Geordie Peacock's Reviews > The Autograph Man

I'd delayed reading this book for many years because of the mediocre reviews but there it was: a lone English novel, in a Spanish book shop, so I decided to take the plunge. Plus I had just finished rereading On Beauty, which is enjoyable and insightful, and works so well as an updated Howard's End.
Unfortunately the reviews were right. This feels like it was difficult to write; you can sense the sections where Smith must have thrown up her hands in despair. It makes several clunky attempts to offer insight into the vapid nature of celebrity but it feels painfully forced - a reference to a bird singing the first notes of a popular show tune made me blush - and the Jewish/Goyish thing, although amusing at first, quickly becomes infuriating.
I always despair of reviews that complain of the lack of 'likeable characters', but you know a novel is in trouble when you could quite happily punch the noses of those with whom the author intends you to sympathise. Alex is meant to be irksome (I presume) but Adam is just a massive pain in the arse. (Is suspicion of the over earnest a Goyish thing?)
By some coincidence I started rereading London Fields halfway through (out of despair and necessity) and the similarities between Smith and Amis and their approach to tales of the city are striking, but Amis wrote about young lust, when he was in his precocious phase, and Smith has attempted to tackle something that Amis wisely left alone for a few years. I have NW on my bookshelf and I am afraid.