Was it wise to read a novel about “the emptiness of contemporary existence” (no, no, thank you, Booker Prizes) at a time when I myself am prone to spells of unmoored flailing? Hard to say! The jury’s still out! All I can tell you is sometimes, misery loves company that’s at least a little less miserable. Jesus.
I read Perfection by Vincenzo Latronico, tr…