Sex, drugs and loss of soul are the three persistent themes that punctuate the 26th volume of fiction in Paul Theroux's impressive literary arsenal
Eyes wide shut
A travel writer finds enlightenment through a drug that blinds him in Paul Theroux's new novel
Reviewed by Stephen J. Lyons
Sunday, June 5, 2005
By Paul Theroux
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN;
438 PAGES; $26
Sex, drugs and loss of soul are the three persistent themes that punctuate the 26th volume of fiction in Paul Theroux's impressive literary arsenal. The daring novel "Blinding Light" recounts the story of travel writer Slade Steadman, a one-book wonder whose best-seller, "Trespassing," led to fame, fortune and marketing tie-ins -- and finally, 20 years later, to back- shelf obscurity.
Steadman "knew that for an American writer there is no middle. You were a hot new author and then you were either an old hand or else forgotten. He was somewhere deep in the second half and wishing he were younger."
Now 50, Steadman, in the hope of rekindling his missing muse, travels to the equator on an eco-drug tour with his sort-of ex-girlfriend Dr. Ava Kalsina. To his horror, Steadman finds his trip sullied by the presence of globe- trotting, idle rich decked out in Steadman-inspired Trespassing Overland Gear and, in one case, even reading a dog-eared copy of his book. Steadman does not have the heart to reveal his identity.
Longtime readers of Theroux's many travel classics (including "The Old Patagonian Express," "Riding the Iron Rooster" and, most recently, "Dark Star Safari") will recognize the voice of the perpetually grumpy author in several delicious passages as he catalogs the inane observations of the stupid, who seem to pop up with increasing frequency in all corners of the planet. This clutch of Westerners in "Blinding Light" is particularly insensitive. They have seen it all and it is all so underwhelming:
" 'Kenya's a f -- zoo,' Hack said. 'India's a total dump. China sucks big-time. Egypt's all ragheads. Japan's a parking lot. Want a sex tour? Go to Thailand. Want to get robbed by a Gypsy? Go to Italy.' ...
" 'Make them viable. Put some American CEOs in charge. Run these Third World countries like corporations,' Wood said."
In an Ecuadoran village not run like a Fortune 500 company, Steadman and a few of his traveling mates sample the drug ayahuasca. The usual retching and visions occur (snakes, tigers and, oddly, lots of breasts), but the real fun begins when a mysterious German tourist offers Steadman the good stuff: datura. A cup of this brew gives Steadman the type of insight and creativity never promised by our drug czars. There is, of course, a bit of a drawback to such pleasure: temporary blindness.
"He had no eyes, yet his whole bedazzled body was an organ of vision, receptive to all images. He seemed to understand and receive these sights with the surface of his vibrant skin. He felt the transparency of being, a prickling awareness -- not observing in a simple goggling way, but knowing, being connected, a part of everything that was visible."
Blindness be damned, Steadman becomes a regular user. Back home in Martha's Vineyard, the newly inspired author begins to dictate his next great masterpiece, "The Book of Revelation," to Ava, who is suddenly indispensable to the seeing-impaired Steadman. She is also one hot lover, who serves as a testing ground for the book's theme: lust without morals, or a 50-year-old man's greatest fantasies realized. Our inventive writer even gets the sumptuous Ava to re-create his prom night, right down to the details of a blue gown, upswept hair and a rut in the backseat of a car.
"And he had discovered through the drug's blinding light that the truth was sexual: the source of truth was pleasure itself, fundamental and sensual. Everything else was a dishonest aspect of an elaborate and misleading surface -- all lies."
Publication of "The Book of Revelation" launches Steadman's literary star again. In interviews and on the tedious book tour (wryly recounted by the veteran author), he continues to pass himself off as blind even though his sight returns at night. In an unnecessary subplot, Theroux has Steadman catch the attention of President Bill Clinton, whose own indiscretion is revealed to the drugged-up writer. The point here is to give Steadman a mirror in which to glimpse his own deceit. Steadman is not blind and President Clinton "did not have sex. ... Their fates are linked as "two hollow men who had trifled with the public trust, a pair of liars."
In any case, pleasure -- especially the sexual and mind-altering varieties -- cannot go unpunished forever. Despite all his trips abroad, Theroux is an American writer who knows all too well this nation's love-hate relationship with feeling good. With that in mind, readers might anticipate the unraveling of Steadman's Faustian bargain.
The drug of choice turns unreliable, and Ava dumps Steadman. After all, no 50-year-old -- scribbler or potentate -- should have that much fun. Still, expect no overriding moral lesson in "Blinding Light." Instead, there is one last, eye-opening journey that any intrepid travel writer would gladly make.
Stephen J. Lyons is the author of "Landscape of the Heart" and, most recently, "A View From the Inland Northwest."
