This book walks a fine line. I have not one single positive thing to say about it, and yet it didn't leave me spitting mad enough to want to take the time to write a review. Good job, book?
Problems, roughly summarized: the main character is an ass. Not a brooding anti-hero, just the garden-variety sort of jerk who cuts in front of you at the grocery store line and leaves his dirty dishes in the office sink. (Not that he does either of those on page. Just, you can tell he's the sort who would, since he has no respect for anyone else.) He's supposed to be intelligent, but that intelligence is never demonstrated; he's supposed to be driven by love and grief for his wife and child, but he seems about as emotionally involved in tracking them down as he would in retrieving an expensive pocket watch he'd lost. Despite the fact that he insults everyone he meets, they trip over themselves to help him and drool about how awesome he is.
In short, this book is a giant exercise in "tell, don't show" and why it's a really bad way to write. Also, the plot consists of a tedious, meandering journey from Point A to Point B, except just as we get to the very verge of point B the character decides, whoops, not going there after all and turns around. Yeah. I'm sure he gets to point B eventually. I'm just out of ability to care about it.