Publisher's Weekly
British journalist Rayner's fiction debut is a funny, fractured mission of vengeance against a city he likens to a ''terrible nightclub'' and its denizens to a gallery of grotesques. Fleeing his staid life in London to pursue an infatuation with a Playboy bunny, the narrator, named after the author, lands in L.A. only to discover that his Anglo diffidence and manners make him one oddball among many; quickly, he learns that he's ''just another hustler, with a cute accent.'' As Barbara the bunny moves further out of reach, Rayner finds himself trapped on the city's fringes, traveling on public buses whose drivers are budding hijackers, working as a pool cleaner for show-biz higher-ups, and sinking in a morass of drugs, not-quite-starlets and unsold scripts. Studded with bitingly nasty anecdotes about celebrities as diverse as Ike Turner and Jerry Lewis (neither of whom is likely to be pleased), the narrative is far too random and scattershot to succeed as a novel; but as a collection of observations, it's lethally accurate.

Library Journal
When Richard, a London writer, meets a California blonde in a bar in Crete, he deserts his job and girlfriend and hops a plane to Los Angeles. There he sinks his lust in successful pursuit of the inconstant Barbara. The usual wacky assortment of Hollywood stereotypes await Richard in the New World, forcing their perversities on him despite his inability to drive. Even Jack Nicholson and Hugh Hefner make special guest appearances. In this trite portrait of Los Angeles, characters are crudely drawn and the narrative is threadbare. That the author is himself English explains but does not justify the numerous historical, geographical, and social inaccuracies; poetic license is no excuse. Not recommended. Timothy L. Zindel, Hastings Coll. of the Law, San Francisco