Somebody went through the trouble of sending me this book from another country so I felt I had to see it through to the end but it truly was some of the most pretentious and faux intellectual writing I’ve ever encountered.I failed to connect with any of it and just didn’t have any sympathy for the privileged, spoiled, self obsessed Harry. A feminist novel about the pretentious NY art world and the way women have been excluded from it could have been so interesting….
