Self knows a lot of big, old, underrated and little-used words and seems intent on using them. This collection of six short stories invites you to sample Self's rare intellect, but does so like an invitation to the gallery at the back of an auditorium for a lecture you've heard a lot about but soon realise have little hope of understanding.

Like the narrator of 'Waiting', you start well, rapt even by the wordplay, wit and intelligence, but soon Self has lost you, the rest of the book an "increasingly involved, turgid and difficult" display. Like Stein's lecture, "the sheer weight of detail eroded my attention... I began to tune out."

The copy of the book I own has a big fat stain on the back cover, a thick brown ring of coffee-tainted water. I concur that the book probably makes for a better coaster than an insight into anything Self might have to offer. Beyond the first two tales you might consider putting it to stain avoidance duties and consider yourself done with the business of reading.

If I had the option to give this 1-and-a-half stars, I'd do it. I didn't hate it, but I didn't exactly like it either. I wouldn't recommend it, unless I wanted to put someone off reading Self for life. On the other hand, if I ever read any other books by him and find they raise the bar, I might suggest reading this to really put his brilliance into perspective. 'He can sink this low, yet rise to such incredible heights... Do you see?"