McCann is a fabulous writer, and there are wonderful sections of the book -- a biographical novel about renowned ballet dancer Rudolf Nureyev -- but overall as a reading experience, there is a lot lacking. Understandably, a novel about an historical figure isn't susceptible to (all) plot contrivances. But there were some bizarre authorial/editorial choices made here which compound the absence of plot.

Above all, the point of view shifts are dizzying, and sometimes confusing (who is narrating and why?). There are the missing chunks of Nureyev's life. True, no life lived can be detailed fully, yet for some reason, we get no direct insight into perhaps the MOST critical decision of Nureyev's life: his defection in 1961. In this novel, it just happens, and we get aftermath and reflections of outsiders. That's disappointing. Then there are the vast sections that are written in journal style snatches for certain characters. No reason for them, yet they distance us from the story. And hey, how about those run-on sentences. Yes, they can appear clever, and sure, you may divine in them some mimicry of a dance (if you're the type inclined to ascribe a reason), but when they occur for a totally random character (his ballet slipper maker??? really??) it just strikes as being indulgent.

So all in all, not really a great novel, though the earlier sections of the book concerning Nureyev in boyhood were quite evocative. Aside from that, I would have preferred a biography.

Oh, and here's a small bit of advice to McCann, who really can write brilliantly and hardly needs advice from me ... but nevertheless: I doubt a Russian would use the British expression 'arse', but even if that were the case, 'arse' is NOT universally employed by Spaniards, Americans, Venezuelans and the French.