This book was a real chore for me. I just couldn't get into the main character, who was basically writing his autobiography. It was well-written, but it didn't draw me in at all, didn't grab my interest. It's unfortunate, as I've previously read A Home for Mr Biswas and enjoyed that more. I don't know what else to say, but that it was disappointing. However, I'm sure others might like it. Just not for me.

Impeccable style. Interesting story. The last part contained a bit too much repetition to my taste.

في أماكنهم البعيدة المعزولة يشعر الجميع بأنهم أخف من الريشة حيث لا قيمة حقيقة للأشياء في مواجهة الكم الهائل من الإنتهاك الذي يشعر به أبناء المناطق المستعمرة , في إزابلا تلك القطعة الملاقاة على رقعة الزرقة الواسعة حيث الأسرار الكثيرة التي تفضي إلى الهرب كل شيء يصبح كابوساً ثقيلا , في المستعمرة الكاربية التي أنتجت رالف سنغ الذي يتحدث على لسانه الكاتب بكثير من السخرية والحزن والتخبط عميقة جداً كما هو مكتوب على غلاف الكتاب , نحن لانتسلى حينما نقرأها نحن نقف في عمق البطل ونحلل معه كل الأحداث التي يقدمها لنا نيبول بكثير من التفاصيل التي تزيد المواقف أبداعاً كتابياً خاصةً مذكرات البطل المطرود من المصادفة التي كانت ليست أكثر من أشياء كتبت بين قوسين ( جزيرته والمنفى ) تنشأ حركته بطريقة تعطي إنطباعاً بأن كل شيء وجد رالف نفسه في وسطه كان مصادفة حيث لا شيء إلا الدوافع الداخلية للبطل التي هي وليدة الظروف الإجتماعية المتباينة والثقافات المختلطة والحرب وتوابع الإستعمار وكلمة ثورة تلك الرنانة التي وجدت لتنقل مجموعة من السكان إلى قلب الأحداث السياسية وتكشف لهم زيف اللعبة وصعوبتها ينتقلون من وسط الثورة والخطابات والحديث والإنتماءات لواجهة السلطة التي يتلاشى كل حلم وهدف بعد الإنتصار حيث يكتشفون أن السياسة أكبر من حلم العامّة وأكبر من حزب إشتراكي يدافع عن كل المنتهكين الحديث أسهل كثيراً من عبئ القرار ومن ثقل النظرات التي تنتظر المأمول منهم بعد الإنتصار ,
رائع جداً حديثه عن السياسة و عن الغضب الذي ما أن يصل لمراحله المتقدمة حتى يخمد فجأة من الداخل بلا أسباب ولا مبررات للمحيطين , إنتقالاته بين مراحل العمر وبين الاماكن حديثه عن لندن مأوى المنفيين أحياناً والمثقفين صوره تفاصيله الكثيرة عن الطبيعة وفي وصف الأجواء كانت رائعة أيضاً يكتب بلغة آسرة بالرغم من أن الترجمة لم تكن بالمستوى المأمول .



نحن نصبح مانراه أنفسنا في عيون الآخرين *





شكرا دكتورة نجود

"Siyasetçi" denen şeyin ne olduğunu okurundan daha iyi bilmeyen bir yazar, siyasetçiyi birinci ağızdan anlatmaya kalkarsa sonuç ne olur? Elbette facia. Taklitçiler, çok kötü bir roman.

https://okumadansonra.blogspot.com/20...

Master of language. But plot? Meh. I gather this was somewhat autobiographical but I just could not sympathize with the protagonist and did not care what happened to him. The story moved too slowly and went...nowhere interesting. What I did appreciate was the dissonance, the not belonging, the awareness of performance in day to day life... and of course, the beautiful language!

The lesson to be learned from V.S. Naipaul's The Mimic Men is that the place from which you come can be a limiting factor in your life. Even if that place is Trinidad (called Isabella in the novel), a not entirely successful multiracial society. I know this is true, because I am from Cleveland, Ohio -- known for Maynard G. Krebs's The Monster That Devoured Cleveland and such mottoes as "The Mistake on the Lake" and "The Worst Location in the Nation."

This book is a strange admixture of fiction and autobiography. As I read it, I definitely felt that I was following Naipaul's own story, as he goes to England, feeling not as an Englishman, yet no longer really feeling he was a Trinidadian. In a way, Naipaul seems to be saying, all former colonials from the Caribbean are, as it were, mimic men, not truly belonging anywhere.

I read this book after reading Paul Theroux's excellent Sir Vidia's Shadow, which brought me closer to both Naipaul and Theroux, even though their own friendship was dissolved after Naipaul's remarriage. It made me want to read more of Theroux and of Naipaul, both of whom I have liked and respected these many years.

