by Paul TherouxI can never fully make up my mind about Theroux, and for this reason, I've never read one of his novels. Some of his short fiction is excellent, some entertaining, and some plodding and uninteresting.
This story, in a recent issue of the New Yorker, is quite good. It's about a man who, after having lived his life and retired, decides to return to the small village in rural Malawi, where he had spent four years in a Peace Corps. type of role while in his twenties.
When he returns to the village, he learns, of course, that you can't go home again, as the villagers welcome him, yet are really only interested in the currency he carried. The school he had built is crumbling and unused, and the people are less interested in a mzungu's ability to help civilize them.
Theroux leaves it to the reader to draw any deeper conclusions about post-colonial Africa, and instead simply tells his story. It makes me want to read one of his novels...
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