Title: Tedious, disappointing
Product review: Theroux is good with words, and the first section, dealing with the semi-autobiographical narrator's youth, is a satisfying read. Then the protagonist grows up. He becomes a dull, selfish, philanderer, and the tone of the writing itself seems more plodding as well. Theroux's narrator is a womanizer, which is forgiveable, but unfortunately he's also a supercilious bore, which is not. The book carries no urgency, and there are better examples of the detached, clinical wife-cheater to be had. V.S. Naipul makes a promising psuedonymous cameo, but qucikly disappears back into the oatmeal-prose. Yawn. William Vollman covers the same ground with more skill, and dare I say it, heart.
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