"The older brother of Jean-Jacques Rousseau, who is mentioned only briefly—and dismissively—in the French philosopher's Confessions, here embarks on an autobiography of his own, tracing his progress from a watchmaker's workshop in Geneva to a high-class bordello in Paris. He winds up making intricate sex toys, an activity that lands him in the Bastille, where he spends the next 27 years in relative comfort, allowed to go out on walks (and patronize whorehouses) and to import marshmallows for his fellow-prisoner the Marquis de Sade. Full of arch asides—the hero notes that 'the French are readier to pardon a murderer than a man who attacks the dignity of money'—the book strives to be both a critical gloss on the Revolution and a madcap romp, with more success, ultimately, at the latter."—The New Yorker