Let me break it down for you: 80s; White collar gay boy goes to Fancy University where he meets adobs straight rich boy; Moves into London house of said boy's family as lodger; Daddy of said boy is MP in gay boy's patch. Complicated.
Wow. If only all vastly complex, intimately nuanced Booker prize-winning novels could be described like that, 'eh? Maybe they should make that a criteria on the entry form or something.
So anyway. This is a very London book - jaunts on Hampstead Heath, coke in bathrooms, cycling in traffic, canoodling in Chelsea, mischief in Notting Hill, keyed gardens, riding the bus - it's all there. I guess if I was into dogging and loaded blokes this might be like reading Monkey Grip. Alas.
God, I don't know why I'm finding it so hard to express that I absolutely loved this book. From page 1, it's tits on a bull obvious that this isn't going to end well. Truly, you can see the tragic writing on the wall from a mile off. Let me be clear here: this is not a problem, it just means you are, step by step, watching a train crash. And falling in love with all the passengers even as the impact throws them out of their seats.
It's beautiful.
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A VERY belated comment, but this review makes me want to revisit this, as I have very sketchy memories of reading this about a decade ago and I think after living in London I'd probably be more appreciative of the setting and mood....
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