I had lined this book to be the last book of the goodreads challenge 2014. It was a disappointment.

The book traces the boring, uneventful life of Wille Chandran. Who in search of his own identity comes across people who too have conflicting identities. He is so confused about his existance. All through his life he is search of supports to lean his life on. First the missionaries, then his dad. In London his list of anchors run long Percy, June, Robert, Ana, Graca and at the end his sister Sarojini. All in vain as he still belives he hasnt really found his identity and lived half of his life.

Well I am done with the goodreads challenge. Wish it ended on a better note.

It's been a while since I read this, but I what I remember to be remarkable is that you can see where the main character made the wrong turn in life. The reader witnesses the result of cowardice, not only in the characters path, but also in the development of his personality flaws.

It's a tough read, one that I am surprised that I liked at all.

Honestly, understanding this book made me feel like a grown up.

I resisted reading Naipaul for a long time, not having the desire to read a writer with a warped sense of what India is and who Indians are. Finding the bias ridiculous that w/o reading I would not know if Naipaul thumbs his nose at India. So, my 1st and hopefully the last unless caught one day with nothing better to do but read a book by VS Naipaul.

Reading is easy, though boring. Its story of an Indian boy who goes from South India to London and then ends up somewhere in Africa. Naipaul paints an image of India as a country of repressed citizens, pg 118 will amply amplify my comment.

Characters are at best sketchy-there is no attempt made to analyze or explain anything. Storyline average. Its a book written w/o any research, resorting to inventing places and events, rather than weaving the story around some factually correct historical milestone. Wish same was done to the story itself. It seems as if Naipaul wrote the novel one sleepy afternoon, after a couple of stiff ones.

Book was as much wasted time as the journey of the boy from boyhood to adulthood.

If there is nothing bette to do, watch the afternoon news-much more substance!

Earlier:
#HalfALife 119pgs read. #VSNaipual seems2have written 4a western readership. Shows a disdain4 every1. ' #Indians poor, ignorant ppl who don't take care of their kids, believe in their sacrifice; Africans are gangsters; British men are ambivalent&confused looking to marry rich foreign women; and women fast&loose with no lasting attachments. Mahatma is 'despised' by the backward classes.' Doesnt seem2have an inkling abt #India -when do the labour class wear 'red scarves' especially in the 40s & 50s? Lags mostly.. 07.01.2015

This is second book by Naipaul that I have read and found it a third rate, depressing book written by somebody drunk on his success. I started reading him looking at his great literary awards but after reading Guerrillas and now this, I have decided to put a stop to this. The plot is all over the place , there is nothing that can hold reader's attention . Too much emphasis on sexual impotence and later sexual discovery by the protagonist is a huge distraction which does little to build the plot. Avoid at all costs

urgh. This is so ostensibly 'poco'. I didn't 'feel it'. The part on africa was the most well done, but by then I had lost interest in the book. It just seemed dull, lifeless. Not too well written, though not *badly* written. I seemed to see the points very easily; I think it is lauded as being more nuanced than it actually is. Coetzee praised it; praised Naipaul, but I think it is all (some complicated form) of guilt. I see that the prose is meant to chill, but it does not chill me; I am indifferent. It is *readable* though, as in not difficult to read, and not *odious* (like mitch albom or stephanie meyer).

Oh so much telling... so very much. I started out invested in the story and in Willie and half-way through I felt life was too short to read this in detail. Half a Life indeed. I didn’t want to leave it so I skimmed through the long boring historical narratives to where Willie reminisced about his interactions with others. I was interested in him but the memoir-like execution did not serve the story at all.

It’s funny that at the start, with all the literary references of a post-modern novel, Willie praises the brilliance of Hemingway’s use of dialogue and it’s ability to carry a story forward, yet at no point is dialogue paramount in this book. And, it turns out to be just another Naipaul colonial text. Sigh.

I haven’t read any other book by Naipaul, and now I think I am not going to read it in future unless someone really suggests me to read a particular book by him. I found it really hard to believe that it is a Nobel Laureate’s piece of work. Too many technical defaults to mention like, no plot, name-less important characters, despite it was rooted in India no Indian place’s name mentioned and too many unimportant characters. It feels like an ordinary, naïve writer’s book. I found it just okay. But not okay for a Nobel Laureate!!
It is a story of a man… no wait.. there is not even a sign of story… it is just a detailed description of Willie (lead character)’s boring, focus-less, direction-less, aim-less, uneventful, routine life. How he was born in a poor Indian family, how he grew up, how his father managed to get a scholarship in UK for his son despite the father son duo always at loggerheads, how he goes to England and later Africa and that is all. Only learning one could have from this book is how to cheat on your wife/friends, how to pursue your wife’s female friends or your male friends’ girlfriends. Also, I would never want my brother discuss with me the details of how he made love to hundred different girls. No woman would, in India at least.
Ohh.. I really need to read a good book now!!

