Success
-
- €6.99
-
- €6.99
Publisher Description
'A terrifying, painfully funny Swiftian exercise in moral disgust' Observer
Smooth-talking, sensual and self-deluded, Gregory Riding leads an existence of formidable foppishness, his days and nights a series of effortless, titillating conquests and tireless sex - sister, employers, acquaintances are but co-stars among a cast of thousands to have passed through his busy bed. Meanwhile, Gregory's foster brother, Terry, has to make do with the leavings as he trawls through life in a miasma of grief, burdened by an unmentionable past and the unlikelihood of ever having a good time in bed.
But when Success swivels her capricious gaze roles are reversed with and the Riding brothers find their lives dramatically changed.
‘An instantly recognizable voice, penetrating, loquacious, slightly hysterical, upsetting, rising above the basso pseudo-profundo babble of his competitors like filed fingernails scraping down glass‘ Sunday Times
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
Amis's American reputation is accelerating, and this early novel, published in Britain nine years ago, is appearing here for the first time. It bears his usual hallmarks: an irresistible narrative flow, writing that seems effortlessly to embrace extremes of tough verismo and delicate poetry, and a remorseless cynicism that one London reviewer has unerringly characterized as "exhilarating unpleasantness.'' Amis's tale is of two foster brothers: Gregory, an aristocratic, self-deluded esthete and sexual all-rounder, and his lower-class adopted sibling Terry, who is as physically uncouth as Gregory is gorgeous, but whose grim tenacity and realism enable him to prevail in the hideous social struggle that is Amis's vision of London in the '70s. This is not a book for the squeamish: there is misogynism and racism galore (shades of Amis pere?), an obsessive attention to the messier bodily functions, a prevailing mood of apocalyptic hysteria and a number of comic asides that inspire winces more often than laughs. Amis is a vast talent who seems to have only his prose under control; but there is no escaping his ghastly readability, or the way his festering visions linger in the mind.