What do you think?
Rate this book
The Quantity Theory of Morality
This dark yet hilariously satirical state-of-an-era novel sees Will Self's middle-class, middle-English characters apparently trapped in a timeless go-round of polite chitchat in dinner parties that refract like a hall of mirrors, until one day someone says something to the effect of, 'This way to the gas chamber, please, ladies and gentlemen.'
The Quantity Theory ofMorality finally solves the equation of time and money that dominates our lives, in a way that is simultaneously deranging, destabilizing and hilarious, showing Self to be both a master of satire and slapstick humour and a sublime and thoughtful critic of the alienation of modern life.
With The Quantity Theory of Morality, Self provides the sequel to his award-winning debut of 35 years ago, The Quantity Theory of Insanity. That literary psycho-surgery proved there wasn't enough sanity to go around - now he's established what many of us fear to be the absolute there isn't enough good to go around, either.
The Quantity Theory ofMorality finally solves the equation of time and money that dominates our lives, in a way that is simultaneously deranging, destabilizing and hilarious, showing Self to be both a master of satire and slapstick humour and a sublime and thoughtful critic of the alienation of modern life.
With The Quantity Theory of Morality, Self provides the sequel to his award-winning debut of 35 years ago, The Quantity Theory of Insanity. That literary psycho-surgery proved there wasn't enough sanity to go around - now he's established what many of us fear to be the absolute there isn't enough good to go around, either.
330 pages, Kindle Edition
Published March 5, 2026
39 people are currently reading
3740 people want to read
About the author
Will Self
185 books1,023 followersWilliam Self is an English novelist, reviewer and columnist. He received his education at University College School, Christ's College Finchley, and Exeter College, Oxford. He was married to the late journalist Deborah Orr.
Self is known for his satirical, grotesque and fantastic novels and short stories set in seemingly parallel universes.
Self is known for his satirical, grotesque and fantastic novels and short stories set in seemingly parallel universes.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 23 of 23 reviews
March 23, 2026
For his twelfth novel, Self returns to the realm of épater les bourgeois in a sprawling satirical novel that harks back to his first story collection where Dr. Zack Busner, the eccentric shrink based on R.D. Laing made his first appearance. Self takes an old tale ‘The Minor Character’ as a springboard for five subsequent narratives that recast a sequence of events in a North London bourgeois milieu from various perspectives, each spinning off into their own surreal tangents and topical hobbyhorses—in one, the male characters have their penis sizes attached to their names, in another the Self-insert Will becomes writer of erotica Willa, in another the backdrop is recast into a fascistic hellscape of an antisemitic Britain. The sheer bloat of modish topics, the metafictional flourishes, the niggling prolixity of his prose, the Queneauesque repetition of his plots and characters, caused a simultaneous delight and overwhelm in my reading that left me reeling, amused, and baffled (all at once). The return of Zack Busner was welcome, lending an elegiac tenor to the novel. Self signals his own failing health too, suggesting this might be his final work. As with the later tracts of H.G. Wells, Self’s novel is a messy, high-wire act from a mind at the end of its tether.
April 3, 2026
Stop all the clocks and cut off the telephone and immerse yourself into this kaleidoscopic novel, this fireworks display of joyous and angry…invention.
Self takes a series of vile bodied vignettes that hump along from dinner party to death and turns the TARDIS knobs in his head this way and that and reports the distorts in his world of pure…imagination.
Original review:
So…this is real?? Word a few years ago was his next story collection was going to be Minor Character and Other Stories - maybe that will be included here alongside “All Actors Have Died"
Self takes a series of vile bodied vignettes that hump along from dinner party to death and turns the TARDIS knobs in his head this way and that and reports the distorts in his world of pure…imagination.
Original review:
So…this is real?? Word a few years ago was his next story collection was going to be Minor Character and Other Stories - maybe that will be included here alongside “All Actors Have Died"
April 1, 2026
bit messy overall, sometimes funny but not funny enough.
liked some of the ideas, that our virtue signalling culture ultimately involves no sacrifice and how this may manifest in complacency in the rise of fascism while we enjoy our consumer goods.
interesting on saying we should reject niceness (acting kind) in favour of sincerity - even if that means causing temporary discomfort...
did relate a bit with how vacuous/vain some of the characters in the book were which wasn't pleasant but i think most readers would feel similarly...
liked some of the ideas, that our virtue signalling culture ultimately involves no sacrifice and how this may manifest in complacency in the rise of fascism while we enjoy our consumer goods.
interesting on saying we should reject niceness (acting kind) in favour of sincerity - even if that means causing temporary discomfort...
did relate a bit with how vacuous/vain some of the characters in the book were which wasn't pleasant but i think most readers would feel similarly...
