A thoroughly miserable nihilistic view of the world told in a semi-autobiographical account of Celine's life including his time in the First World War, in colonial Africa, America and in Paris working as a Doctor. Extremely early for this sort of writing, you can argue convincingly that without Celine there is no Miller, Burroughs, Bukowski et al and I am inclined to agree. Having said that I found this a difficult read mostly down to the slow pace in parts and the constant complaining. Also I found out later that he was Nazi sympathiser who hated jews the fascist pig (not that any of that is suggested in this book). Still worth a scan with your measly eyes though.
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