This book won the 2004 Man Booker Prize. I don't think it deserved it. Perhaps, like one of the reviews on Amazon.com, I'm not a sophisticated reader.
But what's to like about it? It's a story of a young gay man in the England of Margaret Thatcher. The story moves slowly, as if he's trying to tell us about each second of the day, and after all the plodding along through so many pages, I didn't feel any closer to, or that I knew any of the characters any better. He may do a good job of portraying gay life in the 1980s England, but I'd much rather read about the general life in 1980s England, which he puts in the passenger seat here. This whole focus on the gay life put me off, really. Comparing it to Sarah Waters' lesbianism writing, I prefer her book, because she's more subtle with it, focusing more on their feelings as a person, rather than a lesbian; Hollinghurst's gay activities are more physically described. Maybe that's how it is in real life, I won't know, but I think he could approach it with more finesse.
Maybe I need to read the book again to appreciate the subtler points of the supposed genius writing that deserved the Booker Prize (over people like Susanna Clarke and Colm Toibin), but I don't think that time will ever come. There are so many better books to read that can be appreciated at first flip.
Rating: *out of 5
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