criticism of Naipaul’s brother's writing sounds a bit like jealousy, not of his work but relationship with Naipaul.
There is so much in this book. It helped that I am a fan of Paul’s travel writing and aspects of his character but it is also a book about what it means to be a writer and the writing life.
July 12, 2013
"Sir Vidia's Shadow" is the sort of book Boswell might have written had he broken relations with Johnson while the great man was alive. Although in person the Nobel laureate Naipaul is very short and almost fragile (according to Theroux) he must have been in many ways a very large man to cast so great a shadow on so many people.
The story is easily told. In 1966 Theroux is a twentyish university lecturer living in Central and Eastern Africa who enjoys the sexual mores of the natives. He meets V. S. Naipaul, then in his mid-thirties, and his wife, Pat. Naipaul has benefitted from a shady foundation's grant and is supposed to teach at Theroux's university. The younger man quickly falls under the spell of the brilliant, imperious, often nasty Naipaul. These are the funniest chapters in the book. Perhaps the best anecdote is when Naipaul (who often refused to teach and to meet with either teachers or students) agreed to act as a judge in a literary competition, but insisted that there should be no first or second prizes, as he believed no entries would deserve such distinctions. Therefore, the prize should be called "Third Prize".
Theroux and Naipaul grow close as the former accompanies the latter on several trips, and benefits from Naipaul's fanatical commitment to writing. Naipaul is deeply aware of excellence in writing, although he is too prickly to acknowledge the influence of either living or deceased authors. He would have agreed with Homer's sentiment "I am self-taught". Afterwards, Naipaul moves to London, where he is joined by Theroux, and the gaps when they live on separate continents are bridged only by letters, as neither of them is used to communicating by phone (this is a nice touch). Eventually Theroux settles in England, and Naipaul introduces him to local lights such as Lady Antonia Fraser, Harold Pinter and Naipaul's younger brother Shiva (who makes a rather depressing character in this story). Naipaul is often inconsiderate to Theroux (he forces him to go to expensive restaurants and to pay the tab even though Theroux has no regular income, he ignores Theroux's wife and children, he dismisses his concerns) but Theroux accepts it as the price of being Vidia's friend. As both men grow in their writing vocation, and Theroux succeeds first as a travel writer and then as a novelist, there is still the unspoken assumption that he plays second fiddle to Vidia, a man who does not bear contradiction and who "cuts off" anyone who fails him even in trivial matters, such as punctuality. Vidia bullies all who have to deal with him, such as his wife, his editor, his fellow writers, his friends (of whom there are never too many, as Vidia is too thoughtless and blunt to give anyone much time to get close to him). However, according to this book, Theroux manages to remain his friend until his second marriage to a much younger Pakistani woman, Nadira.
The end, when it comes, is swift. Naipaul and Theroux take part in the book fair at Hay-on-Wye, at Theroux's insistence. Vidia is annoyed at the way the event progresses, but says nothing. Months later, Theroux finds out that books he inscribed to Vidia years before have come into the market, and assumes someone is cleaning house. He writes Vidia a fax telling him this, and receives back a demented response from the wife. He knows something is wrong when he cannot get in touch with Naipaul, but hopes against hope that it's only because Nadira wife is intercepting his messages. Eventually he runs into Vidia in London, and the older man cuts him off. When he tries to get an answer, Vidia just says that both of them would have to "take it on the chin and move on".
As Theroux moves away from Vidia's shadow he becomes increasingly critical of him both as a person and as a writer, and it seems he derives a certain pleasure from parading Naipaul's faults for everyone to see. This is not surprising. Their relationship lasted longer and was more intense than some marriages. Clearly, it is like one of those contorted love affairs when it ends, and the spurned lover (in this case Theroux) has to pick up the pieces.
The book is well written, well paced, and Theroux does not succumb to the temptation, which must have existed, of pre-dating his current feelings to infuse his earlier relationship with Naipaul. He lets the Nobel laureate take center stage. He comes across as dominating and dictatorial a man as Mao Ze Dong in Li Shui Zi's book, or Trujillo in Vargas Llosa's "The Feast of the Goat". He truly is a magnificent beast, one to which it is also dangerous to get too close. As Theroux says, Naipaul is not the writer as buddy, but the writer as priest.
