Dyer

Dyer on a bad day is still more profound, and more polished, than most writers at their effortful best.

But this is what Geoff Dyer does: remarks on conspicuous truths that are anything but until he points them out.

But Dyer, in all his wide range—four novels and six, yes, genre-defying works of nonfiction—can indeed be classified.

Geoff Dyer takes the reader on a map-based tour of his hometown, Cheltenham, in Southwest England.

In front of him is a drink, dark red wine the color of his necktie, and a book by Geoff Dyer.

But the pressure of need compelled his father to indenture him at an early age to a dyer in Lectourne.

Nobody ventured to touch the dessert, and, after the hymn, the old dyer read a grace after meat.

"It is not always that the advice and conversation of women folk softens a man," said the old dyer, quietly.

Upstairs, however, he did not find the rest he so much needed, for in his room the old dyer sat waiting for him.

The old dyer was with Madame Torvestad; it would be better to ask him to make the attempt.