gorgeously written correspondence out of which arises an epistolary novel about father and son becoming artists together, one with real narrative drive. Letters are invariably touching, and a real treat to read. This is not just for the Naipaul completists.

It's a really good book. I loved the rawness in it. It's not written by a famous​ author or his equally famous father, it's written by a father and son who knows what writing is all about, they live for writing and they put their heart and soul into it. That's what all their discussions are all about. They pull each other up and keep reminding themselves that they have what it takes to be an intriguing and sensible storyteller. Yes they do lament about their financial conditions but they take it in their stride (especially his father). The letters keep painting a picture of Trinidad and Oxford and London, at times Paris and a bit of Benares too. So you keep shuttling between all these cities and across continents. Naipaul wasn't a very obedient son but he sure as hell loved his family especially his father and you can feel that through the letters, his father ofcourse loved all his kids but then Vido had a special place because in a way Vido's life, his accomplishments, his journey to Oxford, his experiences were a continuation of what his own life could be like, had he had the resources. I loved the exchange. Also such brilliant titles have been mentioned in the book by both of them, that it was hard not to make a list of those and harbour hopes of reading them myself one day.

A good companion for a foreign student from a country which had been colonized.

"Estoy convencido de que los escritores escriben porque quieren escribir."

Leer la correspondencia de alguien más siempre ha sido algo tentador. ¡Cuánto más debe ser leer la correspondencia de un Nobel en ciernes!

Personalmente no he tenido el placer (me atrevo a adelantarlo) de leer una novela de Naipaul. Pero sin duda agregaré El Sanador Místico y The Adventures of Gurudeva (de su padre) a la lista de próximas lecturas.

Mientras más leo literatura epistolar más me convenzo de que fue (es?) el medio de comunicación por excelencia (después de hablar frente a frente, claro). La tecnología y demás ha hecho que nuestras capacidades cuantitativas de comunicación se expandan, pero en detrimento de la calidad de las mismas.

Precisamente mientras leía las cartas me preguntaron si alguna vez he escrito una. Y la verdad es que no, no lo he hecho. No aún...

Recomiendo el libro a todos aquellos que estudian fuera de su lugar de origen. He vivido la experiencia y solo viviéndola puede uno atreverse a juzgar la forma en que se tratan temas personales en las cartas.

I found it interesting that so many more people rated this book more highly that Naipaul's novels. Perhaps it is because we get a glimpse behind the grumpy, cynical facade so often presented in his typical novels. The exchange of correspondence between Naipaul and his dad illustrates much of the fears , hopes and observations that shaped who he would become.

As a native of Trinidad and an aspiring writer, I found an early fascination with Naipaul's work but recognized that the island had changed considerably both politically and socially from the place he described. His experience is also rural and of Indian descent while I was raised in a middle class environment by a strong and successful father.

This brings me to my strongest impression imparted by these letters; that Naipaul's father so often belittled in his novels, so often the target of Naipaul's disappointment, was a sensitive and nurturing influence on the young student-writer-to-be. More than any other single factor this gave me a clear view of the Nobel laureate's natural born cynicism. There is greatness in the man - no doubt - but it is tempered with an almost irrational bitterness or perhaps it is merely a clearer view of the world's shortcomings than is apparent to most of us.

Though it might not be for others, for me it is deeply moving and unbearably stirring. I suppose identify too much of it. Almost weep reading all those tender incredibly insightful exchanges; how a father and son , with no lineage to speak of, recognise each other's intellect and conspire in these letters to jump ahead by two generations all on their own. Cant write more. Shit.

Loved this book, a collection of open honest letters between family members. Will read his books now!

I learnt not only about the Naipauls but about literatures as well: what to read and how to read; and what not to read. I like the writing as well.

