In a Free State

In a Free State

By V. S. Naipaul

Vintage Books USA, Paperback, 9781400030552, 247pp.

Publication Date: February 12, 2002

Description

No writer has rendered our boundariless, post-colonial world more acutely or prophetically than V. S. Naipaul, or given its upheavals such a hauntingly human face. A perfect case in point is this riveting novel, a masterful and stylishly rendered narrative of emigration, dislocation, and dread, accompanied by four supporting narratives.

In the beginning it is just a car trip through Africa. Two English people--Bobby, a civil servant with a guilty appetite for African boys, and Linda, a supercilious “compound wife” [117]-- are driving back to their enclave after a stay in the capital [111]. But in between lies the landscape of an unnamed country whose squalor and ethnic bloodletting suggest Idi Amin’s Uganda. [111-12, 120, 130-1, 150, 178, 220-40] And the farther Naipaul’s protagonists travel into it, the more they find themselves crossing the line that separates privileged outsiders from horrified victims. Alongside this Conradian tour de force are four incisive portraits of men seeking liberation far from home. By turns funny and terrifying, sorrowful and unsparing, In A Free State is Naipaul at his best.



About the Author
V.S Naipaul (1932), laureat du Booker Prize en 1971 et du prix Nobel de litterature en 2001, est notamment l auteur de romans, "Le Masseur mystique" (Grasset, 2010), "L Enigme de l arrivee" (Grasset, Les Cahiers Rouges, 2012), de recits de voyage, "Le Masque de l Afrique" (Grasset, 2011), d essais, "Crepuscule sur l Islam", et d une correspondance, "Entre pere et fils" (Grasset, 2012).


Praise For In a Free State

“V. S. Naipaul tells stories which show us ourselves and the reality we live in. His use of language is as precise as it is beautiful.” — The London Times

“A Tolstoyan spirit....The so-called Third World has produced no more brilliant literary artist.” —John Updike, The New Yorker

“The coolest literary eye and the most lucid prose we have.” —The New York