An Area of Darkness by V.S. Naipaul
An Area of Darkness is V. S. Naipaul’s semi-autobiographical account of his first visit to India, the land of his forebears. At once painful and hilarious, but always thoughtful and considered. He was twenty-nine years old; he stayed for a year.
From the moment of his inauspicious arrival in Prohibition-dry Bombay, bearing whisky and cheap brandy, he experienced a cultural estrangement from the subcontinent. It became for him a land of myths, an area of darkness closing up behind him as he travelled . .
. The experience was not a pleasant one, but the pain the author suffered was creative rather than numbing, and engendered a masterful work of literature that is revelatory both of India and of himself: a displaced person who paradoxically possesses a stronger sense of place than almost anyone.
An Area of Darkness is V. S. Naipaul’s semi-autobiographical account of his first visit to India, the land of his forebears. At once painful and hilarious, but always thoughtful and considered. He was twenty-nine years old; he stayed for a year.
From the moment of his inauspicious arrival in Prohibition-dry Bombay, bearing whisky and cheap brandy, he experienced a cultural estrangement from the subcontinent. It became for him a land of myths, an area of darkness closing up behind him as he travelled . .
. The experience was not a pleasant one, but the pain the author suffered was creative rather than numbing, and engendered a masterful work of literature that is revelatory both of India and of himself: a displaced person who paradoxically possesses a stronger sense of place than almost anyone.
An Area of Darkness is V. S. Naipaul’s semi-autobiographical account of his first visit to India, the land of his forebears. At once painful and hilarious, but always thoughtful and considered. He was twenty-nine years old; he stayed for a year.
From the moment of his inauspicious arrival in Prohibition-dry Bombay, bearing whisky and cheap brandy, he experienced a cultural estrangement from the subcontinent. It became for him a land of myths, an area of darkness closing up behind him as he travelled . .
. The experience was not a pleasant one, but the pain the author suffered was creative rather than numbing, and engendered a masterful work of literature that is revelatory both of India and of himself: a displaced person who paradoxically possesses a stronger sense of place than almost anyone.
