Carrère’s curious tale of everyday madness. We can all go mad one day, just like that, and end up in a Macau hotel, wondering what we did with our sanity. I wonder if it was in any way inspired by Scorsese’s short, The Big Shave. I once read a book by the author that annoyed me so much that I didn’t write about it here, and almost made me quit this whole process. I can't remember why, or even what the book was called. Maybe I invented it. The Moustache did not have the same effect, albeit one gets the sense that the writer is a cold fish. But that coldness underpins this savage dissection of ordinary bourgeois society, so it’s all good.
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