March 30, 2026
Video review https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=05JKz...
Seemed to be 3 different books trying to fight for supremacy and ultimately none of them won out. First section threatened some interesting post-modernism but this just dribbled away to nothing.
Seemed to be 3 different books trying to fight for supremacy and ultimately none of them won out. First section threatened some interesting post-modernism but this just dribbled away to nothing.
April 14, 2026
Scorched earth satire: no prisoners, no consolation, no fucks given. This is not a subtle novel but instead a rudimentary work of fiction that frequently flaunts the thinness of its own fabular wrapping. The fabric tears, the mask slips, the narrative defaults to pure, no-holds-barred screed. The hypocrisies of the chattering classes; the horrors of a revenant fascism; “bloody Israel, and its bloody deeds”—Self is an angry man with much to rage against. This is his funniest book in more than a decade.
February 25, 2026
I loved this book. I won a social media giveaway to bag a copy. Will Self’s writing style is unique with streams of consciousness, mixed with phenomenology and philosophy. His writing is scattered with popular culture and political references. His characters brilliantly interwoven, their escapades in parallel situations was vey clever and at times quite hilarious. You’re left pondering your very existence and what life is all about. I liked the reemergence of Dr Zack Busner to the plot. Highly entertaining. Thank you Will and his people!
March 25, 2026
With the appearance of the near- canonical Zack Busner (how many times has he appeared in Self's fiction over the years, especially since his brilliant debut of 35 years ago, The Quantity Theory of Insanity?) towards the very unconventional and expansive midsection of the book, the stage is set for a brilliant continuation of the theme he explored with his more conventional (and streamlined!) debut. The threads of this new theme is described by the selfsame Busner (on page 193):
'The quantity theory of morality...concerns the human propensity to do things they hold to be either right or wrong- to commit themselves to this exercise of justice, or injustice; and to allow either evil, or righteousness to enter into their being.'
As in his earlier novels the characteristic periphrasis is still there, only to be redoubled in intensity by the somewhat oddly structured narrative. It is quite hard to make out, especially at the first reading whether Self intends this to be meant as a novel of uniform length, or as a collection of separate 'anecdotes' (for they seem somewhat irregularly structured to call them 'stories'!). I came out of this novel after having flipped the last page totally overhwhelmed by the freewheeling yet modish topics of the characters. But admixed with that feeling of being deluged by verbiage and wordplay was a sense of delight that comes out of being the audience for a literary master at work displaying his wares, albeit in a more subdued fashion. In essence, the entire book reads like a sort of modern morality play that hearkens back to the medieval ages, featuring personified virtues and vices battling for a human soul.
The titular theory of his more than impressive debut 35 years ago the ever omnipotent Zack Busner quotes as:
“the surface of the collective psyche was like the worn, stripy ticking of an old mattress. If you punched into its coiled hide at any point, another part would spring up – there was no action without reaction, no laughter without tears, no normality without its pissing accompanist.”
Thirty-five years on the same Zack Busner proffers the warning (on page 255):
'Clearly, there really wasn't enough goodness to go round. Not enough, at all.'
The thesis underpinning Self’s new book is that society has marooned itself in moral deficit. Evidently, the scenario is quite bleak, it is, as he posits in each section of the book.
Elsewhere, another wonderful reviewer states:
'The Quantity Theory of Morality' contains multitudes, including multiple iterations of itself. Through each of the novel’s five parts, a similar scenario repeats itself: the dinner party, the opera at Glyndebourne, the New Year’s gathering in Dorset, the holiday in La Spezia, the disastrous funeral. These set pieces play out in similar fashion, up to and including word-for-word repetition of certain lines of dialogue, though their points of view are different and the characteristics of the participants peculiarly fluid: in one, all the characters are male, and tagged with their penis size. In the next, they are all female: “Willa” is now a writer of erotic fiction, and it’s Phillipa Szabo mixing the mojitos.
