Most historical novelists perch us at the apex of society, and in the plushest seats. Not so Quinn, who in his third novel plunges into London's late-Victorian depths - not, cliché-averse, the East End, but seething St Pancras and Somers Town, with their abject poor and bustling do-gooders.
Beyond its splendid feel for the era's chat and patter, and its zeal for local credibility, the novel pits philanthropy and opportunism, idealism and selfishness, bracingly at odds. High-minded media folk should, especially, take heed.
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