Whisper it not in Waterstones, but Philip Hensher’s novels are ­getting thinner. If the Man Booker-shortlisted The Northern Clemency (2008) weighed in at 700-plus pages, then The Emperor Waltz (2014) was a paltry 624, while this new one tips the scales at a positively anorexic 578. Regular patrons – of whom I am one – will be reassured to discover that all his customary guile and stage-management (together, it has to be said, with all his customary diffuseness) are abundantly on display in this labyrinthine family saga.