Julian Barnes – thoughtful, smart, sarcastic, warm, ironic. I’ve been puzzled, and slightly amused, by some readers’ claim that The Only Story – his latest book at time of writing this – was ‘boring’. They probably never made it past part One, which – I admit – does not necessarily bode well, just another love story, in this case between a 19 year old student and a mature (being 48 – does that qualify as a mature age?) woman, and not a very original one for that. Ah, but then everything changes. Susan’s alcoholic disintegration of her relationship with her ‘Casey Paul’, despite his utmost resolve and attempts to save it (and her), is worthy of Malcolm’s Lowry’s Under the Volcano. Ever thought of that one while reading part Two of The Only Story?  And the fight, the terrible, and ultimately doomed, fight. Paraphrasing Barnes: love scribbled over a wild graffiti of booze. Yes – the last part, though the shortest of the three, can be momentarily overbearing. The vivisection of the failure and its consequences – but that’s precisely what I call ‘the quintessential Julian Barnes’. A powerful book – worthy of Booker, whichever list it makes.