Now there's a strange thing: Guardian critic Adrian Searle did slag this book off when he first reviewed it but a few weeks later, in an article about various young British art shows, he ends up restating its conclusions, and even borrowing some of its witticisms--all unacknowledged, of course. A critical book like this was always going to get up the nose of those who bought into the work of Damien Hirst and his followers, and there's nothing they'd like better than to dismiss it out of hand. In fact, Stallabrass holds 'high art lite' up to a piercing light, and it's not surprising some fainter hearts should shrink from it. The prose is precise, sometimes vicious, often funny. If you want to know the way to White Cube, by all means read Louisa Buck. If you want to know what's really going on, read this.