Yoga for People Who Can't Be Bothered to Do It (Paperback)
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Mordantly funny, thought-provoking travel essays, from the acclaimed author of Out of Sheer Rage and “one of our most original writers” (New York Magazine).
This isn’t a self-help book; it’s a book about how Geoff Dyer could do with a little help. In these genre-defying tales, he travels from Amsterdam to Cambodia, Rome to Indonesia, Libya to Burning Man in the Black Rock Desert, floundering in a sea of grievances, with fleeting moments of transcendental calm his only reward for living in a perpetual state of motion. But even as he recounts his side-splitting misadventures in each of these locales, Dyer is always able to sneak up and surprise you with insight into much more serious matters. Brilliantly riffing off our expectations of external and internal journeys, Dyer welcomes the reader as a companion, a fellow perambulator in search of something and nothing at the same time.
About the Author
A Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature and a member of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, Geoff Dyer has received the Somerset Maugham Award, the E. M. Forster Award, a Lannan Literary Fellowship, a National Book Critics Circle Award for criticism, and, in 2015, the Windham Campbell Prize for non-fiction. The author of four novels and nine works of non-fiction, Dyer is writer in residence at the University of Southern California and lives in Los Angeles. His books have been translated into twenty-four languages.
“Uproarious, unclassifiable. . . exquisitely manic. . . . [Dyer is] assuredly among the funniest writers alive.” —San Francisco Chronicle
“A delightfully original book. . . . Dyer’s writing brims with offbeat insights that had me chuckling for hours later, or reading aloud to dinner companions.” —Tony Horowitz, The New York Times Book Review
“A freewheeling, bawdy, elegant tour of a brilliant mind.” —Steve Martin
“An irresistibly funny storyteller, [Dyer] is adept at fiction, essay, and reportage, but happiest when twisting all three into something entirely his own.” —The New Yorker
“Utterly unclassifiable. If Hunter S. Thompson, Roland Barthes, Paul Theroux and Sylvia Plath all went on holiday together in the same body, perhaps they could come up with something like it. This is the funniest book I have read for a very long time.” —William Shawcross, Independent on Sunday