I picked this book up at a hotel in Trieste where a previous guest had left it and I decided to read it. I found it primarily interesting because I had not read a story about a Sri Lankan ex-pat living first in the Philippines and then in London, but that is Sunny's story, and this novel is all about that story. Cricket plays an adhesive role in the book, binding Sunny's experiences together, albeit loosely and at best symbolically, until the epiphany he has toward the end of the narrative. Sunny marries, has a child who grows into a teenager, but throughout he is a man without a center, a sort of pass-through for experiences of varying qualities, haunted by the suicide of his mother and, to a lesser degree, by his estrangement from his father and from his war-torn fatherland. It is too much to say that all of these various threads get resolved in the end, and while Sunny eventually determines that all he needs is one shot, photographically speaking, he also seems to realize that one shot is all any of us get.