Pico Iyer is widely regarded as one of the most articulate observers of emerging global culture. In almost 50 years, he has had 15 books published translated into 23 languages on subjects ranging from travel to philosophy, and visited almost 90 countries.

His work is immersive for example, documenting his appreciation for Zen Buddhism after a period living in a Kyoto monastery for his bestseller The Lady and the Monk; and his decades-long friendship with the Dalai Lama, in The Open Road.

In his new book, The Half Known Life: Finding Paradise in a Divided World, the Oxford-born essayist son of an Indian philosopher and political theorist, and a religious scholar dives deep into notions of satisfying our needs and finding optimism amid difficult circumstances.

Like so many, Iyer was catalysed by the stasis of lockdown after a lifetime of flitting backwards and forwards across the globe. For The Half Known Life, he has thumbed through the catalogue of his travels, presenting his thoughts on paradise through a prism of political and social strife in countries such as Iran and Sri Lanka.

Having taught at Harvard in the 80s and travelled widely throughout his half-century-long career, he has been based between Japan where he moved in the 90s and California, where he moved from England with his family as a child. I speak to him via Zoom at his home in Nara, outside Osaka, before he set off for Santa Barbara.

It is striking that so many of the troubled places that I have described in my new book are in the news, whether it is Sri Lanka, Iran or North Korea. I think the pandemic opened doors that we might not have seen otherwise. Im hoping in the years to come, more of us will see that, despite economic and physical devastation, he says.

Lockdown proved to be the ideal time for him to ruminate on 48 years of travel, trying to figure out what all the movement and stillness has amounted to. History has reminded us of so much that can go wrong and has given us scars that we can never recover from. But to give up on hope is to give up on everything.

One of the challenges Iyer faced was stitching together multiple locations into a single narrative. It would be easy to write one chapter on Jerusalem, one on Kashmir and one on Belfast, but linking them all together and defining some of the similarities was hard. It was made easier by the fact that I could not travel. Spending all that time in one place really gave me the stillness and space to put these different places together.

He takes readers firstly to Iran, a country that in recent years has made headlines for almost entirely negative reasons. Iyer thinks about how different it is to what he has known religiously, culturally, linguistically until he visits in September 2013. As soon as he arrives in Iran and gets into a taxi, he strikes up a conversation with the driver. I soon recognise that he [the taxi driver] sounds like any other taxi driver from London or New York. He is worrying about his kids, hes talking about the economy. I am quickly reminded of the many things we all share, at a human level.

While the digital age has made it easy to access and be bewitched by places that are foreign to us places such as Japan and Iran, for example Iyer points out that it is harder to be reminded of what we have in common until we encounter those places in person.

Even in North Korea, which he describes at length in the book, he emphasises how unfamiliar many of us are with the country and consider it to be alien. He trusts that we will think differently and more compassionately once we are there, meeting its people and seeing the challenges they face.

Another impetus for the book was the age of endless information that we know less about the things around us than ever before and least of all, the countries we hear so much about, like Iran or North Korea.

Im really trying to take the reader to places theyve never been to, such as Iran, North Korea and Kashmir, to remind us that the world is richer, deeper, complicated and much more interesting than our ideas of it. If you have the time and resources, please go out and see the world because it will never stop surprising you. Youll quickly have to leave all your assumptions behind and remember that the world itself is a half-known life.

When Iyer began writing in the mid-1980s, he believed that the point of travel writing was to visit a remote place whether that was Cuba or Tibet and gather as many sights, sounds and smells as possible. It was mainly to bring back all these elements to readers and friends, who might not be able to experience those places.

Now, anybody who reads one of my books can access online such vibrant aspects of those places that I would never be able to go to. The travel writers job has changed. We cant compete with cameras. However, there are things we can do that no camera can.

Growing up, he noticed that most travel writing was written by men from privileged backgrounds. However, he notes that the genre has broadened, becoming more global and more democratic in sync with the world.

It is exciting that travel is open to many more people than it used to be. A lot of the best travel writing now is coming from women. If I read Zadie Smith, its not going to be a typical English perspective, its not going to be a typical Jamaican perspective, its going to be something fresh and different, not least because shes a woman.

Travel has also gained a conscience. People are travelling not just to gain something but to give something towards social justice in places that are in trouble.

It is transcending historic limitations, which is ultimately what he is seeking to illuminate in his new book beauty amid friction and optimism among discord.

The Half Known Life: Finding Paradise in a Divided World by Pico Iyer is published by Bloomsbury tomorrow at 16.99

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'We know less about the things around us than ever before': Pico ... - iNews