If Paul Bailey was cereal, it would be Special K with added cranberries. Mouthfuls of saminess, a sense it's probably good backed up by what's on the cover, with knowingly bitter parts scattered throughout. It's worthy, made up of the right things, and if you were to ask me what's in it now, I can't honestly remember.
We have a Romanian exile with an impressive escape story, self-effacement and rich interior life, a love story, trauma-induced aversion to meat, and 1970s sitcom style asides that can make Bailey a little grating at times. He upped the fruit ratio for Sugar Cane, which like Gabriel's Lament before it, packed more of a punch. This one was nice enough but I will be surprised if I even remember the title in a year's time.