Yoga For People Who Can't Be Bothered To Do It

Geoff Dyer

'I'm always really interested to read what writers have to say about other writers.' Geoff Dyer 2003

In Yoga for People Who Can't Be Bothered to Do It, this desire turns in on itself, becoming what Dyer the writer has to say about, well, Dyer the writer. This isn't as self-gratifying as it might sound. (But Brighton new-agers beware, it's also not a book about cheap ways to reach yogic enlightenment.) It's about drugs, hotel rooms, travelling, and Geoff Dyer: think Rousseau meets Bill Bryson meets Hunter S Thompson.

Dyer, living in London but spending much of his time "wishing he lived in San Francisco" takes a detour through Cambodia, Bali, Libya, Amsterdam, Paris, New Orleans and Detroit, where the drifting restlessness of his persona finds an outlet in magic mushrooms, acid and other hallucinogens. Some reviewers have thrown the book at the wallflowers, quite literally, as this often means Dyer spends more time describing hotel porn than for example Libya's wonder, the Leptis Magna. If you're looking for traditional travelogue, you might want to pass. Dyer's is a mental journey, albeit one that's mind-altered and generally full of pathos. He inverts the model of Frank O'Hara's "do this do that" poetry, by structuring his tales with the theme "I did not do this and I did not do that". If you wish to float through the pink psychedelia of life, this book will make you laugh; if you take your holidays, or your yoga, a little more seriously, you may want to stick to the road more travelled.