Review - A Single Man is now a feature film starring Colin Firth, but before that it was a book - who'd have thought such things were possible?

If you haven't already read it, then my suggestion is watch the film first, enjoy its prettiness, then pick up the book and absorb its beauty.

George is an Englishman in the Southern California suburbs. He is in his mid-fifties and a professor. His day begins by waking to remember that his lover is still dead, after a car accident some months ago. We then follow George over 24 hours as he begrudges the growing conservatism of his once bohemian neighbourhood; lectures students he fears will never learn; lifts his spirits working out with a 14 year old; drinks with an old lady friend who would really like to marry him and swims naked in the ocean. To give more than that away would spoil the twists.

Christopher Isherwood narrates in such superb, flowing, poetic language that it is no wonder A Single Man frequently makes 'top gay novel' lists. He writes in third person, calmly observing the machinations of George's weary, aroused, farting body, but he achieves such empathy that you believe he is writing in first person.

Isherwood was something of a revelation for his time, and while we will obviously not be shocked by the human portrayal of a gay man, we will still be moved by such a poignant tract on loneliness, and letting go of the past. The dichotomy of youth and experience, particularly in gay culture, is still very worthy of our reflection, and is not often achieved in such a sensitive, yet honest way.

It is not usually sensible to compare a novel to a film in a book review, but seeing as ASM was written in 1964, it's clearly the reason I'm writing this! The major difference I found between the two is that Isherwood's George, despite his daily misgivings, is filled with optimism and embraces life. Whereas director Tom Ford portrays George as broken and suicidal - it's not just an interpretation, but a drastic rewriting.

ASM is arguably as important and dense as its predecessor Ulysses, but unlike Joyce, Isherwood is infinitely readable, brief but lasting.