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Leo Robson is the lead fiction reviewer for the New Statesman.
Rushdie’s Booker-nominated Cervantes homage Quichotte is prone to lapses in tact and taste, and a lack of respect for the reader’s time or powers of concentration.
This brave, terse, unsettling novel provides yet more evidence of Levy’s skill.
Focusing purely on football, and with a staff of 57 writers and editors, is the new British arm of the start-up any good?
Using an elaborate conceptual framework, the novel takes place during a mildly fractious 20-minute house viewing.
Yeats and Beckett haunt Barry’s Booker-longlisted novel about a woebegone pair of middle-aged Cork-born gangsters waiting in a Spanish port.
Parodied or neglected by critics, Iris Murdoch’s work has fallen out of fashion. But, 100 years after her birth, her brilliantly fluid novels still defy convention.
How Johnson’s writings reveal the desires and delusions of the boy who would be “world king”.
Thomas Harris’s latest novel is a welcome departure from his narrow and numbing obsession with Lecter.
Can we prove how storytelling appeals to our neural processes?
French's attempt to elevate crime fiction into literature leaves the reader in a near-constant state of befuddlement.
