I took V.S. Naipaul to the lake with me. I sat in a lawn chair with my feet in the water. The day was warm, but I had a cool bottle of water and some cherries, cold and hard from the cooler.

I wanted to relax, but my head was spinning. Naipaul writes with such contempt at times that I feel I might dislike him as a person, but as a writer --oh the depth of his thoughts and layering of personal/historical/analysis- I'm caught up in his mind and he's running through my mind and it feels deep and personal and true. His contempt for others is woven with moments of tenderness and self-reflection "I am the monster, " he says, and I agree "I am the monster." And we are.

In "An Area of Darkness," there is no peace with India, but there is a respect. And I wouldn't be surprised to discover that India felt the same about Naipaul. His lists of sensory details and contextual layering make the reading of this book, slow. It's cognitively rich, and prompts thoughts of my own complicated culture. In India, culture may prescribe ways of thinking and acting that are not questioned (and don't we do the same things here?) despite the hurt and disorganization. Naipaul is so true and honest that he betrays himself by choosing no guard, and he reveals his own ugliness with his head held high.

After I finish the book, I wash off the red stains from my fingers swirling them in the water as I wade in and dive under. India he says is not one thing, and neither is Naipaul. When I return home, the NY Times sends me an alert that Naipaul as died, an old man surrounded by family who loved and admired him. My skin feels tight from the time in the sun. My hair carries the fragrance of the lake; my thoughts with the monsters of the lake. Goodbye V.S Naipaul.

A travel narrative that just never really made it onto my radar until Audible released a new edition via Audible Plus recently, read by veteran narrator Simon Vance.

Can't put my finger on it, but I was so willing for the book to just end that I sped up the narration to 1.25x (I rarely tinker with those settings). To some extent it was Vance's narration, which is excellent for novels, but perhaps a bit "dramatic" here? However, I'm going to assign most of the issue to the underlying text, too much fault-finding I suppose. There were scenes that should've been funny, but just weren't. If you're familiar with Paul Theroux, it's similar to him at his crankiest.

Individually, the stories are well-written. I've been interested in the issue of "foreign" Desi identity for a while. Years ago I asked a friend raised there, and his dad who never left, whether they considered Asians from colonial-era diaspora families (Trinidad, etc) "the same"? Father "Yes, of course" and son "No!" I've never heard Naipaul speak, assuming it was what is now called RP. This is where I admit that listening to Vance, I had to consciously remind myself that the author was not white. So, while probably inaccurate, it may have been better to have had the book read in an Indian accent?

I would recommend this one, though with breaks between each chapter or two.

An Area of Darkness - VS Naipaul
Rating 5/5

Spoilers ahead, lengthy review.

Before I start the review, I have to bow in respect to one of the greatest teacher Sir V S Naipaul, one who's writing should have found its way in our school textbooks, its an irony, it hasn't.

This book took some time to read, but it took longer to compose a review, because of how much I loved it - I wasn't able to compose everything in a short review. In the end, I had to write what I could and omit rest all.

It is one such book and one such author - one who's work, it is extremely difficult to write a review on. Reason being, the profound impact it has had on me, my thought process, of course in a positive way. Apart from being deeply introspective, critical, vocal, argumentative, the clarity of the writing be it sentences, usage of metaphors, sarcasm and the thought process of Sir VSN leaves me nothing but super impressed.

I found few parts distasteful, uninteresting, but could not deviate from a straight 5, because it was so so precise on the target.

The book had enough ammunition to make a visible dent in my day to day thought process, of observing self, people, outside world, of economics, of attitudes of many other things which I might not be able to list it down. It just happens randomly and I attribute it to Sir VSN school of thought (as I would fondly call it).

Sir VSN take on Indians following customs, traditions of our invaders. There is a mention of natives doing things which our invaders did just to mimic them in the end looking much like a theatrical performance, just to lay claim that we are one amongst them, ending up with something which is neither unique nor belonging to someone previous like the British or Mughals.

Sir VSN take on the adventures of our society. Indian society happens to be largely colonial, names of buildings, roads, monuments, parks, all of which sound so British, yet when the door closes in a native home, they have their own ways of things many of which might not even intermingle with the British (customs, traditions, marrying within a particular caste). What Indians call it as a blend of both cultures, VSN calls it a theatrical performance with it being neither. A scientist consulting an astrologer on the date of joining for a new job - as an example is quite befitting. Withdrawal into a shell, denial, confusion of values is what he terms it.

Sir VSN was of the opinion that English (as a language) has not manifested accurately with Indians. Indians do not comprehend the language along with its intended usage. He goes on to explain couple of Indian novelists RK Narayan and Manohar Malgonkar.

