Initially, I thought I wouldn't last the distance but luckily persevered and am happy I did. The story, written in somehow hypnotic style slowly drags the reader in and one begin to get interested in a slow motion action and its peculiar style. It shows that even though it appears that nothing changes much, there is constant change in us and our environment. The core of the book revolves about a few people living in a small village in the English countryside, as seen through the eyes of a resident writer living in one of the cottages.

An author, of Indian origin and raised in Trinidad comes to a secluded English village to rest and write. During his walks around neighbourhood he meets some local residents and admires the nature. He learns about people living there and continuous changes in environment. After staying there for a few seasons, his health deteriorates due to high humidity of the area and having renovated a couple properties in the neighbourhood, he moves there.

In the second chapter, the author reminiscences his stay in London, as a young eighteen years old student living in a boarding house, at the time when following the second world war England experienced an influx of immigrants from the continent and other British dominions. He regrets his lack of interest in this new environment, which after years he recognised would have given him an idea to write an interesting story.

Third chapter goes back to a village in Wiltshire, where the author spent a few years. Again, a lot of his nature walks and state of the grounds where he lives in one of the houses belonging to a mansion, where his mysterious landlord lives. The action revolves around Mr and Mrs Phillips, who are the landlord's caretakers, a gardener Mr Pitton, a relative of the landlord, a young writer and critic Alan, and Brae, a local taxi driver. The title of this chapter "Ivy" refers to a climber throttling the threes on the property and the landlord's order to allow it to grow, despite its harm to the trees.

The last chapter, "Rooks", continues in the Wiltshire village. Its title refers to a flock of birds trying to set up a nest in the area. Further developments in the village include a sudden death of Mr Phillips, his wife failed attempts to full-fill in his role and the author's peregrinations about life.

I bought this book long ago before V.S. Naipoul earn the Nobel Price. The painting of the cover stuck me. The title shuits perfectly not with the context but with the painting. Such a cover and such a title were very suggestive. Unfortunately the context just was absent. Very good language, but without something really amazing.

Ein Junger Mann geht nach England, um dort Schriftsteller zu werden. Anfangs sind ihm die Engländer und ihre Leben fremd, hat er doch jahrelang in Trinidad gelebt. zuerst beobachtet er viel und macht sich über das Gesehene viele Gedanken, bevor er sich vorsichtig den Menschen in seiner Umgebung annähert. So dauert es lange, bis er Zugang zur engen Gemeinschaft des kleinen Ortes bekommt, an dessen Rand er lebt.

Vieles an dem Erzähler erinnert an den Autor. Beide sind in Trinidad geboren und gingen als junge Männer nach England. Zuerst zum Studium, später um sich als Schriftsteller zu verwirklichen. Aber auch wenn Das Rätsel der Ankunft sicherlich autobiografische Züge hat, ist es dennoch ein Roman. Wieviel vom wahren Leben in der Fiktion steckt, weiß nur der Autor.

Nach seiner Ankunft ist der Erzähler überwältigt von dem, was er sieht. Die Landschaft ist so unterschiedlich zu dem, was er bis jetzt gesehen hat. Auch die Menschen sind anders. Genau wie die Landschaft betrachtet er sie mit aufmerksamen Blick und lernt so mehr, als er es im Umgang tun würde. An all diesen Beobachtungen lässt er seine Leser teilnehmen und man muss, wie er auch, auf jedes Wort und jede Geste achten, um die Dynamik in dem Dorf zu begreifen.

Ist die Erzählung am Anfang noch sehr strukturiert und folgt dem Ablauf der Zeit, die vergeht, beginnen sich im Verlauf die Erinnerungen des Erzählers zu vermischen. Manchmal war mir beim Lesen nicht ganz klar, ob er von der Gegenwart erzählt oder von der Vergangenheit, aber das hat meiner Freude an dem Buch keinen Abbruch getan.

Mein Fazit
Das Rätsel der Ankunft ist ein Buch, für das man sich Zeit nehmen sollte. Die Beschreibungen von dem Land und den Menschen sind sehr detailliert, fast schon liebevoll. Trotzdem schwingt ein fast schon trauriger Unterton mit. Auch das Gemälde von Giorgio de Chirico, dem der Titel zugrunde liegt, ist einen Blick wert.

Un bel enigma davvero: come ho fatto ad arrivare alla fine di questo libro?
Un prolissume letterario, d'altronde lo stesso V.S. Naipaul si dà la zappa sui piedi dicendo sulla stesura di questo libro: Lasciai che la mano andasse dove voleva... . Appunto, a transumar parole attorno al suo soggiorno nel Wiltshire e nel paesaggio inselvatichito fino allo stremo (aggettivo abusato e iterato a oltranza) e descritto fino all'ultima foglia e stelo d'erba (e ripetuto più volte per meglio imprimercelo nella mente). Alla fine rimango col dubbio nello stabilire cosa sia più irritante, scrittura o traduzione? Di sicuro mi ha inselvatichito nel commentare.

