His friend Ali, her children young enough to be in the next room playing in the bath with his, is dying of cancer: ‘The wasting away of a precious friend, as if the sun had risen one morning as pale as the moon.’
Without this, the argument of the book, such as it is, probably would have irritated me into donating it to Oxfam at the third chapter. Instead, I was content to wallow in Moreton’s exquisite prose.”
So that’s all right, then. I don’t know Anne, but the feeling’s mutual – she says things that make me want to throw the paper they’re written on into the recycling box, but she says them in a very entertaining way. If she’d agreed with the premise of the book I think I would have died of shock.
It’s a kind review, and if you would like to read the rest it is available here. “People who write beautifully are hard to come by. It is worth reading this book for no other reason.” Er, thanks. Four stars? That’ll do nicely.