While, on the surface, Berger’s prose seems simple enough, any discerning reader will find it hard not to feel as if there are hidden depths that require more explanation. Much of it, I felt, would remain beyond me no matter how much I read, such is the craft that he brings to his writing.
That’s not to say that this was a fantastic read. In places it zipped along, but there were times it dragged. Not that that is the mark of a good book anyway. But the narrative shifts surprisingly and in doing so you know that Berger has larger aims than simply to spin a story.
The story of the young man known as G. allows Berger to comment on our views of love, commitment, purpose in life, relationships and, in some quite bizarre ways, sex. He doesn’t handle each with equal deft, but when he gets it right, it’s a good read.
These are complex themes and the book deserves a second, more careful reading than I was able to give it as I both finished off a semester’s assignments on my MA and took on increasingly demanding pantomime rehearsals at the same time.