by Howard Jacobson
This is the second of Jacobson’s books that I have tried to read but failed to complete. He is an excellent writer, very observant and with clever and often surprising turns of phrase. But this book, like the previous one (The Finkler Question) just left me cold. I can’t engage with the characters, even to laugh at them. The main story, if there is one, seems to revolve around middle-aged Jewish men reflecting on what it’s like to be a middle-aged Jewish man. The previous book left me with exactly the same impression.
I’m just not interested enough in these musings to want to persevere with either book. It’s going back to the library. Sorry!