I came to this book in a slightly round-about manner, having attended a book group meeting where the author Jeff Phelps had come to talk about the book - but I'd missed the previous month's meeting so hadn't read the book. Seeing the author having to defend his writing from questions by a group of middle-aged women who'd found fault in some of the characters in this debut novel, it all seemed a little unfair.
It was a couple of years later when I was bought a copy of the book, and was able to read it and make my own mind up. I liked it very much - the central character is a flawed man (I wondered how much was autobiographical) but ultimately a likeable character about whom I remained interested as he got through the trials and tribulations of his fractured family life. The (local to me) Black Country setting frequently touched me as a bonus, and the story was ultimately a pleasing and involving one.
This book was hardgoing and difficult to get through. The main reason being that Malcolm the main charactor was so hard to like and I could not symphathise with the situation he found himself in. He does little to prevent what happens to him and is a stereotypical artist determined to suffer for his art.
Malcolm produces new pieces or art/ sculture presumably as a symbol of how he is coping or not coping with life. I say his wife had a lucky escape and pity his new girlfriend.
There is a very strange London trip that seems totally at odds with the rest of the book.
I found Malcolm annoying and despite being set in the Blackcountry couldnt wait to finish it and read something more interesting.