... There is one book from 2002 that I remember enjoying hugely: Hari Kunzru's The Impressionist . AdamMars-Jones didn't love it overmuch, but perhaps the blizzard of hype surrounding an advance for a debut novel reported to be in the region of £1.25m – a figure since denied by the author – was enough to obscure some of the book's merits. I didn't much like the...
... my mind were acutely aware. Even the sharp recollections of the nearly-quadriplegic character of AdamMars-Jones's Pilcrow seemed enviable as my skin burned with every contact with furniture, fabric, sheets, water, and air. I thought more of Lawrence Sterne and his miserable years during which he amused himself with Tristram Shandy , and all those years Martin Luther spent...
AdamMars-Jones finds much to relish in Blake Bailey's life of John Cheever – a writer who had an immense capacity for joy but none for happiness Blake Bailey seems to specialise in writing the lives of self-destructive American writers – first Richard Yates , now John Cheever. He may have a full biographical career ahead of him. Cheever breaks the general pattern...