The novel like so much of French’s work hardly makes for a comfortable

The novel, like so much of French’s work, hardly makes for a comfortable read.”Nicci French”, of course, is the husband-and-wife team of Nicci Gerrard and Sean French, and this book poses some intriguing gender-related questions about the duo’s division of labour. Finally, there’s the guilt dumped on the reader, obliged to take the consequences of Holly’s actions whether we want to or not. Holly’s best friend/business partner Meg is ineluctably drawn into the chaos of her life, as are her husband and various other characters, including a sympathetic male, Stuart, who unwisely confides his problems with premature ejaculation to her. One of them breaks out of the confines of her alternative life and threatens her everyday one But there’s an intriguing sleight-of-hand. While the reader might be tempted metaphorically to shake Holly by the shoulders and suggest she get her act together, French makes such a comfortable distancing impossible by involving us in her increasingly nightmarish life. We’re forced to lose our objectivity, and find ourselves taking on Holly’s guilty actions as part of our own response to the book.
The “transference of guilt” theme was a speciality of Alfred Hitchcock, but nothing the director made could match the positive riot of guilt-transference that decorates this book.

Many of us have had friends who seem relentlessly bound on self-destruction – and not just by the time-honoured route of drink or drug abuse. How do we save them when anything we say sounds hollow or sanctimonious? The trick of Nicci French’s highly persuasive thriller Catch Me When I Fall is to embody such notions in the reckless protagonist, Holly, who risks her happy marriage and successful career by venturing into dangerous terra incognita. After drink-fuelled semi-orgies, where she risks brutal beatings, Holly wakes up from her stupor to find that she has had sex with some highly unsuitable partners. The reclusive author died on Saturday night at his home overlooking the sea in Lyme Regis in Dorset, which he shared with his second wife. He had been ill for several years following a stroke in 1988 and later developed heart problems.. John Fowles, whose complex and pioneering novels such as The Magus and The French Lieutenant’s Woman enthralled a generation before slipping spectacularly out of literary fashion, has died aged 79.

Tonight’s show was a reminder that the League’s creations are not as catchphrase dependent as Little Britain’s, and while the offering may not be the purest manifestation of Royston Vasey’s finest, the dexterity of the performers and the depth of their creations are undeniable.Touring to 14 December (see www.thisisalocalshop for details). The Tattysrups portion in the local shop at the end of the show is underwhelming, however, and a chat-show sketch between female vicar and agony aunt Bernice Woodhall and one of Santa’s dwarves is one of the few completely throwaway sketches.Comparison between The League of Gentlemen and Little Britain have been made before and, with the two live shows touring concurrently, are inevitable now. It’s a suitably brash opening from the panto dame to upend all panto dames.The momentum is held together well by most of the “big” names aside from Pauline (including the always superbly preposterous Papa Lazarou or Abernazarou as he is tonight; and the aforementioned Chinnery). Certainly, these were the more edgy moments of the show.The less cohesive and crowd-pleasing second half parades the frontline characters as the now-abandoned “communativity” is hastily changed into the panto amalgam “Cinder Dick Gets Wood In the Seven Pussies”. The formidable job-restart officer Pauline enters to “It’s Raining Pens”, a re-drafting of the Weather Girls’ hit to suit her motif.