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Alan Hollinghurst

The Line of Beauty

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Winner of 2004's Man Booker Prize for fiction, The Line of Beauty is a sweeping novel about class, sex, and money that brings Thatcher's London alive. Nick Guest has moved in with the Feddens, a family whose patriarch is a conservative member of parliament. An innocent in matters of politics and money, Nick becomes caught up in the Feddens' world of parties and excess, as well as in his own private pursuit of beauty. Framed by the two general elections that returned Margaret Thatcher to power, The Line of Beauty unfurls through four extraordinary years of change and tragedy.

New York Times Notable Book of the Year
New York Times Bestseller and LA Times Bestseller List.

“A magnificent comedy of manners. Hollinghurst's alertness to the tiniest social and tonal shifts never slackens, and positively luxuriates in a number of unimprovably droll set pieces…[an] outstanding novel.”-New York Times Book Review

“Hollinghurst has placed his gay protagonist within a larger social context, and the result is his most tender and powerful novel to date, a sprawling and haunting elegy to the 1980s.”-Entertainment Weekly
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570 afgedrukte pagina’s
Jaar van uitgave
2008
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  • lilapolanskyciteerde uit7 jaar geleden
    He couldn’t help feeling he was going to fall short of his new lover’s standards. He was intelligent, he had just got a first-class degree from Oxford University, but people meant such different things by music and politics.
  • lilapolanskyciteerde uit7 jaar geleden
    He saw that interests weren’t always a sexy thing. A shared passion for a subject, large or small, could quickly put two strangers into a special state of subdued rapture and rivalry, distantly resembling love; but you had to hit on the subject. As for ambitions, he felt it was hard to announce them without sounding either self-deluding or feeble, and in fact unambitious.
  • lilapolanskyciteerde uit7 jaar geleden
    Above the trees and rooftops the dingy glare of the London sky faded upwards into weak violet heights. In summer, when windows everywhere were open, night seemed made of sound as much as shadow, the whisper of the leaves, the unsleeping traffic rumble, far-off car horns and squeals of brakes; voices, faint shouts, a waveband twiddle of unconnected music.

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