"The Last Wrestlers" is one man's highly personal account of sporting obsession. Marcus Trower, rather like the characters in "Fight Club", despised his office job and lives for submssion wrestling. When a bout of ill health forces him to give up this physical outlet he embarks on a world tour to investigate the place of wrestling in other cultures where it is more highly valued than in Britain, where it's very much a minority pursuit.
Trower's interest and expertise in wrestling acts as a kind of visa enabling him to connect with people from a variety of different countries. In India, Mongolia, Brazil, Nigeria and Portsmouth pier, the author is able to gain access to people whose experience of life is very different to our own. I particularly enjoyed his skirmishes with interpreters, from an extrovert Nigerian academic to a former beauty queen who is possibly the worst person to choose to gain access to the celebrities which wrestlers are in Mongolian society.
I love Trower's turn of phrase. Modern gyms are, "a cross between an office, a show kitchen and a nightclub where everyone dances alone", in contrast to the feeling of fraternity he encounters in wrestling clubs.
There is also a kind of haplessness as he faces a bizarre range of replies to a Time Out ad for training partners, is forced to bathe in the Ganges out of an English sense of politeness and has to decide how many bottles of vodka to give as bribes to his interviewees.
At times the book is so detailed it may fail to hold the interest of non-wrestlers. But I found it immensely enjoyable and unexpectedly touching. Trower is a good writer and his mission is so obviously heartfelt that I was genuinely sad when it came to an end.