There was quite a buzz about this book in the States a while ago, but sadly it doesn't seem to have transferred to NZ, where it has largely passed without notice. A pity, because it's a great read. It's about a young American poet on a fellowship in Madrid, lost and out of his depth, unconfident about his work, ashamed at his lack of affinity with the local language, and untrusting of those around him. His paranoia increases as he self-medicates, drinks too much alcohol and coffee, and lies his was into humiliating situations. Even being caught up in the Madrid rail bombings he isn't shaken out of his narcissistic torpor. He's an extraordinarily annoying character, but the writing is so good, and some of the situations so excruciating and hilarious, that the novel itself isn't annoying. It's in Jonathan Franzen territory, I guess, but at 180 pages, it's a quicker read, but as resonant.