High Fidelity: a great romantic, pop music, thirty-something read

Rob Fleming is the kind of person whose mindset is clearly shown by his top two career choices: Being journalist for the New Musical Express, 1976-79, or a producer for Atlantic Records, circa 1964-71. A small London record shop owner and musical snob of a high degree, Rob finds his life thrown into turmoil when his live-in girlfriend Laura suddenly leaves. He consoles himself by coming up with a new filing system for his vast record collection (arranging them according to the order in which he bought them) and by engaging, with his two Wayne and Garth-like employees, in endless rounds of list making, including best music to play at a funeral ("Many Rivers to Cross," Jimmy Cliff) and five favorite records of all time ("So Tired of Being Alone," Al Green).

Additionally, Rob embarks on a journey through the past, tracking down old lovers while finding solace with Marie, an American folk/country singer living in London, even as he yearns for Laura's return. Told in an engaging first-person voice that blends sarcasm with self-deprecating humor, High Fidelity presents a painfully funny take on love, music, and growing up.

Hornby's amazingly accomplished debut should definitely appeal to music fans (and snobs), but it's his literate, painfully honest riffs on romantic humiliation and heartbreak that make the book so special. It is a rare, touching glimpse of the masculine view of affairs of the heart. It has often been said that baby boomers are a television generation, but the very funny novel High Fidelity reminds us that in a way, they are the record-album generation as well.