The big political turn-off

Christina Patterson reveals your views on 'The Line of Beauty' by Alan Hollinghurst, a tale of love and politics in the 1980s

What do you read on a train to a Welsh Methodist funeral in Swansea? The Independent Book Group choice, of course. That, at least, is what Katy did. It was, said kategreen, in the first contribution to this month's discussion, "quite a piquant combination of experiences". Grief did not, it seems, dull her critical faculties.

What do you read on a train to a Welsh Methodist funeral in Swansea? The Independent Book Group choice, of course. That, at least, is what Katy did. It was, said kategreen, in the first contribution to this month's discussion, "quite a piquant combination of experiences". Grief did not, it seems, dull her critical faculties.

"I felt its characters and settings were like painting-by-numbers," she said, "painstaking and striving for effect, skilful, self-consciously exquisite and well observed, but not the real thing." The presentation of 1980s politics and the mixed-race love affair were, she thought, "embarrassingly clichéd". There was, she concluded, "a sort of languid, Proustian intelligence about the book", which held her "intently to the end" until she "tossed it aside at last, grumbling, 'Bah! Humbug!'"

The next contribution was a little more down to earth. It was also disarmingly honest. "I was," confessed GAGill, "a little shocked at my own lazy assumption that Nick's first affair was to be heterosexual. After that, I wondered if the daughters of Conservative ministers still go out with punks and tramps."

I've no idea, I'm afraid, but let's get back to the text. Which was, apparently, beginning to annoy people. "I really don't think I can continue," announced LJ2026. "I can't engage with the characters or even see a storyline developing other than Nick falling in love with, or lusting after, everyone he meets. No," he concluded briskly, "it's not doing it for me. I'm going back to The Time Traveller's Wife."

Ramblingsid was swift to agree. "I have been trying to read this book since Christmas," he moaned, "but simply can't summon any interest in these characters. They all seem to be rather precious spoilt brats." This was becoming a bit of a theme. "Undoubtedly clever," said Doraine P, "especially in the observation of subtle social transactions. Crystal-clear use of language - enviably precise and well-chosen formulations. Witty without being caricatural. But" - the inevitable but - "the superficiality of Nick's emotions in the face of really big challenges (mental illness, self-harm, Aids, death etc) is dislocating."

Meanwhile, LJ206 was "trying to persevere" but still failing to see "any depth of characterisation or story or any richness of prose". Was I the only person in the world, apart from the Booker judges, who liked it? And did that make me a superficial snob? Just as I was beginning to despair, salvation loomed. "I did want to dislike this book," said Mo245 in a contribution that was nearly an essay. "Unfortunately, I really enjoyed it." I quite like reading books I enjoy, but I guess there's no accounting for Independent readers' tastes. "I found the book thought-provoking," she declared, "which is why I felt that it truly deserved its acclaim." Unlike the others, she found Nick "engaging", and felt that the book "managed to stay surprising". She was, she said,"now off to the library to look for Henry James". And she ended with perhaps the highest accolade of any reader for any book so far. "For the first time I have found a book that I wish I had been able to study for my Higher [the Scottish equivalent of A-level] English, and I hope that the fact it happens to deal with a promiscuous homosexual life does not preclude it from being considered."

LJ206 was clearly as awestruck by Mo245's little essay as I was. "If the novel had read like your summary and analysis," she said, "I'd have kept going!" Mo245 was thrilled. "Thank you!" she gushed. "Now if I can just add a plot and another 300,000 words, I could resign from my job..." Tell me about it, Mo.

Sadly, though, after this little flurry of praise and politeness, it was back to the via negativa. "I had great expectations," said danielwales, with a suitably literary turn of phrase, but he was, it seems, joining the growing gang of readers who were finding it "disappointingly spare in its plot" and "lacking depth in the characters". "I struggled to complete it," he added. Hollinghurst's prose was "certainly beautiful, but his fourth novel was a chore".

You know, I'm beginning to think that honesty is overrated. What ever happened to cheerfulness? Or the stiff upper lip? I'm beginning to think, too, that maybe Hollinghurst's characters could teach our readers a thing or two about restraint. At least jellyfeeble had the grace to be mildly apologetic. "I don't think I like this book at all," she said. "I'm afraid that I don't think I'm interested enough in these people. They all appear to be stereotypes. Oh dear!"

OliviaDW didn't bother with apologies. "It really lacked any plot to keep me hooked," she said, "was too detached from an emotional attachment to the characters" and "tried too hard to be clever". After reading the first 80 pages of David Mitchell's Cloud Atlas, she was convinced that it was "a more worthy winner". HaydnT agreed. Unlike Mo245 he "wanted to like this book", but had been "very disappointed". There was, he thought, no plot, no development and although the characters were "quite well drawn", they triggered no sympathy or empathy. "It's not just that they're so rich," he lamented, "but that they're so smug about it. All I see is rich people obsessed with themselves."

He ended, perhaps appropriately, with penises. He was surprised that no one had mentioned them before. "We know," he said, "that straight men are obsessed with parts of the female anatomy, and there's no reason why gay ones should be any different." But he couldn't remember the last time he had seen "the straight variety so graphically described". It made him want to read not Henry James, but DH Lawrence.

It seems only right to give the last word to Shirley. Queen of the book group, practically, if not a queen in the Hollinghurst sense. "I wasn't sure," she said, "what I would make of reading a book about homosexuals." She was, she said, finding it "very interesting".