The exquisite sense of mission, the pressure to understand through reliving, creates a writing style that, according to Lucy Gillmore of the Independent on Sunday, makes you "want to stick your tongue out and lick every last morsel of the page". Only by going back, by staring in the face what happened to his family and their country, can Andrew Pham begin to understand what he now is, and what his transsexual sister, Chi, used to be, before she was driven to suicide. But if America saved the Phams in body, it left them flailing in soul, and here is where the Wild Swans comparison comes in. "America fished us out of the ocean like downing cockroaches and fed us and clothed us," he writes. Pham shares with Kerouac a belief that the road may hold answers - in Pham's case, his journey takes him back to the Vietnam his family escaped as boat people when he was 10 years old. Peter Hughes in the Times described it as Jack Kerouac meets Wild Swans. In fact, as every round-upper pointed out, this is far more than a bike-across-the Pacific-Rim-and-find-yourself book (though, in the course of it, Pham does just that). Catfish and Mandala is one of them, and - in UK newspapers at least - Pham was punished by being consigned to the travel round-up. Every now and then a book comes along that defies categorisation.
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