Elusive, strange and complex . . . an emotionally and philosophically rich existential private eye novel . . . Slowly, with great subtlety and skill, Cowan . . . explores the private battles that rage silently in every home
Its willed restraint and implicit solitude are wonderfully sustained . . . a masterclass in intimate understatement which proves that the brain is indeed our most erotic organ and the imagination its muse.
Gripping. We are mesmerised by its smoothness of plot and prose, perfectly designed to make the odd and the irregular stand out with intensity . . . Cowan has succeeded in making the ordinary incredibly engrossing - something that many try to do but few do well.
An acutely observed, subtle exploration of how much (or little) people really know about those they should know best . . . supremely well crafted: the descriptions are strikingly visual, the milieu wickedly credible . . . quietly moving, keenly insightful, a story with a provincial English backdrop that is also an understated meditation on the authenticity of existence.
[Cowan] paints a patient, exact and quietly powerful portrait of lives slowly being stripped of their secrets and delusions.