There's a fine line between feigned madness and the real thing in the French writer Antoine Volodine's darkly compelling new novel. Set deep in the rainforest, in a fictional Latin American city that's shaking off the tumult of civil war between ethnic Indian communities, the book tells the story of a rebel named Fabian Golpiez, who feigns mental illness in order to halt the brutalization of a vicious interrogation by military police. Golpiez is shuffled off to a shaman/psychiatrist to whom he must prove not only his madness -- and thus, his innocence -- but also his Tupi Indian roots in order to avoid more questioning

The jungle heat, the sweat, the lush, overgrown vegetation and the maddening cackling of monkeys form the backdrop behind the bizarre interplay among Golpiez, his interrogators and the brusque, disturbed shaman/psychiatrist, Fabian Goncalves. Volodine's short chapters and choppy, complex dialogue can make this story difficult to follow. But whether Volodine intends this or not, it adds immeasurably to the overwhelming edginess and hypnotic sense of madness that permeate the book.

In one psychiatric session, Goncalves shouts at Golpiez about his patient's nagging tone and whispery voice (the ellipses are Volodine's): ''Speak up, damn it! As if you had no idea that my hearing. . . my ears. . . You know all about that disastrous operation. . . And to top it off, the constant, strident whirring of insects, as though the rainforest were one big madhouse.'' In trying to prove that he is an Indian and not an "imperialist" or a "tourist," Golpiez uses Indian names he memorized from the notes for an Indian dictionary. In this post-revolutionary society, life literally hangs on ethnicity and knowing the right words.

-- Jordana Hart