Xavier de Maistre’s book-length memoir, Voyage Around My Room, is witty to some, but reads like a horror story to me. When you are alone in a room, time is slow and not particularly nice. It will wait in the dusty corner and taunt and try to convince you there’s not much point in doing anything. Stay, rest. Wait it out. Penelope waited upstairs. So did my mother. I do not want to do the same.
