This bloviated novella with a bonus short story at the end would not have been published if the author weren’t David Duchovny. The Reservoir is mainly a literal fever dream, as the protagonist becomes incredibly ill and stumbles half-dressed through Central Park looking for a mystery woman that he believes has been signaling him at night by flipping the lights on and off in her high rise apartment.

The man, a Wall Street retiree who fancies himself an artist because he takes time-lapse photos of the sunrise, is somewhat estranged from his daughter and admits he’s never liked kids much, so he doesn’t feel particularly doting about his grandchildren, who he barely knows.

There are a few funny lines, but a fairly offensive hallucination/homeless man in the park is off putting, and the resolution is a true cop out. Set during the pandemic, it seems like the author is trying to work through his own fears and anxieties about mortality, but The Reservoir probably should have stayed buried in his bedside table rather seeing the light of day.