'A finely-wrought meditation on language, art, melancholia, lyric tenors, loss. Paul Bailey's book contains exquisitely poignant moods of regret.' Jane Shilling, Sunday Telegraph
'A poised and elegant tale.' Amellia Hill, Observer
'Lyrical and touching.' Michael Arditti, The Times
'An exquisitely composed novel of doubleness, dubeity and prolonged protected silences.' Guardian
'This fine and thoughtful tale is given a bittersweet seductiveness by the elegant sophistication of Bailey's writing and the splendid flamboyance of his central character.' Lucy Hughes-Hallet, Guardian
'The underlying story is sad - harrowing, indeed - but there is spicy humour here too. Andrew himself is an appealing narrator: honest, troubled, perceptive. It is the clarity of his vision that gives the novel its crisp and satisfying accuracy, and makes it one of Paul Bailey's best books.' Independent
'This is a beautifully worked cultural fable, elliptically presented after the manner Bailey has made uniquely his own. But it's more than this; the teller of the tale and his subject love one another deeply, and their love transfigures the world they find themselves in.' Spectator
