I must confess right at the beginning: I have not read a single book by Forsyth.
I only vaguely remember seeing The Day of the Jackal - the film, but other than that I don't know much about Forsyth's writings, except that they are mostly thrillers.
I read biographies mainly for the message from the life of the chief protagonist, and in this case, to know how Forsyth took to writing and managed to churn out so many bestsellers.
Right at the beginning, Forsyth makes it very clear that he does not like autobiographies, and that this work is not intended to be one. The book is arranged in the format of a series of significant events in Forsyth's life that are not only entertaining and informative, but when strung together, serve to connect his life in a continuum from childhood to his present state. So this is probably the closest you are going to get to an actual life-story of Forsyth in his own words.
And what a life-story it is! Don't be fooled by Forsyth's introductory words of finding solace in solitude so much so that it has become an essential requirement of his writerly life. This is only after he took to writing, which he humbly admits, happened by fluke.
Before all that, he has done so many things and has been to so many different places that one finally realizes that his writing is actually a result of experiences accrued during his hyperactive heydays. (He has been to many countries, that is, except India.) It is almost as if he was acquiring the raw materials required to put together a fruitful writing career in later life.
Before all that, he has done so many things and has been to so many different places that one finally realizes that his writing is actually a result of experiences accrued during his hyperactive heydays. (He has been to many countries, that is, except India.) It is almost as if he was acquiring the raw materials required to put together a fruitful writing career in later life.
But from a writer's perspective, Forsyth's transformation from a state of an adventurer's and traveler's restlessness to a state of quietude and tranquility required to actually sit down for days at a stretch to write - on an old typewriter, we are told - novels after novels is stupefying.
One wishes that he had revealed how this transformation actually took place, what changes occurred in his lifestyle thereof, and how he managed these changes without upsetting his family - which is what every writer hopes to achieve in his/her life.
Instead, we get to learn about Forsyth's many adventures of his life; such as cross-country treks, hitchhiking, lessons in flying, learning new languages, and nearly triggering a third world war.
His foray into Japan teaches us about the geisha culture and he also talks about Buddhism and Shintoism. Indeed, he talks of every religion except Hinduism. I am not sure as to why India and Hinduism do not figure in his experiences; most obvious guess would be that he never came to India.
That apart, it is probably due to the fact that all things Indian do not feature prominently in the West's scheme of things, as Rajiv Malhotra would point out. Forsyth makes only a passing mention about 1947; that too in the context of some Israeli occurrence, with no mention of the other significant event of that year.
I suppose 1947 was a bit of a non-event for the Britishers in those days - the days of the Raj were done and dusted, and they had other local things to keep them occupied.
All in all, an entertaining read.
Forget Jackal, read this far more exciting account of its writer's own life.
Image source: https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/41RFFEzmR-L.jpg
One wishes that he had revealed how this transformation actually took place, what changes occurred in his lifestyle thereof, and how he managed these changes without upsetting his family - which is what every writer hopes to achieve in his/her life.
Instead, we get to learn about Forsyth's many adventures of his life; such as cross-country treks, hitchhiking, lessons in flying, learning new languages, and nearly triggering a third world war.
His foray into Japan teaches us about the geisha culture and he also talks about Buddhism and Shintoism. Indeed, he talks of every religion except Hinduism. I am not sure as to why India and Hinduism do not figure in his experiences; most obvious guess would be that he never came to India.
That apart, it is probably due to the fact that all things Indian do not feature prominently in the West's scheme of things, as Rajiv Malhotra would point out. Forsyth makes only a passing mention about 1947; that too in the context of some Israeli occurrence, with no mention of the other significant event of that year.
I suppose 1947 was a bit of a non-event for the Britishers in those days - the days of the Raj were done and dusted, and they had other local things to keep them occupied.
All in all, an entertaining read.
Forget Jackal, read this far more exciting account of its writer's own life.
Image source: https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/41RFFEzmR-L.jpg
