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Philip Roth's latest novel, Everyman (Cape, £12.99), is a slim volume. But size isn't everything, even when it comes to discussing the most macho of literary heavyweights. Everyman is, in every other sense, a substantial work, both in theme - an old man facing death - and its raw treatment. This isn't the first time Roth (right) has confronted mortality, failure, isolation, betrayal, and the wages of carnal sin. They're his trademarks, and in Everyman he sits snugly in his comfort zone; but what makes this novel worthwhile is the peculiar concentration he achieves.
In a narrative which flicks rapidly back and forth through the pages of the hero's life, Roth relentlessly unwinds one man's relationships with his parents, brother, three wives and three children, his mistresses, close friends and a hatful of passing acquaintances.
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Philip Roth’s ‘Everyman’ charts an ordinary life with extraordinary style, says tim auld
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It's not - surprise! - the funniest of books, but there is a macabre humour in the chronicle of physical ailments which gradually devour the hero. And there is a chilling truth in Roth's assertion that, by the time we make amends, it's always too late. A flawed but sympathetic hero, then.
But allow one heretical thought. Does Roth ultimately sell us rather short? His Everyman's been a bad boy - but, hey, Roth seems to say, aren't we all? Well, maybe; but I can't help feeling that it takes a bit more than some ill-judged bed-hopping to end up as isolated as Roth's hero. Some violence, verbal or physical, perhaps, or some sustained, corrosive sulking. After all, it's the small change of everyday action and conversation that ultimately shames us all. And somehow, in Everyman, Roth takes up a position too lofty to go there. 
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POSTED APRIL 4, 2006
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