"My favourite Australian literary critic, David Free instantly becomes my favourite Australian author of psychological thrillers, with this gripping tale of a literary man thoroughly screwed up by sexually intriguing women and crazy editors. Free is far too civilized for this kind of thing, which is probably why he's so disturbingly good at doing it." Clive James
By forty you're meant to have the face you deserve. I got the face early. It took me a while to earn it. I believe I am finally there.
Ray Saint is in trouble. A young woman is dead and he was the last person to see her alive. No one is impressed by his excuses: Ray, you see, is the most hated book reviewer in Australia - a hatchet man with a belly full of bourbon and curdled dreams of literary greatness. Now he will need all of his acid-tongued wit and even some moments of lucidity if he is to discover who murdered the beautiful publishing assistant who got so far beneath his skin.
As a battered and bloodied Ray investigates more deeply, he is obliged to face the truth: he can't be entirely sure that he isn't the killer.