Trust

Unaware of the Matryoshka doll-like conceit of the novel, I go in blind and find myself shaken by the second chapter with its jarring notes, “Brief paragraph Mildred, domestic delights. Home a solace during these happily frantic times.” The third novel realigns my approach to the preceding two (I especially love the flourish as Bevel recounts a complete fiction to Ida as if it actually happened) and all these are once again re-examined by the time I finish the book.

At least it is a clever take on what seems to be a glut of fiction this year that pokes at extravagantly moneyed douchebags existing within their own reality distortion bubbles, intent on manufacturing their own imagined legacies.