I was a fan of Mordecai Richler back in the 70s and 80s and read virtually all his books.
However, for some reason, I forgot all about him until I recently found this book which was published in 1997.
It is a rambling memoir by an aging Canadian television producer called Barney Panofsky in response to the autobiography of an old rival, a writer called McIver, who Panofsky claims has misrepresented him.
I opened the book with some trepidation as I was not sure if would still like Richler after such a long absence.
Within a page I realized I had nothing to worry about as I found myself back on familiar territory - growing up in the Jewish quarter of Montreal in the 1940s among anti-Semitic French Canadians and overbearing Jewish mothers, Paris in the 1950s with young expatriates trying to become writers and chasing every woman in sight, their subsequent marriages, divorces and illnesses as the 60s and 70s fade out, leaving them ignored and forgotten by the younger generation and facing the prospect of old age.
All written in Richler's inimitably funny style that allows him to set upon his pet bugbears ranging from feminism to supporters of independence for Quebec.
The ending is poignant and, as Richler himself died shortly after the book was published, one cannot help but wonder whether certain of the sadder parts referred to him.
It is notable how much better Richler was at this kind of bittersweet material than his counterparts like Mailer, Bellow, Heller, Roth (all Jewish) Updike and Ford.
When Richler died in 2001 he was hailed not only as one of Canada's but also North America's finest writers in English.
If you are not familiar with his material then you are in for a rare treat.