Boyd is a wonderful writer. This story spans decades and two world wars and finally touches on an awful period in our history. The ending was too philosophical for me; would have preferred a more literal end. ( )

This is my 8th Boyd novel and while good, it’s not my favorite and I’m glad I didn’t read this early on as it may have kept me from reading others. In terms of pacing it was pretty even, although the parts where JJ waxes on and on and on about his Confessions filming does get a bit much. I resorted to skimming.

JJ himself isn’t such a winning character; like many of Boyd’s others he makes a lot of bad decisions, but on top of that he’s a bit too sorry for himself. He has the insight to see that he’s the common denominator of all the trouble in his life, but he is powerless to change or feels that he is. Either way he never bothers to try and that makes his whining trying to read about. He also dislikes a lot of people on sight and that doesn’t help. Each trouble and tragedy is delivered to the reader with a thud of finality. Baldly stated it hits you in your brain to good effect.

Like many of Boyd’s other novels featuring male protagonists, the women in the book only serve to forward his actions, they never have lives in their own right or have stories that don’t prop up his. Doon might be an exception here, but she isn’t since JJ is so hung up on her that she becomes a source of self-pity. And as usual, sex is a common preoccupation for JJ. Right to the end he’s a lecherous old bugger. ( )

Absorbing reading, and pleasantly non-gripping.

I like the drollness of the anti-heroic narrator in this one. "A little reflection and the so-called pattern of your life soon appears as little more than an aggregate of hazard and chance." There's an off-beat, very understated quality unique to Boyd. This is the third book of his that I have read. ( )

Had to give up at the start of his WW1, first time around. I thought, maybe if I d read J J R's original this traipse through time would be more compelling. Then, while writing on Rousseau May 2014 the parallels offered by Boyd rang loud and clear and I could hardly put it down. Picaresque like Don Quixote. Weird end. The whole really adds up to nothing much but it seems as if that's the way Boyd wants to show life. A big collection of could have beens by a has-been. The protagonist is not attractive, but still, he is human and as confessional and apparently honest as Rousseau the original was. Life without a point, without God under the sun. ( )