Two years. Twenty-seven faiths. One question — asked in ashrams, fire temples, hermit caves and interrogation rooms, until the answer found him first.
At seventeen, Noah lost his faith the night his father's fighter jet went down off the coast of Pakistan. At twenty-three — a degree in mathematics, a brilliant future, and six years of insomnia later — he boards a boat to India with a single mission: to hear out every religion on Earth, from the ones who live them, and prove them all wrong. To heal at last — or die trying.
From the slums of Chennai to a Himalayan kingdom that measures happiness by decree, from the eternal fire of Yazd to the interrogation rooms of Iran's holy city, from a hermit's cave in Lebanon to the Wailing Wall — Noah collects sages, frauds, martyrs and mystics. And the trail of a young Frenchwoman who crosses his path one New Year's Eve on the Ganges, and keeps reappearing, one whispered word at a time.
« Jerusalem. December 31st. »The novel follows the exact route the author travelled — drawn here from the real coordinates, from the fish docks of Chennai to the Holy Sepulchre.
Friday, September 2nd, 2016 — Chennai, India.
The smell reached him before the dock did. Fresh fish sold at auction, overpowered by the denser reek of yesterday's unsold catch drying in the sun. Scrawny cats feasted between the stalls, waved off without conviction by fishermen worn hollow from their night at sea.
He lit a cigarette. Standing among the stalls, he asked himself, once again, what exactly he had come here to find. It was vague, ungraspable — like the smoke, like the smell of fish, like the din of the merchants.
He was twenty-three years old, and he had not truly slept in six. Every night, he went down with his father into the dark water. Every morning, he surfaced alone.
Chapter one arrives immediately — the crash, the empty coffin, the boat to India.
A chapter every three days, with the real photographs from the road woven in.
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