This collection of stories has been widely praised, so much so that I found it hard at times to reconcile the reviewers' enthusiasm with the reality. Many of the stories are vignettes of London flat life, told in a hard, flat, neon-like prose with little nuance, and with a tone of consciously laid-back disenchantment. Sex, need I say it, rears its (rather tired) head a great deal, and the general ambience is partly bohemian, partly chic, partly grotty. "Atmosphere" appears to be Hanif Kureishi's strongest point; his characters tend to be one-dimensional, sketched against an emotional monochrome. They make such a point of caring about nothing that, in turn, it's hard to get interested in them at all.