Quatrième de couverture
'A sprawling epic... A formidable feat of imagination that moves restlessly between Bologna, Naples, California, Moscow, Dubrovnik and Marseilles... Utterly convincing' The Times
The year: 1954, the height of the Cold War.
The world is divided into East and West.
In Naples, Lucky Luciano and his minions are busy fixing horse-races, and overseeing the creation of the global heroin trade.
In Hollywood, some members of Her Majesty's Secret Service have a dangerous mission for the supremely elegant actor Cary Grant.
And in Bologna, Pierre Capponi, a lovelorn young barman, is about to embark on a painful odyssey in search of his missing father, one that will end up taking him half-way around the world.
And bringing together all these strands and more is a missing television set, a McGuffin Electric, an appliance with a very special secret...
'This diverting post-modernist entertainment...is skilled in teasing fact and fiction.' Guardian
'Perfect holiday reading... Delicious... The Wu Ming clan have pulled off [a] coup... Their blend of outrageous burlesque and offbeat satire sparkles like a bottle of the best prosecco from a worker's-coop vineyard...as many contented readers will notice this summer.' Boyd Tonkin, Independent
'This new work amply confirms [the authors'] talent... Utterly convincing. What emerges is an epic about identity and celebrity, communism and corruption.' Scotland on Sunday
Revue de presse
Praise for Q:
“Big and bloody and breathtaking: a crush of colour and crowds, exotic locations and war.”
—The Times
“If ever there was a novel that deserved to win prizes, accolades and plaudits, it is Q . . . A rich, inventive and immensely powerful book . . . Q is a great novel, one that tells us about ourselves and how we came to be here.”
—Scotland on Sunday
“As a historical blockbuster, it boasts pace, colour, excitement and suspense to spare...Q works like a charm as a sordid, splendid period romp.”
—Independent
“The air is full of blistering debate, revolutionary preaching and the smell of smoke, both from burning icons in the churches and the pyre on which the heretics are burned . . . A sprawlng epic.”
—Guardian
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