Robert McAlmon's best book, in my opinion. One remembers McAlmon as being mentioned by Ezra Pound in a famous passage as one of the authors who were the 'future' of prose fiction. Personally, I find it puzzling. If one reads many of McAlmon's books, one finds them plagued by poor spelling and dodgy sub-Hemingway narrative technique. Many late twentieth century editors cover this up by severely editing later editions of his work. Of course, Wyndham Lewis was a poor speller too and, as much as I detest his ideas, I always have time for his fiction. This book details the various expatriates living in Berlin and Paris between the Second World War. The novel is full of homosexuals, drag queens, and cocaine(lots and lots of cocaine). This is far and away the best literary performance by McAlmon I've read - perhaps someone was editing his work here? The book might seem like a collection of loosely interconnected stories, but I suggest the book hangs together as a novel polyphonically, rather like Hugh Selby's "Last Exit to Brooklyn"(a much more important book, in my opinion). McAlmon is clearly writing what he knows and the result is his most assured literary performance. Worth reading, in my estimation...Greg Cameron, Surrey, B.C., Canada