Hi, since I miss the art/culture "subsections" (not that I'd be complaining or so

), I thought, maybe this is the rightest place for SOLICITATION (alert!!!) of this kind.
This is going to be some special solicitation and concerns a book I have read last time.
The book calls "SHANTARAM" (by Gregory David Roberts), and an action takes place in India, Mumbay/Bombay.
This is one of those things I've been never bursting at seams to read, to say the least, so I feel free to admit that I find myself having totally mixed feelings about it.
I'd venture to say SHANTARAM is some sort of modern day "pulp fiction"-written this way, so all the semblance of "high literature" were able to keep up, so to say. You know, since an unambigous, straightfold, "black&white" overview is totally "passe" nowadays, the maincharacter has to be affected by pain, kinda stigmatized and struggling with his inner daemons from the past-and if this daemon calls HEROIN in addition, there's some really great SCORE for him.
HEROIN is something what fits perfectly to play the role of just another one DRAGON to fight, we all know well the HERO is able finally to deal with. It might be not a piece of cake, but still. After all, no one expected a hero going an easy way, right?
I mean, this predictability and unambiguity deconstructs and thwarts the result of "high literature" completely and makes this sizeable "compendy of painful episodes and bombastic, exalted points" some perfect XXXL sized paperback for "cool" housewifes wearing dreadlocks and enjoying their India dishes (not that I'd mind India cousine, no way)...
...must be I am one of them, too (even not to cook India dishes and having my hair straight), 'cos I'm finding myself getting kicks as I reread "heroin' episode" over and over again.
The chapter Lin (the maincharacter) get "stashed" himself in the hop joint somewhere near the most infamous hood in Mumbay (Shuklaji), wallowing in/nurturing his grief to finally chicken out and indulge himself and let the pain melt away with heroin together/let heroin take away all the pain-is probably this point where my book kinda opens automatically, if you touch or reach it, lol.
But what is going to come up further blows my mind completely-probably the most exalted, bombastic and drammatically description of cold turkey' ever written, with absolutely everything possible (and impossible) involved. After thoroughly (to be fair) "intro" that is able to discourage from kicking the most badass dope fiend, comes up something what could be relate to nothing but Mel Gibson's "performances of Passion".
Author (who also claims to be a prototype of the maincharacter, what I truly doubt to be possible in this case)
reveals/deconstructs the background of heroin' w/ds, brings a scorching light on how endorphin' deprivation
turns an addict into living dead with their nerves naked and extremely vulnerable,
and how w/d gets something like an "extract" of all kinds of pain, suffering and grief putting altogether--
This meticulously lecture of theory is followed and "illustrated" by properly startling report from "heroin' w/d hell".
All of classical "heroin must-reads" taste like pillow-books for good emo-kids comparing to this one.
There's weeping and gnashing of teeth, tying hands and legs and gagging, for one's own wish involved,
not even to mention such a meaningless details like puking, diarrhoea or insomnia...still, if you have ANY littlest inkling about opiates,
you sure as hell be able to recognize some "false tone/note" in this stuff... not that 3 months of shooting 3. g+(!) of "thailand pure" a day
weren't able to make you develope such a habit. I don't know about "thailand pure" at all-maybe yes, maybe not. Sounds possible although rather bombastic.
Sounds exactly as if the statement "3. g of thailand pure" were thrilling enough to get the author high on his own tale. An author and anybody else who read it.
Everything in this book tastes like this. Not a hoax or lying-just multiplying.
There's a lot of palaver and confusion about this novel. It claims to be an "autobiography" (I mean literally, not like "based on...") but it sounds ludicrous to me.
Synchronicity doesn't work like this, and even if there's few interresting coincidencies happening to this guy (whoever he is),
or he was successfully to get away with some shit he did more times than average people used to, there's definitely too much for one life and a single human being, if you get me.
Being an autobiography the novel might as well to be called "hagiography" and the maincharacter-holy or saint.
Since an author comes from Australia/New Zealand, could some of you guys, shed some light into it?
The Australians/New Zealanders (hello chipper!) are welcome for an obvious reason.
Thanks anyone from advance!