The emerging high priest of the the new "old" school of literary criticism has put his reputation on the line with a novel of his own. And his reputation is intact. Wood tells the story of Tom Bunting, a shambolic, feckless, disorganised wannabe philosopher/writer/academic - something. A man so used to lying, that his inner musings about his own lying are quite possibly self delusional in themselves. The reader is rendered helpless to accept anything he says as any kind of truth. Except that he is in very real turmoil about his Father, and the moral and spiritual legacy of his upbringing at the hands of such a clearly "good" man. This turmoil, which is at the heart of Bunting's moral paralysis in the face of completing his PhD, squaring up to the responsibilities of his (now failed) marriage to Jane and his constant musings about religion, provide Bunting with a beating human heart. There is also a touch of "Lucky Jim" in Bunting's wry observations, his haplessness and charm inspite himself. Wood mixes a set of writing techniques that are a neatly controlled blend of the old and new - the post-modernism of the oh so unreliable narrator, and the closely observed portraiture of Eliot (Silas Marner springs to mind) or even Jane Austen. Wood is an excellent crafsman and has produced a satisfying, thoughtful and thought provoking work of fiction - even if you want to shake Bunting by the shoulders from time to time and tell him to "move on for God's sake" - but he doesn't believe in God, of course...or does he?