A few years ago – I cannot say exactly when – I remember reading about a meeting between two writers. One of those writers was a young Jonathan Franzen. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was a young Jonathan Safran Foer. It hardly matters. The other writer was – and I am sure of this – Philip Roth. Mr. Roth was already a distinguished doyen of American literature. The other writer – one of the Jonathans, or someone...