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The happy ant-heap and other pieces
'Norman Lewis is ninety. He has been travelling since he was a young man and now collects his recent travel writing into this delightful volume, full of aphrodisiacs made from seals' penises and "vulture lung soup". Lewis is the classic "I-am-a-camera" travel writer. He sees, but he does not judge. This is the perfect book to go travelling with this off-beat, uninhibited and wise' Robert McCrum, Observer 'The essays span the continents, from Europe to Africa to Asia to South America to Oceania; they have in common an enviable descriptive power, a touch of the bizarre and a great deal of style...There is a brilliantly frightening piece on the Mafia and its total control over everyday life in Sicily...Such is Lewis's breadth of experience that, writing about aphrodisiacs in Liberia, he can mention a trip he once made to the Yemen, where he became acquainted with the men who dive for oysters, an encounter with Hemingway in Havana, where Ernesto was desperately trying to reverse increasing impotence, and then a return to Italy, where a Neapolitan once introduced Lewis to the local sovereign a tin of Spam' Geoffrey Moorhouse, Daily Telegraph 'He is one of the two or three greatest living travel writers, with a prose style of unmatched wit and subtlety, full of images as startling as a Verey light. ..Despite the bleakness of most of his subject matter, Lewis is such a fine and amusing writer - and also such an intensely moral and humane one - that he can make even the most horrible situations both bearable and instructive...at ninety his literary voice is completely of the moment' William Dalrymple, Sunday Times
196 pages, Paperback
First published August 20, 1998
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46 people want to read
About the author
Norman Lewis
191 books155 followersNorman Lewis was a British writer renowned for his richly detailed travel writing, though his literary output also included twelve novels and several volumes of autobiography. Born in Enfield, Middlesex in 1908 to a Welsh family, Lewis was raised in a household steeped in spiritualism, a belief system embraced by his grieving parents following the deaths of his elder brothers. Despite these early influences, Lewis grew into a skeptic with a deeply observant eye, fascinated by cultures on the margins of the modern world.
His early adulthood was marked by various professions—including wedding photographer, umbrella wholesaler, and even motorcycle racer—before he served in the British Army during World War II. His wartime experiences in Algiers, Tunisia, and especially Naples provided the basis for one of his most celebrated books, Naples '44, widely praised as one of the finest firsthand accounts of the war. His writing blended keen observation with empathy and dry wit, traits that defined all of his travel works.
Lewis had a deep affinity for threatened cultures and traditional ways of life. His travels took him across Southeast Asia, Latin America, and the Mediterranean. Among his most important books are A Dragon Apparent, an evocative portrait of French Indochina before the Vietnam War; Golden Earth, on postwar Burma; An Empire of the East, set in Indonesia; and A Goddess in the Stones, about the tribal communities of India. In Sicily, he explored the culture and reach of the Mafia in The Honoured Society and In Sicily, offering insight without sensationalism.
In 1969, his article “Genocide in Brazil,” detailing atrocities committed against Indigenous tribes, led directly to the formation of Survival International, an organization committed to protecting tribal peoples worldwide. Lewis often cited this as the most meaningful achievement of his career, expressing lifelong concern for the destructive influence of missionary activity and modernization on indigenous societies.
Though Lewis also wrote fiction, his literary reputation rests primarily on his travel writing, which was widely admired for its moral clarity, understated style, and commitment to giving voice to overlooked communities. He remained an unshakable realist throughout his life, famously stating, “I do not believe in belief,” though he found deep joy in simply being alive.
Lewis died in 2003 in Essex, survived by his third wife Lesley and their son Gawaine, as well as five other children from previous marriages.
His early adulthood was marked by various professions—including wedding photographer, umbrella wholesaler, and even motorcycle racer—before he served in the British Army during World War II. His wartime experiences in Algiers, Tunisia, and especially Naples provided the basis for one of his most celebrated books, Naples '44, widely praised as one of the finest firsthand accounts of the war. His writing blended keen observation with empathy and dry wit, traits that defined all of his travel works.
