Podgy, middle-aged, middle-class, daydreaming London accountant Mr Phillips lies in bed deciding when to officially wake up. This crisis proves the first of many in a day-long quest during which he assesses a life in which he still loves his wife, although she no longer features in his frequent sexual fantasies, and admits he hardly knows their two sons. Aware his weekly ritual begins with the Monday morning rumble of the bin men's lorry and that his self is determined by his job, Mr Phillips is barely alive. Delivered through a deadpan third person voice, the narrative is sustained by the endless musings and imaginings of the relentlessly meticulous central character, who sees ageing as a process with two main stages; "you went off to work one day thinking about Anne Bancroft in The Graduate and you came back thinking about Jenny Agutter in The Railway Children." Statistics and calculations come naturally to him, even when considering Page Three models, reckoning 16,744 as "the number of British women happy to take off their clothes for money per annum". There is also an inspired setpiece on the road behaviour of white van drivers, which concludes "only people who were already insane drove white vans". Exactly why an accountant is wandering London streets, bank raid and all, during the working day eventually becomes clear. Widely praised for his chillingly adroit debut The Debt to Pleasure, this intelligent, unsentimental and subtle second novel is a genuine comic masterpiece.