Above all, this is a rollicking, unsettling and furiously intelligent work of fiction (which is still far from his very best!) that deserves a second reading by me to fully absorb the contents of this extended version of a modern morality play that stretches through each of the five sections of this narrative. I only hope that it is not meant as a valedictory statement by Self for he has not been enjoying the best of health lately. Self is now dealing with advanced secondary myelofibrosis, an advanced form of the rare blood cancer polycythaemia vera, with which he was diagnosed in 2022 and which led to a stem-cell transplant in 2024. He has been unwell, seriously unwell, and I can only hope he continues to write and soon enjoys better health.
Another interesting trivia is that the new book was penned in a 12-week creative frenzy (with the author “typing like a wind-up tin toy”).
“The great solecism of them all,” Self screams in a recent tabloid interview, “is when people say, ‘You look well!’ Oh, oh… your eyes are a diagnostic tool for a fucking allogenic stem cell transplant, are they?” We laugh and embrace the darkness—the very essence of Will Self.
'The quantity theory of morality...concerns the human propensity to do things they hold to be either right or wrong- to commit themselves to this exercise of justice, or injustice; and to allow either evil, or righteousness to enter into their being.'
As in his earlier novels the characteristic periphrasis is still there, only to be redoubled in intensity by the somewhat oddly structured narrative. It is quite hard to make out, especially at the first reading whether Self intends this to be meant as a novel of uniform length, or as a collection of separate 'anecdotes' (for they seem somewhat irregularly structured to call them 'stories'!). I came out of this novel after having flipped the last page totally overhwhelmed by the freewheeling yet modish topics of the characters. But admixed with that feeling of being deluged by verbiage and wordplay was a sense of delight that comes out of being the audience for a literary master at work displaying his wares, albeit in a more subdued fashion. In essence, the entire book reads like a sort of modern morality play that hearkens back to the medieval ages, featuring personified virtues and vices battling for a human soul.
The titular theory of his more than impressive debut 35 years ago the ever omnipotent Zack Busner quotes as:
“the surface of the collective psyche was like the worn, stripy ticking of an old mattress. If you punched into its coiled hide at any point, another part would spring up – there was no action without reaction, no laughter without tears, no normality without its pissing accompanist.”
Thirty-five years on the same Zack Busner proffers the warning (on page 255):
'Clearly, there really wasn't enough goodness to go round. Not enough, at all.'
The thesis underpinning Self’s new book is that society has marooned itself in moral deficit. Evidently, the scenario is quite bleak, it is, as he posits in each section of the book.
Elsewhere, another wonderful reviewer states:
'The Quantity Theory of Morality' contains multitudes, including multiple iterations of itself. Through each of the novel’s five parts, a similar scenario repeats itself: the dinner party, the opera at Glyndebourne, the New Year’s gathering in Dorset, the holiday in La Spezia, the disastrous funeral. These set pieces play out in similar fashion, up to and including word-for-word repetition of certain lines of dialogue, though their points of view are different and the characteristics of the participants peculiarly fluid: in one, all the characters are male, and tagged with their penis size. In the next, they are all female: “Willa” is now a writer of erotic fiction, and it’s Phillipa Szabo mixing the mojitos.
Above all, this is a rollicking, unsettling and furiously intelligent work of fiction (which is still far from his very best!) that deserves a second reading by me to fully absorb the contents of this extended version of a modern morality play that stretches through each of the five sections of this narrative. I only hope that it is not meant as a valedictory statement by Self for he has not been enjoying the best of health lately. Self is now dealing with advanced secondary myelofibrosis, an advanced form of the rare blood cancer polycythaemia vera, with which he was diagnosed in 2022 and which led to a stem-cell transplant in 2024. He has been unwell, seriously unwell, and I can only hope he continues to write and soon enjoys better health.
Another interesting trivia is that the new book was penned in a 12-week creative frenzy (with the author “typing like a wind-up tin toy”).
“The great solecism of them all,” Self screams in a recent tabloid interview, “is when people say, ‘You look well!’ Oh, oh… your eyes are a diagnostic tool for a fucking allogenic stem cell transplant, are they?” We laugh and embrace the darkness—the very essence of Will Self.
