by JULIET WATERS

Tibor Fischer's review of Martin Amis's Yellow Dog has, unfortunately, received far more attention than his novel, Voyage to the End of the Room. I don't mean to imply that Fischer's novel is worthy of more attention. It isn't. Nor do I mean to imply that negative or controversial reviews should be ignored. It was Martin Amis, actually, who wrote once that the book review is a minor artform, which rarely receives the attention it deserves.

One paragraph in particular made it into most articles about the controversy: "I was reading my copy on the Tube and I was terrified someone would look over my shoulder [and] might think I was enjoying what was on the page… It's like your favourite uncle being caught in a school playground, masturbating." Some articles included Amis's response to the review: "I think he's even more of a talentless pipsqueak than I did before."

About a third of the way into Voyage, I couldn't help but admire Amis's reserve. Fischer's heroine Oceane is an independently wealthy computer graphics genius and ex-stripper who has an easy life - except for her agoraphobia. Pity today's young hip, rich, reclusive types; given how easy it is to set yourself up at home, there's not much motivation to overcome your psychic obstacles. Friends are happy to come to Oceane's luxurious pad. She's already made so much money from a character created for a Japanese computer game that she can pick and choose her contracts. She even has a way of re-creating the joys, or, more accurately, miseries of travel. With the help of a travel agent, she entertains selected tourists in her home as a way of meeting new people and finding out about other countries.

Here, Fischer actually does exhibit some of the talent that he once had back when he made a 1993 list of England's best new novelists. He's good at reconstructing the certain type of traveller who no doubt does a lot of travelling because no one who knows him for more than five minutes can stand him. These soirées serve less to educate Oceane than convince her that her life is not substantially poorer because she's afraid to go anywhere. Permeating this novel like a sour smell is the question written on a claustrophobic wall of ennui "Is the world out there worth it?"

If the job you regrettably gave yourself this week was to stay inside and read this tedious book, then the cheery and obvious answer is yes. If it's cold out, however, you may be tempted, as I was, to procrastinate having to go back to Voyage by tracking down the controversial "review."

First, it's only fair to point out Fischer's piece in the Telegraph was never really a review. It was more of a disingenuous opinion piece, the thrust of which was an attack on Amis's agent (who was also once Fischer's). The Wylie Agency had sent letters along with advance copies of Yellow Dog, reminding reviewers that there was an embargo on advance reviews. Fischer frames this as unusual, and himself as unusually courageous in defying it. Though as anyone in the book business will tell you, it's common courtesy not to publish advance reviews, with or without embargoes, since a negative one will obviously kill advance sales. Though Fischer didn't risk legal action by reviewing the book or revealing the content, he slithers around it by simply expressing his informal opinion, which he cushions against a slander suit with lugubrious praise for Amis's early work. Since Voyage to End of the Room was released the same day as Yellow Dog, the piece is a creepy and blatant act of self-promotion.

If Fisher rides the Tube anything like the way he reviews books, it's doubtful anyone would have been looking over his shoulder. Usually when people notice some guy exposing himself, they switch seats.

Voyage to the End of the Room by Tibor Fischer,
Counterpoint, hc, 251pp, $36