Just about bloody perfect. Mr MacLaverty writes about Catherine, a musician who heads home for the funeral of her father. The first half of the book is about what she does there. The second half is about how she got there. While part of me suspects that the anachrony is there to hide some structural issues, it really doesn’t matter: this is just wonderfully written. Catherine’s head is full of music and sound in a way that shows the way her musician’s mind works. The rest of the book is just a beautiful study of how art creates and is created.