Marco does his best to escape the working-class world of his family by becoming a photographer/war journalist (it's not entirely clear to me). But, during the course of the story, he stops traveling, stops taking pictures of the horrors of war, and starts doing some soul searching. It is as if he got on a ship just to go somewhere else and by the time he stops running and looks around to see where he is, he realizes he's in uncharted territories (and doesn't speak any of the local languages.) He tries to find his way home in part by photographing the men at the ship yard his father worked at during his younger years.
The novel opens in Marco's therapist's office with Marco, I'm guessing in his late twenties or early thirties, lying on the couch looking at the far wall and his therapist, in his seventies maybe, bald (and wearing sun glasses?), sitting at the head of the couch looking toward the cater-cornered wall, so that neither sees the other. Marco tells the wall, he is breaking up with his therapist, and his therapist seems to hear Marco say that he is ending that particular session. They both get up and the his therapist tries to schedule the next appointment. Marco repeats his intention to end therapy and then asks his (dubious?) therapist how he would comment on Marco's "current state." "The role of the therapist isn't to limit an individual to his pathological state..." the therapist says. "However...I guess that we could say that you're developing some profoundly obsessive behaviors, accompanied by neuroses, obsessive as well."
With that Marco leaves and embarks on his new life of panic attacks, family visits, big fat joints, and taking walks on someone else's property (and that someone else is not happy about it and threatens Marco and his cat.) During Marco's habitual adventures he meets and begins to become friends with a man who seems quite nice and philosophical, but who Marco soon discovers was guilty of heinous war crimes in his younger years.
What I love about this book is the close attention paid to Marco's struggle to piece together a life that makes sense to him. He can't seem to understand who people really are if they change over time, and he has a very hard time forgiving people who have behaved unethically. He can't make sense of the complexity and contradictions of the choices people make. He wants people to be consistent and considerate, to do the right things and to fight for the "right" causes. But as the novel goes on, he has to face his own destructive behaviors, and he starts to see that the "right causes" are possibly as morally bankrupt as the "wrong" ones. No matter who is in charge, people are suffering under the weight of the industrialized economic systems that have come to haunt us.
I don't think I am conveying the humor and sensitivity with which this book explores relationships with family, memory and history. It really is a beautiful book, and has a lightness to it though it explores heavy themes.
One of my favorite parts of the book is one in which through some kind of graphic documentary style, the author looks at the relationship between the artist and his/her art. How is it possible an artist can be malevolent and yet make beautiful works? How can there be this distance between the soul of an artist and the soul of his/her works? This question is the one that is explored from a few angles in the book. What does it mean to be a good person? What does it mean to be evil? What makes someone a talented or good artist? Are there any fixed points in the ethical and aesthetic universe or is everything moving relative to everything else?
One thing that bothered me about the book is that the main character and his brother are kind of selfish, childish jerks with wives who are often in the position of acting more like mothers or big sisters than wives. As far as I could tell, this behavior was supposed to be part of their charm. I appreciate that this is a book exploring masculinity and masculine relationships with self and other and work and past. But, I don't know, I was a bit put off by the immaturity of some of the men in this book.