He spits vitriolically at the idea of aid to Africa, and the culture of dependence that he feels it has created. Time and time again he shows us how subsistence farming and subsistence living have replaced the grandiose stamp of colonial history, and he conveys both respect and disgust for these changes.
But all the time he kept pulling us forward through this often torturous land. There were some places I was fascinated to read about - like Malawi, Zimbabwe, South Africa, and the wilderness of the Shire River - and some I found boring - like Egypt, or his travels across Lake Victoria. He gets under the fingernails of Africa, on one heck of a magnificent journey down the spine of this vast continent. Yet he does take us where we - tender visitors on river cruises and to safari lodges - would fear to go. Proof that he isn't a tourist, but a bona fide explorer and traveller. Even when he relishes a place, it often seems that it is the dirt, the stink and the squalor that inspires him. This man is a genius writer, yet so darn cantankerous, curmudgeonly and scathing that he made me want to throw the book on the floor and mash it. I have just tramped down through Africa in the footsteps of Theroux, sighing and tsking, yet unable to put the book down. Proof that he isn't a tourist, but a bona fid Grrrrr! Oh how this man irritates yet enthrals me!
Grrrrr! Oh how this man irritates yet enthrals me! I have just tramped down through Africa in the footsteps of Theroux, sighing and tsking, yet unable to put the book down.
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