Having attended the drama school so thinly disguised by Esther Freud in this novel I looked forward to comparing a seminal time in my life. No such luck. This superficial account trades the authentic for generalised cliches. It's infuriating. So much of what is written about the theatre - the narcissism, backslapping, bitching, tantrums and neuroses - only serves to feed the generally received idea of the profession. And in any case it's out of date. Real life for the modern actor is so much more complex, surprising and tough. There are some sharply observed moments here, revealing the fact that the author knows this world from first hand. But this only serves to highlight the novel's deficiencies. We skip from episode to episode in the lives of a group of actors without ever being made to care about what happens to them. There are almost no references to the world at large and by the time we reach the end - the Royal Gala premiere - we might as well be reading Hello! without the benefit of that magazine's glossy photos . A big disappointment.