“BABADALGHARAGH!” cracks the Big Bang at the beginning of FINNEGANS WAKE. Such a word (or rather its 300-letter auteur’s-edition version) would be apt in Adam Novak’s babadalgharaghing, careening, U-turning and T-boning, pinballing and whinnying, wheedling novel of Angeleno excess. It will make you feel as if a three-day-old skin of Mandarin Vodka is eating at your lapels even now. A sacrament of a Hollywood long gone, disappeared to some place below Ava DuVernay’s Spanx hamper.