V. S. Naipaul, the Nobel Prize–winning author who explored issues of colonialism, race, and identity in a strikingly brilliant series of novels, essays, and travel books, died this weekend at the age of 85. As much as any single great writer of the 20th century, Naipaul is present in everything he wrote. His life story; his caustic, penetrating, often callous opinions; his cruelty; his genius: All are there, in his novels and nonfiction. Naipaul inflicted extreme psychological abuse on his first wife, Patricia Hale, beat his mistress, and seemed defiantly proud of his racism, misogyny, and toxic political views; to talk about separating the art from the man seems especially futile in his case. Indeed, the best way to consider the depth of his literary achievement is to view his writing as the partial result of his anger and abiding sense of humiliation, which allowed him to explore the human condition and the legacy of imperialism with a tireless and unflinching gaze, or what one critic called “a terrifying honesty.”
from Stories from Slate https://ift.tt/2MIRD95
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