Not funny, too self-obsessedHenry is so self-obsessively obnoxious that I:a)could never find his expolits funny; andb)wasn’t engaged enough to appreciate or be interested in the wry humour or even the insights that this intelligent author undoubtedly has.Which was a shame, because if he has been on Booker lists, he must be good. Mustn’t he?Raised the odd smile, but as soon as I found out that Henry shares biography with Jacobson, I was put off. Introspection like that does not make the sort of fiction I like reading.If I want astute examination of the male Jewish psyche, I’ll stick to Roth. He does it way better, without trying half as hard as this “novel” did. This had a thousandth of the imagination, a pale shadow of the wit, and none of the intellectual power of even an average Roth novel.Or I'll read some Woody Allen. He's funny. Or, he used to be.I intended reading this as a prelude to trying “The Finkler Question”, which was so acclaimed; but I doubt I’ll bother now.
