Somehow disappointing. PS is obviously well-read, and can write; wasn't TLS editor for nothing. But the structure is over-complex, pseudo-cinematic, partly post-modern. He tells three stories in three time frames: his sojourn in Alexandria writing and researching this book; his autobiography, or at least parts of it, mostly when he wasn't doing very well so tinkering with earlier drafts of the book; thirdly, the story of Cleopatra herself. Only the third one really catches fire - the power of narrative history, the outsize characters involved, their subsequent fame.It's a familiar story in outline, but we learn much more, including about some of the minor characters. The bits of PS's own life, however, seem mostly dreary, even if here and there he captures something e.g. the Kafkaesque quality of working for Shell, the loopiness of the unionised printing world. And modern Alexandria seems dreary too, its ancient glories long covered in dust, his activities coming down to hanging about waiting for something to happen. ( )