Lewis had a deep affinity for threatened cultures and traditional ways of life. His travels took him across Southeast Asia, Latin America, and the Mediterranean. Among his most important books are A Dragon Apparent, an evocative portrait of French Indochina before the Vietnam War; Golden Earth, on postwar Burma; An Empire of the East, set in Indonesia; and A Goddess in the Stones, about the tribal communities of India. In Sicily, he explored the culture and reach of the Mafia in The Honoured Society and In Sicily, offering insight without sensationalism.
In 1969, his article “Genocide in Brazil,” detailing atrocities committed against Indigenous tribes, led directly to the formation of Survival International, an organization committed to protecting tribal peoples worldwide. Lewis often cited this as the most meaningful achievement of his career, expressing lifelong concern for the destructive influence of missionary activity and modernization on indigenous societies.
Though Lewis also wrote fiction, his literary reputation rests primarily on his travel writing, which was widely admired for its moral clarity, understated style, and commitment to giving voice to overlooked communities. He remained an unshakable realist throughout his life, famously stating, “I do not believe in belief,” though he found deep joy in simply being alive.
Lewis died in 2003 in Essex, survived by his third wife Lesley and their son Gawaine, as well as five other children from previous marriages.
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Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews
May 26, 2010
I’m a civilized man. I’m soft. My idea of a good time is sipping a double Americano while leafing through the Saturday Globe and Mail. The only action I want any part of is the foaming action of my facial cleanser. For me, roughing it means spending the night at a Super 8, in a town without a Starbucks (I still have nightmares about that).
It stands to reason, then, that I’d have a huge man-crush on Norman Lewis. Here’s a guy who embodies a masculine ideal I can get behind, even if I have no hope of living up to it myself. His CV goes something like this: in the 1930s, he was racing motorcycles and Bugattis on the British circuit; in the same decade, he married the daughter of a Sicilian Mafioso; WWII found him in Naples, serving with the Intelligence Corps; he spent the next fifty years roaming from one godforsaken country to the next, hanging with the natives, dodging bullets, getting arrested. The whole time, he was turning out novels and travelogues, a few of them great, some mediocre, but none boring or inelegant. And in spite of everything, he managed to live to the ripe old age of 95, dying in his cottage in the English countryside, surrounded by books, loved ones and his prize-winning lilies. If that’s not a full life, I don’t know what is.
The Happy Ant-heap isn’t essential Norman Lewis, being a collection of throwaway freelance pieces. Even so, his bottom-of-the-barrel stuff is several orders of coolness beyond my most whacked-out experiences. Just in this one book, he chats with cannibals, carries on a minor flirtation with a beautiful Greek murderess, and reminisces about capturing a Gestapo officer. And this is his b-grade material? Jesus.
Lewis was still freelancing well into his eighties, bumping around the world with an energy that I, a half-century younger, can only envy. Instead of booking a package tour to Branson like a normal octogenarian, he was traipsing around the jungles of New Guinea or the Guatemalan Highlands. The more primitive and outlandish his surroundings, the happier he was.
Although Lewis was an Englishman through and through, his attachment to rural Essex only reinforced a passionate cosmopolitanism: ‘Because I live in this earthly paradise,’ he once said, ‘I find it necessary to go to a police state with lots of mosquitoes.’ All his sympathies were with the victims of modernity: the brutalized indigenes of Latin America, the proud Spanish fishermen reduced to piloting tour boats over fake coral reefs. His work can be read as one long elegy for everything that’s been junked or paved over to make way for civilization.
Personally, I’m a big fan of progress. I think the jumbo Slurpee, for example, is a wonderful invention, but I also think it’s kind of horrifying. Everybody feels this ambivalence to some degree, and it’s probably a good thing. Ambivalence is worth dick all by itself, but at least it shows we’ve got a conscience inside us somewhere, twitching spasmodically. Is it possible to be modern and Western without being, on some level, an asshole? An uncomfortable question, and one I tend to scoff at when it’s raised by some bleeding-heart multiculturalist. But coming from someone with Lewis’ cred? Well, it makes me wonder.
