There are writers whose readers, once initiated, will follow them anywhere, their distinctive vision and style acting as a wall that keeps fans in the fold just as surely as it repels those with no appetite for it.
The style drives the books on even when the plot meanders (and the plot almost always meanders): the first 50 pages of The Making of Henry (2004) were so fluent and funny that it was another 100 before I realised it wasn't really going anywhere. It was too late: I was in Jacobson's world and there wasn't still isn't any escape from that.
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