“Life doesn't have a neat beginning and a tidy end,”

August 12, 2018 6:37 AM

VS Naipaul, Nobel prize-winning British author, dies aged 85 [The Guardian] “The writer VS Naipaul, who explored questions of place and identity for more than half a century, has died aged 85.” [Previously.]

• V.S. Naipaul, a Writer of Many Contradictions and Obvious Greatness [The New York Times]

“Naipaul’s unsympathetic views of postcolonial life made him among the most controversial writers of his time. No white Westerner could have spoken as he did. He wrote of the “primitivism” and “barbarism” of African societies. He fixated in India on the lack of plumbing: “They defecate on the hills; they defecate on the riverbanks; they defecate on the streets.” He denigrated the country of his birth: “I was born there, yes. I thought it was a mistake.” He was a critic of Islam. He was loathed by third world intellectuals and called, among other things, a “restorer of the comforting myths of the white race” (Chinua Achebe), “a despicable lackey of neocolonialism” (H.B. Singh) and a “cold and sneering prophet” (Eric Roach). He made enemies as easily as sipping tea. He said: “I read a piece of writing and within a paragraph or two I know whether it is by a woman or not. I think [it is] unequal to me.” He physically abused Margaret Murray, his mistress of many years. He spoke openly about disliking overweight people and about visiting prostitutes. A bindi on a woman’s forehead signifies, he said, “My head is empty.””

• V.S. Naipaul, a towering writer and deeply flawed man, is dead. [The New Republic]

“Naipaul’s best books are animated by his deeply conservative social vision. Civilization, he felt, was a small clearing in a forest, a fragile haven that was always on the verge of reverting to the wild. It was Naipaul’s gift to be able to convey this fear in wire-taut prose. Yet as his literary career blossomed, his personal life remain troubled. In 1972 he entered into a long-term romantic affair with Margaret Gooding, an Anglo-Argentine woman he met in Buenos Aires. If Naipaul had the habit of psychologically tormenting his wife Patricia Naipaul, he took to physically assaulting his mistress. “I was very violent with her for two days with my hand; my hand began to hurt,” Naipaul once told is biographer Patrick French. “She didn’t mind it at all. She thought of it in terms of my passion for her. Her face was bad. She couldn’t appear really in public.” In 1994 when Patricia Naipaul was struggling with breast cancer, her husband gave an interview with The New Yorker where he said that he had been a “great prostitute man” and only found sexual pleasure with his mistress, Gooding. Patricia Naipaul was devastated by the interview. She died two years later. “It could be said that I had killed her,” Naipaul admitted to his biographer. “It could be said. I feel a little bit that way.””

• V.S. Naipaul, Nobel winner who offered ‘a topography of the void,’ dies at 85 [The Washington Post]

“Sir Vidia, as he was sometimes known after being knighted by Queen Elizabeth II in 1990, faced accusations of racism, sexism, chauvinism and Islamophobia. He had long-running literary spats with Paul Theroux, a former protege who lambasted Mr. Naipaul as “a grouch, a skinflint, tantrum-prone,” and the poet Derek Walcott, a Caribbean peer who depicted Mr. Naipaul in a poem as “a rodent in old age.” He acknowledged frequenting prostitutes while married, physically abusing his mistress and treating his wife in such a way, he told biographer Patrick French, that “it could be said that I had killed her.” Through it all, he expressed few regrets and maintained a prodigious output, publishing more than two dozen volumes that ranged from novels to travelogues to genre-bending works that mixed fiction with personal history. His books — which included the realist novels “A House for Mr. Biswas” (1961), “A Bend in the River” (1979) and the Man Booker Prize-winning “In a Free State” (1971) — were considered works of a technical virtuoso, whom even Walcott hailed as “our finest writer of the English sentence.” With few exceptions, his sentences were knife-sharp, devoid of fuss or flair but often lyrical in their simplicity.”

• V.S. Naipaul, Controversial Author And Nobel Laureate, Dies At 85 [NPR]

“Naipaul's relationship with Trinidad, his birthplace, was nothing if not complicated. His grandparents emigrated there from India as indentured servants, and Naipaul has said he thought it was a mistake that he was born there. Here's how he described Trinidad in a 1994 NPR interview: "After the destruction of the aboriginal people, there was wilderness. And then on that wilderness there began to be created a plantation. And I fear that is how we have to think of the place. It can't be a country in the way you would think of ... Turkey being a country." But Naipaul's 1961 novel, A House for Mr. Biswas, based on his father's life, presented a different view of Trinidad and of the writer. New Yorker book critic James Wood says, "It's extremely funny; it's truly a comic novel. It's a very tender letter to Trinidad in which it's quite clear that the childish Naipaul had gone around the island swallowing all the information he could. It's full of detail. It's really a poem to the island."”

posted by Fizz (15 comments total)

I've only read a couple of his books, but the quality was obvious and he deserved the recognition.

