This is a book review of The Great Railway Bazaar by Paul Theroux, originally published by Penguin Books in 1975.
The book recounts the experience of Theroux as he journeys from Europe to Asia and back again by train for four months in 1973. The book is an episodic account of his travels through Turkey, Iran, Pakistan, India, Sri Lanka (Ceylon), Myanmar (Burma), Thailand, Singapore, Vietnam, Japan and Russia, among other countries. The book is a pioneering work of travel literature — for its description of the people and places that he visits, and his insights on what it means to be a tourist transiting through Asia.
Theroux is undoubtedly a gifted author, using the English language to paint evocative pictures of the places he visits. One example is in Chapter 18, where he describes his experience alone in a large dining room in Burma and reflects on his travels:
I think I am intrepid as the next man, but I have a side — and it may be the same side that is partial to trains — that enjoys the journey only because of the agreeable delays en route, a lazy vulgar sybarite searching Asia for comfort, justifying my pleasure by the distance travelled.
His acute sense of self-observation, openly acknowledging his affluence (both in terms of time and money) as a Western traveller through Asia, sums up his perspective— and is simultaneously the highlight and nadir of this book. It is the highlight because we too, journey with him through faraway lands; it is the nadir, because we, like him, are merely (Western) outsiders peering into a foreign, Eastern culture.
One example of this “Orientalism” is to be found in Chapter 11, where Theroux visits Jaipur and is led by an embassy liaison man / tour guide, Mr Gopal, who “has a weakness for exaggeration”, Theroux remarks. He humorously contrasts Mr Gopal’s confident but inaccurate assertions with his handbook:
‘When was this built?’
‘About 1550.’
He hadn’t hesitated. But today I had my handbook. The building he had placed in the mid sixteenth century was the Albert Hall, started in 1878 and finished in 1887. In 1550 Jaipur did not exist, although I didn’t have the heart to tell that to Mr Gopal, who sulked when I contradicted him the previous day.
This episode highlights that tourism can only ever be a superficial exploration of the place that one is visiting though others’ eyes. A guidebook, though perhaps more accurate, can only be an alternate representation — in this case, through presumably a British lens.
At the heart of this book is a paradox — that though the journey is long, and the interactions are many, Theroux never forms any lasting relationships. In the final chapter, Theroux, worn-out, returns to London and realises that:
I felt flayed by the four months of train travel: it was as if I had undergone some harrowing cure, sickening myself on my addiction in order to be free from it…to invert the cliché, I wanted to arrive.
The contrast to earlier chapters could not be more stark — demonstrating once again that tourism (and travel literature itself), though enjoyable for a season, cannot replace deep, meaningful human interaction.
This classic of travel literature provides an insightful exploration of Asia through a tourist’s eyes. The fragmented narrative and setting are challenging at times (since it was written over 40 years ago) though it is well worth persisting — perhaps a chapter every few days. 4/5.
