I never really warmed to Clovis -- he was far too stupid to inspire real affection -- but he always claimed a corner of my heart, largely, I suppose, because of the way he instinctively and unconsciously cupped his genitals whenever he was alarmed or nervous.-- Brazzaville Beach by William Boyd.
I started this one about a year ago, but never got past the first page, despite that attention-grabbing opener.
I am reading this as one of my James Tait Black Memorial Prize picks for the 2011 Battle of the Prizes, British Version, Challenge. William Boyd is one of my favorites.
