I usually like Stephen Fry's writing quite a lot an there were good bits in this one as well, but it wasn't, I feel, as good as the other novels of his that I've read.
The plot involves a crotchety old poet and theatre critic, Ted Wallace, who is engaged by his goddaughter to investigate odd goings-on at an English country house. And that's about it really. Perhaps it was me, but I felt the book lacked something. I rather liked Ted's cynical outpourings, but the bits not told from his perspective felt rather flat, and even the bits that were seemed sometimes to be protesting too much. And the plot seemed thin to the point of transparency.