It is one of the most beautifully written pieces of lines in the entire book - if you have read R K Narayan, these statements make you ponder much.

"The virtues of RK Narayan are Indian failings magically transmuted. He seems forever headed for that aimlessness of Indian fiction - which comes from a profound doubt about the purpose and value of fiction - but he is forever rescued by his attitude of total acceptance."

The Princes novel written by Manohar Malgonkar which I had reviewed earlier as good. But VSN points out such a shortcoming over here that - I am left embarrassed, because, I could not catch it myself.

Abhayraj Bedar, the protagonist, who is of liberal mindset, who is in line with the merger of princely states with India, finds peace, solace in horsewhipping Kanakchand Dhor, a political leader, who happens to be of lower caste and his own classmate. The book ends here and Malgonkar leaves the reader with this forceful imposition of acceptance of such a stark, mixed and silly mindset, which, when confronted by an observation like, of Sir VSN's leaves a reader like me in terrible regret. It in fact signals the Indian mindset of acceptance, retreating into a shell. Sir Vidia gets it spot on.

VSN is also critical about India's response and lack of preparedness when encountered with Chinese conflict and he mocks another neighbor having forgotten their mantras which would free their state from the forceful occupation of another invader.

Sir Vidia calls Indian industrialists as traders who import equipment and manufacture stuffs with license. This brought out a big smile on my face. I can relate to it - example - we can hardly design our own internal combustion engine. May be we can now, but in 1960 surely not. All we could do was import. (Mind you designing and producing are two different aspects)

One must understand, Indians in particular, whatever VSN has conveyed in this book or his writings about India, comes from deep pain, pain of seeing the country of his ancestors descend or retreat into such a silent acceptance of everything imposed on them.

I thoroughly enjoyed most parts of the book. No wonder VSN did not get his due in India, criticism hardly wins awards in India and had to settle awards from rest of the world.

Cheers,

The first half of this travel log failed to sufficiently engage me. However as I read on, I grew more and more accustomed to Naipaul's writing style and I grew to enjoy the book.


Frought with scathing indictments of post independence India, Naipaul refuses to restrain his dislike of the nation and at times I strongly disagreed with his sentiments towards the state. Yet they are unfiltered and raw. The book transparently narrates his unique experiences and feelings towards a complex nation which contributes massively to his complex identity.


An interesting read, although not quite what I was expecting (I read this ahead of a trip to India). This book has left me wanting to explore more literature regarding the subcontinent.

Long time back when I used to be an ultra conservative Patriot, I tried reading this book. I was so disgusted by the pessimistic and negative descriptions of India and Indians by Naipaul, I told myself that I'll never read him ever again.

Two decades later, me being much world weary and cynical, I see that much of what Naipaul had wrote about India and Indians, is still true and I'm hating him again for being correct about us.

Reading this Book is like watching a Highway Accident. The fresh gore, the pain and agony at display or the utter hopelessness as you watch a life fade away in front of you or morbid reality of watching the corpses, you are repulsed and fascinated at the same time.You are drawn to the horror. You want to look away and at it simultaneously.

I don't normally feel like writing a review after I read a book. But this book made me want to do it. That's the power of Naipaul's writing. Irrespective of my hatred for him and his views, his words have a powerful resonance. The prose blinds you with the harsh glare of the reality under description.

I've finally found a writer whom I can equally hate and love. Pity it took me two decades.

AN AREA OF DARKNESS is a semi autobiographical travelogue by V S Naipul. If you are someone who loves India, at first you will find this book frustrating. Primarily because you will see a condescending tone, often whining. But if you keep reading Naipaul & put this book in context, you will find it worth your time

This is Naipul's journey of discovering a land of his ancestors, a land he has lost touch with, where he arrives with great expectations just to see that there is no connect of post independence Nehruvian India with the glorious land often talked about by ancestors.

Naipaul takes us through the India of those times country still finding its feet post Independence, post nearlly a milleniun under attack from conquerors, marauders. barbarians. A country that is still trying to discover itself & is increasingly feeling betrayed by its rulers.

I thoroughly enjoyed his observations, style of writing & commentary though in many cases one might disagree on cause and effect relationships.

I read this book a long time ago, so it's hard to remember a lot of the details, but I remember being wowed by Naipaul's vivid descriptions of many areas of India. In this travel memoir, he journeys to his homeland for the first time (he's Indian but grew up in the West Indies). The book explores his conflicting feelings about his identity (belonging but not belonging at the same time). It's one of my favorite of Naipaul's books.

