The world is what it is," a line from writer VS Naipaul (1932-2018), quoted out of context here, is an apt commandment to live by. For what choice do we have, but to assume so anyway? That line is also the title of Naipaul's brilliantly written, authorised biography, by Patrick French.

The defining portrait of the writer that emerges from French's account is from a random evening, when Naipaul's niece (I think) is over at his place. Both are seated in a semi-dark drawing room for hours, perhaps? He doesn't once say a word. She probably can't. They simply sit still like that.