One of the last few novels that I had bought with my job's "book allowance" two years ago. And one that had remained on my bedside table for a long, long time because of its scary size. And yet a novel that, once started, I was able to read in a few days as the prose flows so effortlessly, and the South London setting makes the plot immediately interesting for me.
London Belongs to Me is a wonderfully ordinary story. It tells of the various families inhabiting a house and their daily challenges. It tells, ultimately, of London. There is (British) humour aplenty, there is drama and there is love.
Who knows, maybe if it had been published in 2017 I would have simply written it off as banal, but the WWII aura around London always goes a long way with me, just as it did when I read The End of the Affair.
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