The story is easily told. In 1966 Theroux is a twentyish university lecturer living in Central and Eastern Africa who enjoys the sexual mores of the natives. He meets V. S. Naipaul, then in his mid-thirties, and his wife, Pat. Naipaul has benefitted from a shady foundation's grant and is supposed to teach at Theroux's university. The younger man quickly falls under the spell of the brilliant, imperious, often nasty Naipaul. These are the funniest chapters in the book. Perhaps the best anecdote is when Naipaul (who often refused to teach and to meet with either teachers or students) agreed to act as a judge in a literary competition, but insisted that there should be no first or second prizes, as he believed no entries would deserve such distinctions. Therefore, the prize should be called "Third Prize".
Theroux and Naipaul grow close as the former accompanies the latter on several trips, and benefits from Naipaul's fanatical commitment to writing. Naipaul is deeply aware of excellence in writing, although he is too prickly to acknowledge the influence of either living or deceased authors. He would have agreed with Homer's sentiment "I am self-taught". Afterwards, Naipaul moves to London, where he is joined by Theroux, and the gaps when they live on separate continents are bridged only by letters, as neither of them is used to communicating by phone (this is a nice touch). Eventually Theroux settles in England, and Naipaul introduces him to local lights such as Lady Antonia Fraser, Harold Pinter and Naipaul's younger brother Shiva (who makes a rather depressing character in this story). Naipaul is often inconsiderate to Theroux (he forces him to go to expensive restaurants and to pay the tab even though Theroux has no regular income, he ignores Theroux's wife and children, he dismisses his concerns) but Theroux accepts it as the price of being Vidia's friend. As both men grow in their writing vocation, and Theroux succeeds first as a travel writer and then as a novelist, there is still the unspoken assumption that he plays second fiddle to Vidia, a man who does not bear contradiction and who "cuts off" anyone who fails him even in trivial matters, such as punctuality. Vidia bullies all who have to deal with him, such as his wife, his editor, his fellow writers, his friends (of whom there are never too many, as Vidia is too thoughtless and blunt to give anyone much time to get close to him). However, according to this book, Theroux manages to remain his friend until his second marriage to a much younger Pakistani woman, Nadira.
The end, when it comes, is swift. Naipaul and Theroux take part in the book fair at Hay-on-Wye, at Theroux's insistence. Vidia is annoyed at the way the event progresses, but says nothing. Months later, Theroux finds out that books he inscribed to Vidia years before have come into the market, and assumes someone is cleaning house. He writes Vidia a fax telling him this, and receives back a demented response from the wife. He knows something is wrong when he cannot get in touch with Naipaul, but hopes against hope that it's only because Nadira wife is intercepting his messages. Eventually he runs into Vidia in London, and the older man cuts him off. When he tries to get an answer, Vidia just says that both of them would have to "take it on the chin and move on".
As Theroux moves away from Vidia's shadow he becomes increasingly critical of him both as a person and as a writer, and it seems he derives a certain pleasure from parading Naipaul's faults for everyone to see. This is not surprising. Their relationship lasted longer and was more intense than some marriages. Clearly, it is like one of those contorted love affairs when it ends, and the spurned lover (in this case Theroux) has to pick up the pieces.
The book is well written, well paced, and Theroux does not succumb to the temptation, which must have existed, of pre-dating his current feelings to infuse his earlier relationship with Naipaul. He lets the Nobel laureate take center stage. He comes across as dominating and dictatorial a man as Mao Ze Dong in Li Shui Zi's book, or Trujillo in Vargas Llosa's "The Feast of the Goat". He truly is a magnificent beast, one to which it is also dangerous to get too close. As Theroux says, Naipaul is not the writer as buddy, but the writer as priest.
May 19, 2015
The record of a friendship that lasted for over 30 years is the next best thing to a biography that Paul Theroux comes close to chronicling on V.S Naipaul.
Theroux couldn’t have come up with a more difficult subject. In his words, Naipaul is the “one of the strangest and most difficult men I have met. He was contradictory, he challenged everything, he demanded attention, he could be petty, he uttered heresies about Africa (a land Theroux had a strong connection with), he made his innocent wife cry, he had impossible standards, he was self-important, he hated children, music and dogs. He was also brilliant and passionate in his convictions.”
