At first glance, this short novel might seem cosily nostalgic. The narrator is a sensible chartered accountant who enjoys the occasional sherry; wife Mary does little more than knit and ask her husband to write disgruntled letters on her behalf. The couple are increasingly alarmed, however, by their eleven-year-old son Matthew's imaginary friend Chocky, whose presence in their lives becomes progressively disruptive. Is Chocky a force for good or for evil? And is Matthew merely delusional - or is he possessed?

For me, the real interest of the story lies in the disparity between the resolutely ordinary English setting and the surprisingly resonant punch packed in the last chapter. Far from being quaint, the novel's real concerns are revealed as eerily contemporary, and readers will enjoy Chocky even if they (like me) wouldn't normally head for the science fiction shelf.