by Martin Amis
Many thanks to this review for providing the inspiration!Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gosh! Gos...
Nicola knows she will die. She wants to be involved in the process and help deliver herself to her fate. She thinks it will be either Keith or Guy to kill her, and she masterfully attempts to make each of them fall in love with her, thinking she will be killed somehow in relation to this. On the sid...
The story is punctuated by the self-conscious musings of a narrator who is both seperate from, and part of, the story. These interruptions become grating after a while and are superflous to the narrative. this book is drawn out, dull and lacking any real sense of purpose.This book is not a whodunit ...
London Fields is a book with a plot so pointless it made me angry, and a cast of blatant stereotypes. It's distinguished by some flourishes of wonderful writing, and the presence of one character who is one of my favourite creations of modern British fiction.Initially, there is plenty to like. The n...
Confusing and confused novel. Very confused. Perhaps I have to blame the Italian translator for it and not Martin Amis, but it's particularly hard following this book, page after page. Nevertheless, I'm still insisting with it. Despite of increasing headache.
This book just has it all. Um. That's not very specific. I suppose I'd better say what "it" is. Well... off the top of my head: an engaging femme fatale, an equally engaging anti-hero - Keith Talent is an asshole's asshole - a dangerous baby, psychic powers, explicit descriptions of sex and competit...
Money was a fist full of cents better. Money was a touch thinner, too; a trifle more worked-out. Money was plotless, too, too, but the voice of John Self somehow carried you through to the end. This book, which treads pretty much the same ground (the dogshit streets of post-Thatcher London), does so...
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