Word: naipauls
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Although the three long essays were stuffier than the Kinsley days, they were very well-written and boasted the by-lines of such prominent literary figtures as V.S. Naipaul, John Updike '54, and Joseph Epstein. Epstein's article on the status of intellectuals in America. "The Rise of the Verbal Class," was a perfect example of the sharp-eyed, reflective, faintly self-indulgent prose which is the pride of the American middle-brow magazine...
...Africa never ceases to amaze." So wrote V.S. Naipaul in A Bend in the River, and last week, true to the novelist's assessment, Africa amazed again. As recently as a fortnight ago, Nigerian President Alhaji Shehu Shagari, 58, was being hailed as the enlightened leader of black Africa's most populous and, in many ways, most promising democracy. Several days later, he was under detention in Lagos, while Major General Mohammed Buhari, 41, organizer of a coup that deposed Shagari, was proclaiming to his countrymen that the armed forces had saved the nation from "total collapse...
...mini Moke, an open-sided vehicle that honeymooners use on Caribbean beach tours. He also has a press pass, plenty of Dunhills and unlimited credit at the Red Crab. Just like the old days, only now his faithful companion is not a 300-lb. Samoan attorney, it is V.S. Naipaul...
...Naipaul. The Trinidad-raised, Oxford-educated novelist who has won just about every major literary prize in Britain and is a perennial contender for the Nobel. Naipaul, the chronicler of the Third World, is on assignment for the London Sunday Times. He and Thompson are unlikely friends. The gonzo journalist is quirky, boisterous, happiest when surrounded by cronies in the hotel bar; the gentleman writer is quiet, refined, more comfortable at afternoon tea. But careering around the island, chasing slender threads of news, they seem a matched pair. "It's like having a third eye," Thompson says...
Both saw Literary grist in the Waugh-like war in Grenada. Naipaul, says his London agent, came "to take some mental pictures." Thompson, says his New York editor, was after "a Hunter piece." The anecdotes are as lush as the Grenadian jungle. Staying at a nearby hotel is a CIA man who lives like a bat, eating beans and canned Dinty Moore stew and going out only at night. Then there is Morgan, the inmate at the bombed-out mental hospital, who turned up one evening playing piano at the Red Crab. Because of his light complexion, he was taken...