Imagine three American MIA’s who chose to remain missing after the Vietnam War.
Imagine four generations of strong, alluring women who have some kind of mysterious connection to an outlandish figure from Japanese folklore.
Imagine all this (don’t even try to imagine the love story the author is telling) and you’ll have a foretaste of Tom Robbins’s eighth and perhaps most beautifully crafted novel – a work as timeless as myth yet as topical as the latest international threat.
On one level, this is a book about identity, masquerade and disguise – about “the false mustache of the world” – but neither the mists of Laos nor the smog of Bangkok, neither the overcast of Seattle nor the fog of San Francisco, neither the murk of the intelligence community nor the mummery of the circus can obscure the linguistic phosphor that illuminates the pages of Villa Incognito.
Villa Incognito offers an unbridled and entertaining way of celebrating existence itself while at the same time challenging our ideas about it.
