This is one of my favourite books. Vassanji somehow fills the novel with a sense of foreboding, each chapter seeming to inch closer to some kind of ugly truth. As others have mentioned, the narrator does sometimes seem a little dull, removed - shellshocked is the word I might use - but this works to the novel's advantage. He is after all a person who has been caught in the middle throughout his life, falling into place without ever really understanding the horrors going on around him. From heartbreaking descriptions of his white, African, and Indian childhood friends - all taken in different directions by tragic events beyond their control or comprehension - to the novel's ambiguous and complex ending, I think this is one of the best books I've read, and after reading it again my opinion stays the same.