Tonight's Fare

My wife read The Comfort of Strangers by Ian McEwan last weekend and hinted that I should make every effort to read such. Apparently I often process such signals and actually act in accord. i read such today and was floored by this bent tale. Years ago (a decade?) Joel and I shared an awed glance at the set piece of Delillo's Body Artist; here's a topography of a marriage in a breakfast; Sir Ian chooses to follow a holiday and all that such portends for a couple: a character muses that the true value of a vacation is longing for home. McEwan in his twisted phase, certainly raised the necessary incentives to crawl wombward.