Barnes is one of my favorite authors and there are a few gems here. The waitress. The dinner party conversations. Perhaps I would have not listened one after the other, but I got a bit bored with the narrator’s tone. The world-weary Britishness of it was a bit much and not appropriate for all stories. Stilling worth a read in these dark times of Covid lockdown. ( )

I enjoyed Barnes's case studies of imperfect or failing relationships and human frailty. The series of over-dinner dialogues with very wordy middle class chatterboxes "At Phil and Joanna's" was not as fun. ( )

Solid collection, Barnes is best when novel length; some of the humour and language a little forced in places but there are classic Barnes observations throughout. “Marriage Lines” and Pulse” the two best entries. Barnes is truly admirable in his devoted query of love and relationships, he is unflinching yet compassionate. A bit commonplace for Barnes, no risks and no rewards overall. Going for poignancy but occasionally ends up a bit treacle. ( )

I beg to differ from the opinions on the review pages of the English press, the kinds of things I guess one can predict about such a solid figure in the literary department. 'Literary pearls' not. 'The very best short fiction'. I don't think so. 'Masterclasses in the form'. Nup.

This collection is plain disappointing compared with as a fine modern exponent of the short story as, say, Michael Chabon. The observations on life are neither here nor there and delivered without either the wit or the humour, not to mention the exquisite technique of Chabon. Barnes should stick to novels. This is the second time I've been disappointed lately by his stepping out into other areas.

I'm not even sure how he misses the mark. Maybe that his characters are all such miserable sods without any of the counterbalances that one finds in Chabon's stories - or Mansfield's or Chekhov's, for that matter. It's sort of like having to put up with Neil of The Young Ones without anybody else ever coming on stage. Too much of a downer, man. ( )

I beg to differ from the opinions on the review pages of the English press, the kinds of things I guess one can predict about such a solid figure in the literary department. 'Literary pearls' not. 'The very best short fiction'. I don't think so. 'Masterclasses in the form'. Nup.

This collection is plain disappointing compared with as a fine modern exponent of the short story as, say, Michael Chabon. The observations on life are neither here nor there and delivered without either the wit or the humour, not to mention the exquisite technique of Chabon. Barnes should stick to novels. This is the second time I've been disappointed lately by his stepping out into other areas.

I'm not even sure how he misses the mark. Maybe that his characters are all such miserable sods without any of the counterbalances that one finds in Chabon's stories - or Mansfield's or Chekhov's, for that matter. It's sort of like having to put up with Neil of The Young Ones without anybody else ever coming on stage. Too much of a downer, man. ( )