Vox by Nicholson Baker.  Variously subtitled 'a novel about phone sex', Baker's Vox is more a literary experiment than a novel. Taking the form of a conversation between two anonymous strangers on a party line, the "plot" circles varying fantasies and sexual imagery in a playfully interrogative manner. I found it ultimately dissatisfying for it's failure to successfully inhabit a single genre. It fails to work as a novel because of it's digressive conversational notes. It fails to work as pornography because of it's analytic tone and over-abundance of plot, and it fails to work as social commentary because it doesn't say anything new about it's content. A masturbatory literary exercise with little lasting merit.