I have always been a fan of Geoff Dyer, from his time at The Guardian to his memorable Paris Trance. Jeff in Venice, Death in Varanasi was a serendipitous recent find in a charity shop. The success of this novel lies in Dyer's seemingly seamless ability to mix genres. Think of this work as being a mash-up of satire, romance, travelogue and existential treatise. There is more than an obvious nod not only to Thomas Mann but also to D. H. Lawrence and Marcel Proust. I empathise more with the first part of the novel, simply owing to my knowledge of Venice and unfamiliarity with Varanasi. I had also hoped (perhaps erroneously) that there might be more narrative congruity between the two sections. However, to put these concerns to one side, Dyer does write beautifully, his wordplay is dexterous and his commentary arch. It is hard not to want to "become" the protagonist. We all cannot deny ageing but want to experience every opportunity available, even if this may bring turmoil along the way. Dyer's writing on both sex and narcotics, as an aside, is far better than many. 8½/10.
By Geoff Dyer