It stands to reason, then, that I’d have a huge man-crush on Norman Lewis. Here’s a guy who embodies a masculine ideal I can get behind, even if I have no hope of living up to it myself. His CV goes something like this: in the 1930s, he was racing motorcycles and Bugattis on the British circuit; in the same decade, he married the daughter of a Sicilian Mafioso; WWII found him in Naples, serving with the Intelligence Corps; he spent the next fifty years roaming from one godforsaken country to the next, hanging with the natives, dodging bullets, getting arrested. The whole time, he was turning out novels and travelogues, a few of them great, some mediocre, but none boring or inelegant. And in spite of everything, he managed to live to the ripe old age of 95, dying in his cottage in the English countryside, surrounded by books, loved ones and his prize-winning lilies. If that’s not a full life, I don’t know what is.
The Happy Ant-heap isn’t essential Norman Lewis, being a collection of throwaway freelance pieces. Even so, his bottom-of-the-barrel stuff is several orders of coolness beyond my most whacked-out experiences. Just in this one book, he chats with cannibals, carries on a minor flirtation with a beautiful Greek murderess, and reminisces about capturing a Gestapo officer. And this is his b-grade material? Jesus.
Lewis was still freelancing well into his eighties, bumping around the world with an energy that I, a half-century younger, can only envy. Instead of booking a package tour to Branson like a normal octogenarian, he was traipsing around the jungles of New Guinea or the Guatemalan Highlands. The more primitive and outlandish his surroundings, the happier he was.
Although Lewis was an Englishman through and through, his attachment to rural Essex only reinforced a passionate cosmopolitanism: ‘Because I live in this earthly paradise,’ he once said, ‘I find it necessary to go to a police state with lots of mosquitoes.’ All his sympathies were with the victims of modernity: the brutalized indigenes of Latin America, the proud Spanish fishermen reduced to piloting tour boats over fake coral reefs. His work can be read as one long elegy for everything that’s been junked or paved over to make way for civilization.
Personally, I’m a big fan of progress. I think the jumbo Slurpee, for example, is a wonderful invention, but I also think it’s kind of horrifying. Everybody feels this ambivalence to some degree, and it’s probably a good thing. Ambivalence is worth dick all by itself, but at least it shows we’ve got a conscience inside us somewhere, twitching spasmodically. Is it possible to be modern and Western without being, on some level, an asshole? An uncomfortable question, and one I tend to scoff at when it’s raised by some bleeding-heart multiculturalist. But coming from someone with Lewis’ cred? Well, it makes me wonder.
January 21, 2017
This book is a collection of Norman Lewis writing - more articles or essays than stories. They cover his writing range of travel and reportage, a number are about Italy and are Mafia related, other relate to crime or travel. These essays all have the year of writing stated, and date from 1988 to 1998 (published 1998).
There are 18 essays, and I would say 6 are excellent, and a further 6 are good. That leaves 6 that missed their mark with me, but to be fair, the Mafia writing isn't really my thing.
The essays that had resonance with me were the travel essays, and those that appealed more I believe are the ones that are set in counties that Lewis had a real connection to. Countries that he has written much longer books about. Those places were India, Burma (Myanmar), Indonesia, Central America.
I have a soft spot for this author, and genuinely like his work in the travel genre.
For me this is 4 stars, despite missing the mark on some of the essays for me personally.
There are 18 essays, and I would say 6 are excellent, and a further 6 are good. That leaves 6 that missed their mark with me, but to be fair, the Mafia writing isn't really my thing.
The essays that had resonance with me were the travel essays, and those that appealed more I believe are the ones that are set in counties that Lewis had a real connection to. Countries that he has written much longer books about. Those places were India, Burma (Myanmar), Indonesia, Central America.
I have a soft spot for this author, and genuinely like his work in the travel genre.
For me this is 4 stars, despite missing the mark on some of the essays for me personally.
