Sometimes this book is completely brilliant. It's a pseudo-fantastical autobiography but the number of ideas and large amount of detail can be overwhelming. It's a mix of a very long, yet really interesting, forward by Michael Moorcock published in a collection of classic weird tales and a dreamlike, partially drug-induced magical realist coming-of-age-and-then-some story. For me, it began to bog down ("okay, we've seen the passage of years again... where is this going? is this going?") and I had to give it up once it became a chore to read. Things were starting to get even more surreal and potentially interesting but the dry style and almost aloof narration of the protaganist finally made me give up.

Hopefully, it can get another chance in the future.