have occupied the window seat and beside me a blond young man is perusing the inflight magazine. I can see him from the corner of my eye —his long batting lashes, freckled face with a heavy red sweater. We haven’t greeted each other. I am trying not to put down Sebastian Barry’sThe Temporary Gentleman.The copy is from a friend and though I love the visual style, the genre is not my cup of tea.A few hours later, the flight attendants are serving dinner. The one who is serving us is a plumb, red-faced, with a head of blond hair supporting a Christmas decoration of a small Santa hat on the right side.