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It's a strange book. For long stretches it comes across as words for the sake of words. A novel that is inching towards Proust or perhaps Balzac but really is going nowhere. There is very little that shouts out Dali or surrealism. Yet, at the same time, somehow, it's compelling. The characters may end up doing little other than live but, somehow, there's something in there that catches one's interest.

Forsooth, sweet ladies and lords all, do I proceed to advance beyond the Saxon English into a mishmash of contrived language, spellbound by the flowery connivance of a scrivener's floridity - It's hard going. King Alfred as a not very proficient Shakespeare imitator would make him. I will finish it. Wish me luck.

A fascinating study of the behind the scenes work done to secure military aid to the USSR during World War 2. It's true that the concentration on political and economic negotiations negates the sacrifice made by the military forces on the battlefields, the fate of the British Arctic convoys comes across strongly, however, the author brings forward the tremendous responsibilities everyone involved had to accept.

I am getting close to p.300 and I have to admit it is a bit of a struggle. As a comedy it is not funny enough. As a satire it satirizes a world that I am not familiar with. I suppose I could say it is Philip Roth without the laughs. Even though the language dazzles at times it is very one-paced storytelling which is surprising if one considers the regularity of references to sex. Hopefully the second half is better.