The Dinner

by Herman Koch

The mere thought brought with it a whiff of Boursin, as though someone had spread a slice of toast with that filthiest of all fake French cheeses and shoved it under my nose. It was the combination of the lighting and the odor of Boursin that kept me from seeing my brother and sister-in-law’s garden party as anything but an old, outdated TV commercial from twenty years ago or longer.

You’ve co-opted that future. Just as casually as you co-opt a café as a backdrop to your press conference. Only because that will make it seem more authentic. It