Germs

"In Wollheim's hands the sentence--often half a page long, full of sinuous purpose and subtle qualification--takes on extraordinary interest as he searches for the precise colour and purport of a childhood memory. The effect is of intellectual exactness given expression as a work of art. For all the book's rigour it is its poetry--the play of charged imagery, the sense of something impalpable that outlasts analysis--that one most remembers." --Alan Hollinghurst, The Guardian

"Germs evokes a prelapsarian world of infantile ecstasy and nightmare with uncomfortable honesty and almost hallucinogenic power." --Hilary Spurling, The Telegraph

"Germs is written with extraordinary elegance. Wollheim seems incapable of writing a bad sentence. . . . There is nothing quite like this poignant and mournful memoir. It is remarkable as a kind of sensory autobiography and as that rarest of memoirs, where one has the sense that one is in direct, intimate and occasionally frightening contact with the mind of a child." --Michael J. Lewis, The Wall Street Journal

"Wollheim is tireless at finding fresh aspects to an experience he is describing. Just when you think he has shown you every last facet of some childhood episode, up he comes with more." --Los Angeles Times

"Wollheim's powers of description astound. Topographically or architecturally, no one has ever depicted London's more prosperous suburbs with such exactitude. His prose is the verbal equivalent to Pre-Raphaelite painting, crowded with lovingly observed and richly colored detail... I doubt anyone who has read it will forget it." --Literary Review