(4.5) Going from the cottage/estate as an untouched, frozen moment to understanding the slow collapse of the older society and its culture through the comings and goings of people was fascinating. The last section's reflection on how he has missed entire chunks of his family's life seemed to come a little suddenly, but after sitting with the ending, I think it contributes an interesting voice to the dialogue on time.

Edit: read Rushdie's 1987 review in The Guardian (https://www.theguardian.com/books/198...), thinking of how he says that love cannot be found in this novel, which is what makes it so incredibly depressing all the way through.

I loved Part II, Part I and V were interesting, III and IV were also engaging. Naipaul's prose is slow, his thoughts and observations are sharp which forces you to observe with his eyes and think with his mind and somehow surrender yourself to the flow of the book. The book straddles between memior and fiction and one can never quite tell how much of it is true or not. Perhaps its the reality of the characters that make them appear constructed, thought up if you will by one writer. Naipaul sees complexity in the simplest of things and cuts through it so sharply that you are left again with simplicity but of a wholly different kind.
What did not work for me was also how slow it was in some places but it was still engaging reading for the most part.

3,5⭐️

* İnsanın kendisini görmesi, farkına varması ve en önemlisi ne olduğunun yada ne olmadığının, içindeki bilgeliğin farkına varması kanaatimce iki önemli şeyle mümkündür.Biri seyahat(yolculuk), diğeri ise yalnızlıktır. Özellikle seyahat insanın Maslow'un hiyeraşisinde en üstte bulunan kendini gerçekleştirme adımının en önemli noktalarından biri olarak görmekteyim.

** Mark Twain "Seyahat etmek, önyargı, bağnazlık ve dar kafalılık için ölümcüldür" der. Kitapta Giorgio de Chirico'nun Gelişin Bilmecesi adlı dizi tablosundan esinlenen eserde ana temada yolculuk ve bileşenleri üzerine genç bir Hintli'nin üzerine yoğunlaşmıştır. İçsel bir yolculuğu tümüyle yaşayan arka planda İngiliz sömürgeciliği, üçüncü dünya ülkelerinin durumu kalıcı ve önlenemez değişimler ele alınmış.

*** Ünlü sosyal bilimci, düşünür İbn Haldun'un en bilinen sözlerinden olan "Coğrafya kaderdir" sözüdür. Bu söz ile içinde yaşadığımız coğrafya ile sahip olduğu kaynaklar insan davranış ve koşulları bütünüyle etkilemesidir. Otobiyografik bu eserde Karayiplerden İngiltere'ye uzanan geniş bir yalnızlık ve yabancılaşma kahramanızı tümüyle etkisine alır. Okuyun...

Boring but good boring.

Plotless, dry, slow, tiring - also one of the most true-to-life and immersive books I have ever read.

I can see how it can be difficult to get into this book - and it rarely gets easier. But, like everyday life, it holds gems and beauty in the middle of the grind and rewards presence above all.

Looking at his own life and people, plants, animals, and structures around him, he observes change, cycles, as well as ways of resistance and denial of that change; ways we adjust our realities in order to live with this idea of a complete lack of control, in order to make house in a world constantly being torn down, in flux.

The narratives and fictions we invent, to make this reality a little softer, a little more inhabitable; the resulting coexistence and interconnectedness of our inner and outer geographies.

And noticing this in the softest, most minute movements; twitches of the face and words said too quickly; movements of birds and blades of grass; unconsious use of language; felling of a tree and the shadow it leaves on the lawn; and the macro scale of states, seasons, national myths and histories, and how they feed down to the scale of everyday life.

Not sure how this book came across my radar, or why I felt compelled to seek out this particular edition of the Penguin paperback, but alas , here we are. I started this book the day before my first child was born, read it in the hospital as it fell victim to early parenthood fatigue. Somewhere in those first days after starting my read, V.S. Naipaul passed away. This book has sat stalled on my Goodreads "Currently Reading" list for over half a decade, in which time we all get older and another child joins our brood. It felt fitting to finally restart and complete this book at this time. A book about arrivals, transitions, migrations, and aspirations, amongst many other ideas. Some really great lines and moments in this book. A book that may mean at least as much to me personally for the life happening around it as I read, as for the words within it. Not a perfect book, but rewarding and am grateful for having read it when I did.

Curse my OCD bordering on the masochistic for forcing me to finish this book which was, as far as memoirs go, not memorable in the slightest.