The characters never touched me, the scenery was never vivid, nobody in the book did anything interesting or learned anything about themselves or the world around them - but hey; it won a Pulitzer - so what do I know? I guess I'm just not sophisticated enough of a reader for this book....

This book didn't impress me that much.
The first bit is quite interesting because it shows the mediocrity of a life lead by events rather than by the character's own drive and this is Will's father part of the story. When he was at University he decided to stand out, abandon his 'privileged' community and follow the lead of Indian personalities such as Gandhi, but he does not have the right temper and this attempt results in a failure.
He burns all his English textbooks in the University's yard, and no one notices it.
He eventually manages to become a renowned sadhu, literally by chance, and get to know William Somerset Maugham, after whom his son would be named; then Will's story follows: his trip to London, his 'second translation' in Africa.
You see potentiality in the way Will's life in England is conducted, but the last part it's just the nth jaunt to the colonies, no verve, no impact, just an underlining in an impersonal style the difference between 'me' and 'the others'.

This was an odd book. I read "The Bend in the River" a good 15 years ago and read a few of Naipul's books since this one. I enjoyed the "Bend in the River" but had mixed feelings about "Half a Life."

It begins with the father of Willie, the main character, who was the inspirational figure for the hero of Somerset Maughan's "The Razor's Edge." His father's "claim to fame" doesn't really help and when his child is born, the father and son realize that their life is not going forward. Through a scholarship, Willie goes to England to study English and ponders his future. While there he discovers sex and women. He finally starts a relationship after publishing a series of short stories. The girl seems to be his only fan.

She is born of mixed Portuguese and African race and they return together to an unnamed place on the east coast of Africa to marry and live out their new life. Willie admits he was nervous leaving, not just England, where he was becoming acquainted, but India as well. Without spoiling the plot, I found the African section more interesting and yet frustrating as well. At one point, I found passages recalled Graham Greene, which I loved, and yet the subject matter was disturbing. The ending was a surprize but left me puzzled.

It almost seemed that Naipul pulled off this character " son of the famous Indian" with a feeling of animousity towards the world. Perhaps this is what he wanted but I wanted to know more of why he did what he did? It seemed like Willie just went through the actions and carried on as if nothing mattered. Heartless? Perhaps, but bordering on insensitive. Parts are excellent so I don't regret the read but not sure who to recommend the book to, other than Naipul fans.