At the same time, he also sounds like a completely terrible person who should have faced consequences for that during his life.
posted by Dip Flash at 7:11 AM on August 12, 2018 [2 favorites]

but the quality was obvious

Not to me it’s not. There is nothing in the prose to compel me to commit to an entire book of it, and I have tried many times, at many different phases of my life. Perhaps this will be another of those times and those phases, though several pages into “A House for Mr Biswas” I am already losing patience. He is one of those writers for whom people always seem to handwave this away; even in the above excerpts, there is a lot of description of his “sentences” and not a single example. The issue is not whether he was a quality novelist — I think he cleared that minimum bar. But many, many people, many more than you would expect, clear that same bar. And then things get weird. Because who is chosen to be deemed “great?” Why, when the measure is such a relative one, is it always the assholes of a certain stripe who are elevated to greatness? You might guess that this is a somewhat rhetorical question.

and he deserved the recognition

Hmm.
posted by schadenfrau at 7:35 AM on August 12, 2018 [14 favorites]

Teju Cole, writing about meeting Naipaul in his essay "Natives on the Boat"

At dinner, in addition to Sir Vidia and Lady Naipaul, there was a well-known American actor and his third wife. There were Vidia’s editor, our agent and his wife, our host, and three other young African writers. The host’s family claret was served with dinner, served after a proud announcement of its provenance, and poured almost ritualistically. Such things are bound to disappoint, but this one was possibly the best wine I had ever tasted. And, buoyed by it, we began to toast V. S. Naipaul, who sat in his chair, bunched up in it, serene but a little tired, nodding repeatedly, saying, “Thank you, thank you,” with his characteristic bis, the repetition of language that was second nature to him. When three or four others had spoken, I gathered up my courage and said: “Vidia, I would like to join the others in celebrating your work”—though, in truth, the new book, called “The Masque of Africa,” ostensibly a study of African religion, was oddly narrow and stilted, not as good as his other voyages of inquiry, though still full of beautiful observation and language; but there is a time for literary criticism, and a time for toasts. I went on: “Your work which has meant so much to an entire generation of post-colonial writers. I don’t agree with all your views, and in fact there are many of them I strongly disagree with,”—I said “strongly” with what I hoped was a menacing tone—“but from you I have learned how to be productively disagreeable in my own views. I and others have learned, from you, that it is fine to be independent, that it is fine to go your own way and go against the crowd. You went your own way no matter what it cost you. Thank you for that.” I raised my glass, and everyone else raised theirs. A silence fell and Vidia looked sober, almost chastened. But it was a soft look. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m very moved. I’m very moved.”

posted by standardasparagus at 10:24 AM on August 12, 2018 [3 favorites]

Maybe one or two of you in this thread can share some favorite examples of his "knife-sharp", "lyrical" sentences and "wire-taut" prose. He sounds dreadful, I'd like to get a sense of whether his literary reputation is deserved or not.
posted by naju at 10:29 AM on August 12, 2018 [1 favorite]

Shouldn't you read him yourself if you really want to form an opinion? Naipaul was an all-time bastard, but Biswas is a great novel. And I'm not sure there's anything special about some 21st century American being helpless to work up any interest in a novel about a little island full of people entirely unlike themselves. (Let somebody post a similarly airy dismissal of Little Women, though, a book about some white women burning each other's manuscripts and hair in Massachusetts 150 years ago, nevertheless considered some kind of universal touchstone of girlhood on this site...)

I actually don't admire Naipaul for his style, though I do think it is admirable. I appreciate his insight, carefully and deliberately stated. His novels about Trinidad are extremely good and sharp and funny. He understood our society like few people ever have. He certainly captured our way of speaking better than anyone. His instinct for blood made him an uncommonly astute observer, although it could also warp his vision. And then there were times when he could be surprisingly tender about the place and the people. I think about those novels all the time as I go about my life in this bewildering place, and they help me make sense of it. He truly was a monster, the kind of man who hardly belonged in human society, but get through one of his books or don't comment on his work, not only because so many people consider it to be great but because it's essential commentary on a place that doesn't get that kind of treatment very often.
posted by two or three cars parked under the stars at 11:13 AM on August 12, 2018 [25 favorites]

In the novel "Half a Life" Naipaul writes about how a character insisted his children, studying in Lisbon, were never to use public transportation, but only to ride in taxis, to ensure they weren't thought of as "colonial nobodies".

I think of that every time I ride in a Lisbon taxi!

taxis
posted by chavenet at 11:26 AM on August 12, 2018

His essay on Reagan and Dallas might be the best thing on Reagan ever written, and nessc. for post Trump. I think that he was not good with women, and quite homophobic, and toxic, but that REagan essay.
posted by PinkMoose at 7:51 PM on August 12, 2018

From Slate, "Many of his books are masterpieces. When I interviewed him, I couldn’t keep the look of disgust off my face."
posted by grandiloquiet at 9:07 PM on August 12, 2018 [1 favorite]

I once loved - absolutely loved - my experience of reading A House for Mr Biswas. I recall the prose as rich, clear, and supple, but not elaborate or showy, and not the sort that a pull-quote does justice.

