Life…is shapeless, it does not point to and gather round anything, it does not cohere. Artistically, it’s dead. Life’s dead.

So begins a love letter to life, a resuscitation of sorts, encountering vibrant characters from Saul Bellow, to Philip Larkin to Iris Murdoch and Elizabeth Jane Howard, and to the person who captivated Amis’ twenties, the alluringly amoral Phoebe Phelps.

Amis addresses our burning questions: how to live, how to grieve, and how to die?