Feh. I could never get emotionally involved in this story. I take that back, I was emotionally pissed off when the character expressed his distress with his married girlfriend by beating her and spitting on her and somehow this was a moment where we were to feel sorry for the asshole. The main character describes the drama and the beauty of his surroundings, and yet to me the whole thing fell flat.

It’s about a Arab-African living through the turbulent post-independence period in an unnamed republic. I’d never read any Naipaul before, but wow. If a sentence doesn’t dazzle, you get the strong sense it’s because he’s chosen to restrain himself. In fact, my only niggle is, would the man who is telling the story in the first person be capable of such a gorgeous, masterly rendition?

Brilliant!