Written during lockdown, this is a book by a writer on top of his game. The ostensible subject is endings, last things, work produced in ‘late style’… But, this being Geoff Dyer, it’s about the contents of his brain: lifelong obsessive preoccupations with certain writers, musicians, filmmakers, painters. There is also an essay on Roger Federer. Idiosyncratic, funny, highly ‘relatable’…