LIKE EVERYTHING ELSE HE’S WRITten, Geoff Dyer’s latest gets you wondering what exactly a book is. With his uncategorisable blend of memoir, critique, reportage, and flight of fancy, Dyer has done more to strain at the literary leash than anyone since B.S. Johnson. Granted, he hasn’t yet published a novel in loose-leaf form, or a book with holes in its pages so that you can glimpse things that are going to happen in the story’s future. Then again, Dyer would surely take umbrage at that word “story”.
Certainly, none of his four novels has much by way of plot or even propulsion. In his new book, Dyer — who has long been drawn to Nietzsche’s idea
