It's like being stuck in a lift with a deadpan comedian, waiting for a punchline that never comes. You have to keep going, or you risk losing any grip. Neath is a promising writer. His nameless narrator is a genuine creation. His bewildered, slightly embarrassed account of events, particularly of a cack-handed attempt at seduction, is very cleanly and clearly rendered, and there are some nice, surreal turns of phrase... it's enjoyable as a parody of almost every Kafka-Pinter nightmare you've ever read... The fun here is in following the bumbling brain-waves of the speaker.
A clever, leftfield debut... surreally witty, it recalls the same European sense of experiment at work in Samuel Beckett, Eugene Ionesco and Magnus Mills...
Quirky and blackly satirical, The Outgoing Man emanates a Kafka-esque stench of stagnation and claustrophobia. Neath shows how even the most banal kinds of human interaction take us deep into the realms of the insane, the surreal and the grotesque.