This book is like one of those rare, perfect albums, where you don't fast forward any of the songs. Each note falls gracefully, at the correct time. Each story was in turns ridiculous, moving, beautiful. I laughed at some of the earlier reviews, which amounted to "This felt too real to be fiction." I have no response to this.
The protagonist is an aid worker, working for an NGO in Ivory Coast, Africa, and his experiences with the futility of what he was doing; he fails miserably at his goal of bringing clean water to his village, but succeeds (?) in other ways. Who can judge. NGO work has been on my mind of late, what good comes of it in actuality, what it does for the worker, what it does for the people one hopes to help.
I didn't feel disjointed at all, reading this book. I thought each story, each character was pitch perfect, the right note in the right place. There was a line that devastated, when the author wrote about a Chinese man the protagonist befriended, who practiced medicine in the nearby village. He had lost his son and his bearings after: "As he showed me the picture under the naked bulb of his room, Wu said in a quiet voice, 'I took him here for his graduation. To sightsee. To celebrate. One child in China. One son. Can you imagine? In a world of rain, one single drop to belong to you.""
I think I love this book.