I read this book when I didn't even know the word 'postcolonial' had anything to do with English Literature. Up to today I have not managed - and I am very sad about it - to read any fictional work by V.S.Naipaul. Judging from this book though, I am convinced his work is great. This book showed me a becoming writer who was already capable of such great writing and narration that I was drawn into this book from the very beginning. It is not just a volume of letters between father and son, but it is a book that gives us as readers many things - an impression of greatness, literature, home, family and how to find one's way.
I rarely read non-fiction but this book assured me that I should do it more often. V.S.Naipaul's letters show a writing flow that I have seen only in essays by Virginia Woolf so far.

Do you recall the time when the realization that you are now considered an ‘adult’ dawned on you? For some that could have been when they take on the responsibility of taking care of others, receive their first real paycheck or when the fruit of their loins screams into this world, and perhaps for others, that moment will always remain elusive.

I remember my moment clearly. I was reading a newspaper article about a person who had done something really bad, the details elude me though. The report then mentions his age, somewhere near the middle of the of the opening paragraph, you've read something similar before I reckon, it’s the sentence that goes something like this “the man, aged 20, was apprehended after an extensive…”.

That’s when it hit me. The ‘man’ was younger than I was at that stage. So, if I was caught doing something that I shouldn’t, the papers will classify me as ‘man’. Not a youth, not a boy, nor a child.

I told my dad that in our fortnightly letter. I was away from home and in those days without internet or mobile phones and prohibitive international phone calls, the blue papered aerograms were the main means of communication to the folks back home. We wrote to each other quite regularly the 12 months that I was under training, more than ever before and after.

The letters were a salve to cure the homesickness off being away, the pressure of a new venture and the loneliness of wanting to fit in a new group. Dad had beautiful writing. His cursive was elegant and stylish, bold strokes with the sign of practiced penmanship evident, honed from an era when that skill was highly valued and appreciated. Mine, in contrast, was abysmal and messy, still is to a large extent, unfortunately.

Letters are so different than words. They are able to build bridges and create special connections in ways that their verbal counterparts fail. And the act of creating thoughts to paper, takes extra effort and consideration, respect to the permanency that letters have. I kept and cherished those letters, now close to 3 decades in age. Priceless heirlooms in my reckoning. Now that dad is no longer with us, reading the letters brings to mind his voice to my ears, narrating the antics of mischievous younger siblings and news updates from home scene long past.

Picking up V.S Naipaul’s ‘Letters between a father and son’ ignited some of those thoughts. We bring our thoughts and memories when we read books, often using our own experiences to create links and shared connections. Perhaps that’s why I enjoyed this one immensely.

Vido (the younger Naipaul’s nickname) went off to Oxford to study, leaving his tropical sunny Trinidad for balmy Oxford. He tackles issues of food, exam stress, making friends and juggling financials while looking to cement his calling as a writer. The letters were peppered with intimate details shared between family members, the gossips, secrets, financial concerns, veiled jealousy, dreams, and concerns.

Plus, the letters between Vido and other family members, especially Kamla, his older sister, is included, adding a trifecta angle to the real-time narrative that the letters provide. The young author lays bare his insecurities, dreams, and hopes in his letters to his dad and sister. As the years go by, we see the boy turn slowly to a man, the letters providing an insight to how perhaps this Nobel winning author crafted some of his future stories. Through it all, his dad and other family members continue to be the stabilizing factor as the young man battles with his insecurities and concerns.

Reading someone else’s letters can be immensely interesting. Perhaps we all have voyeuristic tendencies that excite us when we get to delve into the innermost thoughts and feelings of others. The book was a quick read for me. Was a little sad when it was over.

For me, the book was a little boring. And in between, I realized that I am feeling nothing about this book. I was just blankly reading it, while I love books where I feel for characters, cry with them, feel happy with them.
I would say, I didn't like this book.

I must say this has been an eye opener for me, the love in the letters, and the relationship the son had with each of this parents, especially his father, and siblings.
I didn't know of have read any of the author's works before so I quite enjoyed learning about him and his family first.
Well worth reading book.