An account of the author's first visit to India, his ancestral home, from Trinidad, where he grew up, via England, in the early 1960s. He seemed cranky and harsh throughout much of the book and I wasn't sure I liked him at all, but his observations were still interesting. I was puzzled by his use of the word "we" at times--he never identified who the other person he was sometimes travelling with. I thought it must be his wife, but apart from that pronoun he never refers to her. A minor point but a little distracting. After finishing the book I immediately started reading his authorized biography, The World is What it is, and maybe that will clear up a few mysteries about this very well-known, Nobel-winning author.

Second time round, and good 10 years after I first read it An Area of Darkness surprised me more than I expected. Okay, so Naipaul is at best an arch miserablist, but I had forgotten just how negative and mean he is about Indians and the whole Indian experience.

However the middle section dealing with his time in Kashmir is wonderfully arch, with the previously-forgotten Aziz an amazingly Falstaffian character, simultaneously protecting the tourists, whilst fleecing them at every opportunity.

Also, I presume had I bothered reading this whilst I was actually doing my Post-Colonial Literature coursework, I might have done slightly better than a Desmond because there's plenty of theoretical meat concerning the Indian reaction and absorbtion to the English (and vice versa) to get your teeth into.

Essentially a travelogue of Naipaul's first trip to India 1962, this book in some ways presents perennial truths about the country and its history, and in others has severely outlived its relevance. The book was notoriously banned in India and was received as harsh and provocative for Naipaul's criticism and even revulsion towards what he finds there. Naipaul's perspective is limited by his British education and mindset, and in any case the country has evolved both culturally and politically since the perhaps fawning early years of independence.

The book certainly works as an exploration of personal heritage, and there I think Naipaul has quite a fascinating perspective to offer. Naipaul is himself a third-generation Indian born and raised in Trinidad, descended from indentured servants brought under British rule. The Indo-Caribbean population and culture is such a strange relic of colonization, and his background enables Naipaul to give a very clear-headed criticism of British rule in India and the cultural and political wreckage that they left behind. He doesn't hyper-fixate on European colonization, but also looks deeper into cultural failings of the caste system and centuries of exploitation that preceded the Europeans. As a second-generation Indian-American, I very much empathized with his often visceral reactions, and his combination of confusion, frustration, and familiarity.

The events of the book on the other hand are quite lacking as they follow a haphazard journey with no particular objective or landmarks. Naipaul arrives in Bombay, finds it too hot and quickly departs to Kashmir, where he seems to spend almost all his time. In Kashmir, he is prodded into visiting various local sites, but seems to have no particular interest in any of them. A thiry-page pilgrimage to the Amarnath ice shrine ends with Naipaul declining to enter the cave and waiting outside for his Muslim companion to report that the ice shrine did not form that year. Actually, he seems most enthusiastic about a kitschy sidestory romance between a local musician and a stereotypically clueless American tourist, most of which he doesn't even observe directly, but hears of second-hand from his hosts (and then proceeds to relate to the reader third-hand).

After Kashmir, he moves on to other major cities, Delhi, Madras, Calcutta. The 1962 China-India War presents a temporary diversion. He breezes through a visit to his grandparents ancestral village where he is briefly paralyzed by awkwardness, before he finally deports back to Europe. The entire account drips of anti-climax, and while there is much for the hyper-analytical author to criticize, its difficult to imagine a yearlong trip of this nature without moments of exhilaration or delight. There must have been something the author was excited to pursue on this journey, and by excluding that from the narrative, he's left the book feeling rather empty.

A year spent in India in the early 60's, by Naipaul - born in Trinidad to parents of Indian heritage - his grandfather emigrated to Trinidad.
It is quite true Naipaul is incredibly negative, pessimistic and critical of India. It is difficult to expose anything he says as false however. Although negative, he has a wonderful writing style, and tells a good story, although some of his transitions leave me a bit bewildered, and there is a section of ranting I didn't grasp the point of in the middle there somewhere.

This is a book that heartily annoyed me as I read it, but the last 60 pages changed my tune. I would never want to read this book again, nor would I recommend it to others unless they knew what they were getting into--but the endless historical essays on caste and English colonialization did eventually end, and did lead into a really interesting place for Naipaul. One of my chief complaints with the book as I read was that Naipaul kept himself aloof, that so much of the book was abstract historical essay instead of real stories of his travels. There was a chunk in the middle of the book where Naipaul stayed at a particular hotel and got to know the people there, which was really intriguing, but otherwise I was dead bored. The last 60 pages, however, were almost entirely of Naipaul's experience and dealt with the real people he met and the terrible misunderstandings he had. All of the earlier material on caste and colonization had been building up to this point: the point when he visits his grandfather's village and, though charmed at first, ultimately cannot connect with his relations there for the same reasons that he can't connect with the rest of India. Overall the ending was very moving and very powerful.