Under The Volcano - Malcolm Lowry

Dealing as it does with drunken Englishmen discussing God in Mexico, this is a Graham Greene type story but written in a modernist style that reminded me of Virginia Woolf, only worse. It's a real slog in terms of prose, and covers only one plotless day in 400 pages.

Here's a sample:

The street was now absolutely deserted and save for the gushing murmurous gutters that now became like two firce little streams racing each other, silent: it reminded her, confusedly, of how in her heart's eye, before she'd met Louis, and when she'd half imagined the Consul back in England, she'd tried to keep Quauhnahuac itself, as a sort of safe footway where his phantom could endlessly pace, accompanied only by her own consoling unwanted shadow, above the rising waters of possible catastrophe.

I mean, really.