I've come across dozens of novels about young American men floundering for identity in Prague, and when I read them it's with deep reservations. These are the very people I avoided at all cost in their bookstore and bagel shop, with their trust funds and Lit degrees, treating a whole nation like the backdrop for their personal success story. Of course there's the draw, the backstory of someone I gave directions to, bought a book from, carefully shepherded out of a bar they were too drunk to realize they weren't welcome in.

This particular book is so amazingly typical with every trope of this specific genre, but it's also something else. The story is centered in Tee's inner life, and could really take place anywhere. That aspect is interesting, sometimes well-written, and kept me reading. The story of Prague feels like an overlay of every expat, and frankly I'd rather hear stories from the very real people of Karlín who lost so much, or the people who suffered in the floods of '97 and '99, or the astounding tale of the evacuated zoo, or the scientists and activists working to revitalize the Vltava and restore the floodplain to stop these ever-increasing "100-year floods."

Where does that leave me? I know, there's no zealot like a convert, but I still feel protective of Czechs' opportunities to tell their own stories. So as a 20-something American man's coming of age, this is quite good; as a book of Prague, it's depressingly familiar. ( )

Some good literary fiction, set amongst Prague and the big floods, talking about being different, the wrong woman, love, family and fitting in. ( )

The “100 Year Flood” was my Kindle First selection for August, based on the generally positive reviews. It’s the story of an Asian American 20 something named Tee, who goes to Prague after the suicide of his uncle. The entire story is a reflective piece from Tee’s perspective. It starts out in the here and now, and then goes back to embellish the reasons as to why Tee is in the hospital.

I went back and forth on enjoying the author’s sometimes prosaic style; sometimes I liked it and sometimes I didn’t. Salesses is good at creating an insight into a place I have never read about before. Through Tee’s eyes, Prague is beautiful, sensual, and vibrant. It’s a place of self-discovery and sadness, of life and darkness, and Salesses captured all of the nuances and vibrancy very well. Some of the writing is fuzzy and disjointed, but that is because Tee is fuzzy and disjointed.

All in all, I was able to read through the book without any issues as it wasn’t a very dense or difficult read. It was always easy for me to stop reading because nothing was able to keep me going through the night with interest, but it wasn’t so boring that I stopped reading and couldn’t find the energy to pick it back up.

The crux of the problem was that I just did not care for or about any of the characters. Even Tee was just the median, serving as the narrator of the story and nothing more. The storyline was also relatively predictable. I was able to come up with a lot of conclusions about the plot without any real deductions necessary.

That being sad, the book was well-written and had its points of intrigue. Since it was definitely on the slimmer side, I wouldn’t be opposed to picking it back up again someday and re-reading it. ( )

I had high hopes for this book because it was blurbed by Roxane Gay, and indeed, it's written beautifully. Salesses knows his way around a sentence. Unfortunately, this book is all MFA workshop and no substance. Salesses knows how to say things but has nothing to say, placing this book squarely in the category of entitled male MFA mostly-autobiographical literary fiction (see for instance Eric Fassnacht, the 2015 incarnation of 2016 Salesses). I'd read more from this author if he had something new to say. ( )