Clive James is massacred in a brutal book review in the Daily Mail. Highlights :

He tells us he is a frequent guest at Sandringham and that the Prince of Wales has dined at his house...we recall that what James remains best known for is showing us clips on television of Japanese game shows....James's fiction - Brilliant Creatures, The Remake, The Silver Castle - is total tosh...he seems to be making a desperate attempt to be associated, to be connected....Happy with the fact he has an 'ungovernable ego', James ought to be flung into the recycling bin with his drivel...at some curious, crass level the clumsy swagger humanises him - as if he's unaware of how awful he is...The reader cringes on James's behalf, wishing he wasn't such a prize prat....Television brought James the riches and fame he craved. But as far as his ambitions to have been an artist of merit are concerned, he squandered his talent, which is tragic. Then again, to witness how fatuous and conceited he has become is pure comedy

Jealous.

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