Many of Naipaul's themes emerged in his correspondence
with another writer -- his father.
By ABRAHAM VERGHESE
NY Times January 16, 2000
My stay in Trinidad is drawing to
a close -- I only have nine
months left. Then I shall go away never
to come back. . . . I want to satisfy
myself that I have lived as I wanted to
live. As yet I feel that the philosophy I
will have to expand in my books is only
superficial. I am longing to see something
of life.'
These words were written by a
17-year-old V. S. Naipaul about to see
something of life by means of a
scholarship to Oxford. 'Between Father
and Son' is the record of an
extraordinarily rich correspondence
primarily between V. S. Naipaul (Vido in
these letters) and his father, Seepersad
Naipaul. It begins with Vido's arrival in
England in 1950 and ends in 1953 with Seepersad's death. As a sad
postscript, there are letters reporting what Seepersad did not live to see:
the publication of Vido's first novel.
Seepersad is a man we feel we already know from 'A House for Mr.
Biswas,' a book whose title character was based on him. Seepersad
(like Mr. Biswas) was a melancholy man, working for a Trinidad
newspaper, frustrated by the demands of his family, by dependence on
his in-laws and by poverty and debt. In rereading 'A House for Mr.
Biswas' I came across a passage that seems to represent Seepersad's
state of mind (as fictionalized by his son) at the time his son was in
Oxford:
'And though he had at first found the newspaper office stimulating with its
urgency, the daily miracle of seeing what he had written in the afternoon
transformed into solid print read by thousands the next morning, his
enthusiasm, unsupported by ambition, faded. His work became
painstaking and labored: the zest went out of his articles as it had gone
out of himself. He grew dull and querulous and ugly. Living had always
been a preparation, a waiting. And so the years had passed; and now
there was nothing to wait for. Except the children. Suddenly the world
opened for them. Savi got a scholarship and went abroad. Two years
later, Anand got a scholarship and went to England.'
Many of the themes familiar to the reader of V. S. Naipaul emerge in this
correspondence: the enigma of arrival, the sadness of separation and
exile, neocolonial ambition and the effort to find one's center. Naipaul
once remarked, 'All my work is really one; I'm really writing one big
book,' and indeed in these letters one finds the seeds for that opus.
Seepersad, in one of the first letters Vido receives at Oxford, implores
his son to send a 'detailed pen-picture' of what his first day at Oxford is
like. He compliments Vido on the quality of his letters, which he finds
'charming in their spontaneity,' and even suggests, 'If you could write me
letters about things and people -- especially people -- at Oxford, I could
compile them in a book: 'Letters Between a Father and Son,' or 'My
Oxford Letters.' What think you?'
If both men's letters appear a bit
self-conscious, it is a writerly
self-consciousness, a pride and
fussiness with the written word rather
than any true belief that the
correspondence will be published a
half century later. Vido is aware that
his letters, often addressed to 'Dear
Everybody,' are the cause of great
excitement when they arrive in
Trinidad, and he obliges with
observations such as 'The English are
a queer people. Take it from me. The
longer you live in England, the more
queer they appear. There is something
so orderly, and yet so adventurous
about them, so ruttish, so courageous.'
Much literary advice flows between the two writers. Seepersad tells his
son, 'Don't be scared of being an artist. D. H. Lawrence was an artist
through and through; and, for the time being at any rate, you should think
as Lawrence. Remember what he used to say, 'Art for my sake.' 'Vido
in turn coaxes his father to take his writing further. 'Now, I want to tell
you something. I have always admired you as a writer. And I am
convinced that, were you born in England, you would have been famous
and rich and pounced upon by the intellectuals. But you are not frightfully
old. Shaw achieved success at about 44, you should try to keep on
writing.'
Entertaining as these letters are, a long family correspondence, even that
of the Naipaul family, can at times be tedious. But still, for V. S. Naipaul
fans and particularly for future biographers and scholars, the
correspondence is a treasure. Those who have formed the impression
that Naipaul is arrogant and conceited (perhaps because of Paul
Theroux's recent book about his former friend) will find little to change
their beliefs. What comes across clearly is the young author's tremendous
vulnerability, his determination at an early age to be a writer, his talent for
hard work, the breadth of his scholarship and how central his family was
to his mental health and success.
But what I found most poignant in this correspondence was the way it
mirrored the themes of the South Asian diaspora. There is the great love
that a family has for its child -- a love wrapped up in ambition -- and the
tremendous sacrifice parents make so that their child can have it better,
typically in another land. ('I don't want you to be like me,' Biswas tells
his son by way of explanation when introducing him to the world of
Dickens and making him look up all the unfamiliar words.) Once abroad,
Vido is under pressure. Though his presence at Oxford is a form of
vindication for his father, there are unappreciative dons, ghoulish relatives
and others who he imagines would take delight were he to fail. No
sooner is Vido at ease than he finds he is also irrevocably altered by the
foreign land. The parental sacrifice and the expectations -- to return, to
give back to the rest of the family -- may have begun to weigh like a
millstone around the neck. Seepersad had sent his son a batch of his
stories, wanting help in getting them published, but Vido, for all his
encouragement of his father's writing, does not seem to give this a high
priority. In February 1953, word comes that Seepersad has had a heart
attack. Kamla, the oldest daughter, who was in college in India, returns
to Trinidad. Vido talks about returning but does not do so. When Kamla
writes to him to tell him about the heart attack, she says: 'Pa's greatest
worry is that he cannot get his stories published. . . . In the name of Pa's
life, see immediately to his short stories. . . . Carelessness about this
means Pa's death.' But the stories do not get published in Seepersad's
lifetime.
In his very last letter, dated September 1953, Seepersad writes: 'We
cannot afford losing you; I am not good any longer for any hard work.
And one or two must work to see the younger members of the household
come through, so that they are able to do for themselves. . . . Your own
uncle Rudranath is the best example. He has made it blatantly plain that
he has nothing to do with any of his sisters.' This last letter is a poignant
one, the father sensing perhaps that he has arrived at a watershed in his
relationship with his son. It is a tribute to Seepersad that it is the only time
he reminds his son of his obligations, and yet even as he does so he
seems to understand the transformation, the distancing that is taking
place. Shortly thereafter news comes that Seepersad has had a fatal heart
attack. Vido sends a telegram: 'he was the best man i knew stop
everything i owe to him be brave my loves trust me.'
That 'trust me' is a theme Vido repeats frequently in the following year's
correspondence because, despite many entreaties, he does not return,
gambling that in the long run he can better serve his family by being
successful as a writer, and by staying in England. That he does in fact
succeed perhaps vindicates his position. But it is telling that it was not the
kind of gamble his father would have made.
'Between Father and Son' is edited by Gillon Aitken, Naipaul's agent,
with Naipaul's 'understandably disengaged approval of the project.'
Aitken's excellent introduction ends with the curious words: 'It entertains
me to reflect that this is a book he will never read.' If indeed Naipaul
does not, it will be his loss.
Abraham Verghese is a professor of medicine at Texas Tech
University. His latest book is 'The Tennis Partner.'
nytimes.com
[see original article above for additional links, photos]
Introduction to Between Father and Son at: nytimes.com |
