The first novel in eight years from one of Britain's most popular and generous literary critic-commentators was also to be his farewell, as Bradbury died last November. This fast-moving picaresque romp was warmly received on publication. Though not quite the comic masterpiece British reviewers might lead you to expect, it is a lively narrative of musings, sketches and Bradbury's particular brand of engaging cleverness. As with his previous novels, it quickly establishes the familiar Bradbury atmosphere of convivial complicity that tends to make the reader feel he or she is attending a friendly seminar. Story was always central to his conversational, anecdotal fiction. Early in this novel the narrator, yet another variation of his stock creature, the self regarding academic-on-the-make, at yet an other conference, is called upon to deliver a paper he has not written. Instead of the scheduled lecture, he offers a colourful account of Lawrence Sterne's funeral, an event delayed by some 200 years owing to the absence of a corpse. It's a good yarn but the audience is not pleased. The narrator, who also writes novels and has an interest in history and books, goes in search of the Enlightenment hero, Diderot. The trail, subsidised by another invitation, brings him to St Petersburg. Meanwhile, a parallel narrative featuring Diderot and Catherine the Great is also enfolding. Death becomes an ongoing theme, as does Bradbury's fear for the future of culture. The deliberate intent is tempered by his lightness of touch. Far better than many more pretentious recent British novels, it is a worthy swan-song for a writer and exciting teacher who loved the business of reading. This paperback edition includes fine tributes from his friend, writer Prof David Lodge and former student, novelist Ian McEwan.
