by Jean Echenoz

Real or imagined, heaven or hell - you decide. I found this a bizarre read. You never quite know what is round the corner for Max, a piano playing drunk. Don't try to read too much into the story just enjoy it for what it is. I finished it with lots of questions. However, I think that's the point.


And yet it seemed that even after he was dead, Max continued to experience things. He found himself naked in a single bed that occupied about a quarter of a small, dark room whose walls, painted ochre with patina effects, absorbed the light of a weak bedside lamp standing on a bedside table, the dimness increased by a fringe maroon cloth spread over the beige lampshade. Once he had opened his eyes, and after several minutes spent looking around without seeing much of anything, Max pulled away the cloth without this revealing a great deal more of his new environment.
Translated by Mark Polizzotti


Walking on Glass by Iain Banks

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