A novel for the film buffs, the average art enthusiast, and those whose experience with cultural artifacts goes beyond the ephemeral into the all-encompassing. The premise is that of a Northern Irish man, Brian, who leads a solitary life in London, working for a local town council. He is not particularly noteworthy to those around him, or at least that is his perception. While mostly content in his peripheral existence, he happens upon the habit of seeing films at the British Film Institute (BFI) which lends his days structure and opens up the door to a wider social circle of fellow buffs. Enter onto the scene not a community of artists, but of art-appreciators in the extreme.

This breakthrough occurs in the first couple pages and the rest of the book is dedicated to chronicling Brian’s chronicling of film. He gradually becomes the amateur expert on post-war Japanese cinema among the group of “regulars” at the BFI. His interest goes beyond just Japan, though, and he willingly fills us in on the hundreds of films, actors, and directors he encounters over decades of nightly viewings at the BFI. For those as well-informed on film as Brian and the BFI buffs, this is surely a draw — I, an idiot in this realm, appreciate the critiques without their registering against my own opinions (I have none on most of the subject matter).

Contrasting with the parade of movie talk is the gradual development of Brian as a character. Cooper’s writing is sympathetic to a protagonist grappling with demons of the past and the reality of his personality. You root for Brian’s furtive steps into the wider world, but also understand that we won’t witness a full-blown flourishing from recluse to social butterfly. It is the in-between that Brian eventually inhabits, as most of us will. His deepening connection with a small community what a lot of us seek, too, I think. A reflection of the ordinary individual’s desire to enjoy the abundant artistic fruit of the modern day with others.

Brian won’t go down as a favorite of mine, but it wasn’t a waste of time, either. The British-isms were kept to a minimum, thank God, and the handful of main characters are all easy to like. This dose of pro-art, pro-community, anti-cynicism writing is a welcome change of pace. Art on its own cannot change the world, but it can change its audience. Through them, it acts.