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...Paul Theroux has written nearly 30 books, both novels and travel memoirs. This far-flung native of Massachusetts has never been mistaken for a regionalist. His work reflects his experiences as a teacher in Africa and Singapore and as a wanderer in the Third World...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: BOOKS: High-Fiber Moralist | 3/7/1994 | See Source »

Ironically, Theroux's nonfiction, notably The Great Railway Bazaar, has excited the public's imagination more than his fiction. Few know he wrote The Mosquito Coast, remembered more for the film version than for the original novel. Too bad, because Theroux is a gifted and versatile tale spinner. He usually writes about outsiders: artists, adventurers and dreamers on the run from conformity. This partly explains the years Theroux lived abroad. Now an ex-expatriate, he is apparently still edgy enough about the U.S. to live near the exits, in Massachusetts and Hawaii. Millroy the Magician (Random House; 437 pages...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: BOOKS: High-Fiber Moralist | 3/7/1994 | See Source »

...tradition of satirists from Mark Twain to Salman Rushdie, Theroux updates the story of the prophet without honor in his own country. For prophet one could read writer, although the plot of this allusive entertainment gallops on its own. The style is picaresque, the message is salvation through health food, and the medium is Millroy, a road-show magician. Part Jesus, part Prospero, part yogi, he alone would make this a novel to conjure with. But Theroux adds another delight, Jilly Farina, a plucky adolescent with an artless narrative voice that, like Huckleberry Finn's, grabs and holds the reader...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: BOOKS: High-Fiber Moralist | 3/7/1994 | See Source »

BOOKS The Pacific is no paradise, Paul Theroux finds...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Time Magazine Contents Page | 6/15/1992 | See Source »

...Theroux's title, of course, is heavily ironic. Instead of happiness, he mostly finds apathy, ugliness and poverty -- not to mention once pristine waters fouled by industrial and human waste. The nearest thing to the imagined paradise of Hollywood sarong epics is the Big Island of Hawaii, where last July he watched an eclipse of the sun. The experience, Theroux writes, was akin to "the onset of blindness." When the sun returns, he kisses the woman next to him. "Being happy was like being home," he exults, and every reader will know...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Cannibal Country | 6/15/1992 | See Source »

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