<b>"The very model of the modern paranoid novel" (<i>New York Times</i>) and an ambitious work of semi-autobiographical fiction from one of England's greatest novelists. </b><br><br>Gilbert Pinfold is a reclusive Catholic novelist suffering from acute inertia. In an attempt to defeat insomnia he has been imbibing an unappetizing cocktail of bromide, chloral, and creme de menthe. He books a passage on the SS <i>Caliban </i>and, as it cruises towards Ceylon, rapidly slips into madness.<br><br> Almost as soon as the gangplank lifts, Pinfold hears sounds coming out of the ceiling of his cabin: wild jazz bands, barking dogs, and loud revival meetings. He is convinced that an erratic public-address system is letting him hear everything that goes on aboard ship . . . until instead of just sounds he hears voices. And not just any voices. These voices are talking, in the most frighteningly intimate way, about him!<br>