The Old Devils, by Kingsley Amis

I can't believe this novel won the supposedly important Booker Prize. Its style was the sort of realism that tries to be transparent words to draw attention to the story but which is always so shitty because it throws vitality of language out the window. Also, the characters were mostly deplorable. Also, there was a lot of telling instead of showing, because, as with lots of books like it, it has points - the sorts of observations about women or about men or about how people handle certain situations and why they do as they do - it wants to make of the sort that, if they're going to be pushed out there, can only be said and always sound stupid when said except to the people who agree with them, and so they make the non agreers incredulous and angry. Etc.

But I didn't resist it, tried to get why a book like this could win a damn prize, and came to the conclusion that somehow there is this hidden magic behind the words if you manage to ignore them that sucks you in a makes you feel something for people, even though when you think about it you don't actually feel anything for these people, it tricks you into feeling and half way wins you over, at least makes you feel like maybe you've experienced something of life, in a way.