Casualties of War

Still, it's a mild outbreak of the other kind of lust that reveals this novel's troubles most effectively. Bear with me. Ruth, trapped in a loveless marriage to Peter, travels to Greece, where she meets Manolo, her guide, and Al, "a hired gun" photojournalist with "a cool assessing stare." It's a tough call. "Manolo has the face of a Greek icon -- dark brown, almond-shaped eyes, aquiline nose." His English (thank God) is "immaculate." "He unfurls a verbal banner." His eyes (have I mentioned his eyes?) are "huge, brown and complicit," and they flash -- often. He is passionate. We know this because he takes his hands off the wheel and bangs the dashboard a great deal to make a point or to signal enthusiasm. But it's not enough to beat Al. Al has "fallen into the Amazon . . . been sniped at by Afghan tribesmen," and, best of all, "he has that warm, toasty, male smell." Game, set and match.

But just when we think that there may be some well-deserved bodice ripping in Ruth's immediate future and some actual emotion in ours, we get this:

"He sets about undressing her -- kindly, efficiently . . . lifting her T-shirt (and she raises her arms obediently, like a child), undoing her bra.

" 'That's the girl,' he says. . . .

"She is astonished. . . . She is amazed at how easy it is, in the event, how -- well, how unembarrassing, how inevitable. The process is familiar -- oh dear me, yes -- but is also radically different." The process? Oh dear me, no.

Even today, one can still occasionally find apartment buildings in New York whose elevator floor indicators skip the number 13. In this case, the 14th might be the better choice. ·

Mark Slouka's most recent novel is "The Visible World." A contributing editor at Harper's magazine, he is the chair of Creative Writing at the University of Chicago.