snatched this for a song (even considering currency conversion) at the virgin megastore that was going under in kingston upon thames.

it is a short book. barely a novella. more like a long short story with huge print.

the narrator is the voice we have come to expect from houellebecq. except this time the racist outbursts aren't framed by any greater narrative, so we are left with a character that comes across as a condescending, pathetic, self-indulgent turd.

while there are some interesting sections meditating on the idea of travel and geography, a heavy chunk of the book is graphic sex. while that's how houellebecq usually is, it's just more glaring when the book is so short.

he does write well, though.