Title: A glib, vulgar book from an alienated writer
Product review: Martin Amis, too talented for his own good, has created a London of over-the-top too uninteresting to be either repellent or satirical. Amis misses the mark (by a long way) of earlier novels such as the highly accomplised Money, probably because as we read we know he has written the words but he, as narrator, seems miles away. The result is, for all its mellifluous prose, a glib, vulgar treatise on class. A surprising misfire.
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