Cold Water is an intriguing debut that has rightly received praise for its language and style. It is a short novel, but concentrated, so images and events play back on you at a later date. It demands reading at one sitting not just because of its readability but because the subtlety of the writing loses some of its effect if interrupted. A series of scenes and vignettes of bar flies and barmaids, the reader is soon immersed in a Manchester that is given an overdue cinematic hue. Sure, Manchester is notorious for its rain, its industrial decline and its music scene, but anyone who lives, works and goes out here knows that it can sometimes be a very special place - and the lack of previous literary descriptions of the city therefore seems surprising. Maybe it takes a young writer - unencumbered by the dominant London media scene and enamoured of American writing - to draw out the glamour from the grime. The Guardian has praised the novel's poetic descriptions, as if Riley sees things in a different way, but I felt that her style is best with its economy of narrative. She chisels a scene or an anecdote to a point and then lets it hang in the air without the bane of so much literary English fiction, the over explanation. Whereas the woolly monsters of Rushdie, Amis and Zadie Smith make a virtue of this emphasising a point, its rare to find a writer, particularly a debutant, who knows when to stop. In this she reminds me a little of John Lanchester or even Magnus Mills, but with the added virtue of a more colourful prose. Its got that strange nostalgia of the young, similar to Catcher in the Rye, where the best things - say, first love - have already happened and the future is not so much unknown, as on hold. She is exceptionally good at contrasting Carmel's wistful melancholy against the more sodden version of the bar flies that pepper the book. There's an accurate pessimism about the number of dreams broken and dreamers who've given up; again, something we're more used to hear from an American perspective - or in songs like Joni Mitchell's Last Time I saw Richard. Its good to read a book where every character is real, has real jobs or is trying not to have a real job. The only star or success is a washed up one - the glamorous singer, now a drug wreckage, crashed and burned. If I've a quibble, its with the wide cast of minor characters that makes it hard to care too much about them. It is the reality of barlife - passing faces - but a more contrived group would perhaps deliver the reader more empathy, beyond the narrator.; and it is very short, not a problem in itself, but, like a lot of first novels, two thirds through you realise that it is probably not going to surprise you, except in the prose, which is a delight throughout.