Encompasses all the worst aspects of Mosley’s writing. Judith is a female character with the voice of an upper-class Cambridge philosophy professor who speaks (and thinks) in quasi-profound and lyrical phrases—representing reality is not Mosley’s agenda, however this narrative voice is beyond ludicrous with its relentless intruding thought-bubbles, insanely awful dialogue, and failure to create a small semblance of realism on which to graft the surreal philosophical digressive narrative in which he indulges. Excessive and awkward repetition of the central metaphors and maxims pop up like unwanted gophers needing to be twatted into submission by Chevy Chase, and despite an amusing first part (satirising coteries of foul actors), the turn into waffling ashram mysticism and biblical philophastering and a baffling dreamlike section in a bomb-testing site near a pub (with a trapped child?), makes the novel unbearable, as all the characters tend to blur into the same voice (the default Mosley narrator). Nick’s mind is a fertile play area for wannabe thinkers and plenty of his musings are interesting and fascinating—shame these absorb and eat into the novel we were promised on the title page. This was followed up by Hopeful Monsters—a superior work that has the same stylistic tics but to less flesh-tearing annoyance.
