I find that Sebastian Faulks' books alway remind me of a film version of historical events, rather than giving an impression of "that's what it must have been like." And just like a glossy film by someone like Anthony Minghella, his books are enjoyable but not quite as profound as they think they are. Everthing is here for a snapshot of the sixties: jazz, cocktails, Jackie-dresses, sexy housewives, world-weary hacks... It's gorgeous, but it's a pastiche.
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