And yet there is a warmth between these two men, Naipaul the mentor and Theroux the willing acolyte and their lessons on writing that span continents in shared conversations, letters, and essays are invaluable even today, for these two men were totally dedicated to their craft, suffering the vicissitudes of the career writer who has no other outlet for self-actualization. Money was always a lack and a need for they alternated between selling critically acclaimed but financially lean books, dabbling in journalism, and taking teaching assignments to keep the bills paid while roaming the world, often alone, in search of material for their pen.
Some of the master Naipaul’s lessons to his student Theroux are worth noting:
a) Don’t get rich on writing before the age of 40.
b) Tell the truth.
c) Create original turns of phrase and words.
d) The Man (writer) must never precede the work (yet Naipaul was pleased with the literary honours, including the Nobel that came after this book was written, heaped upon him).
e) Story is not important, narrative is better. Style is not important, structure and form are better.
f) Literary agents are “idlers” and publishers are “crummy.”
g) Writers steadily cancel each other out; the new (generation) replacing the old.
h) There is no middle way, a writer must be a free man. Anyone with a salary and a boss isn’t a free man.
i) On English courses in university: “It’s a silly parroting of political tripe. Close down the English departments.” (and yet Theroux and Naipaul accepted teaching jobs when times were tough).
j) On Literature: “Literature is for the old, the experienced, the damaged, who find echoes of their own experience and balm of a sort.”
k) On Titles : “They should be purchased for stamps at the post office.” (yet Naipaul was a willing recipient of the title of Knight - i.e. “Sir,” from the Queen).
l) On literary prizes: “A dreadful corrupting of publishing.”
m) “All great writing has its own new form.”
Those who live in Sir Vidia’s shadow quickly become apparent: Theroux himself, who remains the eternal mentee; Naipaul’s long suffering first wife Pat who slept in a separate bedroom and had to keep the home fires burning while her husband hogged the limelight and was often seen in the company of a long-standing mistress; his brother Shiva who was an accomplished writer in his own right but who could never escape from under big brother’s fame in the literary establishment.
Through countries, books, publishers, mistresses and wives, the two writers keep a strong bond of friendship that waxes and wanes but never dies, until Pat herself passes away and Naipaul immediately marries a younger Pakistani divorcee with teenage daughters. Ironically, this same woman had crossed their paths when she was a child and when the two writers had been debating the merits of having children using her as an example. Theroux and the new wife do not hit it off from the inception and that spills into damaging his relationship with Naipaul.
The final meeting between the two prompts the writing of this book when Theroux realizes the wisdom in Naipaul’s words, “To all relations, there is a time to call them off.” And looking after the master scuttle up the road to Hyde Park, Theroux discovers that his giant literary friend is indeed a small man with no shadow. “Take it on the chin and move on,” are the final words from the great author that keep ringing in his ears, and with that, Theroux heads home to settle down and write this book as his form of preservation and purgation of a relationship that greatly informed his career as a writer.
Theroux couldn’t have come up with a more difficult subject. In his words, Naipaul is the “one of the strangest and most difficult men I have met. He was contradictory, he challenged everything, he demanded attention, he could be petty, he uttered heresies about Africa (a land Theroux had a strong connection with), he made his innocent wife cry, he had impossible standards, he was self-important, he hated children, music and dogs. He was also brilliant and passionate in his convictions.”
And yet there is a warmth between these two men, Naipaul the mentor and Theroux the willing acolyte and their lessons on writing that span continents in shared conversations, letters, and essays are invaluable even today, for these two men were totally dedicated to their craft, suffering the vicissitudes of the career writer who has no other outlet for self-actualization. Money was always a lack and a need for they alternated between selling critically acclaimed but financially lean books, dabbling in journalism, and taking teaching assignments to keep the bills paid while roaming the world, often alone, in search of material for their pen.
Some of the master Naipaul’s lessons to his student Theroux are worth noting:
a) Don’t get rich on writing before the age of 40.
b) Tell the truth.
c) Create original turns of phrase and words.
d) The Man (writer) must never precede the work (yet Naipaul was pleased with the literary honours, including the Nobel that came after this book was written, heaped upon him).
e) Story is not important, narrative is better. Style is not important, structure and form are better.
f) Literary agents are “idlers” and publishers are “crummy.”
g) Writers steadily cancel each other out; the new (generation) replacing the old.
h) There is no middle way, a writer must be a free man. Anyone with a salary and a boss isn’t a free man.
i) On English courses in university: “It’s a silly parroting of political tripe. Close down the English departments.” (and yet Theroux and Naipaul accepted teaching jobs when times were tough).
j) On Literature: “Literature is for the old, the experienced, the damaged, who find echoes of their own experience and balm of a sort.”
k) On Titles : “They should be purchased for stamps at the post office.” (yet Naipaul was a willing recipient of the title of Knight - i.e. “Sir,” from the Queen).
l) On literary prizes: “A dreadful corrupting of publishing.”
m) “All great writing has its own new form.”
