By LLOYD KING
The World Is What It Is the Authorised Biography of V.S. Naipaul By Patrick French
Knopf, 554 pp.

V.S. Naipaul
The authorized biography of VS Naipaul treats us to all the shabby details of Naipaul’s life in a manner which should satisfy all those who love to hate the man who turned his back on his native land, unlike the Martiniquan poet, Aime Cesaire who in his famous poem, celebrated his return and hymned his praise to those “who had invented nothing”, in the language of those who had invented all sorts of things.
Of course, Mr. Patrick French, in the midst of the often unhappy details he provides of V.S. Naipaul’s life, undertook the biography because he thought Naipaul an important writer and the challenge he faced was to make bridges between the life and the work. Does he do so effectively? I am not sure. Maybe it is too early. What I wish to do here is to use Mr. French’s account and also other sources, including Naipaul’s own autobiographical offerings, in order to place Sir Vidia from a Trinidadian perspective. I therefore stress some of the factors which would have shaped him.
The title of the biography, The World Is What It Is is quite likely taken from a note on the possibly greatest of novelists, Leo Tolstoy penned by the French writer Romain Rolland: “Things are as they are, not otherwise.” Can we say the same for Naipaul and his work as could have been said of Tolstoy’s great novels?
Certainly, one’s choices in life are dictated by one’s temperament, by one’s family history, and by the larger socio-political circumstances of one’s time. It has been said that the impressions of childhood last longest and cut deepest. What then do we learn of the Naipaul childhood? He grew up under the shadow of his mother’s family, the Capildeos, who looked down on his father as a non-performing failure, always beset by grinding money worries. At the same time, he learnt from them a sense of superiority and of separateness from the common Indian labourer. It was a feeling he would extend equally to the English labourers he got to know, when in England in dire straits for money, he worked on a farm. The plight of the common man, such as you find in Orwell would not bother him. V.S. Pritchett has summed up his type amazingly well, but applied to some ambitious young Englishmen of his own earlier time: “They grind away at their lessons all their boyhood and youth, (they) may be brilliant but are emotionally infantile, are given to turning a bleak eye on the non-ruling class and may be driven to feel distinctive and superior, both spiritually and socially.” Naipaul is more typical than has been imagined.
At the same time, certainly in Trinidad terms he was quite unusual. In the Trinidad of his time, the one prevailing desire of the bright boy (and he was very much in the tradition of the Trinidad bright boy) there were only two careers valued; you either did medicine or became a lawyer. They assumed status and financial security. Naipaul chose an Arts degree at Oxford, because he was set on being a writer.
In this sense, Naipaul would not have been what he became, except for the amazing life story of his father, Seepersad Naipaul, a life partly delineated in his impressive novel, A House for Mr. Biswas Seepersad Naipaul’s life would be a singularly depressing record were it not for the fact that escaping work in the cane fields and on the basis of a primary school education, he was bitten by the bug of literature; and he transmitted to his son a dream vocation as a literary man. Now, it isn’t that there wasn’t some interest in literature in Seepersad Naipaul’s time. The thirties were the era of the Beacon, when Alfred Mendes and C.L.R. James and others were publishing their stories. But Seepersad had no interest whatsoever in being part of creole society; the only mentor he accepted was an English editor of the local Guardian newspaper and he conceived a desire to be recognized in London, in the literary programme, London Calling. Like so many Indians out of Hindu Central Trinidad, except those who had converted to Presbyterianism, he rejected colonial creole society. It was a kind of version of a well known recommendation to the early Christians: “Be in the world, but not of it.”
Seepersad N. who had hidden as a boy rather than return to India, moved to Port of Spain but lived in an ambiguous relation to the society. But he was not at all appreciated for what he wrote in the Guardian about the secretive Indo-heartland, which I am informed is still quite secretive. On pain of being murdered, he was forced to perform a primitive Kali puja, which led to a nervous breakdown. This dissociation would leave his son, Vidia, with a horror of the country into which he was born. Seepersad Naipaul taught his son to be an alien. But he was also shrewd enough to understand that to escape the society- and where else but to London- you had to master its schooling system and win its scholarships. Seepersad sent his son to the most highly rated primary school in Port of Spain, at the time Tranquility, where he got an exhibition to QRC and then to Oxford. It was all in the bright boy tradition. Eric Williams had done it and eventually returned to be proclaimed by the illiterate as the third brightest man in the world. Naipaul’s unbeloved uncle, Dr. Rudranath Capildeo, according to Mr. French, thought he was the third greatest scientist, after Newton and Einstein. Trinidad is a place like that.
