Elsewhere

Here we have a novel about death and recovery. The extent to which both can go. Three pages in, a man's wife dies. In response he attempts to poison himself. When this fails, he gets on his favorite motorcycle and heads into the night.

He has no plan, no money, nothing to show who he is.

Next day he wakes up in a field. Soon he's intercepted by three guys in a pickup. They find out about the bike and take him back to it.

That's when his journey begins. Mere survival at first, then through a series of happenstance finagling he's put back on his feet. He's gained access to his funds at home and starts out across the country. A three-day storm forces him into a truck stop. He's a writer by trade and first out of boredom begins writing this account. From an initial memory on, all is gratuitous, floating about. But he spends a month in the truck stop while somehow humanity itself grabs hold. His wife becomes as much the story as he is and what transpires is memory, emotion, and what it means to be real. It's a life cobbled together, fused by memory, reflections, and questionable truths, all emerging through elegantly lyrical prose.

ELSEWHERE is the last of a trilogy beginning with the single sentence tour de force THE SEPARATED WOMAN, followed by the poignantly given narration THE MAN I NEVER WAS, each in its own way augmenting and redefining the form of existential expression in the modern novel.