Publishers Weekly
Two 40-ish men seeking love and existential meaning are the protagonists of these highly imaginative twin novellas, written in sensuous, lyrical prose brimming with colorful detail. In the first, Jeff Atman is a burnt-out, self-loathing London hack journalist who travels to scorching, Bellini-soaked Venice to cover the 2003 Biennale, and there finds the woman of his dreams and an incandescent love affair. The unnamed narrator of the second novella (who may be the same Jeff) is an undistinguished London journalist on assignment in the scorching Indian holy city of Varanasi, where the burning ghats, the filth and squalid poverty and the sheer crush of bodies move him to abandon worldly ambition and desire. Dyer's ingenious linking of these contrasting narratives is indicative of his intelligence and stylistic grace, and his ability to evoke atmosphere with impressive clarity is magical. Both novellas ask trenchant philosophical questions, include moments of irresistible humor and offer arresting observations about art and human nature. For all his wit and cleverness, Dyer is unflinching in conveying the empty lives of his contemporaries, and in doing so he's written a work of exceptional resonance. (Apr.)
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Library Journal
Jeff, a middle-aged, grumpy, and alienated British freelance writer, is sent to cover an art event in Venice. There he meets a beautiful American woman with whom he begins a scorching affair fueled by alcohol, cocaine, and the festive lifestyle of the exhibition. At the end of the party, the two exchange emails and promises to get in touch. In the second part of the novel, Jeff travels to the mystical Indian city of Varanasi on another assignment, where he immerses himself in the city, the religion, the holy men, and drug use. He falls for a young woman living a nomadic life, but once again this romance slips away. A mere description of the story line only scratches the surface of this funny and mysterious work. Dyer's (The Ongoing Moment) witticisms and wordplay, woven into the ongoing commentary of the history, geography, and psychology of Venice and then Varanasi, are brilliant. What emerges is a theme of the conflict of Western vs. Eastern modes of behavior and perception. Thought-provoking and entertaining, if not to everyone's taste, this is recommended for all larger collections. [See Prepub Alert, LJ 12/08.]
—Jim Coan
Kirkus Reviews
Part novel, part cultural travelogue, this latest from the British critic and novelist (The Ongoing Moment, 2005, etc.) consists of two sections, linked by the narrator's sensibility. Jeff Atman is on his way to Venice. The 45-year-old Londoner, a freelance journalist, has been assigned to cover the 2003 Biennale for an arts magazine. Narrator Jeff is not a big player in the art world, though he's a familiar face on the circuit as he pursues his favorite things: drinking, drugs, parties and hitting on younger women (he's divorced). The Biennale provides "magical excess." The parties are nonstop; the bellinis flow and the cocaine glistens. At his first party Jeff meets the absolutely must-have girl. Laura Freeman, early 30s, is about to quit her gallery job in Los Angeles to do a grand tour of the East, including Varanasi (Benares). It's not long before they're having terrific sex and strolling the streets like lovers. Dyer's dialogue is dead-on, but Laura doesn't have much of a personality. It's not all sex and parties though. Jeff comments provocatively on the city and the artwork before the lovers part, promising to e-mail. Then we're launched into the second, less novelistic, section. Jeff's latest assignment has brought him to, you guessed it, Varanasi. This holiest of Indian cities is the main character here. Jeff deals with the traffic and the unending demands for rupees as he explores the temples and the funeral pyres by the Ganges. But what about Laura? Gone with the wind, evidently, for she's never mentioned again, a disappointment for readers expecting continuity. Jeff enjoys his new life of idleness, going native, wearing a loincloth and bathing in the Ganges. A moreconventional treatment would signal a midlife crisis and breakdown. Instead, with playful nonchalance, Jeff fades slowly from view, like the Cheshire Cat. Unsatisfying as a novel, but the observations are piquant enough to make for an enjoyable read.
