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A little while ago, I put down Paul Theroux's "Sir Vidia's Shadow" which is an autobiographical account of a thirty-year long friendship between two writers: Theroux and V.S. Naipaul. Having read much Theroux and no Naipaul, I'm in no position to say who the better writer was during that time span, but at least one friend opines that Naipaul's literary genius was greater than Theroux's.
Which might explain why Theroux wrote this memoir and not Naipaul... Or not...Anyway, I picked up the book because I thought "literary friendship" may be an oxymoron waiting to happen...Indeed, when it comes to literary pursuits, competitiveness among writers leads far more often to rivalry than to friendship. So I was curious. I wanted to see how those two high profile successful writers "managed" a three decade friendship alongside their literary careers.
It turns out that Naipaul, roughly ten years Theroux's senior, benefitted from Theroux's critiques and even from many book reviews, while Theroux received nothing in reciprocity. Theroux seemed content to be in the "shadow" suggested by the book's title. Okay, thought I, whatever works, and yet, I found myself vicariously deenergized by this unilateral process, going on for 30 years!
Here is a very interesting quote, taken near the beginning, or, chronologically, close to when they first met. Theroux writes:
"I was just a young man in Africa trying to make my life. He was one of the strangest men I had ever met, and absolutely the most difficult. He was almost unloveable. He was contradictory, he quizzed me incessantly, he challenged everything I said, he demanded attention, he could be petty, he uttered heresies about Africa, he fussed, he mocked, he made his innocent wife cry, he had impossible standards, he was self-important, he was obsessive on the subject of his health. He hated children, music, and dogs. But he was also brilliant, and passionate in his convictions, and to be with him, as a friend or fellow writer, I had always to be at my best."
Taking all this into account, I wondered why Theroux might still choose to befriend Naipaul. The book never explains this need to provide sustenance for this friendship, only that sustenance is continuously and constantly provided, mostly by Theroux.
After thirty years, Naipaul breaks off the friendship and Theroux is left to reflect on this action.
Not surprising, as the complex interactive dynamics of friendships go. Naipaul, reportedly, felt that Theroux didn't need him anymore, and was letting him go.
The book jacket calls this "An intimate portrait of that rarest and most fragile of alliances, a literary friendship..." A thirty-year fragility is, I think, also an oxymoron, but that's just me...
If you're reading nothing else at the moment, if you've made literary friendships at lit.org, or if you're just curious about the unfolding of this, pick up the book. It's an old book (1998) so go to the library. It's Theroux-esque, at the very least...
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Of all known institutions, I attend only two: church, in my heart, and school, in yours. Both are subject to demolition. - Lucie Adams, 2007
It is only for poetry to know how many stanzas fit into one caress. - Lucie Adams, 2008
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