I usually love Banks’ work, both with and without the M — but I abandoned this one less than a third of the way through. It tried so terribly hard to be shocking and boundary-pushing, and succeeded only in being so deadly boring and predictable that I couldn’t make myself read any further.
I tried to read it ten years ago, after which it went into storage. That box of books has just come out of storage again , and this book is going straight in the Oxfam box without any further attempt to re-read it. That’s how badly it impressed me at the time.