Apropos of the review of William Trevor's book by John Baker here's Eileen Battersby , Literary Correspondent, in Irish Times:
"HE STANDS IN the hotel reception and glances around, noting everything and each person that passes. Dressed in various shades of green – a mossy shirt, tweed jacket, corduroy trousers – and wearing the familiar hat, he might be up in Dublin to visit grandchildren. William Trevor – Mr Cox to the hotel staff – is one of the world's finest writers yet there is no fanfare, no fuss. No one stares at him; there is no autograph hunter. As soon as he spots me he smiles and says, "Good to see you again." Trevor is gracious, friendly and practical. He makes a plan, explaining that he will go upstairs and will quickly return. "We'll say hello again, and then we will begin." He reappears as I have found seats and stretches out his right hand, demonstrating how stiff it has become. It makes typing difficult. He is at work on a collection of short stories. "It will be the last book," he says with a smile of regret."