James Lasdun

This book had such a great premise, and I was excited to dive into another gripping thriller. Unfortunately, it didn’t deliver what I was hoping for at all! The characters were thoroughly unlikeable without any redeeming quality - especially Matthew, whose point of view we were in the entire time. The plot was excruciatingly slow, partly due to the fact that the writing was so overworked and pretentious. The novel read like it was written by an English professor trying too hard to be literary. There were entire sections that rehashed what had happened, or leisurely explored Matthew’s thoughts and obsessions, which quickly grew tedious. Then the author threw in in some unnecessary and tiresome talk about banking and the Occupy movement, which made me wonder whether his editors forced him to pad his word count. I was completely unsatisfied with this book.… (meer)

I'll be honest, I read this almost purely on the basis of Lasdun's paranoia, reported in his memoir On Being Stalked, that its subject matter would lend credence to his stalker's suggestions that he was sexually inappropriate to her (though they both agree that, actually, he was not). The central character does initially seem to be the quintessential author-insert character -- a mediocre would-be writer, with the author's own nationality, who is improbably lusted over by various female characters despite his apparent lack of interesting or attractive features.

But the plot pretty quickly takes a turn for the bizarre, and then another turn for the even-more-bizarre. Lasdun does a great job of not only of crafting a compelling thriller but also, I think, of skewering the milquetoast author-insert trope, which he leverages well to his advantage. It's a very paranoid read -- also true, of course, of Lasdun's memoir -- but also very intelligent. Would recommend to anyone looking for a short Twilight Zone-y thriller.… (meer)