Better than Cities of the Red Night, which I remembered being my favorite from the trilogy. More straightforward, while also somehow being more strange and disconnected. I like the idea of traveling through South America as a metaphor for traveling through the land of the dead. Burroughs really indulges in his peccadillos here, which makes it into a sort of obscured self-portrait, at least of what he thinks about himself towards the end of his life.