Szalay has a similar inclination to generalize, and his “man” takes the form of a set of typical specimens, though in practice they are all of a very particular kind. Man, as in Shakespeare’s seven ages-the lover, the soldier, and the decrepit as well. No, he means men, Y-chromosomed adults, and yet the rhetorical sweep of that phrase does gesture toward some large summation. All That Man Is: not humankind, or mankind, or people still less women or children. The noun in the title of David Szalay’s fourth book of fiction means something quite specific. David Szalay at the museum and former home of the poet Julio Flórez, Usiacurí, Colombia, January 2014
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