March 30, 2026
Good reads
I was almost 100 pages into this book before it dawned on me that it isn’t a novel at all, but an attempt to show the author’s readers how extensive his vocabulary is. There’s so much negativity in the world, and I don’t want to add to it, plus there’s the “brotherhood of writers” thing - so I’ll be as kind as I can (at the risk of giving this dreadful book a more positive review than it deserves).
1. You do not need to demonstrate your admittedly extensive vocabulary - it’s boring and no-one is interested
2. Masturbation - mentioned on almost every page - is similarly boring to read about
3. Read a few classic novels (Dickens, Brontë, Austen etc.) and try again, bearing points 1 and 2 in mind
I was almost 100 pages into this book before it dawned on me that it isn’t a novel at all, but an attempt to show the author’s readers how extensive his vocabulary is. There’s so much negativity in the world, and I don’t want to add to it, plus there’s the “brotherhood of writers” thing - so I’ll be as kind as I can (at the risk of giving this dreadful book a more positive review than it deserves).
1. You do not need to demonstrate your admittedly extensive vocabulary - it’s boring and no-one is interested
2. Masturbation - mentioned on almost every page - is similarly boring to read about
3. Read a few classic novels (Dickens, Brontë, Austen etc.) and try again, bearing points 1 and 2 in mind
Read
March 30, 2026man loves his words
Review of advance copy received from Goodreads Giveaways
I received an advance copy. Thank you, Goodreads giveaways.
This novel was... a ride. The cast of characters are significantly less likable than Jay Gatsby's crew, but at least they had the same work ethic. They spend a few chapters re-living the same vapid series of hollow lunch dates and group vacations from different perspectives. This group is less interested in being friends and more concerned with hookups.
Eventually we learn why we should care about this crew. There's no real redemption arc, and the novel is stronger for it.
I was admittedly a bit lost on some cultural things, being from the US and not England.
Will Self certainly has something to say, and we should listen.
This novel was... a ride. The cast of characters are significantly less likable than Jay Gatsby's crew, but at least they had the same work ethic. They spend a few chapters re-living the same vapid series of hollow lunch dates and group vacations from different perspectives. This group is less interested in being friends and more concerned with hookups.
Eventually we learn why we should care about this crew. There's no real redemption arc, and the novel is stronger for it.
I was admittedly a bit lost on some cultural things, being from the US and not England.
Will Self certainly has something to say, and we should listen.
March 10, 2026
‘It’s for this reason I remain a stranger in this twee land, with its leaden suburbs of privet and half-timbering, and its gnome-like people, saying “please” so as to make it sound like “fuck off”, and enunciating “fuck off?” as if it were a polite request.’
All the usual Will Self virtues (indecently accurate observation, glass-sharp images, superb dialogue) and all his usual vices (lumpy vocabulary, disdain for realism, plot and character).
All the usual Will Self virtues (indecently accurate observation, glass-sharp images, superb dialogue) and all his usual vices (lumpy vocabulary, disdain for realism, plot and character).
March 9, 2026
This is my first time reading a book by Will Self and boy was I in for a treat! The Quantity Theory of Morality is a sequel to The Quantity Theory of Insanity - which came out 34 years ago. If I’d read Insanity first, I likely would’ve had a much better idea what I was in for with Morality, but it was fun to go into this one blind.
Each chapter is the same, yet different. I enjoyed that aspect of this book and haven’t read anything like it before. As the details change in each retelling, one thing remains the same, and that is the narrators wit and ability to convey the shallow truth behind the many characters he spends time with. The book reads as a stream of consciousness and I found myself confused at times and re-reading parts, but soon realized that the details didn’t matter as much as the message did.
I recommend this book to readers who are already fans of Will Self and those who enjoy lit fic that is especially clever about our human condition!
Thank you to Grove Atlantic and NetGalley for the free ARC!
Each chapter is the same, yet different. I enjoyed that aspect of this book and haven’t read anything like it before. As the details change in each retelling, one thing remains the same, and that is the narrators wit and ability to convey the shallow truth behind the many characters he spends time with. The book reads as a stream of consciousness and I found myself confused at times and re-reading parts, but soon realized that the details didn’t matter as much as the message did.
