SOURCE: “Sick at Heart,” in New Statesman & Society, May 12, 1995, p. 41.

In the following review, Angier offers praise for Therapy.

I read most of Therapy on a train, hooting uncontrollably (me, not the train). It’s so gloriously accurate. “Slough will be the next station stop,” said the tannoy—and there it was, on page 58: “Rugby will be the next station stop.” “BR has taken to using this cumbersome phrase, ‘station stop’ lately, presumably to distinguish scheduled stops at stations from unscheduled ones in the middle of fields.”

We got to Paddington; “This train has terminated” wasn’t in the book, oddly enough, but the station was (about Euston): “the hoi polloi waiting for trains must sit on their luggage, or on the floor (since there are no seats in the vast marbled concourse.)” Not to mention the post office (“cordoned-off lanes like Airport Immigration”), or the city library...