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Title: the literary equivalent of watching grass grow
Review: This book wins my award for the most unreadable novel ever written: English twits talking endless twaddle. Thats all there is. No plot, no suspense, no conflict, no characterization, no development of anything--you could shuffle the chapters and it would make no difference in either the novel's outcome or rampant boredom. It is simply a litany of shallow upper class stereotypes making prissy comments about the insignificant concerns in their lives--i.e. a character's "confusingly firm buttocks ... set off by his tight Fred Perry shorts." That's about the depth of character insight one gets in this novel. Read it at your peril.
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