One of the sadder aspects of a brilliant writer’s passing is thinking about the particular books he or she will never write. Certain subjects belong to certain writers as if granted by God, and when they die, they leave us looking around and lamenting, “If only Bellow or Waugh, Fitzgerald or Murdoch, were here to take on that!” Eccentric, mordantly witty, and unapologetic (...)
Editorial
If Only...
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