This may be the best book I've read all year. It's certainly way up there. I'm going to read everything Kate Christensen has written, and I can't wait.
The epicure in this story is Hugo, a lonely, bitter man who is dying of a curable disease and quite pleased with that, when his whole family descends on him, one by one, and ruins his solitude. Intertwined throughout the narrative are references to M.F. K. Fisher, whose husband died of the same disease from which Hugo suffers, and Montaigne, a Frenchman who wrote extensively (and favorable, I gather) about isolation and suicide.
Hugo is really easy to hate, and it's a testament to Christensen's skills that the reader ends up liking him quite a bit. The supporting characters are wonderfully drawn (with the exception of Shlomo; I could have done without him and his subplot).
This book isn't perfect, but that's just about the worst criticism I can come up with. Do yourself a favor and read this.
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