Our protagonist accepts an opportunity to work in Eastern Europe after life as a sociopath in America takes the inevitable bad turn. He is of course a poly-math so languages are not a problem. Prava, his destination [apparently Prague in real life] becomes the stage upon which the central question in life [How many nuts are there in the bowl?] is carefully considered. The answer turns out to be both many and none depending on whether you accept or reject Mr. Shteyngart's intellectual construction. For me it is literature as seen from or through a galactic black hole and I'm ready to draw the line on this one.

Read it at your own risk. How you react to it will say nothing about the book and everything about you. I'm glad I read it and I admire the spume of clever language that covers almost every page but I want a clearer, more logical story. Finally I have two more questions. Exactly how old are the book reviewers at the New York Times? And is this a Jackson Pollock painting in print form?

This book is available in hardcover and paperback editions but buy it in paperback so that, if you need to throw it, you do less damage. Four hundred and seventy six pages of amusement or grief depending on which generation you are emotionally a part.