Naipul explains India, sort of. A horribly critical book, quite racist (in the sense of making broad, derogatory generalizations about an entire people, using small amounts of evidence or even just hearsay), bordering on the vitriol of a KKK pamphlet. And yet, a lot of what Naipaul points out seems correct. He's an extremely sharp observer and doesn't have to make a big production out of how absurd some Indian policies are; he makes their absurdity come across by just describing them. So he does make his point, and yet he does it so smugly, so self-assured, without reservation, that the criticism comes too hard. The section where, for example, Naipaul is comparing individual Indians' thought to children's thought, on the basis of what some Uncle Tom of an Indian psychiatrist has reported to him, is repugnant. But when Naipaul tells about an Indian attempt to "modernize" the bullock-cart or peasants' tools, he makes it clear why he called that chapter "A Defect of Vision." He must have had a bad time in India.

This could have been a good book with insights into how India can regain its past glory in a 20th century context. Unfortunately, Naipaul has so much cultural (his thesis in short: Hindus/Hinduism suck/s) psychological (son of first generation *Hindu* immigrants in a foreign land) and imperial (after all he was educated in Britain and his opinions were moulded there) baggage that this book degenerates into a series of racist tirades (notwithstanding Naipaul's Hindu background) against 600M people (circa 1975) seen through a very distorted lens (all ills plaguing India are due to the Hindu psyche marred by cultural withdrawal in the face of adversity). To further his 'thesis', Naipaul constructs a series of strawmen and uses them to make gross generalizations - he doesn't even spare the hapless protagonists of R.K. Narayan's novels - they perfectly mirror RKN's ideologies in Naipaul's warped world! He also provides helpful hints along the way about what an autobiography should read like - more descriptions about the weather, surroundings and more fleshed out supporting cast! No Hindu dead or alive is safe in the face of Naipaul's juggernaut.

He would come across as concerned about the plights of a struggling ancient civilization rather than as an imperial apologist distancing himself from his roots if he had written a chapter or two about what Hindus could do in the post-emergency era. Alas, India (and Hinduism) is beyond redemption and should just wither away quietly.

In 1977 geschreven tweede boek van Naipaul over zijn reis naar India. Geschreven in een zware tijd: crisis met China, hongersnood, politieke onrust. Scherp, diepgaand en intellectueel uitdagend probeert hij wat hij waarneemt te duiden, vaak in confrontatie met andere schrijvers. Het is een somber beeld met een zware kritiek op het hindoeïsme met zijn vaststaand wereldbeeld waarbij belangrijke dingen niet eens gezien (kunnen) worden.
Zich ergerend aan de neiging van hindoes om zich terug te trekken uit de maatschappij, aan het ontkennen van de kastelozen en het verheerlijken van de eenvoud in de armoede en de berusting. Vraagtekens plaatsend bij mensen die zich beroepen op Gandhi maar niet zijn actiebereidheid overnemen en nostalgisch zwelgen in de verhalen uit een ver verleden. Weergaloos mooi opgeschreven!

This book is a difficult one for me. It is the third I have read of Naipaul, the first of his nonfiction, and the latest to have been published (mid-seventies). Perhaps others will disagree with my reading, but I get the sense that Naipaul regrets his career choice and is disappointed with its rewards. His judgment is simply too harsh: too much of India and its history amounts to little or nothing.

Yet, I keep coming back to Naipaul because I trust him. He is like the advisor who tells you that your aspirations are foolish. He is an easy person to dislike, but I respect his realism and candor.

As others have said, Naipaul, although ethnically Indian, neither comes from India nor speaks any of her languages. His book is not written for Indians. For this reason, I find his claim that historical and social inquiries lie outside the Indian tradition a bit too strong.

Still, I appreciate Naipaul's criticism of Old India, a euphemism for the feudal mentalities pervasive in Indian society, and he is right to remind us of their cruelty. (Here I am speaking of the millions who pay the price for an imaginary past life by living out a meaningless and degraded one in the present.) In this context, modernization in India is a farce, but here I diverge from the author: development, according to Naipaul, requires a break from the past, written in the waning years of a similar experiment in China.