This book read very strangely. For the first 100 pages I wished that I had read more of Christopher's novels since he was mostly discussing his actual life and friends at the time vs. their fictional manifestations in his novels. Though after a while, it just read like a typical biography. Not an autobiography, mind you. A biography. But having the detached voice, meant he was very honest and clear-eyed, or at least very much seemed so.

Oh! I did very much enjoy recognizing Christopher's friends/acquaintances! Such as Auden (of course) and Forster. And more surpisingly Virginia Woolf and passing mentions of Rosamond Lehmann and Giles Romilly (who I am interested in because of his brother, Esmond. Mitfordite reporting for duty!).