The Violet Hour 'A meditation on mortality and the unreliable consolations of art, love and materialism' Patrick Gale

<p>'An enthrallingly intricate novel . . . impressive'<br><b><i>GUARDIAN</i></b><br><br>'There's something of F. Scott Fitzgerald about the way Cahill writes about the very rich'<br><b><i>DAILY MAIL</i></b><br><br>'A biting satire of the art world's glamour, pomp and greed . . . lucid and evocative'<br><b><i>DAILY TELEGRAPH</i></b><br><br>'A highbrow whodunnit, and grippingly so, but it's much more than that'<br><b>PATRICK GALE, author of <i>Mother's Boy</i></b><br><br>'As sensuous and glimmering as it is dark and unsettling . . . a novel to get sucked into'<br><b>JENNY MUSTARD, author of <i>Okay Days</i></b><br><br>'It's brilliant . . . the human drama of it is just pitch perfect . . . Hypnotic'<br><b>SE</b><b>ÁN HEWITT, author of <i>All Down Darkness Wide</i></b><br><br><i>'Artists are slaves to their vanity. But in the end, in time, they see things as they really are.'</i><br><br>Thomas Haller has achieved the kind of fame that most artists only dream of: shows in London and New York, paintings sold for a fortune. The vision he presents to the world is one of an untouchable genius at the top of his game. It is also a lie. <br><br> Who is the real Thomas Haller? His oldest friend and former dealer, Lorna, might once have known - before Thomas traded their early intimacy for international fame. Between his ruthless new dealer and a property mogul obsessed with his work, the appetite for Thomas and his art is all-consuming.<br><br>On the eve of his latest show, the luminaries of the art world gather. But the sudden death of a young man has put everyone on edge, and a chain of events begins that will lead Thomas and Lorna back into the past, to confront who they have become. <br><br> A story of deception, power play and longing, <i>The Violet Hour</i> exposes the unsettling underbelly of the art world, askin who is granted admission to a world that only<i> seems</i> to glitter and who is left outside, their faces pressed to the glass?</p>