An unattainable ideal, perfection is out of reach for any artist, whether they are composing a symphony, developing a prestige TV show, or writing an epic novel.

Even those who are assumed to be masters of their respective crafts have to compromise from time to time. Not to mention, they are also susceptible to plain old human error. Scorsese movies are beset with glaring continuity blunders, Mark Twain infamously glossed over a confusing typo in Huckleberry Finn and, if you want to be a stickler for anatomy, then Michelangelo’s David is technically missing a muscle at the back.

Yet no one in good faith would ever criticise those slipups, because they make no tangible difference to your enjoyment. Who cares if an early print of Cormack McCarthy’s The Road incorrectly substitutes the word “beach” for “bench”? What matters is that you’re totally immersed in the story he’s telling.