February 7, 2014
SOME TRAVELS OF MR LEWIS
If you are not familiar with the wonderful travel writing of Norman Lewis then this collection of short pieces is as good a place as any to start. Some of the pieces appear (I think?) to have previously been part of other books (but not all), and they all exhibit Lewis's characterstic concern with indigenous and localised cultures and how they are adapting and sometimes even surviving in the relentless "progress" of the century past.
Some of this pieces are sad, have little stings in the tail, for example in the piece on the communist state of Kerala (in India) he visits a village of Pullivil "hermetically sealed off from the intrusions of the outside world" complete with Kite playing children, serene fishermen who work and live the same as they have since times long past. At the end of the beautiful description of the village and its way of life he speaks to a fisherman who has been to a University - "The Future is good. All the time we are making improvements. But have you seen Kovalam? In Kovalam there are twenty hotels. This is a backward place but I am thinking that one day we must catch up." A depressing thought, the seduction of "progress" which generally destroys more than it creates with its ubiqutous concrete, tarmac and its omnipotent cash economy.
There are some cheerier pieces too, the Dani tribesman of Irian Jaya, who after patiently accepting the "word" of American protestant fundamentalists grow increasingly exasparated in the face of the destruction the missionaries bring before eventually consuming them - it "had nothing to do with a taste for human flesh, being no more than the ultimate expression of vengeance." Marvelous stuff.
Other places visited and wrote about include Naples, Corleone (of Godfather fame), Guatemala and Honduras. There are a couple of wonderful chapters on the authors experiences during the War which make Catch 22 seem a paragon of sanity.
I have never read a dud from Lewis, and this is no exception. Well recommended.
If you are not familiar with the wonderful travel writing of Norman Lewis then this collection of short pieces is as good a place as any to start. Some of the pieces appear (I think?) to have previously been part of other books (but not all), and they all exhibit Lewis's characterstic concern with indigenous and localised cultures and how they are adapting and sometimes even surviving in the relentless "progress" of the century past.
Some of this pieces are sad, have little stings in the tail, for example in the piece on the communist state of Kerala (in India) he visits a village of Pullivil "hermetically sealed off from the intrusions of the outside world" complete with Kite playing children, serene fishermen who work and live the same as they have since times long past. At the end of the beautiful description of the village and its way of life he speaks to a fisherman who has been to a University - "The Future is good. All the time we are making improvements. But have you seen Kovalam? In Kovalam there are twenty hotels. This is a backward place but I am thinking that one day we must catch up." A depressing thought, the seduction of "progress" which generally destroys more than it creates with its ubiqutous concrete, tarmac and its omnipotent cash economy.
There are some cheerier pieces too, the Dani tribesman of Irian Jaya, who after patiently accepting the "word" of American protestant fundamentalists grow increasingly exasparated in the face of the destruction the missionaries bring before eventually consuming them - it "had nothing to do with a taste for human flesh, being no more than the ultimate expression of vengeance." Marvelous stuff.
Other places visited and wrote about include Naples, Corleone (of Godfather fame), Guatemala and Honduras. There are a couple of wonderful chapters on the authors experiences during the War which make Catch 22 seem a paragon of sanity.
I have never read a dud from Lewis, and this is no exception. Well recommended.
March 14, 2015
I was expecting more a travel journey from this book than lots in individual essays which did not link together. However, they were perfect for keeping in my bag and reading whenever I had a spare 15 minutes. Lewis is an accomplished writer and very well-travelled, bringing life to the descriptions of the places he visited. Some of the essays were a little on the mundane side such as ‘God Bless this Squire’, but others had me laughing out loud. ‘Guatemala Revisited’ and ‘Namek’s Smoked Ancestor’ were two of my personal favourites. I will definitely be hunting out more from this author in the future.
May 3, 2013
A good travel essays collection. I hadn’t read anything by norman lewis earlier. He has good reputation as a travel writer, it seems. I have read two articles on india (rather Kerala). One of these, ‘hapy ant heap’ is excellent. It describes kerala’s communist preference and organized life despite population ensity , poverty etc. Other article was about kochin. Another good one.
July 29, 2007
Most enjoyable travel writing, especially on Italy and Sicily.
Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews