This 1944 novel, the third in a trilogy (although it works as a stand-alone) follows the adventures of impecunious artist Gulley Jimson who exploits everyone he meets and is one of fiction’s most obnoxious characters. Recently released from prison (personally I’d have thrown away the key) he preys on his acquaintances and reflects, in long rambling tirades, on art, the creative process, love, society and life in general – all to no purpose. It’s supposed to be a comic novel, but where the comedy was I failed to discover. I have a horrible suspicion the book might be based on some equally insalubrious real-life London artists of the era, which doesn’t make Jimson any more empathetic. Tedious.