Published: 7 July 2011
Paperback, B Format
129x198mm, 128 pages
On an autumn day, at around three-fifteen in the afternoon, Mike sits down in the rocking chair to feed his infant daughter, Bug. The novel that unfolds over the next twenty minutes of Mike's life is a warmly comic masterpiece of observation, reflection and digression. Baker brilliantly recreates Mike's roving mind, with its tangential thoughts about peanut butter and its big questions about fatherhood, marriage, and love. The result is surprisingly thrilling to read: funny, linguistically exuberant, tender and alive to the small mysteries and pleasures of everyday life.
‘His prose is captivating and full of longing.’
‘Nicholson Barker flips crazily between high culture and low farce, swinging from Frances Yate's Giordano Bruno and the Hermetic Tradition to the stealth required in picking one's nose. If he can cram this sort of wealth into half an hour's baby minding one quivers to think how he would sport with a thousand years of solitude’ Anthony Quinn
‘Sparkling ... frequently hilarious...This is a big novel unfolding ... so subtly that one is scarcely aware of its magnitude until the last page’
‘What emerges from Room Temperature is something much grimmer than appears at first sight, and more melancholy - a landscape where the ghost of Nabokov lives, and which Baker looks as if he is soon to enter’ Andrew Motion