Here's him on the problem, in his own words:
I sat on my bed and I said to God: You've taken her, but You haven't got me yet. I know Your cunning. It's You who take us up to a high place and offer us the whole universe. You're a devil, God, tempting us to leap. But I don't want Your peace and I don't want Your love. I wanted something very simple and very easy; I wanted Sarah for a lifetime and You took her away. With Your great schemes You ruin our happiness like a harvester ruins a mouse's nest: I hate You, God, I hate You as though You existed.
It's a very interesting book, giving lots to think about. It's also beautifully written. Here he is at a tube station at evening: "The man who fed the sparrows had gone and the woman with the brown-paper parcel, the fruit-sellers cried like animals in the dusk outside the station. It was as if the shutters were going up on the whole world; soon we should all of us be abandoned to our own devices" And here he is angry at himself one night: " . . . my self pity and hatred walked hand in hand across the darkening Common like idiots without a keeper."
There's only one weak aspect, where we are treated to an extract from the lady's diary. This is mushy, emotional, awkward writing, and I fear very much is what Mr Greene, a man of an earlier generation, really thinks women's internal lives are like. (As the central character of the novel says: "I have always found it hard to feel sexual desire without some sense of superiority, mental or physical"). I guess we will just have to give him a pass, because really, what a lovely novelist he is.