Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #290348 in Books
• Published on: 1999-08-26
• Binding: Paperback
• 400 pages

Amazon.co.uk Review
Paul Theroux first met V.S. Naipaul, or Vidia to his friends, in Uganda in 1966. Theroux was an unknown writer, while the older Naipaul had already established a name for himself as the author of such classic novels as A House for Mr. Biswas. Their unlikely subsequent friendship stretched for more than 30 years and spanned five continents, as Theroux grew in literary stature, with novels such as The Mosquito Coast and travelogues including Riding the Iron Rooster, and Naipaul went on to secure, among other plaudits, the 1971 Booker Prize for his extraordinary collection In a Free State.

But then, in 1997, their friendship ended. Snubbed by Naipaul following a chance meeting on a London street, Theroux immediately realised that "his rejection of me meant I was on my own. He had freed me, he had opened my eyes, he had given me a subject." The result was Sir Vidia's Shadow, a humorous but often elegiac account of the cantankerous Naipaul, which often reads as much as an account of Theroux's own rise to artistic maturity as a literary memoir of Naipaul. Some of the finest sections of the book deal with Theroux's contrasting experiences to Africa compared with the patrician attitude of Naipaul, and his emergence as a literary figure in London--with the help of Naipaul.

At times, Sir Vidia's Shadow offers hilarious insights into Naipaul's bizarre and often offensive musings on politics, race and sex, and his selfish and single-minded belief that writing is the only thing that really matters. This is a fascinating book, made all the more intriguing by the nagging feeling that a deeper level of recrimination lies behind Theroux's account than he actually concedes. If Naipaul's rejection of Theroux allows him to become just another "subject", then how much difference is there in the end between the two writers? In the end, is this really a book about killing the literary father? Only time, and perhaps Naipaul's response, will tell. --Jerry Brotton

Synopsis
An intimate portrait of that rarest and most fragile of alliances, a literary friendship. In this personal account Theroux recalls his relationship with Vidia and how their positions were frequently reversed as they became each other's editors, confidants and teachers.

Customer Reviews

"I had admired his talent. After a while, I admired nothing else [about him]. Finally, I began to wonder about his talent."
What began as a mentoring relationship between established novelist V. S. Naipaul and Paul Theroux, a young writer working on his first novel, went on to endure as a "friendship" for thirty years as both writers traveled the world but remained in touch with each other. They met when Theroux was a young ex-Peace Corp worker teaching in Uganda at the university in Makerere in 1966, and Naipaul, nine years his senior, became "writer-in-residence" there, though Naipaul hated teaching and mocked the writing of his students and the Makerere faculty. He did, however, recognize Theroux's talent, and he did help and encourage him to get his novel published. Theroux, in turn, was an astute reader of Naipaul's work, and both benefited from the relationship, at least at first.

From 1967 - 1977, Theroux published ten successful novels and short story collections, all of which Theroux describes in this book, and all were praised, at least privately, by Naipaul. Somewhat less attention is paid to the almost equal number of works published by Naipaul, some of which Theroux read and helped proofread. A crusty, critical, and often cruel man, full of contradictions, Naipaul was a difficult "friend," and when he decided that he did not like someone, there was no turning back, no forgiveness for human failings. Theroux managed to navigate that minefield of hostility for thirty years.

In fact, shortly before the first of Naipaul's novels was published in the United States, Theroux (in 1972) wrote an introductory biography and critical assessment of Naipaul's work, full of praise for Naipaul, and helped to create an audience for Naipaul's work in the United States. After this somewhat effusive work was published, however, Theroux refused further interviews or commentary about Naipaul, insisting that "I will never [again] write about Naipaul. He is my friend." That declaration is belied by the publication of this book, the last twenty-percent of which is an uninterrupted excoriation of Naipaul and his second wife at the end of the friendship with Theroux. Here Theroux shows that he is at least as unforgiving as Naipaul, with a mean streak of his own.

In time Theroux would become a literary star with over forty novels and books of non-fiction. Naipaul, a painstaking, often philosophical writer who avoids long descriptions and emotionalism in his books, eventually won the Nobel Prize in 2001, and was knighted. Though this book is fascinating for its picture of the mentoring process and of a friendship which managed to survive despite the pettiness and frequent mean-spiritedness of Naipaul, it is also a portrait of Theroux, who chose to put his own payback into print. Mary Whipple

Spiteful, rude and misguided - but what larks, Pip!
In this work Theroux seeks to destroy Naipaul, his one time mentor and friend. This is beyond debate. True, he presents, in the first part of the book, a portrait of an artist of incomparable skill, and many of his anecdotes are written with real love. However, there is a thread that runs throughout the early text, which is expanded on with real venom towards the end; that is, that Naipaul's abilities as a writer are shaded and ultimately destroyed by his political views. In this, Theroux is on dodgy ground. His attack on A Bend In the River, is as blind as it is vitriolic, and he is wrong. In trying to destroy Naipaul, he serves only to destroy his own reputation as a writer.True, if you hold Theroux's own political views, then you may be horrified by some of the things he says. And if you do not believe that genius's should be cut a little bit of slack for their Napoleonic behaviour, then you may find Naipaul to be a loathsome and arrogant twerp. For my part, I did not, and the worse that Theroux tried to paint Naipaul, the better I liked him. I gasped at his breath-taking high-handedness, and I laughed at his wonderfully non-PC pontifications. I hope that Theroux did not embroider the truth too much, because that is how I want Naipaul to be.This book will become a classic; not because of the way it was written, but because Naipaul will continue to gain in popularity and will one day be a household name, as one of the greatest writers in English. This book is the start of literary folklore, and for that reason deserves five stars.

Wonderful account of the writer's craft
This is the story of Paul Theroux's thirty-year friendship with his fellow-novelist V. S. Naipaul. Part social history, part biography, part autobiography, it is above all a beautifully written and fascinating study of a writer's craft and life.

Both men are prolific and accomplished writers. Naipaul has written novels set in all five continents. His novels include 'Guerrillas', 'In a Free State' and 'A House for Mr Biswas'. He has also written a history of Trinidad, 'The Loss of El Dorado'. Theroux is the author of 'The Mosquito Coast', 'The Great Railway Bazaar' and many other stories, novels and travel books.

Both men are remarkably self-contained; both are wandering scholars. Naipaul is famously rude and difficult. As a visiting professor in New York, he refused to give any classes. He once boasted, "I hate all music." He appears to disparage all contemporary novelists, and most past ones: he said that he hated Jane Austen, Thomas Hardy and Henry James. (He did at least admit to admiring Thomas Mann's 'Death in Venice' and Rudyard Kipling's 'Plain Tales from the Hills', and he does have a justified contempt for George Orwell.)

Theroux writes, "the best writers are the most fanatical." (Perhaps excellence at any work demands a certain fanaticism?) Certainly, Naipaul's uncompromising attention to his craft, his hatred of cant, of poses and affectation, of style, reveal the monomania necessary, but not sufficient, to creativity. The results in his work are uneven, but Theroux believes that Naipaul has produced one undoubted masterpiece, 'A House for Mr Biswas': readers should judge for themselves.

Theroux too is obviously not an easy man: his wanderlust, his unpleasant sexual boasting and his tactless responses to Naipaul's second marriage show how difficult he finds it to form relationships. Consequently this rare long friendship must have meant much to both men: it finished only recently, spurring Theroux to write this account. The book ends in a haunting last encounter, full of confusion, pain and rejection.