“Which famous person, from any given time period, would you like to eat dinner with and why? “ is an interview question that most of us have or will answer at some point in our lives. While some of us reply with the seemingly safe answers (Martin Luther King, Jr., Mahatma Gandhi, Helen Keller have received the societal nod of approval despite being very controversial figures on closer inspection), others may list the slightly more obscure (Tycho Brahe, Andrei Rubliev, or Margaret Sanger.) Yet no one seems to ever ask the more interesting, negative form of the question: “Which famous person, from any given time period, would you NOT like to eat dinner with and why?”
After reading Paul Theroux’s Dark Star Safari: Overland from Cairo to Capetown, I have my answer should I ever need it.
The first page holds a very telling line for the trajectory of this travelogue: “Feeling that the place was so large it contained many untold tales and some hope and comedy and sweetness, too—feeling that there was more to Africa than misery and terror—I aimed to reinsert myself in the bundu, as we used to call the bush, and to wander the antique hinterland.” (1) The key word is “we” and the reader needs to ask who else the author is referring to. As Theroux was a former Peace Corps volunteer, my take on “we” extends from there: more or less privileged, educated white males usually aged 50 and above.
My main complaint with Theroux is the assumption, either by him or his fans, that he has revolutionized travel writing, offering something other than what he himself characterizes as “like a postcard saying: “Everything is fine. Wish you were here.” (http://www.salon.com/weekly/interview2960902.html) This is very untrue. Theroux uses a variety of very commonplace features found throughout personal diaries to professional ethnologies. I will try to briefly outline a few:
1. Sex. Sex, as we know, sells. While Theroux’s work is definitely not advocating sex tourism it definitely keeps the reader interested through sexual imagery. In fact, there is little sex but Theroux cleverly keeps the reader tumescent and titillated with images of foreign sexual “taboos.” These images run from ”Egyptian bananas” (a sort of female-oriented prostitution along the Nile, khitan (cliterectomy), leering at a covered woman on the way to jummah prayers to sexy nuns. (See the following pages: 29, 50, 55, 99, 115, 120, 130, 132, 145, 172, 201, 247,250, 211, 300 to name only a few.) Actually, each female character is almost inevitable introduced with an acknowledgement to her attractiveness or lack thereof.
2. Danger. Danger, as we know, also sells. And similar to his treatment to sex, Theroux likes to tease the reader with danger without actually delivering it. Despite hearing about wars, theft, hyenas, landmines, and bandits there only two instances of immediate danger: One, when Theroux is traveling along a stretch highway well known for banditry, his caravan is shot at. Second, when a young woman is nearly raped outside a bathroom on a train. With that said, the real violence (torture, war, rape, famine, political instability, exploitation, pollution, and disease) is mostly experienced by Africans themselves with little discussion of that fact by Theroux. I would especially urge readers to watch where Theroux places “danger” in the novel. Usually, it is either theatrically at the end or the beginning (or both!) of the chapter. (37, 53, 60, 79, 93, 96, 98, 115, 116, 118, 119, 152, 154, 196, 260, 339, 349, 355, 366, 377, 380, 465)
3. The Other. Exotica, as we know, along with sex and danger sells (at least we understand his unquestioned popularity in the genre.) Whether it is polygamy, camel meat, or witch doctors, Theroux knows what exotic African good to present his audience. His treatment of the “natives,” can be only compared to the robustly racist tracts from the Victorians during the height of imperialism. Here is a sampling of classic “native” archetypes:
Lovable, strange natives (84)
Backwards, ignorant, irrational native (19, 24, 73, 104, 152)
Hostile natives (102)
Child-like natives (303)
4. Literary. Compared to sex, violence, and exotica, literary prowess seems less marketable unless you consider that most readers would like the self-satisfaction of feeling as if they are well-read, educated people. It also allows Theroux to maintain a place of unapproachable authority—the reader feeling that Theroux is educated is less tempted to question his opinions of Africa. Theroux mainly draws from the Western canon (with Naguib Mahfouz and few others acting as tokens) quoting Pushkin, Nabokov, Waugh, Donne, Rimbaud, Melville, Conrad, etc.) Again I urge the reader to note how often Theroux uses quoted text. Also, note when you like an observation or a well-turned phrase. 9 out of 10 times it’s when he is quoting another author.
Lastly, Theroux uses some literary devices not usually found in travel literature:
5. Quoted text: Theroux usually uses an enormous amount of quoted text. Some of it, as previously noted, is literary but most of it is the opinions of Africans themselves. One would think that an excellent feature in such a book and I would normally agree but again note what they are saying. They are usually discussing the most controversial, and often most unpopular, subject matter in the book whether it is violence directed at white landowners, AIDS, charitable aid, or apartheid. Theroux carefully shields himself in others' words, careful never to offer his own opinion or analysis which in all truthfulness would have been the only real danger he would have faced while writing this book.
6. Self-Promotion: Perhaps one of the most nauseating aspects of reading this book was hearing all the little vignettes of Theroux’s ego: seeing if his books are still banned, buying one of his books for an exiled African writer, meeting surprised readers throughout the trip, and listening to his old interviews on the radio. Clearly Theroux made sure he packed his ego.
7. Contradiction: Throughout the novel, Theroux laments about his upcoming age and queries if he is too old to travel. I cannot attest for his physical vigor but the reader does have to wonder about his mental vigor after reading a number of contradictions in the novel. For example, Theroux vehemently states at the beginning of book he wants to be rid of all modern forms of communication which ensnare him in this modern world: TV, fax, radio, cellphones, internet,and newspapers yet he uses them throughout his journey. He condemns conventional tourists yet partakes in a commercial Nile river cruise and a high class safari—he definitely makes time for souvenir shopping. He mocks a bunch of young backpackers who decide it is too dangerous to go a certain route and then he himself admits to holing up in his hotel room out of fright.
In sum, Dark Star Safari is a spectacle and it never rises above that. It has more in common with pornography (strategic sex, violence, exotica, personal promotion, and endless repetition) than literature. Please consider Pico Iyer or Vikram Seth for travel writing that utilizes beautiful language, unsparing descriptions, and excellent reflections. This is possibly the worst book I have ever read. With that said, I urge you to read it (though please borrow it from the library—the least thing you should do is fund another one of his journeys.) For teachers, this would be an excellent book for a low level anthropology class or a class discussing Orientalism or the construction of “other.”
Lastly, like I will soon be doing, keep a wary eye out for the old white guy with the note pad and dour expression. I hope he hasn’t had a recent hankering for Japan.
