This is a novel of exquisite ambiguity—an ambiguity whose sweat you must lick from its pungent skin, an uncontrolled freefall into ambiguity made terrible and romantic by the tsunamis of youthful passion, go-for-broke poverty, smutty beauty and its dispiriting opposite, a love of place you'd have to be placeless to know the accurate tang of, and the ludic amorality (and surprising conscientiousness) of spiritual flânerie. I write more about it on Medium (gift link).