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Summary: Theroux has done it again
Review: People, stop whining cause theroux has done it again.He has written clearly and lucidly on this potentially boring subject.It is true that he gets abit catty towards the end but the only goes to prove how much VSN ment to him.He deros after all spend a good 200 pages before that raving about the old man. VS does come across as an interesting and intelligent, but somewhat immature guy and it seems to me that he had a lot to gain from the relationship in that theroux was his link to a younger and more sane world.Anyway, I am sure PT aint perfect but he still is the world's best writer for my money and my only worry is taht he is so comfortable now that he'll get off his one book a year routine as I am always looking forward to his new books.
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Summary: An exhilirating, bumpy ride
Review: Sir Vidia's Shadow contains all the queasy excitement of Theroux's trademark train trips, but this time we're clattering along with him over 30 years of friendship with VS Naipaul -- and bumpy ones at that. We get several books here: first, the Theroux travel book. Readers who complain of Theroux's crankiness will find his loving descriptions of Uganda (where "even the crops were pretty") refreshing. Second, we get a minutely detailed book about the writing life. There is Naipaul the perfectionist demanding an explanation for each word in an early Theroux essay, weeding out every piece of obfuscating extra baggage. My favorite anecdote concerns the memorable first sentence of Naipaul's Bend in the River ; anyone who has savoured this quintessential Naipaulism will be enlightened on the subject of tedious re-drafting and the editor's role in all good writing. Then there is the book about Naipaul himself: I can't imagine that anyone who's read and enjoyed Naipaul will be too offended -- or even much surprised -- by Theroux's portrait. The neurotic obsession with food and hygiene, the fear of "the bush", the ever-deepening melancholy and misanthropy, the overcompensations and fears of a "barefoot colonial" -- Naipaul himself has given us all this in his novels and travelogues. Theroux reveals this side, but also unexpected glimpses of Naipaul's kindness (especially as mentor to PT), self-doubt, childish good humor (Naipaul singing calypsos!) and even physical bravery (Naipaul fending off wild dogs in Kampala). It would be easy to turn Naipaul into a "character" (Naipaul loathes "characters"), and Theroux never stoops to this. I certainly think no less of Naipaul as a writer, and now understand his writing and motivations more clearly. There are certainly other Naipaul's -- we all reinvent ourselves for different people -- but here we get Theroux's Naipaul, and it is a fascinating, albeit troublesome portrait. Finally, we get a book which takes us through the entire course of a friendship. Theroux ends the book in shrill and often unfair condemnation of Naipaul (one cannot easily dismiss the writer who gave us Mr Biswas or Bend in the River), but such is the aftermath of many meaningful friendships which die. At one point, Theroux advises Naipaul to return to a land he visited and write with a perspective freshened by time. In the same way, perhaps we will get another look at Naipaul from Theroux's perspective after the wound has set. In any case, SVS is far more substantial than the literary cat-fight which we might have expected from the early press releases.
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Summary: A cry of pain
Review: In this gripping account of the lifetime of a friendship, what I sensed the most from Paul Theroux was his pain at the sudden loss of his friend. It made him seem more human to me, even though I have read most of his travel books and several of his novels. Personally, it was hard for me to imagine why V.S. Naipaul was worth keeping as a friend. For example, his treatment of his wife, Pat, as described by Theroux, left me angry and disgusted. Yet, Theroux makes it clear that it was Naipaul who first encouraged him as a young writer. How splendid it must have been to be validated by such a distinguished and accomplished author. And, thus, how devasting to be cut off suddenly and without any recognizable reason after 30 years of friendship, tolerance, and yes, love. To me, this book comes out of Theroux's pain and confusion, and the resulting look at his very real humanity will stay with me for a long time to come.
Rating: 
Summary: Theroux cantankerous as ever.
Review: For readers who are Theroux fans, Sir Vidia's Shadow will be a welcome addition from his poison pen. He is as cantankerous as he was in Oceania. Theroux is often a mean spirited, merciless inspector of peoples lives but he appears to approach the dissections honestly. And so it is with this book about his relationship with V.S. Naipaul. The first part, set in Africa, will remind readers of some of his lyrical travel writing. As his relationship with Naipaul deepens one wonders why he (P.T.) made the effort. Apparently, Naipaul is another in a long line of racist, miserly men of letters who believe their genius is an all emcompassing excuse for bad manners. As for Theroux, he displays, once again, that he'd be a dangerous man to get to know or even meet casually, unless one actually wanted to be savaged in print. A good read, but probably not the book to introduce an new reader to the wonderful world of Paul Theroux.
