Even the Dogs

Is scarily good so far. I'm right at the very beginning, but it's really quite masterful. It's narrated by what seems to be a group of characters, who speak in one collective voice. The opening of the novel describes the discovery of a body in a block of flats, and there's an incredible few pages in which scenes from the present and past intermingle. The images of Robert (it's his body) moving in with his wife, their decorating and lovemaking, are interspersed with the flat's later descent into ruin; his drinking, the holes punched in the walls, the damp and decay. It's breathtakingly well done actually, and very sad. I have a feeling it's going to be one of those books that's kind of painfully good. Ah well.