This book may be one of the worst books I've ever read. The writing style is pretentious and vulgar, the main character is a thinly-veiled and extremely arrogant authorial avatar, and the author has only the vaguest grasp of how punctuation works. He also occasionally slips into first-person narrative for a sentence or two. There is no detectable plot. I'm guessing it was self-published by a printer who did not own a red pencil.
Every metaphor in this book seemed to involve filth, whether scatological or otherwise. I felt like I needed a shower at the end of every chapter. The book felt contaminated.
The only reason I bought it was because it is by someone who used to work for the same company I did, and is very obviously about that company. And the only reason I award it two stars is that it does actually achieves one of its goals: It paints an accurate picture of the lives of archaeologists in America. If that interests you, you might give it a try; otherwise, give it a miss.
You have to truly understand the world of contract archaeology to appreciate the characters and feeling of this book. So, it is not for everyone. But, if you do know the tribulations (or don't, but would like to) of archaeological fieldwork, this book is a raw, unapologetic glimpse...it ain't Indiana Jones out there.