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Summary: The Mimic Man
Review: For all its shortcomings, "Sir Vidia's Shadow" is a remarkable book. It is indeed written in anger, and it does often lapse into ad hominem excess; thus "...his [Naipaul's] nigrescent face," or "...Nadira [Lady Naipaul], nightmarish in a spidery sari, with a big intimidating face, the skin of her purple belly showing at her midriff, Indian fashion, like one of those hideous Indian burra memsahibs buying expensive chutney in the Food Halls of Harrods...". Hilarious. Offensive too. Nevertheless, Theroux helps to make Naipaul comprehensible to those who have read him with a sense of queasy discomfort. My first encounter with Naipaul was an exercise in incomprehension, even disbelief. Like many Indians, I began with "India: A Wounded Civilization," Naipaul's account of his second visit to the country of his forbears. On the very first page, Naipaul describes how British troops billeted "... near a thousand-year old Hindu temple" during World War II reacted to the temple's "pet crocodile." Says Naipaul, "The soldiers, understandably, shot the crocodile." I certainly did not understand. The crocodile must have lived peacefully in the temple for many years without harming anyone. This casual contempt for the sensibilities of others made me wary of his work. The standards he upheld were alien to me, but whose standards could they possibly be? They certainly could not be the received standards of an Indian descended from the bonded labourers who tended the sugar plantations of the West Indies. Naipaul has always behaved like the doorkeeper to an exclusive club - unable to belong, he can nevertheless deny entrance to others. Thus, repeatedly in his work, the Muslim is dismissed to his formalistic existence, the Black lured back into the bush, the South American relegated to the nightmare of unending tumult and revolution. No progress is possible for such people. Theroux lays out the tangle of Naipaul's background and motivation. He allows us to see the insecurities, and the appetites, that make Naipaul denounce Britain's Honours List in one breath while quietly accepting a title in the next. Naipaul, Theroux suggests, is the ultimate mimic man, the G. Ramsay Muir of Naipaul's own troubled dreams. Theroux should have waited a few years before taking up his pen. The hurt would have abated, perspective gained. I cannot, however, begrudge him the writing of Sir Vidia's Shadow. After thirty years of putting up with Naipaul's corrosive persona, a long, loud scream is probably in order.
Rating:
Summary: Cracking Vidia
Review: Judging from the reviews Paul Theroux has committed some kind of hubris for scrutinizing his friendship with V.S. Naipaul in book, exposing it to the eyes of any old reader. But where others saw as a viscious indictment of Naipaul, I saw as insightful and honest and interesting account of the lives of writers, the mentor/student relationship, and the paradox of the genius as a human being. Theroux, as usual, flays himself as well as his subject; You certainly cannot accuse him of blindsiding Naipaul with this profile.I think no less or more of Naipaul or Theroux after reading Sir Vidia's Shadow. I belive I KNOW more about both of them, and this adds to my insight while readint their works. I certainly learned a lot about writing,and the writing life, and I was interested in how different and similar Naipaul and Theroux are. Naipaul suffers a book, Theroux channels words like water. Yet they are both similar in many ways. I can see how a fan--in the truest sense of the word, fanatic, won't like this book about Naipaul. Breath everytime you feel a hissy fit coming on, and you'll get through it and know a lot more about Naipaul for it.
Rating: 
Summary: Doesn't add up
Review: A very unsatisfying book from a master of the travel genre. Theroux is out of his depth with the demands of writing a memoir. (What is strength in geography is a weakness in biography.) Has strange errors of fact. Theroux says that Patrick White's book was one of the finalists for 1979 Booker Prize when it wasn't. Makes us question his powers of recall.
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Summary: A shadow best left on the shelf
Review: Memoirs are ultimately about balance and Theroux fails to find this in the book. Recounts some interesting incidents from the years of their friendship together but it is hard to tell how much of it is fictional. Theroux comes across as a very petty minded individual who projects his own traits on his subject.
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Summary: Theroux a hissy fit.
Review: Theroux's popular travel books often carry silly subtitles like this one. A kind of half-memoir detailing the epic (length) friendship between Theroux and the great V.S.Naipaul. The book has drawn some cheap criticism for its obvious one-sidedness and gallant, wounded posturing on the part of the young Theroux, whose friendship with Naipaul deteriorated under strange circumstances. What remains is a book full of Theroux's weaknesses as a writer (he has always seemed to have taken Naipaul's advice "Tell the truth" to an illogical conclusion - everything in there, regardless of its arguable relevance, so that Theroux's writing carries the breezy mish-mash feeling of first draft), yet the book is shot through with love in the way that only veterans of love can understand it. Filial, bewildered, adoring and petty, the portrait of Naipaul is indelible. The book reveals (at last) that the world of letters may be the most damaging and lethal of all Beaux Arts. Worth arguing about...or arguing with, anyway. Paul.
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Summary: A Must Read for All!!!
Review: This is my first book by Paul Theroux and I'm impressed. It delves into the substance of friendships in a way that leaves you moved looking at friendships past and present. Thirty years is a long time! It also shades more light on Mr. Naipaul giving me a better understanding of a man I grew up hearing about. As a young African, the first 100 pages describe Uganda as told by my parents and grand parents but with more clarity than relayed in past stories and tales. I highly recommend this book.
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