From Publishers Weekly
In the latest novel by the bestselling author of the Generation X thriller
The Beach, a young man who fell into a coma after being assaulted on the London Underground tries to piece his life back together. Shuttling in dreamlike fashion between his hospital bed and a hazy succession of places—his apartment, friends' houses, a record shop, a bookshop, his childhood home, a shrine—he sifts through conflicting memories of his past and unanswerable questions about his present. The novel reaches for Kafkaesque ambiguity—is the narrator awake or in a dream? did he ever come out of the coma? is there a difference between ourselves and our fantasies?—but Garland's parable feels more like an exercise than a true exploration, constricted by its sluggish pace and plodding prose ("I stood. I raised a hand. I said, 'Hey' "). Forty woodblock illustrations by the author's father, Sir Nicholas Garland, a political cartoonist and artist, are handsome but function as little more than filler. By the end of the story, with the narrator unable to tell the difference between reality and fantasy, he finally decides, "None of it was real. I didn't care." Chances are good the reader will feel the same way.
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
--This text refers to the
Hardcover
edition.
From Booklist
Slight but entertaining, this Mobius strip of a novel should fuel the cult following that Garland cultivated among twentysomethings with
The Beach (1996) and the screenplay for
28 Days Later, which imagined an England overrun by zombies. Like that film, this book follows a man who awakens from a coma inside a London hospital. But in this case, the dawning horrors he faces might all be inside his head. What we know, or think we know, is that the man's name is Carl. One night, on the last train home, he stands to intervene when a gang of young toughs accosts a fellow passenger. The next thing Carl knows, he is in the hospital trying to swim back to consciousness. From there, the spare, sly story takes several Kafkaesque turns, its foreboding mood heightened by the woodblock illustrations of Garland's father. We watch, admiring, as Carl dopes out his states of consciousness and logically navigates a course back toward normal. But just when the facts start coming into focus, the view blurs up again, and we cannot help but smile.
Frank SennettCopyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved
--This text refers to the
Hardcover
edition.