SMUGGLER opens with a Camus epigraph observing that we all insist on being innocent—even if we must accuse the whole human race. Itinerant desktop-publisher Nick harbors that peculiar middle-class fascination with criminality, and involves himself with heroin dealers. Relentless velocity drives us from Provincetown to Chicago, Paris to Jakarta, and elsewhere. Sleep is little more than punctuation, until the inevitable pause. Even then, Nick’s reflection and restrictive interactions never bore and—like the narrative—are rich with cutting insight.