I recommend this book to readers who are already fans of Will Self and those who enjoy lit fic that is especially clever about our human condition!
Thank you to Grove Atlantic and NetGalley for the free ARC!
December 8, 2025
Hmmmm.. I tried. An unusual novel and it just didn’t gel with me. Probably not my cup of tea. Thank you to #netgalley and the publisher for an ARC.
March 27, 2026
There was a period in my life where I really enjoyed the writing of Will Self. The wit, the wordplay, the devious delight of many of his characters. "Book of Dave" was a fascinating fever dream utopia that I recommended to several friends. "Dorian" was a wonderful modernization of a classic tale that somehow rivalled the craftsmanship of the original, no small feat given who that original's author was. "Great Apes" was rollicking, and many of his short stories were quick hits of fictional heroin. I even delighted in his non-fiction ("Psychogeography"), being something of a drug-using flaneur myself.
Alas, while he remains as awe-inspiringly sesquipedalian as ever (there aren't many novels I need to read with a dictionary at-hand; it almost makes one wonder who the audience for such works is in 2026), this book felt like something of a self-congratulatory coda to his career as a novelist. It brings back characters from his previous works, and it's the same story told from different perspectives in each chapter, which is all well and good. But it isn't a particularly gripping/witty story. Some people have a party, someone commits suicide, England (perhaps?) begins to commit a pogrom against its Jewry (not really sure, this is only alluded to in one chapter). It's funny in an "ah, I see what you did there, mate" way that the author makes himself a character in his own fictional work, and one which the other characters seem universally to speak ill of. Will Self is very aware of his character flaws as a human.
But really, although the book is set in the modern day, the long, meandering sentences, the incessant code-switching (across class, register, and language - French, German, Latin all make repeated appearances, albeit often if only to allow a character - or the author - to impress upon the reader that they know these words ), the drug-fueled memories, the odes to an England no longer extant - it all just feels dated . So much so that when Self name-drops something contemporary (Rihanna, Sasha Baron Cohen), it feels almost anachronistic. This story wants to be set in a Thatcherite England (perhaps all of Self's stories do?)
Look, Will Self is an immensely gifted writer with a truly head-shaking lexicon at his disposal. But I don't know that I'll be reading anymore of his new works. It feels like from here on out, they are going to be sad attempts at "Greatest Hits" albums.
Alas, while he remains as awe-inspiringly sesquipedalian as ever (there aren't many novels I need to read with a dictionary at-hand; it almost makes one wonder who the audience for such works is in 2026), this book felt like something of a self-congratulatory coda to his career as a novelist. It brings back characters from his previous works, and it's the same story told from different perspectives in each chapter, which is all well and good. But it isn't a particularly gripping/witty story. Some people have a party, someone commits suicide, England (perhaps?) begins to commit a pogrom against its Jewry (not really sure, this is only alluded to in one chapter). It's funny in an "ah, I see what you did there, mate" way that the author makes himself a character in his own fictional work, and one which the other characters seem universally to speak ill of. Will Self is very aware of his character flaws as a human.
But really, although the book is set in the modern day, the long, meandering sentences, the incessant code-switching (across class, register, and language - French, German, Latin all make repeated appearances, albeit often if only to allow a character - or the author - to impress upon the reader that they know these words ), the drug-fueled memories, the odes to an England no longer extant - it all just feels dated . So much so that when Self name-drops something contemporary (Rihanna, Sasha Baron Cohen), it feels almost anachronistic. This story wants to be set in a Thatcherite England (perhaps all of Self's stories do?)
Look, Will Self is an immensely gifted writer with a truly head-shaking lexicon at his disposal. But I don't know that I'll be reading anymore of his new works. It feels like from here on out, they are going to be sad attempts at "Greatest Hits" albums.
