Little, Brown, 272 pp., $8.95
Anthony Burgess has words the way the be-bop saxophonists used to have notes—in scads. With him as with them, you have to hear something slow before you can make up your mind. Nothing Like the Sun and the Enderby books prove that Burgess is as clever as he seems. His utopian satires, of which 1985 is yet another, mainly just seem clever. At a generous estimate there are half a dozen ideas in each of them.
Review, 2445 words
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