Review: Francine Prose on David Leavitt
How fortunate that fiction allows us to attend parties that in life—that is, in our old lives—we probably would have avoided. Proust serves up the gossipy details while sparing us the misery of actually being present at Madame Verdurin’s evenings. No sensible person would brave the thrillingly ghastly dinner in Thomas Bernhard’s Woodcutters, and we’re q…
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Book Post to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.