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A review by npryan
One Fat Englishman by Kingsley Amis
Riding home on a Toronto subway late one night after a lengthy visit to a favoured ale house, I suddenly realised a book had been left on the little shelf under the window next to me.
Picking it up and seeing the title, I might have accused anyone nearby of having a rye sense of humour, except the carriage was empty. It was like it had materialised specifically with me in mind - there was no way I couldn't read it.
Well written, but a horrible trope of the 60s/70s: writer tries to atone for past misdeeds in gin-riddled story that pitifully attempts to show it was he, actually, who ended up with the extra-marital egg all over the face.
Apparently Mr Amis' wife wrote the title across his exposed body when he'd fallen asleep on a beach once. Whether it was before or after publication, I don't think really matters.
It's hardly a book, either, but more of a novella.
Worst, it uses racist language without any sense of irony; if Mr Amis chose certain terms to make proceedings sound more American, he was horribly misjudged to do so, which must also go for the editor and publisher, etc, etc.
The best thing was how well the image on the front cover matched the one described in the first few pages; unfortunately, despite its policy of trying to have every copy of a book released, the particular copy I found has thus eluded Goodreads. This one, instead, is a bit like it . . .
I'm going to try and post this with no stars, but don't think GR allows that, so it's for the cover artist if there.
Picking it up and seeing the title, I might have accused anyone nearby of having a rye sense of humour, except the carriage was empty. It was like it had materialised specifically with me in mind - there was no way I couldn't read it.
Well written, but a horrible trope of the 60s/70s: writer tries to atone for past misdeeds in gin-riddled story that pitifully attempts to show it was he, actually, who ended up with the extra-marital egg all over the face.
Apparently Mr Amis' wife wrote the title across his exposed body when he'd fallen asleep on a beach once. Whether it was before or after publication, I don't think really matters.
It's hardly a book, either, but more of a novella.
Worst, it uses racist language without any sense of irony; if Mr Amis chose certain terms to make proceedings sound more American, he was horribly misjudged to do so, which must also go for the editor and publisher, etc, etc.
The best thing was how well the image on the front cover matched the one described in the first few pages; unfortunately, despite its policy of trying to have every copy of a book released, the particular copy I found has thus eluded Goodreads. This one, instead, is a bit like it . . .
I'm going to try and post this with no stars, but don't think GR allows that, so it's for the cover artist if there.