My first encounter with the work of John Hawkes was many years ago, when I read [The Lime Twig], along with other titles of his. So I was expecting the hypnotic, almost hallucinatory atmosphere again when I picked up this book. But it's a different animal - and animals play a huge part in this book, specifically horses. The story is told from the point of view of a photographer involved with a family addicted to fox-hunting, and I suppose we are meant to care for this character, but he left me rather cold. Interpolated in his narrative is the story of the artist George Stubb, who painted 'Whistlejacket' in 1762. Stubb had a fierce desire to understand the anatomy of the animals he painted, especially horses, and even people (he illustrated a medical text). This story was more straightforwardly told than the one wrapping it.

Although Hawkes brings in his usual obsessions with sex and death, the book was strangely unmoving. I can understand why the ratings here are so low. ( )