Before success came to him, the young Naipaul went through some very difficult times financially, and had a nervous breakdown, was emotionally supported by the English girl who became his wife, Pat, and whom he treated quite badly as Mr. French makes clear. There was, one suspects, a combination of factors to explain his behaviour. Leaving Trinidad, without boy days and being emotionally immature, he resorted to prostitutes and got caught on the horns of a dilemma. His girlfriend, then wife, was a woman of high intelligence but somewhat frigid. He could have chosen not to marry her but would have felt guilty. At the same time, it is clear that even though he had renounced Hinduism, he had absorbed to whatever degree, the traditional attitude of contempt for women, which his father had exposed in the Gurudeva stories.
French does not go specifically into the extent to which Hindu environment affected or shaped V.S. Naipaul. Naipaul for example has told of the impression made on him as a boy seeing a performance of the Ramayan story, the extent to which he and many others responded to the idea of exile dramatized in it. We know that it shaped his eating habits and sensitivities and anchored him in a certain kind of caste certainty and specialness. We can understand that it might- and did- create a distaste for the creole habits of liming, playing mas and rum drinking. And then there was/is the Hindu habit of grading people according to caste – skin colour (which coincided with certain creole prejudices) and we have something of the making of the man.
Naipaul’s family history made him somber and sardonic. And from his point of view, in Trinidad he would be a writer in an unsettled society with ambiguous points of belief or value; in Port of Spain , a set of compartmentalized groups, each in its own glass box. He wrote to his mother: “I think I shall die if I have to spend the rest of my life in Trinidad. The place is too small, the values all wrong.” What memories he had. Inside his extended family he had experienced the sense of betrayal the child feels when evil is revealed to him. He was sexually abused by a male cousin. This and his father’s distress, we conjecture defined his psychic wound. In the same way that the then Hindu minority felt protected from Afro-creole Trinidad, Naipaul decided that life in England would be his protection, where he could write against the grain and current of facile expectations in the transition out of colonialism.
From what has been said, it becomes clear that, from early o’clock, he would not wish to be classified as a West Indian writer. He felt that ethnic writing was a trap and, likely with Sam Selvon in mind, that it offered the temptations of facility and ephemeral solace. But, of course you can only write about what you know about, unless you are into fantastic literature. So what was Naipaul’s solution? How would he become a British writer? A clue may have been provided by Evelyn Waugh, who wrote a novel called Black Mischief in 1932. At first glance, and indeed at any reading, it might be taken to have been a vicious, racist, attack on the Africans. Not so, the distinguished literary critic Stephen J. Greenblat argued in his book Three Modern Satirists; the novel deals not with the impossibility of civilizing the Negro, but a sly and satiric examination of Western modernity itself, of the sterile culture which the English have sold to the natives. Naipaul would write for British readers and kill two birds – 19th century French writers used a famous expression to define the intention of their writing: épater les bourgeois (to scandalize the middle class). Naipaul decided that his role would be “épater” the English liberal establishment and the new black/African nationalisms, but based on a Conradian code: to be an accurate and unflinching observer with an absolute loyalty to his feelings and sensations.
Because he judges that there had been no migration of mind to the West Indies, he could quote Froude that nothing was created here. He had the planter class in mind because he did not expect either the ex-slave or the Indian indentured labourer to produce a culture with an explicit weight of religious, moral and philosophical preoccupations. He did not believe that peasants are a great sanctuary of sanity, even with a pool of common wisdom and humour. “Deprivation is to me what daffodils were to Wordsworth”, the English poet, Phillip Larkin once wrote. What would it be for Naipaul, anti-nostalgia?
