Between glugs of iced pink wine, the odd nap, and the occasional dip down here in the South of France, I read the debut novel of Gene Wilder, the famous American film director and actor.
Published earlier this year, and called My French Whore. It is the sweetest tale, reminiscent of the slightly askew reality, and surreal charm of Max Beerbohm's only novel, Zuleika Dobson..
One wonders, in sunny and winey befuddlement, how a book of such simple good-heartedness could come from someone who spent most of his career in Hollywood.
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