Those who live in Sir Vidia’s shadow quickly become apparent: Theroux himself, who remains the eternal mentee; Naipaul’s long suffering first wife Pat who slept in a separate bedroom and had to keep the home fires burning while her husband hogged the limelight and was often seen in the company of a long-standing mistress; his brother Shiva who was an accomplished writer in his own right but who could never escape from under big brother’s fame in the literary establishment.
Through countries, books, publishers, mistresses and wives, the two writers keep a strong bond of friendship that waxes and wanes but never dies, until Pat herself passes away and Naipaul immediately marries a younger Pakistani divorcee with teenage daughters. Ironically, this same woman had crossed their paths when she was a child and when the two writers had been debating the merits of having children using her as an example. Theroux and the new wife do not hit it off from the inception and that spills into damaging his relationship with Naipaul.
The final meeting between the two prompts the writing of this book when Theroux realizes the wisdom in Naipaul’s words, “To all relations, there is a time to call them off.” And looking after the master scuttle up the road to Hyde Park, Theroux discovers that his giant literary friend is indeed a small man with no shadow. “Take it on the chin and move on,” are the final words from the great author that keep ringing in his ears, and with that, Theroux heads home to settle down and write this book as his form of preservation and purgation of a relationship that greatly informed his career as a writer.
December 25, 2023
1/14/10
"you'll like this book because you like gossip."-Brandon
I did like this book, I love how Paul writes. so insightful. But Naipaul is a little BITCH! Seriously, I want to punch him in the face. Of course, two sides to every story blah blah.
A good book to read while sick in bed. What shall I read next of the great Theroux??
He reveals so much of his soul in his books, I love it! And knows how to move the plot quickly and efficiently.
Still want to hug him....
Any suggestions on if I should read Naipaul?
*************
1/5/10
Dearest Paul Theroux:
I love you. If I didn't have this totally cool other old guy in my life, I would be callin' you up!
BUT I don't really believe every word you say... just throwing that out there. I think your imagination might get the best of you...but thats alright. I mean, hell, its YOUR book, right?? You can do whatever you want, write whatever you want. But I'm just sayin': I'm on to you.
But really- I love you. I wish we were friends. I wish we met on a train and I was reading one of your books and you were like "oh do you like it?" and I would be like "eh, its alright. Seems like kind of a liar" and you would respond "well thats me!" and I would give you a big hug and we would hang out, maybe go to the dinner car, get some food (no meat, of course- train meat is even grosser then normal meat) and you would ask me some in depth questions about how I felt about something epic & important [world peace?] and then write it down in it your book completely different then what I actually said but you would make it funny, so its alright. and of course, your response/comeback would be witty and a zinger!
If you ever come to Portland, call me up! Seriously! And I know you come here, I saw you speak last year, so don't try to lie!
xoxox
Carolanne
ps this doesn't happen in this book, but on a side note, calling someone your "Penelope" is very romantic!
pps the way you write about the women you love is very emotional and moving. Except when you write about cheating on them- thats not so romantic...
"you'll like this book because you like gossip."-Brandon
I did like this book, I love how Paul writes. so insightful. But Naipaul is a little BITCH! Seriously, I want to punch him in the face. Of course, two sides to every story blah blah.
A good book to read while sick in bed. What shall I read next of the great Theroux??
He reveals so much of his soul in his books, I love it! And knows how to move the plot quickly and efficiently.
Still want to hug him....
Any suggestions on if I should read Naipaul?
*************
1/5/10
Dearest Paul Theroux:
I love you. If I didn't have this totally cool other old guy in my life, I would be callin' you up!
BUT I don't really believe every word you say... just throwing that out there. I think your imagination might get the best of you...but thats alright. I mean, hell, its YOUR book, right?? You can do whatever you want, write whatever you want. But I'm just sayin': I'm on to you.
