Cannibals

-Nick has a thing about hotels. They excite him. Ask him to explain and he mumbles on about the anonymity, the security, the ideally sterile, functional nature of the rooms, the impersonal d-cor, the erasability of all traces of one's passage through the space, the absolution of clean sheets sullied by whatever urge takes you or accident befalls you-There are strange, sick people out there doing the unimaginable. You learn not to be surprised. So speaks one of the manifold characters...
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-Nick has a thing about hotels. They excite him. Ask him to explain and he mumbles on about the anonymity, the security, the ideally sterile, functional nature of the rooms, the impersonal d-cor, the erasability of all traces of one's passage through the space, the absolution of clean sheets sullied by whatever urge takes you or accident befalls you-There are strange, sick people out there doing the unimaginable. You learn not to be surprised. So speaks one of the manifold characters of Cannibals; characters who go about their lives in a welter of heartfelt lies and stony betrayals, wallowing in bad jokes and bad sex, and trading in novel ways the old commodities of pain and bliss. We enter the characters' lives through seemingly disconnected fragments, with no explanations, no back-story, to savour the ambience of their situations and leave again, often as abruptly as we have entered. Unique, epiphanic and highly erotic, Cannibals is a novel consisting of eighty-eight compelling bulletins that reveal the fractured essence of our age.