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Tim Pears. Wake Up. London: Bloomsbury, 2002

John Sharpe drives repeatedly round a ring road all day musing on his wife, his baby son, his business, his upbringing, his family, and the GM trials that his company are undertaking. There is close detail about potatoes, childbirth and sex. Sharpe thinks about various characters which tells us something about them but, unlike the characterizations and minute observation evident throughout In The Place of Fallen Leaves, I am left feeling I do not know these people, nor does Sharpe, and nor does he know himself. I warm to none of them. There are three occasions when he plainly contradicts himself; he says he went to a therapist, then says he made it up; he says he met his wife hitchhiking, then says he met her playing football; says she fell head over heels for him, then that she settled for him after loving someone else more deeply. These deliberate contradictions are strangely psychotic and disturbing. Sharpe is left to continue on his way.

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