Mr. French’s biography is not strictly speaking a literary biography. For example, he does not seem to see how crucial publication of The Middle Passage was. The first three novels, in West Indian terms, were safe. The ironies or satire were directed at Indo-Trini characters. The writing was entertaining and A House for Mr. Biswas was a major novel, it was a revindication of a life which was, on the face of it, a failure. Now, Hinduism shares with the Puritan ethos the view that worldly success is an outer sign of inner virtue, of Karma at work. To the Capildeos, Seepersad Naipaul was a failure. The novel confronts the Hindu karmic view. Naipaul’s achievement led Dr. Williams to offer him the opportunity to return to the West Indies and write up his observations. What Dr. Williams could not have known, and the biography reveals, is that Naipaul had returned in 1956 privately and was appalled at what he perceived as the element of racial revivalism in the just launched PNM.
The book was the first time that Naipaul seriously focused on the 20th century post slavery black Caribbean. It caused outrage and dismay. The epigraph from Froude, and the account of the trip from England of the immigrant ship, in particular, offended black West Indian sensibilities. I have suggested before that the immigrant ship record is directed at what Naipaul considered the romanticizing of the immigrant by Selvon and Lamming. Carrying his own psychic wound, and even his own history of nervous breakdown (to neither of which he admits in the book) Naipaul dramatized and perhaps self defensively mocked at immigrants (not of his intellectual level) who also had breakdowns under the pressure of English circumstances and at those who, like him, but under humbler circumstances, wished to escape their islands and seek new horizons in England. We might keep Edrich Connor in mind or C.L.R. James, the more successful ones. He was the creative émigré, different.
Elements of this perspective peep out in his essay on Michael X, which is also about the folly of the overzealous English liberal. Michael X’s writing shows that he was a failure, without talent, a truth he covers up with a bogus racial assertiveness. We scarcely are aware of how much things have changed. In the Sunday Guardian column (9 November 2008) Lennox Grant recalls that his mother kept a copy of the Guardian souvenir supplement marking Queen Elizabeth II’s coronation. “In her contemporary consciousness of globalization” he writes “ it was to monarchy in distant London that my mother owed allegiance.” I am sure Mr. Grant is aware that his mom would nowadays be mocked for her colonial ways. Or read Wayne Brown’s characterization of Mr. Obama in the Sunday Express of the same date: “like us, he lived his formative years open to the diverse cultural winds of the world, so that today he is sophisticated, cosmopolitan, rootless, as close to being a true citizens of the world as we are.” Mr. Brown may speak for himself and selected others. The point about Mr. Obama is that he is black as in African. The imagined world of Mrs. Grant has vanished. The imagined world of Mr. Brown is not shared too widely in this world.
This brings us to Naipaul’s relations with C.L.R. James. He took James very seriously as a precursor. He greatly admired Beyond a Boundary. I see he actually gave a talk on the Mighty Sparrow, which suggests that he would have gone along with James’ taste in calypso. But the calypsonian who is closest to Naipaul in spirit, if not in what he targets is Cro Cro. And because James was a liberal, he would have been uneasy with Cro Cro, and he became increasingly uneasy with Naipaul. After An Area of Darkness, James remarked: “Naipaul is saying what the whites want to say, but dare not. They have put him up to it” (French, 245). In A Way In The World, Naipaul would have his revenge, even as he pays tribute to the masterly old man. And he would have his revenge not only on James but on Arthur Calder Marshall, a writer who had come to Trinidad in 1937 and celebrated the labour struggle in a book called Glory Dead (1939). He is given the name Foster Morris.
It appears that Calder Marshall had been seen by the young aspiring Naipaul as a possible mentor. But Marshall had responded negatively to an early work. James appears as Lebrun, possibly a name taken from Learie Constantine’s father. What Lebrun and Foster Morris have in common is their support for the black workers’ struggle in 1937 and they are shown at a meeting together in Trinidad. This of course is fiction. What Naipaul had against James was that in The Black Jacobins he had sought to raise racial pride, by looking backwards, while keeping his eyes averted from Haiti’s parlous contemporary circumstances. Foster Morris (i.e. Calder Marshall) supposedly wrote of Tubal ‘Buzz’ Butler and his associates “as though they were English people – as though they had that kind of social depth and solidity and rooted-ness.” Of course, this kind of statement is calculated to make people’s hackles rise.
