She's seen her mother try to hold down a job and also do all the domestic duties for her father, and decided it's just too tiring. The narrator is a woman who doesn't want a career – she just wants a man. The WTF-quotient ramps up ever higher as we move through the story: a 21st-century attempt at a Jane Austen quest for a husband, only with most of the 21st century taken out, as well as nearly all the Jane Austen. Just a vaguely expressed hope for mild fun – followed by a crazy clause about somewhat windy roads. Have you ever seen a book in which a line such as 'I think I'm going to enjoy my time here' is made the crucial finale of a pullquote before? We aren't going to get adventure. I've never read anything quite like Little White Lies and Butterflies before. I'm hoping to concentrate more on the positive – which is to say, at least it's weird.

She's been fighting an unequal battle with the English language and there's no pleasure at all in kicking someone who's already been so badly beaten. But it's not as strong as the sense of sadness and sympathy I had for the poor author. After reading 150 close-typed and poorly typeset pages of similar material, the desire to exact such revenge is strong. I could begin by attempting a practical criticism of the prose: that god-like god, that flood of present participles and that 'somewhat windy' road. But it has been lobbed in my direction as part of the Not the Booker prize, so I ought to share a few thoughts. To put things diplomatically, I'm not the target market for this book. Where to start? In the normal run of things, my answer would be 'nowhere'.

Little white lies book