Travis Anderson has a psychic gift. Or so he thinks. So far he's milked his premonitions only to acquire an upper-middle-class lifestyle, pretty wife, big house, and a shiny Range Rover, without having to make any real effort. But recent visions threaten his yuppie contentment. Haunted by omens of impending cancers, stillborn babies, and personal train wrecks, he is compelled to make a series of inaccurate and horrifying prophecies that humiliate him in front of his fellow country club members. The IRS gets Travis's number, too, demanding an audit of his sloppy bookkeeping.
Drowning in mounting financial problems and apparent mental illness, Travis tries booze, pills, even golf to stay afloat, but nothing works. His wife and friends are forced to stage an intervention. Travis is in danger of losing his family, his career, and ultimately, his sanity. That is, until he meets a Hindu holy man in rehab who claims to be the final incarnation of Lord Vishnu. Suddenly, the tragically shallow Travis is saddled with the responsibility of bettering mankind and saving the world.
©2002 Will Clarke; (P)2005 Tantor Media, Inc.
"Will Clarke is part David Sedaris, part Dave Eggers, part Charlie Kaufman, Hunter S. Thompson, Tom Robbins, and Kurt Vonnegut...and a 100 percent original Will Clarke." (Sara Pritchard)
This is one of the worst books I have downloaded since I joined several years ago. I couldn't finish it, which is rare for me. Granted, some parts are laugh-out loud funny, but that doesn't make up for the absurd, hallucinatory stretches of prose that I never could make sense of. I really can't tell you the entire plot of the novel because I just didn't understand it and, after awhile, I didn't care. I never cared for the protagonist, nor for his self-absorbed wife, nor for the premise of the story.
I am all for imaginative, out-of-the-mainstream writing, but this was just pure nonsense.
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