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Zusatztext "[A] great novel." —Barack Obama "Naipaul has constructed a marvelous prose epic that matches the best nineteenth-century novels for richness of comic insight and final! tragic power." — Newsweek Informationen zum Autor V.S. NAIPAUL was born in Trinidad in 1932. He came to England on a scholarship in 1950. He spent four years at University College, Oxford, and began to write, in London, in 1954. He pursued no other profession. His novels include A House for Mr Biswas , The Mimic Men , Guerrillas , A Bend in the River , and The Enigma of Arrival . In 1971 he was awarded the Booker Prize for In a Free State . His works of nonfiction, equally acclaimed, include Among the Believers , Beyond Belief , The Masque of Africa , and a trio of books about India: An Area of Darkness , India: A Wounded Civilization and India: A Million Mutinies Now . In 1990, V.S. Naipaul received a knighthood for services to literature; in 1993, he was the first recipient of the David Cohen British Literature Prize. He received the Nobel Prize in Literature in 2001. He died in 2018. Klappentext The book that turned the gentle satirist of the Caribbean into a major literary figure, in a hardcover edition with an introduction by Karl Miller. His birth ill-omened, his life dominated by fitful, comic struggles and resentful truces with those to whom he is obligated, Mr. Mohun Biswas of Trinidad, toward the end of his forty-sixth year on earth, triumphantly purchases his own house and becomes his own man. Around this supremely simple story, V. S. Naipaul builds one of the few virtually perfect novels in our language, a book that is--in the balance struck between its small incidents and its large, overarching patterns, in the ironic beauty of its prose--at once compelling, mysterious, and classical. It is also one of the few novels in any language that transcend their own genre. By the end of A House for Mr. Biswas we are reading not only a tragicomic masterpiece of social manners in a postcolonial society but a tremendous parable about the individual self in its enslavement to time and change, and in its search for freedom. I. Pastoral Shortly before he was born there had been another quarrel between Mr Biswas's mother Bipti and his father Raghu, and Bipti had taken her three children and walked all the way in the hot sun to the village where her mother Bissoondaye lived. There Bipti had cried and told the old story of Raghu's miserliness: how he kept a check on every cent he gave her, counted every biscuit in the tin, and how he would walk ten miles rather than pay a cart a penny. Bipti's father, futile with asthma, propped himself up on his string bed and said, as he always did on unhappy occasions, 'Fate. There is nothing we can do about it.' No one paid him any attention. Fate had brought him from India to the sugar-estate, aged him quickly and left him to die in a crumbling mud hut in the swamplands; yet he spoke of Fate often and affectionately, as though, merely by surviving, he had been particularly favoured. While the old man talked on, Bissoondaye sent for the midwife, made a meal for Bipti's children and prepared beds for them. When the midwife came the children were asleep. Some time later they were awakened by the screams of Mr Biswas and the shrieks of the midwife. 'What is it?' the old man asked. 'Boy or girl?' 'Boy, boy,' the midwife cried. 'But what sort of boy? Six-fingered, and born in the wrong way.' The old man groaned and Bissoondaye said, 'I knew it. There is no luck for me.' At once, though it was night and the way was lonely, she left the hut and walked to the next village, where there was a hedge of cactus. She brought back leaves of cactus, cut them into strips and hung a strip over every door, every window, ...
