Title: A book which to me seems overrated.
Product review: Having read the laudatory "blurbs" on my copy of the novel I was quite disappointed. The text was simply obscure, and the passages in seventeenth-century vernacular quickly became tiresome. I was prepared for something "macabre" and "chilling," but instead found myself merely irritated by the book's pretensions, and as for being scared - forget it. This type of thing has been done earlier and better by John Barth, so go out and read The Sot-Weed Factor instead. And as for James Fenton, Joyce Carol Oates, and Jonathan Keates, I'm not sure where their critical faculties were when they puffed this book up.
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