No Direction Rome
Krantik is cynical, jaded, and utterly bored. He’s also a paranoid hypochondriac. As an Indian working in Rome, he drifts in and out of a dead-end relationship with the assistance of several intoxicants and a short-lived love affair.
His personal revelations and delusions of grandeur are exquisitely funny and devastatingly poignant, sometimes descending into barbaric crudeness exposing the hollowness of social mores and the anxieties of a rootless generation. The obsessive solipsism, the protean cultural associations, and the wry, unexpected observations scattered through the book capture the confused apathy of the millennials. This is a clever, bizarre tour de force, part noir, part philosophy, and filled with the entirely unexpected.
Jack Kerouac meets James Joyce meets Harold and Kumar meets Jonathan Lethem in this wildly inventive portrait of a generation.
