- By the end I was utterly in love with this book. At the start, in Manhattan, I wondered whether there was much going on here. It’s a bit micro in focus. Idiosyncratic characters with little to say, at least initially. Malcolm’s mother Frances has yet to emerge as sympathetic and pivotal.
- However, in Paris a great deal of charm kicks in, with some French natives adding zest, eg, Dr Touche and the wine merchant Jean-Charles.
- The writing is exquisite, with sharp and dazzling dialogue. This is the essence of the book. Here's an example:
'You don't believe in the supernatural? asked Mme Reynard.
'What is there to believe in? Fear and guilt and sorrow; such motivations as these will bring us to the very strangest and most obscure places in our minds. I have no faith in this story'.
'Your faith isn't required', Frances pointed out.
And another: 'The world changes, my friends, as the weather changes. Our motivations, our dreams and agitations, our fears change, too. But wine? Wine is immovable. On hearing good news, what do we do? We reach for wine. And when we hear bad news? Wine again.'
- The interactions between the characters have an old world charm to them, a world weariness that is so attractive in the glorious Paris setting. And the alcohol is a massive crutch. Enormous amounts of it drunk day and night by the whole desperate group.
- Malcolm’s story of desertion and loneliness at boarding school signifies the general emptiness of all their lives, but most importantly his mother’s. It's expertly done and lifts the story to another, serious, level.
- The ending is just right. Powerful, sad, and full of significance. Life emerging out of death.
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