Barry Pilton

A bit like David Lodge meets Terry Pratchett, this was wittily written farce set in the Welsh valleys. Most of the humour comes from the lofty prose, making it feel as though one is watching the daft goings-on from a seat in the gods. The events themselves were hit and miss as far as I was concerned - the subtle savagery of the corporate jolly was brilliant, whereas I failed to ‘get’ a lot of the stuff about the pub – but the writing was magical.

The author has a habit of teasing the reader with situations which look like something they are not. For example the ageing police sergeant and his wife who take a blow up doll with them on their evening out. Other scenes may intervene before a satisfactory explanation is offered (phew, they’re running a first-aid workshop). I learned to accept such scenarios in the sure and certain knowledge that clarification would be along presently.

I hadn’t read the author’s previous novels set in the same location, and it didn’t matter because this one is perfectly capable of standing alone. I may well seek them out in the future, though.… (altro)