Conversations with V. S. Naipaul (Literary Conversations Series)

The book is well put together but I wonder if V. S. Naipaul is any kind of interview subject at all. The interviews seem to be three parts boasting, three parts self pity, three parts wild assertion and one part incisive literary insight that leaves you begging for more literary judgment; let's see, that adds up to ten, I guess. Ten what? I don't know. Naipaul seems to have a formidable theoretical apparatus behind his opinions but where is it to be found? He doesn't write essays or reviews so his opinions flow out as bluster and raw assertion; like an uncle sitting in his leather easy chair tossing out nasty and sometimes clever mots of the world and all things in it. His sniffy condescension towards the Modernist Movement in the arts comes off as plain silly, not worthy of his powers of insight (e.g., James Joyce dismissed as a blind writer). When pressed, he falls back on his deprived childhood and thin cultural background as contrast to his attainments and as foil to those hard-won attainments. But other writers have come out of astringent backgrounds with less boasting and less self pity; during the cold war many writers wrote under threat of imprisonment or death. I admire his books but not his disdain for graciousness and kindness.

Having read Naipaul's authorized biography as well as Paul Theroux's SIR VIDIA, I distinguish between the Naipaul of these interviews and the real man. Before I explain why, let me ask if this is justified.The veracity of Theroux's book has been questioned, not only because it embroiders, even apparently falsifies, details of encounters with Naipaul, but also because Theroux concludes that Naipaul is a cad and a false friend. However, unless you think Theroux is a pathological liar, there has to be some truth in the account of a relationship that lasted for 30+ years.Similarly, French's "authorized" biography, a scathingly negative portrait, has been hailed as the naked truth about Sir Vidia, but why would Naipaul cooperate with such a total condemnation of himself? The claim that he's being fearlessly honest collides with his admitted lifelong contempt for others, so why shouldn't he be indifferent to his biographer's judgment as well as those of his readers?When you put the Naipaul persona of this book of interviews alongside Theroux's and French's accounts, you'll discover that there's not much more than egotistic nihilism driving this man. He uses all the people in his life, from making his loyal first wife's life a living hell to pettier offenses like never picking up the check.He became a writer largely because his father was a novelist manque, as did Shiva, his younger brother. His great gift was a talent for writing simple but stylish prose, probably the best since Orwell (though he disparaged Orwell when the comparison with him was made).He also wrote his early books when "post-colonial" writing was a craze in the way Existentialist fiction was in the late 1940s-early 50s.There's a lot to admire in his fiction, but as he went on his novels became more and more lifeless, culminating in THE ENIGMA OF ARRIVAL, a memoir that's erroneously called a novel, a very boring memoir that only his unquestioning admirers could accept. (Incidental note: if anyone needs proof that Margaret Drabble is the least talented novelist of her generation, he should consider that she wrote Naipaul a "fan letter" (her words) about ENIGMA.)Gradually Naipaul's non-fiction became more important to him than his novels, but the depressingly repetitive quality of it (three books to demonstrate that India is a dying society--a prediction that hasn't come true) makes for dutiful reading, though his book about the American South is funny in ways that he didn't intend.Naipaul's fame, it appears, rests on at least three things: (1) the fact that a non-Brit wrote the best prose of his generation; (2) the fact that a man of color was willing to belittle and negative other persons of color; (3) his ostensible indifference to public opinion about his opinions, no matter how perverse they were.His risible rejection of great English writers like Austen, Hardy, James, Conrad, and Orwell as "boring", his praise of writers whom he can't read in the original (Aksakov and Gogol), his assertion that Balzac is his favorite novelist, all suggest not very surprisingly that the writer he admires above all others is V.S. Naipaul.If you buy and read this book of interviews, prepare to plow through a lot of nonsense with an occasional glimpse of the naked truth.Naipaul is probably the worst human being to create works of art since Wagner, with the qualification that Wagner wrote some major works whereas Naipaul is a minor blip in the history of literature.Still, his best books deserve to be read if you're interested in that history.

I enjoy his work when I listen on audio. It is a delight listening to his writing on 'The Writer's People.' It is equally delightful to hear his work on 'Half a Life.' You are laughing but at the same time you are sweating. You are sweating because his character is thrown into circumstances he has yet to figure out. The events are moving in fast pace and his character is way behind and making futile attempts to catch up. No need to read his biography. Nor there is a need to read to read other salacious details written elsewhere. The real disturbance lies in the work. So as the fun. What a joy to come to know him.

V.S. Naipaul is arguably the greatest author of our time. Yet although a world traveler and a master conversationalist, he is reserved and enigmatic -- a hard man to get to know. Professor Jussawalla's book compiles interviews with Naipaul that date back to the '60s, shedding light on his personal as well as literary progress. This is 'must' reading for anyone with a serious interest in V.S. Naipaul.

Excellent collection of Naipaul's interviews. If you are interested in Naipaul, you shall like this book.