This book was fine, but it felt like it could have been a lot better if Ngamije had just been able to cut about a third of it out completely. I kept thinking to myself that there was enough content for an excellent novella, or a dozen amazing short stories hidden in a bland and overly long novel. There is a lot to like though, so let's give credit where it's due.

The characters are all wonderfully real. I'm sure anyone who's been to a South African university will feel like they've met exactly these people, or someone like them. It's as if they're all really out there somewhere in the real world, and given the right chance you could look up from the pages and see the cast standing in front of you. Ngamije even has an uncanny ability to make you feel like you're in a place, rather than just reading about it. All with a characteristic wry wit.

Unfortunately, that wit works against the novel. While it's the sort of writing that makes for an excellent short story, over nearly 500 pages, it begins to grate. As does the personality of protagonist Séraphin. Much of the tone of the novel mirrors his own ways of thinking and telling stories, and for most of it, Séraphin is an arrogant bastard whose wry humour is a deflection from having to deal with his insecurities. And while he grows and changes in time, there's only so many pages of that arrogant, sardonic humour that a reader can put up with before the book becomes a chore.

There are many shining, brilliantly-written vignettes, and you might still love the novel if a witty, casual, university coming-of-age story sounds like your thing. But I felt exhausted by the time I reached the end, and wished that Ngamije had killed a few more darlings.