Volume 26, Number 7 · May 3, 1979
The Flight from the Fire
By V.S. Naipaul
I could say that I was in London, but—new to Europe, just arrived from my African river town—I didn't really know where I was. I had no means of grasping the city. I knew only that I was in the Gloucester Road. My hotel was there, my friend Nazruddin's flat was there. I traveled everywhere by underground train, popping down into the earth at one place, popping up at another, not able to relate one place to the other, and sometimes making complicated interchanges to travel short distances.
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