I once read André Aciman’s Homo Irrealis: Essays, and to be honest, it was a difficult read, partly because I didn’t understand what the hell he was talking about. Aciman’s approach to fiction is different, and I bought The Gentleman from Peru for Charlie, the French boy who once met the author, and wanted it because it was a signed copy. He keeps reminding me that I once had an original copy of Call Me By Your Name that I inexplicably threw away. I read The Gentleman from Peru because Charlie never will. His attention wanders after a few chapters, and that is why we are left with shelves of half-read books with slips of paper showing how far he got. But after finishing this book, I realise that this is more of a novella, and if Charlie is ever going to finish a book, this might be the one.
Perfectly Hard and Glamorous 