Presumably, we are supposed to understand, a Fabian leadership would have had behind them an educated history of discussion, provided by writers like H.G. Wells and Bernard Shaw, while Butler was a semi-literate Bible-toting Grenadian immigrant, not to be compared even with Bustamante of Jamaica. The sophisticated James we imagine, had he been in Trinidad, would have some difficulty dealing with the undoubtedly charismatic Butler. In any case, that Lebrun is said to be connected to Panama is a detail which brings up Bustamante’s name.
Thus using the liberty afforded by fiction, Naipaul brings together a Jamesian figure and a Calder Marshall figure (Foster Morris). And Morris tells the Naipaul narrator of an embarrassing incident which took place but which he had not written up. Here Naipaul is dwelling on the ways in which, supporting our side, we tend to pass over what is not palatable, here applied to 1937 in Trinidad. Foster Morris, the white liberal is sitting around with some of the black activists, including Lebrun. And in the course of the old talk, sexual capability is tied to race in a way that is a calculated attack on Morris. It is the old joke about penis size and black (African) men. What is it all about, here? In fact, it is Naipaul’s revenge on James.
The story is the following. An English woman has written a memoir (I don’t have it to hand) claiming that she was James’ mistress, while she lived with her English husband. And according to her, James was always after her to tell him how his penis size compared with her husband’s. Serious (and civilizational) issues, one feels Naipaul is suggesting, can be debased by primitive, coarse, race pride obsessions. Maybe he felt referred to as well, who can tell.
There is another character who contributes to the roman à clef aspect of A Way In The World. It is a man called Blair, whom the young Naipaul knew and respected when he worked in the Red House before going abroad. He is murdered in an African country. Mr. French believes the murder is a reference to Walter Rodney, except of course that Rodney died in Guyana.
We know that the Trinbagonian who was murdered was not Rodney but Mr. Victor Bruce, former governor of the Central Bank, who died under mysterious circumstances in Sierra Leone. There was a suspicion that he was turning up some local financial crookedness. Of course the Blair episode is consonant with the Naipaul theme. Blair had embraced the black consciousness movement and had, though it is not stated explicitly joined the PNM. His death in Africa is ironic, since he had made a sort of back to Africa trip. Mr. French’s reference to Walter Rodney may perhaps be opposite in a kind of a way. Rodney, we know, spent some time in Tanzania, he continued to be forthright and honest and was told by certain persons from the Tanzanian political elite, that he would not be expelled as he was from Jamaica, he would be killed if he continued with certain criticisms.
But keeping to a West Indian perspective, what was noted over and over was Naipaul’s focus in his atrabilious way on Afro-creole society, as is implied in the discussion above. Is it straightforward racism? What is clear is that Trini-Indians recede in Naipaul’s imaginative world and in his focus in writing. The letters quoted by Mr. French tell a different story. They tell of his sister, Kamla being put out of his house by her uncle, Rudranath Capildeo, who was not a nice man. In his remarks, he is dismissive of the Indo-Trinis he does meet.
So, when he wrote to his mother that “The place is too small, the values all wrong”, he didn’t have only creole Trinidad in mind. At the same time he also held the view that: “I cannot belong to India for the simple reason that I don’t know the language. Language is so important in belonging.” Is this an echo of the lines in A Far Cry from Africa: “How to choose between this Africa and the English tongue I love?” and is there not a real sense in which Naipaul seeks to examine an equivalent dilemma in his own engagement with India?
