What at first appears to be a novel about the problems of a self-involved millennial, slowly becomes a novel about politics, class, race and privilege. This was a story that knew exactly how to push my buttons, candidly observed and feeling very true to life. Certainly a book which will divide opinion, but I found myself rooting for this young woman of colour, striving to find her place.
I tried spending those early mornings taking the Piccadilly Line to Leicester Square and switching over for the Northern line to Goodge Street: I had nowhere to go but Bloomsbury, no way to spend my time but minding a cardboard cup slopping cheap filter over its plastic disc on top. I tried street haunting, but could not walk for the blue-plaqued success of the dead. At dentist offices, embassies, car rental agencies, university buildings and bookstores - statesmen, architects, pioneers of women's suffrage, prime ministers, authors, artists had all lived here, and because of this, the price of rent in the area meant I never would.