Contado em forma de biografia ficcional, consegue traçar um panorama muito interessante sobre nações da América Central em um processo de descolonização. Dá pra entender melhor nuances sobre colônia e imperialismo, mas é um livro extremamente arrastado.

Os personagens não cativam em nenhum momento, parece que existe um distanciamento emocional enorme entre quem está lendo e a história. E essa falta de conexão, pra mim, é muito prejudicial.

What a well-written book. The first 34 pages were the toughest, I felt the story was not going anywhere and I was ready to give up. In addition, prejudice against Naipaul, reading about his opinions in newspapers, and the fact that his books are banned here sort of made me go through the book just to find faults. Though I am really glad I didn't stop reading and finished the whole thing.

The whole atmosphere is sort of bleak, the protagonist, a self-pitying man who is no longer what he used to be. I guess there were many undercurrents to the story, I didn't really understand that. In the while, Mimic men is an excellent piece of literature - well-written, all the moods perfectly captured.

Ralph Singh, the main character and narrator in the novel, is a 40-year-old colonial minister from a newly independent country in the Caribbean, the island of Isabella. Singh lives in exile in London and is trying to impose order in his life by writing his memoires. He is seeking order, and trying to rewrite his life. He presents different times, places and situations, but is unable to follow a chronological order, thus not achieving the order he seeks. He is a displaced and disillusioned man. To write his own story and to give meaning to his life and existence he considers the notions of history, colonisation, decolonisation, culture, race and politics.

It is a very well written psychological and political novel. I find it interesting to read, mainly because it considers the relationship between the socio-political and the psychological consequences of imperialism. Having said that I struggled from time to time to read it, and had to put it away and continue my reading at a later time. The main reason was that I disliked the main character, Singh, and since he is the narrator it meant as a reader I spent most of the time in his mind. That, to me that shows how well written the book is and how well the technique by using only one narrator, and the constant shifts between past, present and future works.

The Mimic Men is the fictional autobiography of Ralph Singh, although I suspect there is a lot of personal narrative from Naipaul's own life within. Ralph is a perpetual outsider - never completely comfortable with his own place in society - and understandably so. He is of Indian descent but born on the forgotten outskirts of colonial Britain. He leaves his home of Isabella, a fictional Caribbean isle likely modeled on Trinidad where Naipaul was himself raised, and goes to study in Britain. He returns shortly after he finishes University and a series of events bring him both great success and abject failure on the island. He returns to London once more, and it's from that vantage point that he writes this narrative.

But the plot doesn't really matter, it's not that kind of book. It's a perfectly cohesive storyline, sure, but given the lack of central plot or conflict, it is probably better described as a series of episodes that paint a life and world in broad strokes. Naipaul writes brilliantly and has complete mastery over a sentence. His ability to create three-dimensional, ambiguous characters is impressive, and this combined with the lack of "plot" really mimics real life to an extent where it's hard to believe it's fiction. This approach could spell disaster for a lesser writer, but at almost no point did I find myself bored, except perhaps in the political section where Naipaul drifts away from the personal narrative and takes a more vague, conceptual style.

But realism itself doesn't make for a memorable read. What really stands out is the author's rare ability to express truths, however ugly they may be, about the world and ourselves. Which isn't to say that this is a depressing novel, although it certainly doesn't sing with any kind of joie de vivre. It's one of those rare books that speaks truths regarding the human condition that you've vaguely felt but couldn't really place, and articulates them with such clarity that it feels like an itch has finally been scratched.

This is the first of Naipaul that I've read, and from what I understand, it's not considered his best novel. In which case, I have a lot to look forward to as I explore his catalog further.

2.5 stars— abandoned this for a minute.

This is the fourth of V. S. Naipaul’s novels that I’ve read. It’s a three-part novel, a relatively ordinary bildungsroman sandwiched between two extraordinary dramatic monologues with very little dialogue (and this works very well). Part One is a classic dramatic monologue with lots of irony, in which we learn more about the narrator than he seems to want us to know. But after opening up about his childhood, Part Three’s monologue has the reader more trusting of the narrator, and yet the narrator is less trusting of himself, although always opinionated. He’s an annoying monologuist in the way he contradicts himself and pontificates about himself and his world, both personal and political, but he’s fascinating, and there are some setpieces that are magnificent. The novel is marked by withholding, obliqueness, and ambiguity in a way that demands a second reading, as well as a first reading with dampened expectations of knowing exactly what is going on and what we are to take from what we are told. Naipaul was truly a masterly novelist.