Well, it's sort of cheating to mark it as read since I reckon I skipped a full half of it, but still. I hated the start, found slim pickings in the middle and really rather dug the end, autobiographical section. Even though at times, his disarming honesty about his own flaws conversely got my hackles up. But he is a kind of charming writer, especially when you feel he's writing freely. But I don't share his tastes in photography - or is that a backwards way of saying I don't think he's very insightful on it - and many of the literary review pieces struck me as slight. Martin Amis has ruined me for all others in this area. And his essay on being an only child terrified me. But then he can explain the weighty ennui of trudging up the same road every day in such a way that I grew to like him again. I did not imagine I'd come away from this collection feeling more ready to read one of his novels than, say, Out Of Sheer Rage, but there you are, I have done.