I’m reading it a second time, slowly, only a few pages a day. When Bharat put the book in my hands twenty-five years ago, I had enjoyed more its prose—I had cringed at Naipaul’s penetrating observation, had felt terribly exposed. I am now able to see the book in the eye, and there is fun reading it in this time of rapid change, of stupendous transformation. The prose even now entertains, and I am excited at the next book I’ll read, which Wounded Civilization points to: R.K. Narayan’s Mr. Sampath.
Technorati Tags: books