Brilliant example of modernism: the meandering, non-chronological story; the unreliable, ambivalent narrator; a full complement of Freudian neuroses. The plot gets a tad melodramatic toward its denouement, but the execution is so clever, so self-aware, so ripe for analysis - it's my uni self's wet dream. What begins as a novel of 'poor, dear' people in love becomes a novel of 'sensualists with imbecile fears.'