In the mailbox room of my apartment building, we have a book swap of sorts : When you get around to sorting out your stuff, you then put down whatever isn't too crappy in the mailbox room, hoping that some other tenant (or whoever else happens to be passing by, really!) finds it to their taste and adopts it.
That is how I came by this book. An extract of it was used in the baccalauréat (high school exam) a couple of years ago; I found the title really brilliant and it was in English.
Those are my only excuses.
It wasn't that bad, actually!
It is one of Coe's first works and I do believe he has moved on to even greater things since this was published in 1990. It is a first-person narrative about a London musician in the days before and after his witnessing a gruesome murder.
The style is fair enough, and it's all fine and dandy until the dénouement of the plot, which is totally out of order, unfortunately, defying all logic and causing me to shamefully abandon the book in an empty classroom, hoping some other teacher (or whoever else happens to be passing by) will find it to their taste and adopt it.