When asked which Picador writers he liked, Alan Hollinghurst mentioned Edward St Aubyn. Being a huge fan of Hollinghurst, I found Mother's Milk by St Aubyn at the local library, and now At Last. Be warned: At Last is a direct continuation of the former. My major problem with both novels is the presence of a precocious six-year-old boy who, in At Last, debates the nature of consciouness and makes a joke about Osama Bin Laden. This is an authorial mouthpiece, and not a credible character. Having said that, St Aubyn is a great writer about families, privilege and the psychoses of the rich and great (and the fallen rich and great). His writing is dense and astute, and very, very funny -- to the point of savagery, I think. But there is an element of tenderness and melancholy there, too. At Last takes place at the funeral for one of the major characters from Mother's Milk. This is probably one of the best fictional accounts of a funeral I have read to date, particularly how it brings out the worst in people (and some of the worst family members from the woodwork).