لم تكن علاقتي بأبي جيدة في أي فترة من فترات حياتي . وعلى الرغم من ذلك لم أحمل له أي ضغينة قط.
ذكرتني هذه الرواية به . بالتحديد بيومِ لي معه . وأيامي مع أبي معدودات . لحصرها أصابع اليد الواحدة تكفي وتزيد. لم نكن أبدا أصدقاء ولم يسع أي منا إلى ذلك . على أي حال بتُ أعتقد أن أي أب في نظر أبنائه هو شئ زائد عن الحد . طبعا الى ان يموت .تعود هذه الذكرى إلى زمن لشد ما يحزنني أنه يبدو الأن مغرقا في القدم .
لا أعلم كيف ورطت نفسي في ما ورطت أبي فيه .قضية سياسية غريبة وغير مفهومة جرت أقدامنا إلى الفصل من الكلية . كان على أبي والحال كذلك أن يتدخل . لم أحسب أن بإمكانه أن يغير من الأمر شئ . لكن الأمور جرت بشكل جيد جدا لم أتتوقعه .
تبقى أن يأت لمقابلة عميد الكلية .
كل ما أذكره عن هذا اليوم نتف غير مجتمعة . أكثر ما يميزه كان برودة الأجواء بشكل غير عادي . وأن أبي الذي عودنا على قسوته وحدة مزاجه كان رائق جدا وأحن مايكون . بدا متفهما لطبيعة المشكلة التي لم أفهمها أنا إلى الأن . كان ذلك منذ أكثر من 8 سنوات .
غريب هذا الزمن .
وغريبة هذه الحياة .
كل ما كنت أفعله هو محاولة المرور بهذه الأوقات العصيبة إلى أقرب بر أمان . أن أعبر بأبي هذا الموقف المحرج . عاقدا العزم على ألا يتكرر كل هذا الهراء أبدا .
إستقبلته من أول الشارع ثم تتلاشى الذكرى . بعد ذلك أراه يعبر معي من باب الكلية بابتسامة غريبة وكأنما هو من أبطال زمن قديم سقط فجأة في زمن الأقزام . رمق الأرجاء بنظرة شفقة ثم إلتفت إلي إلتفاتته الخفيفة
قال ممازحا :
الأن عرفت السر . ما عاد الأمر غريبا . أنت ليس لديك حب هنا . ففضلا عن وجودك في نصف كلية لديك هنا أنصاف فتيات .
ابتسمت .
قلت : لدي هنا نصف حياة يا أبي ..
*****************
تشكل رواية نصف حياة الصادرة عام 2000 للروائي الترينيدادي متععد الهويات ف.س نايبول ـ في رأي ـ زورة الإبداعي السردي عند هذا الأديب المتفرد على الرغم من أني لم أقرأه له ـ حتى الأن ـ سوى شارع ميجيل مما يجعل شهادة مثل هذه مجروحة تماما لكن سمات أدب هذا الأديب تبدو هنا جلية كأروع ما يكون .
في هذا العمل يصوغ نايبول بقلم لماح نصف حياة لأبطاله شديدي الغرابة . فعبر الفكاهة المحببة للنفس تبرز مرارة الخيبة ووهم الطموح الانساني اذ يصطدم بعقبة الواقع الصلد ، فتعلو نغمة الحزن على ما عاداها .يبدو هنا كل شيئ وكأنما جبل من حزن ، يبحث نايبول عبر هذا العمل عن اجابة للسؤال الشهير : ما هو الانسان فيتعمق في رحلة الابن وابيه ليخرج بمحاولة لاستبطان ماهية الانسان .. الذات والمجتمع . ما الذي ينبغي أن يفعله المرء في عالم استعماري تحاول كل ثقافة ان تفرض نفسها بالقوة على ما سواها فتنهزم روح الانسان وتنتصر الكراهية.
ملمح أخر للرواية النايبولية يتضح هنا . أفريقيا .. تلك القارة التي يلفها الظلام والتي عبثت بها أياد كل مستعمر ، كل من هب ودب استقطع منها قطعة له فما عاد لافريقيا من هوية سوى العنصرية .
النصف الأول من هذا العمل وخصوصا قصة حياة الأب جائت كشيئ حالم لم أعهد مثيله في الأدب . خفة تنضح بالفكاهة . كل جملة وردت هنا جائت وكأنما هي رواية عبقرية مستقلة بذاتها .. إستمرت هذه الخفة حتى بعدما انتهى الأب من قصتة الجميلة لقصة ابنه كذلك إلى حد اللحظة التي قرر فيها ويللي الابن أن يهاجر مع أنا الفتاة التي أحبته بعد قراءة كتابه الأول ، إلى المسعمرة البرتغالية في شرق افريقيا . بعدها تحولت نسائم الربيع إلى غبار خريقي . كل شئ هنا مر وقاس وصادق وعادي وبارد وثقيل ، كالعنصرية البغيضة
أدب نايبول قريب الشبه جدا بأدب سلمان رشدي البطل هنا "هندي مترجم إلى الإنجليزية " ويبرع نايبول كسلمان في تشيد بناء روائي يمتاز بحبكة داخلية معقدة قائمة على قوة الجمل السردية وتتالي الإستطرادات . يهرب البطل محاولا العثور على صوته الداخلي المتفرد فلا يجد شيئ . وهو أيضا قاس في نقد السياسات الاستعمارية الى حد اتهامه هو نفسه بالعنصرية . يتشابه هذا مع كاتب لطالما شبه به : جوزيف كونراد . أيضا لا يفوت المرء ابراز اهتمام ادوارد سعيد بنايبول ووصفه بالكاتب الفذ . كذلك مقال أورهان باموق في كتابه ألوان أخرى عن أدب العالم الثالث عبر عيون ماريو بارخاس يوسا كمثال . مهم لفهم أفكار نايبول التي تخرج هي الأخرى من عباءة الأدب البعيد عن أوروبا عن أدب العالم الثالث . إذ يقول نايبول نفسه ان كاتب أوروبا يجد عالمه الأدبي بسهولة عكس كتاب العالم الثالث الذين لا يملكون سوى نصف حياة فقط .

This is an unusual novel. There's no actual plot; instead, the story follows a man through his restless, aimless life. I know this doesn't sound very compelling, but it is--his desire for more--to figure out where he belongs and what he should be doing to create meaning in his life--is crushing.

SPOILER!
The structure cleverly echoes this vacancy. After following the character closely for 120 pages, you suddenly encounter this terrifying line: "He stayed for eighteen years." And then the narrative picks up at the end of the eighteen years. There is this enormous hole in the center of the story--which very effectively gave me a sense of hollowness. Eventually, those eighteen years are somewhat filled out, but never to the point where you feel this character has had a satisfying life. He ends up as an exile three times over, distant from everything, unmotivated but restless, still young but crippled physically and mentally, and totally dependent. He's had, indeed, only half a life.