' outwardly the unfilmable script of a would-be English cineste, one Richard Arthur Thornby currently lecturing in Texas on the cinema. He airs a hypothetical movie of both his own American present and his middle-class English families past. . ' John Fowles
This is a prodigiously rich and allusive book ... We haven't been exposed to such a Rabelaisian gusto of language... if you want to claim that you have lived through this century, that you think you 'understand' its peculiar English seas, its psychological immensities - not least those of self-deception - here is your book.
Complex and playful, joyous and devastating, something as downright relevant as the tip of your nose ... Still is actually a film in fiction. It's as bright and disjointed as The Waste Land.
Enduring, effervescent ... A masterpiece of slipstreaming, sinuous prose.