The great shame of my life (or one of them at least) is that while I have read a great many books, I am not well read. I had not read Lolita until just a few years ago, I only got around to Catcher in the Rye last year (hated it!), and I have not read anything by V.S. Naipaul.
Recently, I have begun to try and address this problem, and I intend to work on it for the remainder of my years. My girlfriend, who is indeed well-read had a book of short stories by Paul Theroux hanging around as we packed for this trip. I decided to throw it into my bag for kicks, and I am glad I did. Apparently a novelist and travel writer, the volume I have isn't so much full of short stories as it is a compendium of magazine articles submitted over the course of twenty years, from the mid-sixties until the mid-eighties. During this time, Theroux held two main jobs, teacher and writer--sometimes at the same time. Some of the best writing is about his time as an expat in Africa and Indonesia, especially his thoughts on what it was like to be a white man in Central Africa in the mid-60's.
I heartily commend his work to those of you who have not yet enjoyed it.