There are two points that should be made. One is that from the moment in his youth when his family moved to Woodbrook and then to St. James, Naipaul begins to experience life as a relatively isolated young person. In St. James, there were Indo-Trinis around, many highly creolized, but none worthy of friendship with the bloodless, socially superior Naipaul family, at least in its own mind. It may have developed in his mind the idea that Naipaul took to heart and identified with the Walcott lines: “The eye devours the horizon for a sail” in The Castaways. If we look at preceding Trinidad fiction, which Naipaul surely read, we see that the isolated Indian or couple are shown dealing with creole society. Consider Selvon’s A Brighter Sun and Mittelholzer’s A Morning At The Office, with its one obnoxious Indo character. We can fast forward, closer to our time, to The Dragon Can’t Dance, where again there is an isolated couple. So it is an aspect of the imaginative world we haven’t gotten beyond. And a challenge to younger writers. Mr. French remarks that Naipaul may well have had unfriendly feelings towards Selvon, who had been at one time one of the boyfriends of one of his sisters.
To these antecedents, Naipaul simply brought a vision true to his misanthropy and quickness of eye, his anti-nostalgia. I suspect that only time will disentangle prejudice from true, to the quick, perception. V.S. Pritchett wrote of his generation: that they had inherited the Edwardian attitude to literature: never interested in character in itself or in the book in itself – interested in something outside. That is where I believe most West Indian writing still is, or how it is regarded.
It is precisely the “something outside” that has stirred Derek Walcott, who has led the charge against Naipaul. Recently, one gathers, he wrote a denunciatory and hostile poem directed at Naipaul, whom he calls somewhere V.S. Nightfall. I gather from a published report that Mr. Walcott was piqued because Naipaul had declared his admiration only for Walcott’s earlier poems. Our local Naipaul experts were interviewed on the supposed feud. There is a simple point that they missed. It is this. Occasionally Naipaul offers views of other writers. Among them, he has dwelt briefly on the greatest novelist, Leo Tolstoy and the great English novelist, Charles Dickens. What is striking is that Naipaul declares a preference for the prose of the early Dickens. Do we not prefer Naipaul’s own earlier work and which of Walcott’s poems do we remember best? In any case, as has been noted, in faction, where so much of personality is revealed, the absence of generosity is a great loss.
What Mr. French’s biography helps us to understand is the extent to which Sir Vidia Naipaul was the product of particular circumstances shaped by his birth into a particular society from a recently indentured Indian point of view, utterly unlike any shaping experience of Mr. Walcott.
There is an unflinching exposé of Naipaul, the man, much of which is provided by Naipaul himself, such as will satisfy most Naipaul haters. There are also small surprises. Michael Manley was impressed by The Mimic Men and wrote Naipaul to say so. Naipaul disliked red-skinned women, reminding us of their negative image in Earl Lovelace’s writing and in references to them in calypsos, as Gordon Rohlehr has shown. Why is this surprising: because Trini-Indian males, it would seem, find red-skinned women very attractive. You only have to look around at the couples you see in the street. As in much else, Naipaul is an exception.
Mr. French’s biography, I am sure, will be the occasion for a lot more comment, I hope. For one thing, he is not strong on the Trinidad and West Indian background. For another, he does not attempt all that much to be psychologically penetrating; to see, for example, that the young Naipaul who arrives in England, socially gauche, his only real experience of women being his sisters, would under the pressure of circumstances resort to prostitutes. It is now commonplace, after all, that proof of manhood is connected with sexual performance, one of the modern substitutes for primitive initiation rites. Naipaul was no longer part of the Hindu tradition which had simplified matters by marrying couples off early. It would have helped if Mr. French had situated Naipaul in the tradition of modern writers such as James Joyce or Graham Greene. Greene had more mistresses than you can count on the fingers of one hand at least.
And Joyce, also renounced his homeland, Ireland, was a man of hauteur and conceit, and his work caused absolute outrage in his native land. We might even return to Trinidad and find this remarkable pronouncement on Dr. Eric Williams by Dr. Patrick Soloman in his Autobiography: “He (Williams) never regarded Trinidad and Tobago as a corporate entity with a personality of its own nor yet as his homeland to which he owed allegiance and loyalty” (p. 136). Mr. French might have added to his title what was said of the Russian writer Lermonov, “Whatever is written on a man’s forehead he is not fated to forgo”. I end on this note.