<i>Taipei</i>, by Tao Lin.

Taipei, by Tao Lin.

By Tao Lin.
Canongate. 256pp. $19.99.

Have a taste of Tao Lin's new novel: ''Paul noticed Laura looking at his pile of construction paper and said she could have some if she wanted, and she focused self-consciously on wanting some, saying how she would use it and what colours she liked, seeming appreciative in an affectedly sincere manner - the genuine sincerity of a person who doesn't trust her natural behaviour to appear sincere.''

Imagine 250 pages of this. Much of Taipei, maybe even half of it, feels as if it was written as a dare. Which isn't to say it's a bad book, but the temptation to review the author and, indeed, his entire generation rather than the novel is very strong. We'll do no such thing here.

The narrative concerns Paul, a Brooklyn-based writer in his mid-20s, as he drifts from one awkward relationship to another, attends parties he doesn't want to go to, ingests vast amounts of drugs, and makes films of himself and his friends. The rest of his time is spent emailing, updating social media accounts, and either shopping at Whole Foods, eating in restaurants or talking about going to restaurants.

Eventually he meets Erin online and, later, in the flesh, and as the two travel to Baton Rouge, Baltimore, Las Vegas and Taipei, we watch their romance develop.

There's an excellent joke in making the central character a writer who has almost nothing to say for himself, nor entertains a single original thought, and spends the first half of the book trying to find ways not to talk to people at the string of parties he'd rather not attend. And, in the mode of social media, which encourage us to publicise our every thought, Lin does precisely that in long, clause-ridden sentences that would rather fold back on themselves than connect with the next one. Lin has clearly put a lot of effort and skill into producing a book that reads like an unedited live blog of his characters. Which is to say that the only possible way to approach Taipei is on its own terms, sit back and see where it'll take you.

Once you settle into the rhythm of the prose, the work becomes much more engaging and we get a pretty conventional story of love and (just barely) transformation played out among twentysomething characters. Paul and Erin's drug use escalates as does the amount of time they spend online. Though the internet is depicted as significantly more addictive and estranging. Lin does a remarkable job of capturing and amplifying the hesitancy, the self-consciousness of the age, where almost everything we say or do is scrutinised. As a meditation on 21st-century alienation, Taipei captures the bleak remove at which we now live our lives: sitting alone in rooms or, worse, among friends, and devoting attention only to what's on the screens before us.

It reminds me of Ben Lerner's Leaving the Atocha Station, which documents the consciousness of a drug-fuelled writer and his existential concerns, but the triumph of Lin's work is in the writing, which is infuriating, absorbing and, ultimately, very successful. However, I'm looking forward to his next work to see if he might resolve a nagging question: when did the stakes get so low?