April 4, 2026
I can't tell if this is good or bad, radical or reactionary, a work of determined effort and sustained deep thinking or the lazy disjointed ramblings of a writer on easy mode - I just know that it's quintessential Will Self, and we'll miss him when he's gone. I will, anyway. Sometimes the middle class satirical elements grate (yes - his characters are vapid, stupid, entitled, drink and eat and ingest ridiculous quantities of ridiculous things...and?), sometimes the syntactical tics grate (the use of ellipses to deploy depth-charges of barely-there puns at the end of sentences becomes...de rigeur). The gender stuff feels clumsy, if well-meaning. The inability to avoid word-association (turd association) where even the mention of a wake has to be connected to a 'Finnegan's' - when there's no reason to do so except to remind us he's a Joycean (well, aren't we all). But then I read his description of going down the lifts at Hampstead and riding the Northern line and all is forgiven.
March 22, 2026
Tim (1.85m/11.2cm/7.4cm) read Will’s new book but he was not impressed. “For Christ’s sake, Will,” he said, before tailing off. He’d lost the Will, see. Geddit?
Then he did it all again, but different. Tim was Tabitha; Will was Wilhelmina. It was all just the hardened snot of habit, after all. And as Hume sagely observed, at the end of the day that’s about all anything amounts to. So Will’s wheeze is to write a rather silly story then repeat it, with variations, for the remaining 300 pages. Or put another way, in the slurpy semi-onamatopoeia of Yiddish, Will’s found a way of wanking is all off by cut-n-pasting prose and then repeating whole sections of his stuff with some added alterations along with an appearance by an old character from previous novels. Arse!
Then he did it all again, but different. Tim was Tabitha; Will was Wilhelmina. It was all just the hardened snot of habit, after all. And as Hume sagely observed, at the end of the day that’s about all anything amounts to. So Will’s wheeze is to write a rather silly story then repeat it, with variations, for the remaining 300 pages. Or put another way, in the slurpy semi-onamatopoeia of Yiddish, Will’s found a way of wanking is all off by cut-n-pasting prose and then repeating whole sections of his stuff with some added alterations along with an appearance by an old character from previous novels. Arse!
May 7, 2026
I wish that I was clever and patient enough to fully enjoy this novel - but I am not. And I was left with the lingering feeling that this was really a novel for the author himself, but perhaps that's fair enough. The repetition of the basic scenario might be a preferred approach to some post modern writing but I do love a simpler plot. Some of the different takes were thought provoking and funny, some much less so. However it was saved for me by some gloriously satiric writing, especially on the inadequacies of the British Honors system. But that's just me.
Review of advance copy received from Netgalley
It was verbose yet sharp at some points but i love how cleverly written this brilliant book is. The nuanced views from the lens of a middle person and satirical word play of connection, classism through how people connect at social functions and behave. If you want a book that truly makes you think, see how ridiculous ideas can get, experience the people behind those ideas and the endless stream of consciousness that makes you wonder what the heck.
Did Not Finish
March 28, 2026Clever and grotesque. Will and then Willa give the male/female versions of the same social events.
Should have quit after the characters' penis size, erect and flaccid section, but continued reading until the corpse violation at a funeral.
"'He must've been a good bloke,' his bouche. mused stupidly."
Should have quit after the characters' penis size, erect and flaccid section, but continued reading until the corpse violation at a funeral.
"'He must've been a good bloke,' his bouche. mused stupidly."
March 30, 2026
Incredibly unique novel. Each chapter plays out the same, but from the point of view of a different character, and with many details changed. The outcome is a circus mirror of prose that leaves your head spinning.
Sometimes the façade of character and plot drops completely, and you're nose to nose with a ranting Will Self. This does get tiresome.
Sometimes the façade of character and plot drops completely, and you're nose to nose with a ranting Will Self. This does get tiresome.
April 24, 2026
It's like you're at a party, listening to an obnoxious guy monopolise the conversation, much like many of the scenes in the book, very meta, and it really doesn't matter how great the story is, all you can think is "he's a dick, he's a dick, he's such a dick".
And I'm not convinced by the story either.
And I'm not convinced by the story either.
March 26, 2026
too long, too stuffy, it’s not that he lacks jokes, it’s that he keeps shouting the same one
Did Not Finish
April 21, 2026This is either amazing or terrible. I lean towards the latter.
Also, marking this as DNF is a complete outlier for me. I'm one of those freaks who finishes EVERYTHING!
Also, marking this as DNF is a complete outlier for me. I'm one of those freaks who finishes EVERYTHING!
Displaying 1 - 23 of 23 reviews