By Megan C. Reynolds
There’s a chair in the den at my father’s house that, to me, is perfect. It is large, red, and assertive, and bears a passing resemblance to Jindřich Halabala’s slutty little Art Deco armchairs for Thonet. The generous arms can accommodate a stack of books, my large water bottle, and a flotilla of TV remotes that you’ll find in a Boo…