A Bit Of A Fan

Reading Julian Barnes's Arthur & George at the moment and thoroughly enjoying it, to the extent that I realise I've become a bit of a fan of his work. It looks like he joins the ranks of Robertson Davies, Peter Ackroyd, J.M. Coetzee, Margaret Atwood and David Lodge - novelists who, as far as I'm concerned, can do no wrong, the sure sign of this being that reading their stuff is effortless for me - the only effort, I suppose, being having to slow down to relish the pleasure of reading. I don't mean that I consider all their books to be masterpieces, simply that I have a kind of automatic sympathy with their work that makes it unputdownable.

I should have realised this, with regards to Barnes, before, but oddly enough I didn't. And this despite relishing A History of the World in 10½ Chapters and Flaubert's Parrot. The problem is that I read Metroland years ago, my first exposure to his work, and just didn't get it. I suppose that coloured my view and afterwards I regarded the material I liked as 'one-offs'. Except they clearly weren't. It's nice to know there are plenty of treats in store.