As a novelist, I instinctively interpret Feminism as the portrayal of women as complete actors in a diverse world—never less intelligent or self-motivated or interesting than male characters.
Mysteries small and great abound in Jim Holt’s new book—even in restaurants, where he spends an inordinate amount of time for an existential gumshoe. At a Paris bistro he dines alone on a plate of choucroute and a bottle of Saint-Emilion. A...
