I found this novel totally fatuous. It consists of a litany of adolescent fantasies about Vietnam, video games and dope. The comparisons with Graham Greene, John Fowles and William Golding just don't wash - this guy doesn't deserve to be mentioned in the same breath. Obviously there is a market for this kind of light read, but trying to pass this off as quality literature is ridiculous. I left my copy in a hotel room - I would be embarrassed to have someone find it on my bookshelves.