Biswas's story moved me, and I wrote at the time that the title character was:

driving me nuts, again. In almost every situation, he makes the worst possible decision. Sometimes he does something stupid when he should do nothing at all. Sometimes he does nothing when it would be so simple to do something good.

The strange thing is that I keep wanting better things for him. I keep hoping he’ll rise above his frustrating, rather wretched little world. Naipaul says Biswas entered the world “unwanted and unaccomodated.” He senses that what little he’s given is offered grudgingly, and he struggles to respond well to anything, even small victories.

Then I read about Naipaul the man.

I cannot return to the book with anything like the sense of enlarged life it once offered. I also cringe when I realize that Naipaul's depiction of Trinidad as "wretched" worked on me, that I had internalized his dimunition of an entire culture in service to his narrative.

I watched Hannah Gadsby's Nanette yesterday. Her scorching critique of both Picasso and the culture that excuses him made me think immediately of Naipaul. There is brilliance everywhere that needs our embrace far more than this cruel man's work possibly could.
posted by Caxton1476 at 8:32 AM on August 13, 2018 [4 favorites]

To everyone wondering whether Naipaul's writing is "worth it", I respectfully suggest not wasting one more second even to wonder because it doesn't matter how good or bad he was. It is unethical to "separate art from the artist" to enjoy their work unless we are also willing to strip Naipaul's name from his books and take away all credit (and profit) from him for authoring his books.

There are countless great, heartbreaking, towering works of post-colonial fiction written by people who have somehow managed to never commit violent abuse against their intimate partners or anyone else. They are the only ones that are "worth it" - worth your time, your attention, and your wondering. Scare commodities, these. Spend them wisely.

Recommendations:

Nayomi Munaweera's Island of a Thousand Mirrors

Arundhati Roy's The God of Small Things

Nadeem Aslam's Maps for Lost Lovers

Rohinton Mistry's A Fine Balance

Daniyal Muyeenuddeen's In Other Rooms, Other Wonders

I invite you all to suggest books you have enjoyed by south asians and south asian diaspora.
posted by MiraK at 8:43 AM on August 13, 2018 [8 favorites]

he was not good with women

Setting aside the complex question of the possibility of separation of art and artist, this kind of sentence makes me sick to my stomach and should never be uttered in such a context. He didn't make random offensive remarks to women about how their function was to keep house (well, he probably did, but...); he beat his girlfriend until she couldn't go out in public. He was not rude, or socially awkward, or "not good with women"; he was a fucking criminal, and in a just world would have spent a considerable stretch in jail for his actions. Until you can sit with that, really sit with that, really face it, really come out and say "this man violently assaulted his girlfriend, over an extended period of time, without remorse," then you are not yet qualified to discuss whether art can be separated from artist, because you haven't even begun to accept the nature of the artist.

Wasn't good with women. Jesus. Maybe next you can call it a "stormy relationship."
posted by praemunire at 3:16 PM on August 13, 2018 [3 favorites]

sorry, let me restate.

Naipaul's work featured women's characters who were flat, or absent, or dismissed.
Naipaul as a person regularly beat the shit out of his intimate partners, and when given a chance to apologize for it later in his life, was weirdly proud of it.


The establishment ignored the first, which I suspect made the second easier to accomplish.
posted by PinkMoose at 11:19 PM on August 13, 2018

I invite you all to suggest books you have enjoyed by south asians and south asian diaspora.

What a great idea and a nice way to reflect on a complicated and difficult subject (with regards to V.S. Naipaul).

Here's my recommendation: The In Between World of Vikram Lal (fiction) and A Place Within (non-fiction memoir) by M.G. Vassanji are well wroth your time. A Place Within in particular resonated very strongly with me as someone who was born in India but raised in N. America and the kind of fractured identity that I've always experienced with my culture, Vassanji just finds a way of tackling this idea in such a brilliant way. It's hard to describe, the only thing I can say is that he's aware of the complexities of being both in and outside of a culture.
posted by Fizz at 5:19 AM on August 14, 2018 [2 favorites]

Tariq Ali - Mr Ford's Hacienda
V.S. Naipaul never saw himself as just another face in the mural of 20th-century literature. The mural was, in any case, not his favourite art form. He loved and possessed a very fine collection of Persian and Indian miniatures. But this wasn’t a frame in which he saw himself either. Long before the knighthood and the Nobel Prize, it was the mirror that excited him. Destiny stared him in the face every morning. He believed in himself. The Trinidadian was to become a very fine writer of English prose.
posted by adamvasco at 7:12 AM on August 14, 2018

Travelling to Find Out - Hanif Kureishi - LRB.
At one end of the boat, in his wheelchair, was Gore Vidal. At the other end was V.S. Naipaul
posted by adamvasco at 10:00 AM on August 30, 2018 [1 favorite]