Bogart by V.S. Naipul

The Maltese Falcon.

Humphrey Bogart was arguably the biggest leading man of Hollywood’s Golden Age in the 1930s and '40s. He was the definition of cool: sharp suits, cigarette always in hand, effortlessly world-weary. If you somehow haven’t seen Casablanca or The Maltese Falcon, what are you doing? These are classics for a reason. Fittingly, Bogart is also the opening story in V. S. Naipaul’s Miguel Street, a series of interconnected short stories set in Trinidad. From the very start, the influence of American pop culture (especially old Hollywood) looms large, filtering into everyday Caribbean life in subtle but telling ways.

I’m half Trinidadian, so I was naturally curious to read something by a Trini author, especially since the list feels pretty short to me beyond names like Sam Selvon. Naipaul’s writing here is very spare with no fluff and no excess, which makes it a breezy read. The story is driven almost entirely by snappy dialogue, peppered with Trini vernacular. There’s no heavy patois, so it’s easy to follow, though it does give the whole thing a very distinct rhythm and voice. I might be wrong, but it does feel like Naipaul is writing with a Western audience in mind, offering just brief, curated glimpses into these characters’ lives rather than fully immersing us in them.

As with many interconnected short-story collections, this one can feel a little incomplete on its own. More like a sketch than a fully fleshed-out portrait. We are introduced to characters who will presumably reappear later: Hat, Popo, Eddoes, Boyee, Errol, and of course, Bogart. Interestingly, we rarely get real names. Instead, many of the characters go by nicknames, some clearly inspired by famous Hollywood actors. It’s a small detail, showing how deeply American movies and celebrity culture had seeped into the local imagination, shaping identities thousands of miles away from Los Angeles.

Bogart himself is an enigma within the neighborhood. He’s mysterious, often disappearing for months at a time only to suddenly resurface. He barely talks, likes playing cards, enjoys women, and generally keeps everyone guessing. Eventually, he’s arrested for bigamy, which lands with more of a shrug than a shock. That's kind of it, really. Because the story is so slight, it’s hard for me to say much about deeper themes or social commentary just yet. It feels more like a character introduction, merely setting the stage for what's to come. I’m hoping that as I read further into Miguel Street, I’ll get a clearer sense of what Naipaul is trying to achieve here and how all these small, seemingly simple stories come together to say something larger about the diaspora, masculinity and Caribbean identity.