But really- I love you. I wish we were friends. I wish we met on a train and I was reading one of your books and you were like "oh do you like it?" and I would be like "eh, its alright. Seems like kind of a liar" and you would respond "well thats me!" and I would give you a big hug and we would hang out, maybe go to the dinner car, get some food (no meat, of course- train meat is even grosser then normal meat) and you would ask me some in depth questions about how I felt about something epic & important [world peace?] and then write it down in it your book completely different then what I actually said but you would make it funny, so its alright. and of course, your response/comeback would be witty and a zinger!
If you ever come to Portland, call me up! Seriously! And I know you come here, I saw you speak last year, so don't try to lie!
xoxox
Carolanne
ps this doesn't happen in this book, but on a side note, calling someone your "Penelope" is very romantic!
pps the way you write about the women you love is very emotional and moving. Except when you write about cheating on them- thats not so romantic...
February 3, 2009
A wonderful read. There is a decidedly 18th century quality to this portrait of the literary friendship between Paul Theroux and V.S. Naipaul. Theroux clearly acknowledges this tone when he describes himself as playing Boswell to Naipaul's Johnson. A scene of a luncheon party at Naipaul's house is hilarious and could have come right out of Boswell's Life of Samuel Johnson. I think it is important to keep this book in the context of literary history and not get too narrowly focused on whether or not Theroux is being fair or bitchy. As noted by others, the book is ultimately about Theroux, his development as a writer, and the part that Naipaul played for him. It is also a picture of an era and a celebration of honesty in writing, writing that is not "tainted" (to borrow from Naipaul) by academia or writers' workshops. It takes courage to live and write as both Theroux and Naipaul have, whatever their failings.
July 6, 2011
This is my first Theroux book. Very impressed by his writing. The story of his friend and mentor V.S. Naipul and their relationship over thirty years seems frank (although, it could be hard to assess that really, as with any memoir-esque piece). It's readable, it's fascinating both because of the places you visit with Theroux and Naipul, but also because you get to see a friendship through someone else's eyes in retrospect. Although their friendship does end, the book, I think, is both generous and realistic. And I like that. It is not written from a bitter place but from a very human place- friendships may not be perfect, but can still be valuable, important, life-changing.
It's also an interesting reflection on the field of writing. Although the difference between the writing industry has and is changing (which is noted in the book) still something I enjoyed learning about.
Overall: Worth the read. Can't wait to read more by Theroux.
It's also an interesting reflection on the field of writing. Although the difference between the writing industry has and is changing (which is noted in the book) still something I enjoyed learning about.
Overall: Worth the read. Can't wait to read more by Theroux.
July 22, 2016
Is Naipaul dead? If so, I hate to speak ill of the dead, but he seems like he was quite a bastard. Despite Naipaul's being an extremely difficult man, Theroux maintained a friendship with him for decades, and does some of his finest writing in this book about it. Though it seems a bit like selling out the friendship, profiting off his connection to the more famous author perhaps, you will be willing to overlook that given how good this is. When a friend lent this to me years ago, I didn't have especially high expectations, as I did not at the time particularly like either one of these men. Somehow, this book becomes greater than the sum of its parts. It's a really good read, and made me respect both of them more. (FWIW, I subsequently became more impressed, albeit grudgingly, with Naipaul's talent, especially in A Bend in the River. I've never come to enjoy Theroux's writing beyond this book, but he seems to lead his life like an adventure, and I deeply appreciate that.)
Read
April 2, 2008Oh how I love this book. Not only because the writing is excellent, but also because I so dislike both the leading characters.
I can't give it any stars due to my feeling that it's wrong to wash your dirty linen in public. But that feeling will not stop me re-reading this book with a feeling of horrified fascination every year for some years to come.
Highly recommended to anyone who wishes to read about literary infighting with a dose of competitive backstabbing bitchery thrown in for good measure.
I can't give it any stars due to my feeling that it's wrong to wash your dirty linen in public. But that feeling will not stop me re-reading this book with a feeling of horrified fascination every year for some years to come.
Highly recommended to anyone who wishes to read about literary infighting with a dose of competitive backstabbing bitchery thrown in for good measure.
March 14, 2013
This book has been sitting half read on the shelf for the past year. I finally plucked up the courage to finish it. Theroux presents a very difficult character in Naipaul: highly opinionated, sometimes rude and totally self involved. Saying that, I'll give Naipaul's 'A House for Mr. Biswas' a try considering the high ratings on Amazon.
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