Não era o livro que esperava de um Nobel.

São dois textos curtos e o discurso de agradecimento pelo Nobel.

Não estava esperando algo ficcional, mas algo voltado sobre como apreciar o que lemos ou como escrever melhor...

Vejo a narrativa do ponto de vista de um indiano em um país estrangeiro e suas dificuldades; outro texto sobre conquistadores na América Central; por fim, um texto técnico de agradecimento, com citação de outro autor.

A nota baixa é que não correspondeu às expectativas pelo título.

Basically just two essays published in book form, this quick read is a surprisingly candid look at VS Naipaul’s personal struggles with his career as a writer. He confesses that while he knew from childhood that he wanted to be a writer, he was not that interested in reading or writing. His family was from India, but he grew up in Trinidad and was educated at Oxford, and he felt he wrestled for many years to find what he felt was his authentic voice. It was encouraging to read his struggles, but even more encouraging to realize his struggles were driven by his incredibly high standards for himself.

Naipaul is reportedly not a nice man, but these essays are quite nice.

Un libro suddiviso in due parti predominanti: l’iniziazione dell’autore ai libri e al mondo della scrittura, e la vita coloniale che toglie non solo diritti, ma anche una storia passata a cui fare riferimento per il popolo colonizzato. Queste due condizioni poi, durante tutto il testo, si mischiano, si mescolano e si amalgamano a vicenda, costruendo un racconto appassionante e sincero.

Non iniziato

Bem interessante, o grande escritor ganhador do Nobel, nos conta um pouco da sua história.

I have wanted to read Naipaul's work for far too long, and came across Reading & Writing: A Personal Account when wandering around my University library. I wasn't aware that he had actually written any non-fiction (apparently he's written lots. My mistake). This short work of autobiography, which consists of two essays entitled 'Reading and Writing', and 'The Writer in India', has been beautifully printed by NYRB, although unfortunately my University's copy was sans its dust jacket.

Published in 2000, Reading & Writing takes one on a foray into Naipaul's literary history. He is a prolific author with many works of fiction and non-fiction under his belt. Perhaps his most famous work is A House for Mr Biswas, and his choice of subjects for his non-fiction works range from mutinies in India to a book about Eva Peron, the second wife of an Argentinian President.

'Reading and Writing' begins: 'I was eleven, no more, when the wish came to me to be a writer; and then very soon it was a settled ambition'. His child self, which he goes on to evoke, is rather charming: 'With me, though, the ambition to be a writer was for many years a kind of sham. I liked to be given a fountain pen and a bottle of Waterman ink and new ruled exercise books (with margins), but I had no wish or need to write anything; and didn't write anything, not even letters; there was no one to write them to.' This inherent need to become a writer was fuelled not at his competitive school, but by his father, and the books which he would choose to read to his son: 'Sometimes he would call me to listen to two or three or four pages, seldom more, of writing he particularly enjoyed. He read and explained with zest and it was easy for me to like what he liked. In this unlikely way - considering the background: the racially mixed colonial school, the Asian inwardness at home - I had begun to put together an English literary anthology of my own.'

One gets the sense that Naipaul is rather an honest author, from passages like the following: 'I didn't feel competent as a reader until I was twenty-five. I had by that time spent seven years in England, four of them at Oxford, and I had a little of the social knowledge that was necessary for an understanding of English and European fiction. I had also made myself a writer, and was able, therefore, to see writing from the other side. Until then I had read blindly, without judgment, not really knowing how made-up stories were to be assessed.' He speaks rather candidly at times of problems encountered in the face of writing, and also discusses his inspiration for making himself a more well-rounded author.

'The Writer in India' is composed largely of Indian historical moments, but the scope is too wide for the shortness of the essay. Many fascinating occurrences are mentioned, but are then either moved on from or glossed over, which was a real shame. Had this essay been lengthened, or fewer things mentioned in more depth, it would provide a far more comprehensive look into the society in which Naipaul grew up, and explain to the reader more of his influences.

This particular tome runs to just 64 pages of rather large print; whilst it does offer Naipaul's experiences with schooling, childhood reading, writing, and education, it feels perhaps a little too slight to have a great deal of substance. He does, however, talk about a great deal of subjects: theatre, cinema, Indian 'epics', fables and fairytales, schooling, moving to England in order to study at Oxford University, and the effects of colonial rule, amongst others. Some of the paragraphs are insightful; others not so much. Regardless, throughout, Naipaul's writing is fluid and intelligent.

A very surprising book for me, revealing Naipaul's views I hadn't known or suspected, and need to think over before commenting. For now, it seems to be, perhaps among other things, a repudiation, or something milder along those lines, of not only fiction but writing itself as a meaningful medium for him to have worked in during his particular lifetime.

A few more things can be said: this isn't actually a book, but two essays written for some occasion or another, put together in a tiny hard-cover gift-book format. In fact, there seems no reason for the essays to have been published in this or any other form other than to have another Naipaul title to sell.

While I don't wish I hadn't read it, I will allow myself to forget it, because it's finally a sad work, a product of the author's later years, and appears to be a repudiation of writing as a meaningful medium for our times, along with a wistful wish he had chosen film as being a more contemporary form. Considering the pleasure I and many others have had from his novels and other writing, this lament for a road not taken is dispiriting. Thus while I'm not sorry I read it, there's no reason why i want to think about it further or remember it later, as it simply detracts from past pleasures.

Reading again In a Free State or the especially memorable A House for Mr. Biswas or another work from earlier in his life before he became disheartened about his vocation would have been better, so those, with reservations such as I have always had about him or not, who want to read this might take note.

Charmerande essä om hur en författare föds ur ett blandat kulturarv. Hur han mödosamt hittar sin litterära röst.

"Ändå fortsatte jag att tänka på mig själv som författare. Det handlande knappast om verkliga ambitioner utan snarare om en sorts självuppfattning, en dröm om frihet, en idé om något ädelt."

En dos breves escritos, uno para cuando recibe el premio Nobel de 2001, Naipaul rememora su tiempos de niñez y juventud, cuándo sólo sintió el deseo de escribir, sin más saber qué significaba eso. Escuchando los fragmentos que su padre le leía, que sus maestros le obligan a leer y escuchar sin poder formarse una idea clara en su cabeza. Buscando tema tras tema, para poder hacer lo que quería: escribir. Hasta que habiendo ya estudiado, leído demasiado al azar, hace esta reflexión sobre sus lecturas: (…) “Hasta entonces había leído ciegamente, sin criterio, sin saber realmente cómo valorar las historias inventadas.” (…); y creo que es la mejor invitación que se puede leer en este librito pequeño: leamos sin criterio, en algún momento lo recuperaremos. Excelente lectura para siempre recibir un subidón de ánimo lector.