Making Love, by Jean Phillipe Toussaint is the second of his works I've found in translation. The first was
Television. I found most readers interpreted the ending a bit differently than I did. I won't hit you with a spoiler. I've loaned my copy of this book to a friend (hence the absence of quotes from the book), so I'll just say it was a quality read, capturing some of the same moments of nauseating ambiguity, chilled ecstasy, and technology as a jarring and inescapable interruption to the normal circadian rhythms of sleep, harmony, and sex as in Television.
I'll write a longer reaction, once the text is at hand.