I’ve read two books this week: Slowness by Milan Kundera, and Sweet Dreams by Michael Frayn. They were both a good ride while they lasted. To varying extents they both I felt pinned me, like J Alfred Prufrock, forumlated, sprawling on a pin, wriggling on the wall. In fact Slowness lept out of my hands and slapped me across the face more than once. I turned the other cheek, but you probably shouldn’t read it if you don’t like the word ‘asshole’. Frayn’s book, like The Office is a sort of via negativa on the good life. It does get a bit lost towards the end.
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