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rendezpuss 's review for:
An Area of Darkness: A Discovery of India
by V.S. Naipaul
tense
fast-paced
A small caveat: I may have written this review a little incoherently (but passionately!), right after finishing this book. Credit where it’s due, I do appreciate that Naipaul’s writing has an almost lyrical quality and his humour does shine through intelligently. He also hits the nail on the head with the uniquely Indian denial and doublethink of finding joy and meaning in despair.
Owing to all of this, I was almost tempted to give him 3 stars. But as I go on to write below, much of this book is the literary version of trolling.
Naipaul values all that is Western with the same blindness as his rejection of all that is Indian; it amazes me how he criticises some “broad-minded” Indians in the book for a similar sin without a lick of irony. It’s also important to mention the book is set in a time when India is barely on its feet with its newfound independence. Equally important - Naipaul is a highly unreliable narrator who has admitted to having no interest or appreciation for Indian languages or culture and clearly exhibited anger management issues.
Many of his criticisms do hold water even today. Indian readers when confronted with these, tend to either ignore them with brazen, jingoistic pride. Or they over-correct and chastise their people for their inadequacies. And very often as an Indian, if you’re not seen doing the latter, you’re accused of being the former.
But it’s not his stern - albeit self-admittedly unoriginal - remarks on India’s poverty, the caste system and the complicated relationship with its colonial past, that come across as offensive. It’s that every description is so mean-spirited and exaggerated, it rings falsely hollow. Sentence after sentence, full of negativity, eventually numbs the reader, no matter how sharp the words.
For once reviews are on my side - he’s a pompous coconut who doesn’t deign to understand his culture and has nothing to offer but Orientalist critique.
Owing to all of this, I was almost tempted to give him 3 stars. But as I go on to write below, much of this book is the literary version of trolling.
Naipaul values all that is Western with the same blindness as his rejection of all that is Indian; it amazes me how he criticises some “broad-minded” Indians in the book for a similar sin without a lick of irony. It’s also important to mention the book is set in a time when India is barely on its feet with its newfound independence. Equally important - Naipaul is a highly unreliable narrator who has admitted to having no interest or appreciation for Indian languages or culture and clearly exhibited anger management issues.
Many of his criticisms do hold water even today. Indian readers when confronted with these, tend to either ignore them with brazen, jingoistic pride. Or they over-correct and chastise their people for their inadequacies. And very often as an Indian, if you’re not seen doing the latter, you’re accused of being the former.
But it’s not his stern - albeit self-admittedly unoriginal - remarks on India’s poverty, the caste system and the complicated relationship with its colonial past, that come across as offensive. It’s that every description is so mean-spirited and exaggerated, it rings falsely hollow. Sentence after sentence, full of negativity, eventually numbs the reader, no matter how sharp the words.
For once reviews are on my side - he’s a pompous coconut who doesn’t deign to understand his culture and has nothing to offer but Orientalist critique.