Much ado about nothing.
I enjoy the Kindle Singles format, and I've read several now. It's a good way to read personal essays in a short to medium length. This, however, is not one of those essays.
Broudy came across, to me, as world-weary and narcissistic, surprisingly dismissive of the modern world and simultaneously dulled by its sensory overload. There were long passages expounding on his personal theories on loniness, isolation, modernity, sexuality, and so on, which are of moderate interest, but his tendency to turn self-reflection outward - to assume that what he experiences is a universal rather than a personal revelation, comes across as pedantic and condescending.
As for subject matter, he keeps the reader in the dark for a long time as to the contents of the mysterious book that he is seeking, one that could exist 'only in the modern era' but would be banned in any library. This is a little too much build for...
***SPOILER****
...a book of drawings of vaginas to serve as models for a Czech plastic surgeon specializing in such things. The 92-year old man who produces the pictures is moderately more interesting, but not enough so that it was a particularly compelling reveal.
I guess I was thinking of the Voynich manuscript, or Henry Darger, or something along those lines. Drawings of the female sex don't seem particularly scandalous to me, nor do I find the subject of genital plastic surgery to be nearly as fascinating as the author does.
Maybe it just wasn't my thing.